Every time she set foot in the Royal Castle,
For Felt, who had grown up in the Slums before the Royal Selection had even begun, the Lugnica Royal Castle had always lingered at the edge of her vision—a symbol of absolute isolation from her life, present but forever beyond reach.
It was there, but a place she would never have any dealings with. A vast, formless mirage that held no sense of value in its existence—that was the impression it gave.
Perhaps that was why, even now, every time she had the opportunity to enter the castle as a Royal Selection candidate, she felt an almost unreal sensation—as if she were stepping into a dream or an illusion.
It was then that— "—Lady Felt?"
Her name called, Felt—who had stopped in her tracks—lifted her gaze.
The blue eyes of her knight, who had one hand on the door and was looking back at her. Meeting those eyes with her own crimson ones, Felt gave a small snort and replied curtly: "It's nothing."
Indeed, it was nothing at all. No one could halt their advance.
"Let's go."
With that declaration, she steeled herself, broke through the paper-thin resistance, and stepped forward.
As she nodded and looked beyond the door that her knight—Reinhard—had opened, the scene was, as always, a chaotic bustle of human presences brimming with an unusual tension.
A space where diverse wills clashed and were exchanged as gazes and words—the moment Felt set foot inside, those scattered wills involuntarily unified.
Unified, that is, into the brazen will to appraise Felt for the sake of the kingdom's future.
"Well, it's not like I mind. When I have to square off with someone, I'm usually thinking the same thing anyway."
This had nothing to do with the Royal Selection—it was survival skills, or perhaps street wisdom, that Felt had honed in the Slums. Assessing whether someone was useful or useless, what they might be scheming behind the scenes—she had developed an ingrained habit of reading people.
In fact, this well-worn habit had served her well even after becoming a Royal Selection candidate.
She was swamped with opportunities to meet people on a scale unimaginable during her Slums days, and had to size up their intentions. If she had to rebuild that perceptiveness from scratch, the difficulty would have been immeasurable.
That said— "There are people like
Emilia, who was a fellow Royal Selection candidate yet maintained an almost miraculous level of openness.
Felt believed that the reason Emilia could remain who she was owed much to the extraordinary efforts of her knight,
And yet, Felt's own assessment was that neither the Royal Selection nor its surrounding environment was kind enough for anyone to be shielded and carried through as thoroughly as Emilia had been. Even so, Emilia clearly possessed a sharp eye for reading people and an intuition for sensing their intentions. For her to maintain that attitude despite it all made things rather complicated for Felt.
"In the end, I went and made her my friend."
Reflecting on the decision she had just made, Felt let out a deep sigh.
She didn't regret accepting Emilia's proposal, but she could no longer see a clear path ahead. She had no intention of resorting to underhanded tactics or schemes, but it was undeniably true that having the opposing camps at each other's throats made it easier to act without pulling punches.
If it was merely a one-sided goodwill from the other side, only the other side would be at a disadvantage.
That, Felt suspected, was precisely Anastasia's basic strategy—and she guessed that was the true reason Anastasia had invited the other camps to
Unfortunately, that plan seemed to have been thoroughly demolished by the development of becoming friends with Emilia after the Selection.
In any case— "Fine, I don't hate her. It's actually nice to have that appraising gaze directed at me for once."
Not as bravado, but with a crooked smirk, Felt accepted the attention being directed her way.
The throne room she had entered—the very place where the Royal Selection had been declared—was filled with numerous Lugnica Royal Castle personnel, including the members of the Council of Wise Men who bore the kingdom's political center.
She had exchanged words with Miklotov when reporting
It was the look reserved for heretics and outsiders—the same look Felt had received when she had first shown up for the Royal Selection and picked a fight with everyone present.
The confusion and bewilderment directed at a stray from the Slums—that was the closest match.
And— "Hmm, looks like you lot are the ones I couldn't identify, huh?"
Felt trudged across the crimson carpet, walking right up to the center of the throne room. Squinting one eye, she glared at the man and woman who had been standing there ahead of her.
"......"
The two who turned to face Felt were a young man and woman, both around twenty.
A fair-haired man with a refined face, and a beautiful woman with violet hair cropped short, reminiscent of a flower that blooms in the rainy season. Despite the setting, the two held themselves with a composed dignity unaffected by the surrounding crowd.
In truth, even when Felt had seized the initiative by addressing them head-on, neither was rattled. The man smiled wryly, while the woman waved her hand with a soft, fluttering motion and said: "Oh my, how rather forward. We've only just met for the first time, and yet little Felt-chan is every bit as prickly as they say."
"Rumors, huh? What kind of rumors are floating around about me?"
"That you're small and adorable yet dignified and imposing, headstrong and never backing down before anyone—a tomboyish sort. They say the contrast is so jarring it's enough to make one dizzy!"
"Well, now... those are some unfortunate rumors."
Seeing Felt exasperated by the answer, the woman let out a sultry, giggling laugh.
She wore a deep crimson dress like a ripe fruit, with a matching hat tilted at an angle. Her beauty and attire suggested a secretary or perhaps a lady-in-waiting serving some noble. Yet the combination of her presumptuous closeness and her languid, sleepy crimson eyes made her rather hard to pin down.
In short, she gave off the impression of someone who wouldn't be easy to handle—but— "—Sakura, she's one of the Royal Selection candidates. Could you please stop sidling up to her with your usual casualness? No amount of lives would be enough for that."
The refined man standing beside the woman spoke up to admonish his companion. That said, the rebuke carried a teasing, bantering tone that didn't necessarily guarantee the man's seriousness or sincerity.
In fact, at his remark, the woman called Sakura merely smirked and said: "Oh? So even you, Tiga, are turning me into the villain? I'm already in an awkward position because of what that girl did on her own, and now even my only ally is saying that. How disheartening."
"Then all the more reason not to make more enemies. First impressions tend to linger—especially now, when we're hardly welcome... wouldn't you agree?"
"Yes, yes, what you say is perfectly logical, dear Tiga."
"Glad we're on the same page."
As Sakura pouted and stuck out her tongue, the man nodded with an exaggerated, theatrical gesture.
He then turned back toward Felt and the others, removed the wide-brimmed hat he had been wearing low over his head, pressed his hand to his chest over the deep purple cloak he wore, and said: "Which is to say, my companion has been terribly rude. Please forgive us, Lady Felt. I am Tiga Lareon, and this is
As he spoke, the man—Tiga—executed a dashing bow, closing one of his yellow eyes in a wink. He was clearly a handsome man who wore his affectations with style.
Taking in the pair of Tiga and Sakura, Felt came to understand. Without a doubt, these two who seemed to have floated free of the Royal Castle's atmosphere were the reason Reinhard had hurriedly pulled her from the candidate quarters— "Reinhard, these two are..."
"Yes. They are messengers from the Church of the Divine Dragon."
Reinhard drew up alongside the halted Felt and faced the pair in question.
As it happened, in the center of the throne room, Felt's party and the two from the Church of the Divine Dragon stood face to face, drawing the full attention of every Royal Castle attendant present.
Unperturbed by those gazes, Felt crossed her arms and glared at Tiga.
"From what I've heard, the Church of the Divine Dragon is supposed to stay out of the kingdom's politics. So what are you doing in a place like this?"
"I know it's hard to believe, but this is actually an unwilling contact from our side as well. As you say, the Church has maintained its distance from national affairs. I'm not saying we have no sense of loyalty to the kingdom, of course—"
"Unwilling contact, huh? So you're telling me that's your stance even knowing you might be able to do something about the body of
"......Well, that's—"
At Felt's words, Tiga flinched ever so slightly. Sakura, who was at his side with her hand over her mouth, let out yet another sultry giggle.
Felt snarled "What?" and Sakura tilted her head slightly.
"No, no, Felt-chan, you're remarkably quick on the uptake. What we were discussing was supposed to be a private matter within these castle walls, you know."
"Hmph, don't underestimate the hellish ears of the guy standing next to me. He can hear the sound of my feet hitting the floor when I get out of bed to go to the bathroom at night."
"I won't deny it, but that's a rather misleading way to put it, Lady Felt."
"Shut up and stop giving me that wry smile. Keep looking annoyed—that's more intimidating to the other side."
The information source about the Church of the Divine Dragon negotiations—and the Crusch connection—had been Otto, so Felt kept that out of the conversation out of a sense of obligation. At this point, adding more rumors about Reinhard's hellish ears or eavesdropping habits wouldn't make much difference. It was, after all, a fact that he could probably pick up the sound of a needle dropping a kilometer away.
In any case— "I don't much care for this Church of the Divine Dragon business."
"Oh? Does Felt-chan dislike the Church as well? I would have thought our activities—the ones that had a positive influence on the Slums, for example—"
"Sorry, but I don't like being on the receiving end of charity. I've never stood in line for bread at the Church. That said, I'm not saying those activities are useless or that I hate them. What I'm saying is that you lot claim you can save Duchess Karsten."
"Are you saying you'd rather leave a suffering rival faction to their fate?"
"You need me to spell it out? Sorry, but I'm not nearly that bored."
Despite her sweet way of speaking, Sakura probed with a venomous edge, and Felt stuck out her tongue in response.
True, Crusch was a rival faction, but the reason she was in her current state was... the reason. Everyone present bore the weight of guilt for that, and if she was on the path to recovery, they wanted to take whatever measures they could—that was only human nature. The sole exception was Crusch borrowing the aid of the Church of the Divine Dragon, which was an extraordinarily bad fit.
Because— "Duchess Crusch Karsten declared at the Royal Selection. That she would renounce the Covenant made with the Dragon and break free from the peace it guaranteed."
"......"
The one who interrupted their conversation with those words was an elderly bearded man seated among the Council of Wise Men—
"The very person who declared that it was shameful for the kingdom to rely entirely on the Dragon now borrows the power of the Church of the Divine Dragon, which worships the Dragon. That doesn't exactly look good."
"Watch your tongue, Lady Felt. In terms of appearances—"
"No, I believe Lady Felt is correct. Appearances—meaning, how it looks. On that front, Crusch would suffer an irreparable blow. That said, it would depend on whether she chooses to take the extended hand."
A court official present among the gathered attendants attempted to interject into the exchange between Felt and Miklotov, but was shut down by none other than Miklotov himself.
That added remark from the Wise Man meant that, ultimately, the final decision regarding the Church of the Divine Dragon's offer rested with Crusch and her people.
However— "—
Reinhard murmured, his eyes slightly downcast, the name of his friend and the one who was right now suffering alongside Crusch—the bearer of the title "Blue," Crusch's first knight.
Felt had seen with her own eyes, when visiting Crusch's sickroom, how his beautiful face—so lovely it could be mistaken for a woman's—had become haggard, and how much he had suffered at Crusch's side. She had heard nothing about Crusch's condition improving since then. If that was the case, his state of mind was likely the same.
His precious liege, writhing in hellish agony, burned by vicious flames. If a means of saving her was placed before him, and the first knight made whatever decision he made, no one could condemn him for it.
"Naturally, we too had considerable discussion regarding this proposal from the Church of the Divine Dragon. First, we needed to verify whether the content of the proposal was true. Depending on the outcome—"
"It might also save the people of Priestella who were affected. When you think about it that way, what we're hung up on is pretty small potatoes."
"Hmm. You're satisfied, then—"
"Do you really think I could be?"
She understood the logic, and the reasoning. But emotional acceptance was a different matter.
Having entered the Royal Selection, Felt intended to fight to win. But if Priscilla had been killed in the recent events in the Empire, and now Crusch was going to drop out because of this, it would be a completely different way of settling the competition from what Felt had envisioned.
If this was how things were going to be resolved, how was it any different from Reinhard going on a rampage and incapacitating every other Royal Selection candidate?
"No one is to blame. If anything, all fault lies with the
"I know it's too late now, but we should have wrung that Archbishop of Wrath's neck harder before throwing him in prison. That might have at least taken the edge off my anger."
Of course, doing so would have solved nothing, and she knew full well it wouldn't have eased her frustration. Moreover, most of the damage in Priestella had been caused by the Archbishops of Gluttony and Lust—the aftereffects of Wrath were extremely minor.
Reinhard knew this too, so Felt's grumbling was not taken seriously by anyone.
In any case— "I've got the rough picture. The Church has brought a treatment, and whether Duchess—ah, never mind. Whether Crusch is saved depends on whether her knight accepts the treatment. ...We don't have the right to butt in on that."
Though she had her own thoughts, only the parties involved could know what to choose.
Having acknowledged that, Felt turned to Reinhard beside her and addressed everyone present with a single question: "I understand the situation up to this point, but why was there a need to rush me over here? I mean, I appreciate the explanation, but you all know that it's not just me in the
This matter could have a major impact on the Royal Selection. If so, information should have been shared urgently with not just Felt but Emilia as well. In a situation like that, it was unthinkable that Reinhard would try to get ahead of Emilia and bring only Felt. It was doubtful whether such a thought would even occur to Reinhard.
And yet, there had to be a reason he had brought Felt here alone.
"If there's a reason, it's got to be on your Church's end? But as far as I can tell, we have nothing to discuss with the Church right now. ...I can't really talk about the Divine Dragon, though."
Her voice trailed off and dropped in tone at the end—Felt's understanding of the Divine Dragon
"After all, when I tagged along with Meili to the Pleiades Watchtower, I ended up witnessing Reinhard go head-to-head with that mindless Dragon up close..."
The battle between the Sword Saint and the Divine Dragon should not have occurred in an environment where either could go all out, yet it had been an apocalyptic clash of epic proportions. Through that battle, Felt learned that the Divine Dragon was nothing like the dignified figure of legend—if she was asked to elaborate on the details, she would be at a loss for words.
But to Felt's concern, Tiga merely shrugged his shoulders.
"No, no—it wasn't our idea to summon Lady Felt. In fact, regarding what we discussed earlier, the Church has been in a rather awkward position as well."
"You mean the thing about Crusch? Awkward how, exactly?"
"To put it bluntly... the Church hadn't yet made a clear decision on whether to act to save Duchess Crusch Karsten."
"Huh...?"
Felt furrowed her brow at Tiga's troubled response and couldn't help but groan in a low voice.
It was a bewildering statement. She had understood it as the Church of the Divine Dragon having a means of recovering Witch Cult victims, and having come to the Royal Castle with that as the premise—that they had committed to saving Crusch. But what Tiga had just said overturned that premise.
"But the treatment is already being administered to Crusch, isn't it? If the Church hasn't made up its mind, then how could it—"
"Well, you see... our rather impatient little one went and acted on her own ahead of us."
"...She jumped the gun?"
"Yes. So the rest of us rushed over to the castle in a panic to hear everyone out about what happened. What a mess."
It was hard to tell how much of Sakura's words were sincere, as they lacked any real gravity. But even Tiga, who spoke far more sensibly by comparison, made no attempt to stop or deny her words—merely pressing his hand to his forehead as if acknowledging the shame of it all.
If that was true, then the Church of the Divine Dragon had its share of reckless members too.
But even so— "That still doesn't explain why I was called here."
"Hmm. On that point, we too have been extremely troubled. As it happened, Knight Reinhard was here, so we requested Lady Felt's presence as well. After all, regarding the problem we're facing, you are directly involved, Lady Felt."
"......"
A problem involving her. Hearing that, Felt narrowed her crimson eyes and licked her lips.
It seemed they had taken a rather circuitous route, but they were finally getting to the heart of the matter.
The Church of the Divine Dragon's movements with Crusch's fate hanging in the balance, the fact that this was unexpected even for the Church, and the reason Felt had been summoned to the very place where their messengers were present— It was— "The person who contacted us alone from the Church of the Divine Dragon—whom we have been discussing since earlier—is a woman with beautiful golden hair and red eyes. She claimed that her name was the same as that of Filiole—the daughter of Prince Fold Lugnica, who went missing fifteen years ago."
△▼△▼△▼△ ——Prince Fold Lugnica's daughter, Filiole Lugnica.
The meaning of that name and existence was significant for the Kingdom of Lugnica as a whole, but for Felt, it carried an especially enormous weight.
After all, the background that had led to Felt's forced participation in the Royal Selection included—and was perhaps even equal to or greater than—the fact that the Dragon Gem embedded in her emblem had been made to glow. The suspicion was that Felt herself might be the missing Filiole.
In truth, Filiole had been a baby when she disappeared fifteen years ago.
The age matched Felt's, and the color of Felt's hair and eyes were consistent with the traits that appeared in the Lugnica royal line. Of course, Felt had never once considered herself a member of the royal family, nor had she ever tried to exploit that notion. But she wasn't so selfish as to completely ignore the possibilities others saw in her.
Many within the Kingdom of Lugnica saw in Felt the possibility of a surviving royal.
Whether Felt admitted it or not, human nature made it impossible to erase the expectations and envy that existed. And this wasn't just true of the kingdom in broad terms—it was the hope that even those present at the declaration of the Royal Selection, even Reinhard himself, had harbored.
Without question, the possibility of her being a surviving member of the royal family was what had given Felt—born in the Slums—her first weapon with which to fight on the stage of the Royal Selection.
And now— "The real Filiole, who had disappeared, huh?"
The situation settled into her chest with a thud, and Felt murmured the words to herself.
So that was why the Royal Castle had been shaken to its foundations. Or perhaps—the possibility that Crusch might be saved by the Church of the Divine Dragon, and might subsequently drop out of the Royal Selection, could have been treated as a minor footnote in the face of this revelation.
That was how shocking the existence of a nun from the Church of the Divine Dragon claiming to be Filiole truly was.
"—Lady Felt."
Suddenly called by Reinhard at her side, Felt held her breath slightly.
It was not a sharp or unexpected call, yet she had failed to catch what emotion was contained in that voice. No—let her admit it.
Felt's own budding agitation had prevented her from picking up on Reinhard's feelings.
"......"
When she had first been dragged to the Royal Selection by Reinhard's hand, Felt had felt nothing but strong resistance and hostility—compounded by the forced confinement from the Loot House to his mansion. In the end, with Old Man
That suspicion had been denied. No—not denied, merely cast into doubt. Moreover, Felt had been dismissing and trampling on that possibility all along.
And yet, when it was actually denied before her eyes, a genuine trembling had shaken her. It wasn't because she wanted to be royalty.
It was a disappointment born of an inescapable failing—she had failed those who had placed their hope in her, and that she would let them down.
"...Pathetic."
Seeing through the source of her own agitation, Felt hated herself for it.
She always carried herself with composure and defiance, as though nothing could shake her—yet the instant something she hadn't expected occurred, the moment she learned something she had thought she could afford to lose might actually be taken away, she was reduced to a flustered, undignified panic. She despised herself for that.
Gritting her teeth at her own pathetic self, Felt forced her heavy, stiff neck to turn and somehow managed to face Reinhard standing beside her.
No matter what expression Reinhard wore— "......"
Bracing herself, Felt raised her eyes—and what filled her vision was a pair of cerulean eyes looking straight at her, without a trace of anxiety or doubt. Much less disappointment or dejection.
There was only absolute, boundless trust in Felt—and nothing more.
"...What kind of look is that supposed to be?"
"I believe I harbor an unwavering loyalty to Lady Felt, in my own way."
"...Hmph. Shut up."
Whether it was a joke or genuine, Reinhard smiled ever so slightly at Felt's reply. She had no choice but to respond by poking him in the side with her elbow. She had to—because frustratingly, just like that, the emotions that had been weighing on her chest lifted all at once.
"Whatever the case, I'm still me. All I can do is accept that and press on."
She had always known that, but she had needed a catalyst to openly accept it and push forward. Reinhard had unwittingly provided it, and though Felt felt somewhat sore about it, she didn't click her tongue in annoyance.
She was sore, but it was a good kind of sore. She would never tell Reinhard that, though.
It was right after Felt had achieved that definitive acceptance— "——Knight
A guard's report came into the throne room, and the expressions of the attendants present immediately tightened. When Felt looked puzzled, Reinhard leaned close to her ear: "Commander Marcos apparently escorted the woman in question to Crusch's quarters. Regardless of whether the treatment is accepted or not..."
"So they're meeting face to face. Good to have that settled first."
Whispering at Reinhard's ear, Felt took a deep, long breath. Then, leaving Reinhard at her side, she waited.
It was then that— "So a large number of you were waiting for me, I see. Given the circumstances, it's perhaps to be expected, but still."
A voice reached Felt's ears as a figure slipped through the throne room door and peered inside.
"That's her..."
The nun from the Church of the Divine Dragon who had claimed to be Filiole and forced her way into the Royal Castle.
Indeed, just as she had heard beforehand, it was a nun with long golden hair and a pair of resolute red eyes. She held herself with a straight back and an air of dignity, yet when met with the collective gaze of everyone in the room, she looked distinctly uncomfortable. However, with an armored giant looming directly behind her, she couldn't step back.
After a moment, she seemed to accept her situation, shook her head, and stepped straight into the room— "Oh my, it's Filiole-chan!"
"H-hey!"
The moment she took her first step and recognized Sakura waving at her, her composed expression stiffened dramatically, and her face went pale.
She froze, leaning forward on her front foot, and after a beat, she seemed about to turn around and flee.
"Filiole, everyone already knows. Just come here quietly."
"Guh... not just Sakura, but Tiga too..."
"You were bound to show up. Honestly, going off and doing something so reckless all on your own."
Shrugging with an exasperated sigh, Tiga called out to her. Filiole twisted her body in discomfort but seemed to have resigned herself.
Abandoning the idea of retreating, she shuffled over with rounded shoulders, took a deep breath in front of Tiga and Sakura—whom she clearly already knew—and then: "Serving the kingdom's citizens with prayer is the Church of the Divine Dragon's true calling. I merely followed that creed. Is that so wrong?"
"What do you mean, 'is that so wrong'..."
"I'm sure a scolding and a lecture are in order, though~"
"But I haven't done anything wrong!"
She puffed out her chest and declared boldly—but her bravado crumbled the very next instant. The nun—Filiole—let out a sound like a shriek and clutched her head. Felt couldn't help but raise an eyebrow.
She was quite different from what her initial impression and bearing had suggested.
And— "You're a good deal taller than me. Must've been nice living it up as a kid?"
"Pardon me—'nice'? Are you referring to me? If so, you're sorely mistaken! The motto of the Church of the Divine Dragon is the spirit of charity! The Church's compassion and spirit of charity are directed outward, not inward. In other words..."
"In other words?"
"We're almost always starving!"
Placing her hands on her own stomach, Filiole declared the Church's poverty loudly. At her vehemence and volume, Felt scratched her cheek with a finger. Then the back of Filiole's head was smacked. "Ow!" she yelped, turning around—it was Tiga who had struck her.
He looked at her with the expression of someone dealing with a troublesome younger sister.
"Don't go broadcasting our shame at the top of your lungs. It's been a secret we've managed to keep from the center of the state all this time. Don't tell me you're planning to lay everything bare at this rate."
"O-of course not! How could you think I'm that loose-lipped—"
"Then what about the miracle, hmm~?"
"......"
The sound of Filiole drawing in her breath at the follow-up question echoed surprisingly loudly through the throne room.
Flanked by Tiga and Sakura peering in at her from either side, Filiole flapped her mouth wordlessly for a moment— "...I-I cleared the room first."
"......Haa..."
"What a huge sigh! Is this—this is the thanks I get for performing a miracle to save someone?! It's even written in the scriptures! 'Deeds of darkness performed under the veil of twilight are as visible to the Dragon's eyes as a bonfire in broad daylight. To presume one can hide them is to embrace the self-forged darkness of delusion!'"
Hurriedly producing a thick scripture and holding it aloft with both hands, Filiole protested.
Felt wasn't particularly well-versed in it, but from the gist, it seemed to say: don't be overconfident that you can keep secrets, because they'll come out eventually.
That said, having the Church of the Divine Dragon's teachings treated as an excuse dictionary probably didn't sit well either.
"Commander Marcos, how did it go?"
Paying no heed to the exchange among the Church of the Divine Dragon members, Miklotov turned his question to the Royal Knight Commander who had entered the throne room alongside Filiole.
Called by name and addressed, the stern-faced Marcos responded with a simple "Yes."
"I accompanied her personally and witnessed the power of Filiole's miracle."
"You witnessed it, so that means—"
"The malevolent flame that had taken root in Duchess Crusch Karsten's body has been severed from her life force and rendered powerless."
At Marcos's report, Felt's cheek tightened with an emotion she couldn't name.
That Crusch had been saved—that was something to be glad about. But that she had been saved by the Church of the Divine Dragon—that was not something to be glad about without reservation.
However, as she had steeled herself for just moments ago, only the parties involved had the right to choose.
"Hmm. I see."
Sensing the same complicated sentiment that Felt had tasted, Miklotov accepted it with the wisdom of experience. He glanced briefly at Filiole, and when she looked up at him, he stroked his long beard and continued: "There are many matters we must discuss. The miracle Filiole demonstrated is certainly one of them, but above all—"
"Oh? Is there something else?"
Tilting her head, Filiole furrowed her brow as though she had absolutely no idea what Miklotov had left unsaid.
Setting aside Filiole's reaction, the reason Miklotov had hesitated to say more was likely out of consideration for Felt, who was present.
But— "Don't bother. —Reinhard."
"Yes."
When Felt extended her hand, Reinhard placed something gently into it, as though he had known she would.
In that instant, Felt felt what it was in her palm, then flicked it with her finger straight ahead—toward Filiole.
"Wha—what is it?!"
Filiole caught the flying object with both hands extended by reflex. At Felt's sudden action, her eyes blinked in surprise, and Felt gave a small snort.
Then, shrugging at the entire room that was staring wide-eyed at what she had done— "Isn't this what everyone here wanted to see?"
Where Felt's raised thumb pointed, Filiole stood with both hands cradling what she had caught—within her palms, the emblem glowed brilliantly.
It was indeed the proof of a Priestess chosen by the Dragon Gem—a vivid sprout of light, celebrating the existence of the sixth Priestess recognized by the Dragon Gem.