“Help meeee! I don’t want to die here! Felt! Hurry up and save me! Tell these thick-headed fools!”

The old man’s desperate pleas continued, his voice loud, spitting, and shoulders shaking.

In the silent hall, the only sound was the old man’s pathetic cries, which brought a heavy, murky atmosphere that settled over the meeting.

Most knights and officials directed looks of undeniable disgust at the old man, and even the sages in the council, likely around the same age, seemed to share sentiments of witnessing something unpleasant.

Those who found greater meaning in the old man’s shouts, in his pleas for mercy, could only be described as a minority in this assembly.

“What’s wrong? Who do you think has kept you alive until now!? Have you forgotten your benefactors because you’ve had a taste of a better life? Well, what do you say!?”

The old man pressed forth, foisting his selfishness onto others. As everyone avoided mentioning his attitude, Reinhardt fixated on the profile of the girl he considered his master.

For her, the transformation of the old man was nearly grotesque. It was too soon to guess her feelings, but it was easy to imagine she was undergoing considerable turmoil.

Reinhardt subtly sensed the old man’s true intentions, leading him to decide that something must be done to change the situation, just as he stepped forward—

“—Don’t move, Reinhardt. Don’t do anything strange,” came the girl’s voice, halting his advance.

Before him stood an arrogant, red-haired young man, grinning as the girl cast her gaze at him.

Holding a fan she had pulled from her chest to her mouth, Priscilla pierced Reinhardt with a sadistic glint in her dual-colored eyes, tilting her head delightfully yet lewdly.

“That won’t do, Reinhardt. A knight like you shouldn’t be flustered. With that attitude, it seems like you’re trying to deal with that old fool before he can say something inconvenient.”

Priscilla’s words carried a mockingly fearful tone as Reinhardt internally cursed himself for falling into her trap.

He had no way of knowing how the actions of the old man named Cromwell would affect Felt, but he sought to get ahead of a situation that was difficult to interpret in a more favorable light, only to have that plan undermined by her earlier quip.

With Priscilla’s words, the perceptions and implications surrounding the old man’s actions shifted for everyone in the hall. Even if Reinhardt moved to refute the content, he could not do so without the prejudice that he was attempting to hide an “inconvenient truth.”

In a single word, Priscilla successfully turned the situation to her favor.

Though she didn’t know the backgrounds of those present, she astutely deduced the relationships based on the earlier brief exchanges and guided the situation along.

Reinhardt found himself unable to act carelessly. In front of him, Priscilla nodded with satisfaction, pointing the tip of her closed fan back at the old man.

“Now, go ahead and beg for your life. Pathetically, miserably, and comically, until you dance for my amusement. I will allow it, and I will not stop you. Do as you please, old fool. Depending on your efforts, I may consider meeting those unbearable demands of yours.”

“You insufferable little girl, speaking so loftily… Felt, you’re different, right? You’ve always been a kind child. You wouldn’t abandon me, would you? We’ve managed fine together for so long, haven’t we?”

Spitting towards Priscilla’s haughty attitude, the old man continued to cling to the mercy of the girl he presumed to have a relationship with.

Those around trembled at the old man’s reckless disregard for his surroundings, unaware of how this would anger Priscilla. She simply smirked at the display of desperation before her.

Witnessing the exchange unfold, the others in attendance seemed to regain their senses, whispering among themselves about their current feelings—namely, opinions on the old man’s pathetic pleas.

“Did you see that miserable display?”

“That face is even more obsequious. It’s hard to feel any sympathy now. Truly, shameless!”

“Even if Lady Felt were to protect him, there’s no way he will be pardoned.”

Knights spoke derisively of the old man, whose actions implied a wish for leniency after committing a crime.

“Is this what the Poor District is filled with? Lady Felt grew up there?”

“Even if the rumors of surviving blood relatives are true, could such a person shoulder the duties of a king…”

“Perhaps we should reconsider this. Or at the very least, treat him merely as a candidate for show, according to the Dragon’s History Stone.”

The officials began to refer to Felt’s qualifications as someone who had a deeper connection with the old man.

The whispers gradually grew louder, filling the hall with a murmur.

Seeing the reactions unfold, Reinhardt bit his lip, recognizing that his internal fears had materialized. He had anticipated this outcome.

To avoid missing the old man’s cries, he had unwittingly succumbed to Priscilla’s restraint. As a result, he could do nothing but watch as both he and the old man were toyed with by parties aligned with their interests.

Cursing his own helplessness, Reinhardt shifted his gaze to the now silent Felt.

What was going through her mind as she kept her head down, still silent?

“—!”

“—!!”

“—!”

While the parties involved were silent, the crowd’s noise continued to swell.

Unable to bear the pitiful deterioration of the situation, Marcos inhaled sharply, preparing to erupt.

“—Everyone here is so damn noisy!!”

It wasn’t a shout from the renowned Marcos who terrified his subordinates.

No, it was the high-pitched, ear-piercing voice of a young girl, expressing her outrage.

Awkward silence followed as shock took precedence, and the hall fell completely silent.

Taking advantage of the silence, the girl stepped forward, her heavy breathing audible as she surveyed everyone’s faces.

“When someone’s keeping quiet, you all buzz around like annoying little pests. You grown men are pathetic as hell, gagaing around like craven wimps!”

“Lady Felt, such language is…”

“Shut it, you glorified knight. You were just totally irrelevant, and now you want to speak down to me? I mean, just don’t talk to me, I don’t like you.”

Reinhardt attempted to admonish her foul language, but Felt’s response was relentless with absolutely no trace of politeness.

However, Reinhardt respectfully bowed, acknowledging that a command is a command, and stepped back. Witnessing that, Felt shook the hem of her yellow dress and cracked her neck roughly.

“Those thick-headed losers just whisper about how I should mind my business. You think I can still give a damn when I’ve paid to learn and bought my position to stand here? You’re all so clueless that you can’t see how rotten and crumbling your foundation is.”

Looking over the officials, Felt swiftly judged them. Turning her head, she glanced at the startled palace knights.

“And what do you fine-looking folks think you’re doing getting all scared of a girl like me? Don’t even think you can excuse it as being on guard. How can you even be so pathetic?”

As she sneered at the palace knights, Felt walked to her designated area, directly confronting the old man—the very same elder who had previously displayed utter disgrace.

The old man, kneeling, found himself face to face with her, his stature dwarfing her small frame as they matched in height.

Hand on her hips, she scanned the audience, repeating her earlier mockery.

“Now take a look at this terrible old man. He’s bleeding from getting punched in the nose, and his failed attempts at shaving left him covered in cuts. Mirrors are precious, and sharp blades are few and far between! And he’s smiling in his cowardly way. To sum it up, it’s just sickening.”

“That’s a bit much, don’t you think…?”

The old man muttered under his breath in a tone that seemed to diminish under Felt’s scathing evaluation. However, he quickly regained himself and plastered back a sycophantic grin.

Felt sighed deeply as she raised her head, observing the old man’s condition and then stated, “Now, about that earlier plea for your life. Honestly, hearing it made my shoulders droop. It was too pathetic and abject to bear. …Hey, Old Man Rom.”

As he looked up in response, she met his red eyes filled with sorrow.

“Us folks from the Poor District, we really have it rough. Being looked down upon for being poor, that’s just our lot in life. Most of us, including me, are rotten to the core. Truly, it’s a terrible place.”

Having shared her own grim assessment, Felt took a breath before adding, “But you know what? While it might’ve been a dump filled with hopeless losers, we’ve managed to keep a glimmer of human dignity intact. No matter how lowly we might be looked at, I refuse to scrape my face on the ground.”

“Felt…”

“Right now, Old Man Rom, take a look in the mirror. With your pitiful, pasty self, groveling and kissing up just to survive? That’s not living, that’s just disgrace!”

The old man murmured Felt’s name as if letting out a sigh of resignation, and she shook her head in response.

At her answer, Crusch, who had been quietly observing from the candidates’ lineup, solemnly nodded. Felt’s current declarations resonated with her ideals.

“If you’re going to plead for your life, you’re doing it wrong. I refuse to abandon my right to escape this hell just to save you.”

Felt declared, hands on her hips, making it clear she would leave Rom behind.

This meant she was resigning from her position as a candidate before the knights, especially in front of the knight of knights, the red-haired youth.

Her strong declaration made Reinhardt feel an undesirable bitterness rise within.

He had predicted this outcome. Seeing the old man’s behavior, he could hardly expect the response of someone proud like her.

In that regard, Reinhardt had been completely exploited by Priscilla and the old man—in fact, he felt the manipulations laid down purely by that old man.

The now abandoned old man Slumped, defeated, his shoulders drooping as he bowed his head in resignation.

Yet Reinhardt caught sight of a slight smile escaping the corners of the old man’s mouth; it wasn’t one born of regret or despair, but rather an accomplishment of having performed an act.

Wagering his life, the old man had made a bold move, and he had successfully achieved his goal. It was a commendable act.

But now he had to expose the old man’s schemes and correct Felt’s actions. However, Reinhardt knew he could not go through with it.

–Because the nature of his being restricted those actions.

Before the figure of the slumped old man and Felt standing tall before him, Marcos seemed to realize the conversation’s conclusion. He pulled the old man’s restraints and bowed to the hall.

“We sincerely apologize for the disturbance. I will now…”

“Just like that, I was waiting for someone to jump the gun,” interrupted Felt.

Marcos, who had worn an unusually perplexed expression, suddenly fell silent, while Felt turned to face the stunned audience, spinning in a flurry.

“That means you should let go, Captain. The shackles on Rom’s thick arms just look painful, and it’s hard to witness.”

“I’ve stated many times that I cannot comply. I see no reason to follow your orders…”

“You think if I don’t want to participate in this ‘Royal Selection,’ it’s that simple?”

Interrupting Marcos’s refusal again, Felt lightly tapped her chest and, with a wide, sharp-toothed grin, continued, “I’ll do it! I’ll aim for a role as king, right? ”

“—!!”

A bombshell declaration sent shivers throughout the hall.

The shocking words initially stunned the audience, but in the aftermath, each individual was left with a myriad of feelings.

Some received it solemnly, some smiled suggestively, others pressed their heads in agony, and others stiffened their faces, trying to hold back their reactions.

Yet for many, there was an undercurrent of resentment toward the girl who uttered such a significant decision lightly—or perhaps fury at how the kingdom’s great crisis was being handled so frivolously.

Abandoning those reactions, the most significant response came from the old man, who had absorbed her declaration wholeheartedly.

“N-no, what are you saying, Felt? I-I admit! Your earlier words were correct. If I lose my pride, I cannot survive. My prior actions epitomize the lowest of behaviors. It’s only natural for you to abandon me now…”

“It’s a pathetic performance, old fool! After living so long, I doubt you even realize you have no talent as an actor. You ought to give up and just be a petty villain!”

“Stop talking nonsense! You wouldn’t put the blame on me for going through with this!”

“Exactly what you were supposed to be, Old Man Rom. I truly don’t want to do anything I don’t like. But actually, I understand you, too.”

In contrast with what he hoped for just a moment ago, the old man fought fiercely only to find himself cut down by Felt in turn.

“From our years of companionship, I know this: Rom, when you lie, the veins on the tip of your nose stick out.”

“W-what!? That’s a lie—!?”

Surprised by Felt’s insight, the old man lifted his shackled arms, anxious, as he rubbed at his nose. Watching him, Felt snorted with laughter.

“Yeah, it’s a lie. And I’ve caught the idiot! Now, what’ll we do?”

“—Oh.”

Caught in such a blatant trap, old Rom gawked in shock.

Felt either appeared amused or simply exhausted with the old man’s low-level trickery. She rolled her eyes, shaking her head, as if to say, “Good grief.”

“Now, Old Man Rom, please take those shackles off. All manner of nonsense from earlier will just be classified as a senile old man’s ravings.”

“We cannot agree to such an excuse…”

“—That old man is my family! So let him go, right this instant!”

Even against a refusal from Marcos, Felt spoke with complete seriousness.

Hearing her words, Marcos momentarily furrowed his brows, but erased the hint of disquiet from his demeanor.

“Understood.”

He observed the formalities of etiquette befitting someone of higher status before releasing the old man from his cuffs. Next, he turned to his comrades, stationed by the entrance, to demand “the keys to the shackles.”

However, Felt raised her hand to signal her disapproval.

“I can’t wait. —Reinhardt!”

“Here.”

At the sharp call of the girl, Reinhardt promptly stepped onto the stage, unworriedly moving beside her.

Without acknowledging the red-haired youth standing by her side, she simply crossed her arms and gestured.

“Do it.”

“Y-yes, my lord—”

In response to those few words of command filled with so much emotion, the knight expressed solemn dedication.

His arms raised high before his lord, Reinhardt formed a blade with his hand, slicing downward through the air.

With a clean cut, the metallic cuffs binding the old man’s arms fell apart as if made of paper before the might of Reinhardt’s gesture.

As they melted away, the shackles clanged down onto the floor, producing a high-pitched sound that echoed throughout the hall.

Backdropped by that sound, the girl sneered at Reinhardt, who towered over her.

“All of this was according to your plan, or what?”

“Absolutely not. It is a greater guidance of fate.”

Felt replied with seeming discontent, to which Reinhardt placed a hand over his heart.

When she heard that, she exhaled a scoff, “Oh, fate again. Are you a slave of fate or something?”

“No. —I am a servant of righteousness.”

Reinhardt’s earnest and serious reply to the sarcasm caused Felt to roll her eye, the corners of her mouth upward.

“Well, it looks like you’re retiring from that job. From now on, you’re my servant.”

“Yes. As my lord wishes.”

“Prepare for me to treat you like a slave!”

“Yes. All as my lord wishes.”

“You’re dull as a rock…”

With such a compliance-laden sentiment, Felt appeared exasperated.

As those two exchanged banter, the old man Rom gawked, unable to conceal his shock.

His arms free, he swayed them, his blood-stained cheek twisted with pain.

“Why, Felt?… I-I…”

“Rom, I see your intentions and what goals you had when you were saying all those pitiful things. —You could see I couldn’t stand here, and so you were trying to give me a gentle push, weren’t you?”

Felt raised a hand to apologize to the weakly bowed elder. When Rom finally lifted his gaze to her, his lips trembled.

“If you realized all that, then why…”

“You heard me! I don’t do what I can’t stand.”

Rom, puzzled, looked at Felt as she shyly smiled.

“Why should I abandon my family and go back to the town of the damned? I can’t do something that low, beneath even the scum.”

“—”

The old man’s expression changed from despair to something else entirely as he averted his face from the girl, wiping his eyes.

“My failure was…”

“Terribly clear, elderly one.”

As if he sensed the shift in emotions, Reinhardt called out gently. Rom glanced up at the ceiling, his voice thinned yet filled with deep regret, unable to mask his overwhelming feelings.

“I raised her too well――!”

※※　※　※　※　※　※　※　※　※　※　※　※

As his cries mingled with both despair and joy over his training philosophy, the representative of the Wise Men’s Council—Microtoff, stroked his beard with narrowed eyes.

“Is the situation you laid out unfolding as you anticipated, Captain Knight?”

“I shan’t overstep my bounds. I am a knight after all. I am a protector of paths, not a maker of them.”

Microtoff nodded in agreement, then turned to the duo standing out from the center—no, the two who had stepped forward, looking at Felt and Reinhardt.

“Then, Felt, Knight Reinhardt. May I assume you both wish to participate in the Royal Selection?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Yes. As my lord wishes.”

Felt maintained an arrogant demeanor while Reinhardt obeyed dutifully, the generous elder made no comment on their disparities as he quietly affirmed, “Understood.”

“There were some disturbances earlier, but I believe we can deem this assembly complete. Do you have anything to say, Lady Felt?”

It seemed he intended to afford Felt a chance to address the assembly, just as the other candidates had.

After a brief moment of consideration, Felt furrowed her brows and lifted one finger.

“Okay, just one thing!” she exclaimed before stepping forward, securing the attentions of everyone present.

“—I hate nobles!”

She declared with a bright smile, widely gesturing toward the Wise Men’s Council.

“—I hate knights!”

Atop her grinning face, she pointed her other hand at the knights in attendance.

“—I hate the kingdom!”

Still beaming, she extended her arms, with a terrifying toxin bubbling beneath her cheerful expressions.

“—I hate everyone in this room, the very ground I stand on, everything! That’s why, I plan to smash it all to pieces!”

Taking a moment to tilt her head, she affectively tossed her question back at the audience with that playful demeanor.

“What do you think?”

“Wh-what are you saying—!?”

“Smashing the country in the center of a Royal Selection to choose the next king!?”

“What do you think we’ve come to accomplish here!!”

“So you really can only talk in collective terms, can’t you? You’re ramming your pride and history down everyone’s throat; it’s absurd!”

As the crowd yelped in outrage, Felt dismissed the outcry altogether.

“Here I am, prancing around in this frilly get-up, donned with sparkling jewels and fine garb, while you can’t see how your foundation is crumbling beneath you!”

“So, once I become king, I’ll destroy it all. Tossing all you idiots who remain caught up in your history out to improve the air quality a bit here!”

Felt’s declaration shrouded the hall in astonishment.

In response to her unprecedented outburst, Microtoff maintained a steady expression, nodding calmly as he shifted his gaze to the knight standing next to her.

“You master is quite a fierce one. Having heard such words, what are your thoughts on the matter?”

“That… is indeed true. Regrettably, Lady Felt’s words are unfortunately still a mere dream.”

Reinhardt shifted the foundation of the young lady’s statement with his words. He could see Felt’s dubious eyes directed his way, but he kept his cool gaze on her, deflecting her attention.

“Eventually though, Lady Felt’s words will reach everyone—at least, that is the role I take upon myself, to accompany you every step of the way.”

“However, it seems among those you wish to destroy is also yourself…”

“Even after the destruction, my lady shall rise anew. If that is the case, then I could find no greater desire than to stand by your side through it all.”

Reinhardt bowed deeply while holding firm to his integrity before Microtoff; as that clarity shone from him, Felt poured her messy blonde hair with a hasty tug.

“Seriously, are you my ally or enemy? Make up your mind!”

“I am your ally. —Just yours.”

“…Well, that’s fine then. I’ll work you like a dog.”

And just like that, the last Master-Servant pair of the candidates was born.

And――

“Now, we have heard from all candidates once more. So, I shall again pose a question to the Wise Council.”

In a grave tone, Microtoff spoke softly, the atmosphere growing tense as silence wrapped around the hall, awaiting the next words.

“Concerning today’s Royal Selection, I declare the five candidates—let us begin!”

“—On the authority of the Wise Council, I hereby agree.”

“Likewise.”

“Likewise, let it be acknowledged.”

The members of the council nodded at Microtoff’s proposal, who then stood from his seat.

Progressing forward, he approached the empty throne beside him.

“—Therefore, I hereby put forth the conditions for the Royal Selection!”

“Candidate Krush Karsten.”

“Krush’s right-hand knight, ‘Blue’ Felix Argyle.”

“Candidate Priscilla Barielle.”

“The miraculous merchant from another world, Al.”

“Candidate Anastasia Hoshin.”

“Anastasia’s right-hand knight, the ‘Best Knight’ Julius Euclius.”

“Candidate Emilia.”

And the self-proclaimed knight absent today—Natsuki Subaru.

“Candidate Felt.”

“Felt’s right-hand knight, ‘Sword Saint’ Reinhardt Van Astraea.”

“All participants shall endeavor to maintain the kingdom and make their royal paths known to the people and subjects!”

“Such conditions shall serve as the minimum charter, and we shall declare the Royal Selection to commence now—!”

Microtoff’s voice boomed, filling the hall with an incredible fervor.

Though no voice was raised, everyone felt the clamorous cries within their hearts.

As the atmosphere surged, Microtoff stood tall and opened his mouth wide.

“Now then—let the Royal Selection begin!!”