A bombshell of a statement dropped into the great hall, charged with tension.
Words tantamount to playing with fire in a powder magazine—everyone held their breath and watched the situation unfold. By now, who had spoken those incisive words was no longer the issue. What mattered was what kind of upheaval they would set in motion.
Gulping hard, every pair of eyes turned ever more intently toward Priscilla at the center. As she stood bathed in those fearful gazes, she glanced casually toward the source of the voice, and— "How utterly tiresome, and boring at that. I have grown so accustomed to the jealous envy of the vulgar that it doesn't even serve as a lullaby anymore."
With a voice utterly devoid of concern for the anxiety she had stirred, Priscilla cut through the stagnating atmosphere of the great hall without a shred of hesitation.
There was not the slightest hint that her tone took the surrounding unease into account or accommodated it in any way. From the depths of her heart, in pure and utter sincerity, the arrogant words she had just spoken conveyed that this was her true self—everyone could see it clearly.
Her refreshingly brazen bearing made Subaru feel, with quiet conviction, that she too stood in a realm entirely apart from ordinary people—though in a different way from Crusch.
From the reactions of those around him, that earlier remark had apparently been a word closer to an insult or a slur.
*The Blood-Color Bride* was no gentle epithet, but before Subaru could press her on what it meant—a name that had never been denied— "Now then, if you would be so kind as to introduce yourself once more, including your attendants."
Priscilla spoke the topic at hand before the atmosphere could sour further—a sign of Microft's seasoned experience in navigating such gatherings. The deference he showed, paying respect despite facing someone far his junior, matched the composure one would not expect from his appearance alone.
For someone seated at the pinnacle of the kingdom's leadership, he seemed to be the type who used his mind more for considering those around him than for pushing his own agenda. It was a slightly pitiful position, perhaps.
Priscilla likely understood the meaning behind Microft's amiable behavior as well. As though she had forgotten her earlier rude remark entirely, she nodded simply.
"Very well. It would be cruel to waste what little time remains of that old fossil's life by delaying further. Be grateful for my magnanimity."
Adding one unnecessary remark for good measure, she swelled her ample chest with even greater haughtiness.
"From this moment, I shall proclaim my name—inscribe it upon your hearts so that you will never forget it until the end of your days. My name is Priscilla—Priscilla. Ah, Priscilla… Now then, what was it again?"
She had started with a burst of vigor, only to stumble like a senile old man forgetting his own name.
Subaru nearly lunged forward to butt in, but barely managed to restrain himself out of respect for the grave atmosphere around him. Still, there was no denying that Priscilla's words had shifted the mood of the room to something subtly warmer.
She tilted her head several times, then looked up at Al standing beside her and poked him in the ribs.
"Hey, Al. I am at a loss here—hurry and assist me."
"You not remembering your own intro? I gotta say, I wasn't expecting you to trip at the starting line, and I'm genuinely shocked. What about the excitement I had building up waiting for my turn to be introduced?"
"I couldn't care less about your excitement. Prioritize my will. Come on."
"Talk about supreme self-centeredness! But hold on—this isn't going where I think it is, right? You're not about to drop the family name Bariel, are you?"
"Oh yes, that's right."
Al firmly clasped the hand she hesitantly extended, then tilted his head back and pressed his palm to his forehead in exasperation over his master's forgetfulness. Priscilla paid no heed to her attendant's theatrical display of anguish and turned back to face the Sage Council on the dais with a fearless smile.
"I am Priscilla Bariel. The next King—show your respect."
Subaru felt this was a self-introduction as succinct and effective as one could possibly deliver.
At the very least, it was nothing like a speech from someone who genuinely aspired to the throne.
Moreover, unlike Crusch, she seemed to have nothing further to add—as though she had said everything she needed to say in that single line and was perfectly satisfied.
Surely it couldn't end just like that. Just as Subaru was growing anxious for an entirely different reason— "Bariel, you say? That would make you the wife of Rive Bariel, then?"
It was Microft who interjected the question. The old man toyed with his white beard, squinting as though dredging up memories.
"Hmm. Come to think of it, I don't see Rive here. Where might he be…?"
"If you mean that lecherous old man, he suffered serious injuries in an unfortunate accident half a year ago, never regained consciousness, and passed away just the other day."
"Oh my—Rive, gone. Hmm. In that case, the relationship between you and Rive was…?"
Microft made a mournful face at the news that the person mentioned was already deceased. Priscilla snorted at his question.
"I suppose you could say he was my late husband. We never so much as touched fingertips, so it was truly a relationship in name only."
A deep silence descended once more over the great hall. As a high-pitched ringing—like the sound of something straining—reached his ears as though from far away, Subaru chewed over what Priscilla had just said.
In other words, she had just tossed off her spouse's death with the boredom of someone commenting on the weather.
"Princess, no matter how you look at it, that's a pretty cold way to put it, isn't it?"
Perhaps alarmed by her words, or trying to smooth over the sour reactions around them, Al leaned in and whispered to Priscilla. But she brushed aside even his considerate gesture without a moment's thought.
"There is no need to dress up a fact when stating it as a fact. That old man married me, burned with ambitions far beyond his station, got caught up in some irrelevant accident in some irrelevant place, and burned himself out before he could even serve as a spark for anything larger. If that's not a laughable story, then what is? Well, he staked his life and still ended up being something utterly worthless—that old fossil."
If she had simply cut him down in one stroke, that would have been one thing. But Priscilla used her words to slice apart the dead man again and again, leaving nothing but shreds. Subaru found himself feeling a measure of sympathy for someone he had never even seen the face of. Microft, who had apparently known the deceased, wore a deeply pained expression.
Whether or not she noticed the shift in Microft's face, Priscilla's attitude remained unchanged. She pushed back her orange hair.
"All in all, if that old fossil had any value at all, it was that he transferred everything he had accumulated to me without reservation. Since the old man and I were husband and wife, and there was no heir… that is to say, the House of Bariel is now mine."
She arrived at this brash conclusion and looked around at those assembled, as though daring anyone to object.
Feeling the gazes upon him, Subaru sensed the displeasure building around the room, but no one stepped forward to voice their objections concretely. Rikkert, who had protested so vehemently against Crusch earlier, might have been expected to push back—but though his face clearly showed dissatisfaction, he kept his mouth shut.
Whether there was some reason for it, or whether he already knew he wouldn't be taken seriously anyway, it seemed Priscilla's outrageous behavior would be allowed to pass unchallenged.
Then— "Hmm. I have heard what you have to say. As an old acquaintance of Rive's, I was somewhat startled by the news of his passing… But Priscilla's account is coherent. The claim that you are the head of the House of Bariel appears to be legitimate."
"Naturally."
"I would like to hear more details, but what about this knight of yours?"
Microft nodded slowly, then turned his attention to the attendant standing beside Priscilla. Having been thrust suddenly into the spotlight, Al replied— "Huh… oh, me?"
—in a voice that was obviously suppressing a yawn, proving once again that he and his master were kindred spirits when it came to going at their own pace.
The pair of them seemed to be competing to warm the room with their lack of concern, radiating an almost physical sense of lukewarm indifference. Because Subaru knew them to some degree personally—more so than the other candidates, at any rate—this was in some ways harder on his nerves than if he were a complete stranger.
"Yes, you. You have a rather unusual outfit, and you're not someone I've seen among the Royal Knights… that helmet."
"Oh, you can tell? This helmet's from the Volachia Empire down south—was a real pain to bring with me. It's sturdy, lasts a long time, and most importantly, it looks cool. That's why I put it to good use."
"The Volachia Empire's… So you are not affiliated with the Royal Knights, then."
"Getting called a 'knight' makes me kinda itchy, to be honest. I'm more of a, you know—freelance mercenary type. A wandering drifter, that's the word."
Al gestured to himself with his one arm, proudly broadcasting his background in that muffled voice of his. He let out a hearty laugh, his helmet clanking with each movement, and the metallic sound further needled those around him. Sure enough, several of the Royal Knights flushed with anger and raised their voices.
"What an outrageously disrespectful attitude! Do you even understand where you are?!"
"It is unreasonable to expect chivalrous conduct from a crude barbarian, but that does not mean his behavior can simply be tolerated."
"Moreover, to hide your face before the Sage Council—what kind of disrespect is that? And with an imperial helmet, no less… There are limits to insolence!"
"Whoa, whoa, don't get so riled up. You'll tear my sensitive little heart to shreds with all that pressure, you know?"
In response to the knights' fury, Al maintained his cool demeanor without wavering.
But as he traced the surface of his helmet with a finger— "I mean, I don't think your complaints are off base. Hiding your face in front of important people does make you look like a suspicious character—I get that."
"If you weren't so suspicious to look at, I wouldn't have found you to my liking, Al."
"That's a creepy thing to say. Still, I'd appreciate it if you'd forgive the rudeness of hiding my face. Because—"
Looking up at the Sage Council, Al slid a finger under the rim of his helmet and lifted it ever so slightly, revealing a sliver of the face concealed beneath.
The bottom of his neck rose into view, his chin and the area below his nose exposed to the open air, and— "Nngh—"
Someone let out a small groan at the sight of the wretched scarring on his face.
Al then spun around like a model on display, showcasing the same state to the entire hall. Naturally, the knights' momentum died down.
That was only to be expected.
The portions of Al's face that were visible bore the marks of countless battles: burns, lacerations, and all manner of scars layered upon one another. Subaru himself had his share of conspicuous scars, but Al's were something else entirely—like those same wounds multiplied tenfold over.
Seeing the reaction he had intended, Al pulled his finger away and resettled the helmet with a laugh.
"So yeah, that's why my face is such an ugly mess. I'd be most grateful if you could forgive me the discourtesy of keeping it hidden while I face you all like this."
"On behalf of my subordinate, I apologize for his rudeness."
Marcus bowed his head in apology at Al's deliberately offhand remark. Then, his expression hardening like bedrock— "Forgive me for pressing further, but given that you are from the Empire and bear those scars… might you be a former sword slave?"
"Well, well—the knight commander sure knows his stuff. About the dark underbelly of that secretive empire, no less. That's right—I'm a sword slave veteran. Ten-odd years' worth."
A fresh wave of murmuring rippled through the hall as several knights repeated the word *sword slave* under their breath.
Subaru didn't know the term, but judging from the characters, it likely meant something like a slave who fights with a sword. From that, the implied status was almost certainly— "You mean you were in some kind of gladiatorial pit?"
"That's the one, brother. So that's why I'd like you to rest assured regarding my skills and my scars. Oh, I haven't actually given my name yet, have I?"
Pointing in confirmation at Subaru's murmur, Al tapped his helmet lightly with that same finger.
"I've cut ties with Volachia. Now I'm just a wandering drifter—just call me Al. Got myself taken in by the Princess, and I'm here working my butt off day in and day out."
With the same irreverent attitude as ever, Al smiled toward Marcus.
Just like his master, not a trace of concern showed for the fact that he had been grilled by everyone in the room. On the contrary, it was the knights who had been demanding his accountability moments ago who were now struck speechless by the horrifying extent of his scars.
The fact that he was missing an arm made it abundantly clear that the road he had walked had been anything but smooth.
"For real…?"
This fact delivered a considerable shock to Subaru as well, who had been looking at the same display.
Until now, Subaru had avoided making any direct reference to Al's appearance. Part of that was not wanting to be tactless enough to bring up the topic of a missing limb to someone who lacked one. But it was also a subconscious refusal to face a reality that might one day be his own.
If Al truly had come from the same world as Subaru, then what had happened to him was not some distant story—it could just as easily become Subaru's own.
Losing an arm, bearing scars so terrible they could not be shown to others—having already carved countless lacerations into his own body, Subaru recognized in Al the living embodiment of one possible future.
A chill crept up his spine, cold as the depths of winter.
Unaware of Subaru's sentiment, the proceedings of the Royal Selection continued.
"Hmm. If you are from the Volachia Empire, then what connection do you have with Priscilla? That country is another world unto itself, refusing to let not only information but also its people and goods leave its borders."
"There are back doors, side roads, and detours everywhere, y'know. When the time came, I had them sneak me out of the Empire. As for why I'm with the Princess…"
"It's nothing complicated. It was simply the result of my amusement."
Priscilla, who had been silent until now, apparently grew impatient with having no lines. She cut into Microft's question and, fiddling with the colorful ornaments adorning her fingers— "That I shall become King is the will of the Heavens itself. If so, any attendant would do. Therefore, I chose the attendant who appealed to me. The result is the man standing there."
"I see, quite so. And what was the method of selection?"
It was easier to accept the answer than to challenge it. Avoiding any reference to Priscilla's arrogance, Microft stroked her ego and guided the conversation forward.
Pleased, she blew on her nails and answered.
"What else? I announced that whoever caught my eye would be appointed as my attendant, gathered all the so-called strongmen to my territory, and had them compete against each other. It was a reasonably entertaining diversion."
Responding to Microft with a meaningful glance toward Al, Priscilla's smile deepened.
If one took her at her word, Al had been the one who caught her eye. The gap between the description and the reality of the one-armed man made it even harder to imagine what kind of abilities he truly possessed.
Microft and the rest of the Sage Council nodded in understanding at Priscilla's answer.
"So the champion of that tournament was him…?"
"Well, actually—I didn't win."
An unexpected interjection shattered their consensus.
The old men looked surprised, and Al watched them with amusement, his shoulders shaking with laughter.
"A one-armed guy making it out from among a bunch of boastful strongmen—life isn't that sweet. Just making it to the top four through a bracket-style tournament was pure luck on my part."
"Th-then why did Priscilla choose him as her attendant…?"
"I already told you. I chose the one who appealed to me."
Priscilla puffed out her chest in response to the question and slapped Al's back beside her with considerable force. A dry cracking sound rang out, and as Al let out a pained yelp— "Besides, he had enough overconfidence to come to a gathering of boastful strongmen under that idiotic premise, endured being stared at like a freak, and still didn't try to hide his peculiar appearance. And above all, he had been living in the Volachia Empire while brazenly claiming to have come from beyond the 'Great Waterfall'—there was no one else like him."
Priscilla's smile grew deeper still as her crimson eyes began to blaze with pleasure. Her speech quickened, and she stamped her foot loudly on the ground, drawing every eye in the room.
"Therefore, I chose Al as my attendant. That it was I who chose Al, and that I walk the path to becoming King—these are both manifestations of the Heavens' will, meant to make me shine."
Priscilla declared without the slightest trace of modesty that the world itself was her blessing.
There was not a shred of hesitation or doubt—only an awe-inspiring, almost terrifying degree of confidence.
Setting aside the eccentricity of her words, her posture—radiating the charisma that only those who would stand at the apex and command others could muster—was the real thing.
Though that admirable quality was wasted, since the substance behind it was decidedly unappealing.
"Hmm. I understand the nature of your relationship. But that raises a question—how was it discovered that Priscilla is the Dragon Priestess? If it wasn't found by a knight…"
Unlike the others who were left speechless by Priscilla's assertions, Microft had the temperament to absorb them and move on. Having accepted her account, he turned to his next point of inquiry—and the question he posed was, indeed, a perfectly legitimate one.
Looking at each of the campaigns represented, it seemed that each candidate had been identified by the Royal Knights searching with the insignia in hand, and the knight who found them served as that candidate's attendant.
That meant the natural follow-up question was about Priscilla's camp and— "In
It would be Lord Roswaal acting as patron, then.
Roswaal supported Emilia in the role of a patron. As for the knight-like figure who had found her, Subaru had not yet crossed paths with him. He wasn't in Roswaal's territory, and since he wasn't here in the royal capital either, perhaps no such person existed.
Despite Emilia's increasingly isolated position in the atmosphere of the hall, Subaru felt a certain relief that this knight had not appeared.
It was while thinking this that it suddenly dawned on Subaru—he didn't even know why Emilia had entered the Royal Selection in the first place.
What purpose had brought Emilia here? And by what reason had she set out to become King?
Only now, belatedly, did Subaru realize that he had not so much as touched on even the barest hint of it.
"Wise council members, the answer to that question has been confirmed through the Knights' Division."
It was Marcus who stepped forward to address Microft's inquiry, prefacing it with "Forgive my presumption." With a faint crease between his brows beneath his stony expression— "In fact, the late Lord Rive was the first to notice the provisions in the Dragon Calendar Stone after the passing of the previous King and his relatives, and he moved quickly to secure candidates. The management of the Dragon Calendar Stone had originally been Lord Rive's responsibility, and there are reports that there may have been a gap of several days before the content of the provisions was reported."
Marcus spoke with visible discomfort about the suspicious actions of the deceased. At his words, Microft seemed to recall something, touching his long brow as though about to cover his eyes.
"I see. He was a man of considerable ambition, after all. He would naturally have thrown himself into the search for the Dragon Priestess."
The guardian of the next King—in this case, since Priscilla had been his wife, he likely harbored ambitions for power on an even grander scale.
Come to think of it, that old man had been quite the piece of work.
"But finding the Priestess herself and then meeting such an unfortunate end—the irony is almost too much."
"He was a boring old fossil who couldn't even make for an engaging conversation. To think that the final spark he managed to squeeze out at the very end produced this—it was a truly pathetic final act."
Priscilla graded him without the faintest smile, branding his life with a failing grade. Microft could manage nothing more than a wry smile at such an unsparing evaluation of an old acquaintance.
At any rate— "There is no need to discuss a dead fossil any further. I stand on my own. All other reasons are trivialities not worth addressing. You may all freely revere me as your King."
With supreme confidence, Priscilla announced the conclusion she had reached several times over in this brief span.
As no one in the great hall could find words to follow, only the jet-black helmet beside her fixed her with a steady gaze.
"Princess, what's in it for us if we do? What do we get out of it?"
"Simple. If you choose me, you choose the winning side."
Priscilla smiled, took a breath, and continued.
"The Royal Selection is a contest, and the supreme objective is victory. Therefore, choosing me is the answer in itself. Following me is the right path for all of you."
"The Heavens have chosen her…"
"Naturally. In this world, only things that are convenient for me ever happen."
And therefore— "I am the only one fit to be King. No, not merely fit—no one else could possibly fill the role. There is nothing more to be said. You need only look upon my radiance standing before you and let your eyes shine with admiration."
Pushing back her orange hair and letting it flow dramatically through the air, Priscilla turned with regal composure.
Her bearing conveyed that she had said all there was to say. Without turning back, she began walking toward the center of the hall, turning her back on the Sage Council on the dais.
The jet-black helmet followed in her wake, looking up at the dais one final time.
"The way she puts it is a bit much, but everything our Princess says is the absolute truth. Come to the Princess's side, and as long as it doesn't go against her wishes, you will be rewarded handsomely—because the Heavens have chosen Priscilla."
With that, Al swept his gaze across the entire hall.
Every person he locked eyes with held their breath. The one-armed man lightly waved his single arm.
"Of course, you can decide whenever you want to join the Princess's side. But in my opinion, you'd better get on the winning horse while you still can."
The master and servant—how much confidence did the two of them have? It was as if they had left their humility behind in their mother's wombs.
As they returned to the line of candidates, the tension that had held the room in its grip gradually eased, and the atmosphere shifted toward something approaching relief.
Subaru, too, let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding with such care, and unwound the unnecessary tension that had seized him.
The speech by an acquaintance had at least come to an end—though calling it a proper one would be generous. Still, the fact that it hadn't led to even greater turmoil was the best outcome imaginable.
"Why do I have to be the one sitting here all tense and nervous…"
Subaru glared at the retreating backs of Priscilla and Al with a misplaced sense of irritation. Just then, Priscilla turned around unexpectedly, and their eyes met at the worst possible moment.
Their gazes locked, and she offered a meaningful smile. Then, as though scattering charm with abandon, she winked in his direction. The gesture was excessively alluring, and Subaru—lacking any resistance to such things—was completely thrown off balance.
After all, she was nearly his age, and already a widow—a young, voluptuous noble widow, to be precise. Just the thought of that was enough to make his heart race.
"A trap, a beautiful cross-dresser, and now a rich widow—the genre variety is getting out of hand."
The only遗憾was that despite being a widow, there was not the slightest shadow of mourning about her. It was perhaps too much to ask for anything more from someone who had lost only a husband on paper.
"Oh—"
While his thoughts were running along these useless tracks, he happened to catch sight of Emilia's gaze following Priscilla's, and their eyes met.
She looked briefly surprised to find Subaru at the end of Priscilla's line of sight. Then her eyes lowered, and in Subaru's perspective, she turned away with an expression that struck him as one of betrayal and quiet hurt.
A shock like a physical blow struck Subaru, and he staggered. Ridiculous excuses—*"That wasn't emotional cheating!"*—flashed through his mind.
Even in the midst of all this, the Royal Selection marched on.
"Next—Anastasia! And her knight, Julius Euclius! Step forward!"
"Sure thing."
"That's our cue."
Gently, with a graceful voice, the purple-haired girl responded. Julius raised one hand languidly toward the sky, then swept it down, the sleeves of his uniform ringing out with the motion.
A dry, percussive sound echoed through the hall, unmistakably clearing away the atmosphere that had prevailed until that moment. At the courtesy, Anastasia stepped forward with a gracious "Thanks ever so."
Julius took his place beside her, his bearing utterly composed, not a hint of tension in him.
Thus, the pair who most fully embodied the ideal of master and knight in this Royal Selection took the stage.
Facing the next candidate, Subaru likewise refocused his attention and turned his gaze forward.