Chapter Text
In the throne room of the royal castle of the Kingdom of Lugunica, on an evening that should have been like any other, the Council of Elders sat beneath high vaults bathed in golden light. The tapestries bearing the seal of the Dragon hung heavily along the walls, motionless in the stifling air.
Miklotov sat in the center, his back perfectly straight despite his age. To his right, Bordeaux observed the assembly with a stern gaze. Slightly apart, Marcos stood with his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, attentive to every raised voice. Around them, a select group of nobles, a few knights, and silent servants formed a tense circle.
For several days, only one subject had been discussed: the royal selection.
A nobleman: « A thief from the slums like Felt has no place on the throne! »
Another nobleman: « And we are supposed to accept a half-demon? Entrust the kingdom to a half-blood who looks just like the Witch?! »
Emilia’s name was spoken with a mixture of fear and contempt. Some still recalled the humiliation suffered at the previous assembly — the insolent words of her self-proclaimed knight, that dark-eyed boy who had dared to challenge the royal knights in the very heart of the palace.
« He insulted us. In front of everyone... »
« And yet... this pressure... »
The memory of the two Great Spirits bound that day still lingered in their minds. That ancient, overwhelming aura had shaken even the proudest. Many remembered, too late, that they had stood beneath the gaze of the sacred Dragon.
But the majority remained inflexible.
Marcos: « Gentlemen, this is a royal council, not a free-for-all. »
Miklotov: « Selection requires discernment and restraint. Shouting serves neither the kingdom nor the Dragon. »
Bordeaux: « We are talking about the future of Lugunica. Choose your words carefully. »
The voices gradually subsided. Irritated sighs replaced the outbursts. A heavy, almost electric tension remained suspended beneath the vaults.
Then, a glimmer of light caught the eye at the back of the room.
A maid: « Look! »
All eyes turned to the Dragon Tablet.
The sacred artifact, motionless for weeks, radiated a white light. Luminous filaments ran across its surface like incandescent veins. Letters began to be engraved slowly in a silence so complete that one could hear the ragged breaths of those present.
The words appeared:
« Natsuki Subaru, accompanied by Beatrice, a contracted spirit, and Rem, a servant of the Mathers estate, defeated the Great Calamity known as the White Whale. »
Time seemed to stand still.
Then, everything exploded.
A nobleman: « That’s absurd! »
Another nobleman: « The White Whale?! The one that has haunted our roads for four centuries?! »
A third one: « The plague that cost the life of a former Saint of the Sword?! »
Seats scraped against the marble. Some stood up abruptly; others turned pale. Subaru’s name circulated through the groups like poison.
« That scoundrel... »
« This boy who defied the knights... »
« Only three people...? »
Miklotov stood up, his cane striking the ground.
Miklotov: « Silence! »
His voice, usually gentle, cracked like a whip. Gradually, the commotion subsided. Bordeaux stared darkly at the tablet.
Bordeaux: « If this is true... a four-hundred-year-old scourge has just vanished. »
Marcos: « The northern trade routes will be secured. Convoys will no longer fear the fog. The military and economic impact is immense. »
But already, within the whispers, an escape route was taking shape.
A nobleman: « He was accompanied by an ancient spirit... »
Another: « A spirit four centuries old... its power must be immeasurable. »
A third person commented: « It is clear that the essence of the fight comes down to this spirit. The boy only played a small part. »
« Yes... that is more plausible... »
This idea spread quickly. Shoulders relaxed slightly. Expressions became less frantic.
« A Great Spirit could accomplish such a feat... »
« That does not elevate this commoner to the rank of hero... »
Miklotov observed the room, reading the fear concealed behind their pride.
Miklotov: « The tablet makes no assumptions. It stated a fact. The plague has fallen. »
The debate resumed, more subdued and strategic. Should the candidates be summoned immediately? How could the news be announced without appearing overwhelmed by events? Should scouts be sent to confirm the report?
Hours passed. Torches were replaced. Night slowly gave way to dawn.
Finally, Miklotov took a deep breath.
Miklotov: « We will summon the royal candidates. A meeting will be held right here to assess the political and military consequences of this event— »
A knight: « Look! »
The light burst forth again.
Sharper. Brighter. More vivid.
The letters formed with an almost cruel slowness.
« The Archbishop of the Sin of Sloth, Petelgeuse Romanée-Conti, was defeated by Natsuki Subaru in a direct confrontation. »
The silence that followed was more terrifying than the preceding tumult.
A nobleman: « ...Directly? »
Another asked: « Does that mean... in a duel? »
Marcos felt his fingers tighten on the hilt of his sword.
Marcos: « An Archbishop of Sin is no ordinary creature. Even the captains of the Order would act with extreme caution. There have been cases where they annihilated entire cities, and even the best of the best have been defeated by them. »
Bordeaux paled slightly.
Bordeaux: « Do you understand what this implies? This is no longer about an ancient spirit. The tablet names Subaru as the victor. »
A worried murmur rippled through the room.
« Impossible... »
« Just a simple commoner... »
« He defeated an Archbishop? »
Some, more lucid than the rest, turned livid.
« If that is true... then he is not just an insolent man... »
As if to complete the assembly, a new line appeared below the previous one.
« The forces of the Witch's Cult operating in these lands were annihilated by the camp of candidate Emilia. »
This clarification hit like a bombshell.
« The entire camp... »
« This was not an isolated incident... »
Marcos: « It means coordination, discipline, and strategy. »
Bordeaux: « And loyalty. »
A long silence ensued.
Two major threats had vanished within days. The White Whale. An Archbishop of Sin. And the name associated with these victories was not that of a general, a nobleman, or a renowned knight... but that of a young man without a title.
« If he wins the support of the people... »
« If he becomes the symbol of a candidate... »
« The balance of the selection... »
Miklotov closed his eyes for a moment, then reopened them, more determined than ever.
Miklotov: « Summon the candidates. Immediately. Let no one delay. »
No one protested.
Because everyone finally understood the same thing.
The royal selection process had just changed forever.
And the name Subaru could no longer be ignored.
.........
The sun bathed the Karsten estate in a clear, steady light, as if the whole world had decided to offer a moment of absolute silence. The meticulously tended gardens trembled in a light breeze, and the house banners snapped softly against the white stone walls.
Inside the mansion, behind tall windows opening onto the courtyard, Crusch sat at her desk.
Before her, detailed maps of trade routes, escort reports, and military formation diagrams were laid out with methodical precision. Clear annotations, drawn in her own hand, highlighted certain passages: areas of persistent fog, probable ambush points, and the White Whale's suspected trajectories.
She had been preparing this campaign for several days. Each route had been studied. Each unit allocated. Each variable considered.
Her green eyes scanned the lines of a strategic report once again, impassive and focused. Yet, deep in her mind, another scene was superimposed over these maps.
An assembly hall. Outraged nobles. A young man standing, trembling but refusing to flinch.
« … »
Subaru.
She remembered that day with almost unsettling clarity. His recklessness. His insolence. The violence of his words. He had defied the established order without any restraint. At the time, she had deemed his attitude unacceptable.
And yet. Looking back… his words were not meaningless. They were clumsy, even brutal, but they hit the mark. He had exposed a complacency that many refused to see.
Crusch's fingers stopped moving for a moment. A light breath escaped her lips, almost imperceptible, and a discreet smile—rare and controlled—curved her mouth. A memory of his determined gaze. Of his stubborn refusal to give up.
Beside her, leaning casually against a shelf, Felix immediately looked up. He was there that morning for a simple reason: he had insisted on checking that Crusch wasn't overexerting herself while preparing for the expedition. Officially, he was also overseeing the organization of the medical teams scheduled to accompany the hunt.
Unofficially, he was looking after her.
Felix tilted his head slightly, his ears twitching.
Felix: « My dear Crusch-sama... did I miss a joke? »
Crusch barely looked up from her documents.
Crusch: « Nothing like that. I was simply thinking back to a past exchange. »
Felix narrowed his eyes, curious.
Felix: « Oooh? An exchange amusing enough to make my lady smile in the middle of a military strategy? That's worrying, nya. »
Crusch calmly set a file aside.
Crusch: « Don't make a big deal out of it. It was... an interesting thought, that's all. »
She did not elaborate further and resumed reading another report. Felix observed her for a few more seconds, then shrugged with a theatrical sigh before returning to the list of medical supplies.
Silence returned. Solid. Structured.
Then—three knocks on the door. Fast. Firm. Urgent.
Crusch immediately raised her head.
Crusch: « Come in. »
The door opened without delay. A knight of the Karsten family entered, his step brisk and his posture rigid. He carried a sealed envelope bearing the royal coat of arms. He bowed deeply.
The knight: « Crusch-sama. A missive from the royal palace. It was delivered with a mention of extreme urgency. »
The word hung in the air. Felix stopped moving. Crusch held out her hand without hesitation.
Crusch: « Give it to me. »
The parchment was heavy, the seal intact. She broke it with a precise gesture and scanned the lines with a quick glance. Her eyes stopped for a fraction of a second. Nothing expressive. Nothing exaggerated. But something shifted inside her.
Felix immediately noticed the change. Crusch reread it a second time, more slowly.
An official summons. An urgent meeting of the Council of Elders. Attendance required as a candidate for the royal selection. Permission to be accompanied by only two people.
Nothing else. No explanation was given. She carefully set the letter down.
Crusch: « You may leave. Also, notify Wilhelm-dono. I want him here immediately. »
The knight inclined his head.
The knight: « At your service. »
He left without a sound. Silence fell again, heavier than before. Felix approached the desk, his tone less lighthearted.
Felix: « An urgent summons... as a candidate? »
Crusch placed the letter on the polished wood.
Crusch: « We will discuss it when Wilhelm is present. »
Her tone brooked no argument. Felix crossed his arms, visibly annoyed but obedient. Council summonses were never insignificant, and an urgent one even less so.
A few minutes later, measured footsteps echoed in the corridor. Wilhelm entered. Upright. Silent. Respectful.
Wilhelm: « You summoned me, Crusch-sama. »
Crusch handed him the letter. He read it carefully, without rushing. His eyes grew more serious as he progressed.
Felix broke the silence.
Felix: « The Council doesn't summon all the candidates just to discuss the weather, does it? »
Wilhelm folded the letter.
Wilhelm: « If the appeal concerns all the contenders, then the issue touches upon the kingdom as a whole. »
No excessive emotion. Just an observation. Crusch joined her hands in front of her.
Crusch: « The Council is not specifying anything. This means the matter is either sensitive... or strategic. »
Felix: « And limiting the escort to two people? That's unusual. »
Crusch nodded.
Crusch: « It reduces displays of force. And leaks. »
Wilhelm observed his lady with discreet attention.
Wilhelm: « Would you like me to accompany you? »
Crusch stood up. The sunlight cast a clear line across the floor, dividing the room in two. She paused there for a moment, her gaze turned outward. The tranquility of the estate contrasted sharply with the weight of the letter left behind her.
Crusch: « Yes. You will come. »
She then turned her eyes toward Felix.
Crusch: « And you as well. »
Felix blinked.
Felix: « Oh? Even me? »
Crusch: « I do not know the nature of this meeting, but I will not leave without my best medical support. »
A slight, controlled smile appeared. Felix straightened his shoulders, feigning offense.
Felix: « My lady is becoming more prudent. I'm proud, nya. »
Wilhelm tilted his head slightly.
Wilhelm: « We must prepare immediately. »
Crusch nodded.
Crusch: « Indeed. We will see on-site what the Council considers serious enough to warrant an emergency royal selection meeting. »
She formulated no further hypotheses. No speculation. No visible cause for concern. Only a calm determination.
The sun was still shining outside, but the atmosphere had changed. A few minutes later, orders were given. Horses were saddled. Coats were prepared. Crusch passed through the gates of the manor, followed by Wilhelm and Felix.
The bright daylight did not erase the silent weight of the summons. Someone had chosen to call them to the palace. And whatever it was… it now concerned the balance of the kingdom.
At the heart of the Hoshin company headquarters, the hustle and bustle formed a perfectly oiled machine.
The corridors buzzed with constant activity. Secretaries carried bundles of contracts sealed with red wax. Messengers entered, bowed, and left already bearing new instructions. The rustling of paper, the gliding of quills on parchment, the clicking of calculators, and the hushed murmur of ongoing negotiations filled the air.
The company never really slept.
On the upper floor, behind a double door carved with merchant motifs, the atmosphere changed. The main office was vast, bright, and ordered with almost artistic rigor. A large map of the kingdom occupied the back wall, studded with colored pins marking trade routes, trading posts, and unstable zones.
Seated behind her large desk, Anastasia reread a contract with intense focus. Her expression was gentle, but her gaze was constantly calculating. Every clause, every figure, and every condition was weighed.
Facing her, Julius stood straight and impeccable, a file against his chest.
Anastasia: « If we secure the western route before the end of the month, we gain significant leverage over the mineral trade. And if Crusch-sama actually launches her hunt for the White Whale... the markets will tremble. »
She drew a thin line under a paragraph.
Anastasia: « Insurance premiums will increase. Shipping routes will freeze. Fear always drives up prices. »
Julius replied in a calm tone.
Julius: « The reports we have received are consistent. Lady Crusch is gathering her forces. This is not just a rumor. »
Anastasia brought her fingers to her lips.
Anastasia: « An operation of this scale requires funds, lives, and transportation. If we offer discreet support, we can negotiate a fair share of the spoils. »
A smile stretched slightly across her lips.
Anastasia: « After all, if the Whale falls, trade routes will become safer. It's a long-term investment. »
Julius agreed, but his gaze drifted away. His back remained perfectly straight, his breathing controlled. However, his mind had drifted away from the desk and the numbers.
A white light. Two voices superimposed. An ethereal cataclysm. The impact. The balance. A suspended moment where neither had backed down.
Anastasia noticed the surprising silence.
Anastasia: « Julius? »
He blinked.
Julius: « Forgive me. I let myself be distracted. »
She tilted her head slightly, amused.
Anastasia: « Distracted? That's unusual. Is it about that boy you faced? »
A slight tension ran through the knight's shoulders. She was right.
Julius: « ...Yes. »
A brief silence fell, denser than the previous one.
Julius: « Despite his provocative attitude... he wasn't empty. He genuinely believed in what he said. »
Anastasia gave a slight smile.
Anastasia: « You're definitely not a good actor, Julius. Even when you tried to be ruthless, it sounded fake. »
He lowered his eyes slightly, not in shame, but in thought.
Julius: « Perhaps. But his courage was not mere boasting. He backed up his words with his actions. »
His voice became firmer, without rising in pitch.
Julius: « He didn't crumble. He didn't back down. And when he stood up to my magic... he did so with a resolve I cannot ignore. »
He inhaled slowly.
Julius: « His words during our confrontation forced me to reflect. »
Anastasia crossed her arms, attentive.
Anastasia: « On what? »
Julius looked up.
Julius: « On the ideal we proclaim to embody. Knights. Nobles. We speak of honor and rectitude... but we are not infallible. There are things to improve. In our teaching. In the way we evaluate those who challenge us. »
He spoke neither with bitterness nor with anger, only with a newfound clarity. Anastasia watched him for a long time, silent. Then her smile widened very slightly.
Anastasia: « If this boy has managed to help you grow, then he deserves serious attention. »
Her gaze became sharper.
Anastasia: « An unpredictable element. Capable of shaking certainties. Capable of influencing Crusch-sama. This kind of person... can move important pieces on the chessboard. »
She gently tapped the desk.
Anastasia: « And a rare piece is worth a lot. »
Julius understood perfectly what she was implying. But before he could answer—the door suddenly opened.
Ricardo: « Yo, Anna-bo! How are you today? »
The contrast was immediate. Anastasia looked up, feigning exasperation.
Anastasia: « Ricardo-san... knocking before entering remains a valid option. »
Behind him, Mimi darted inside like an arrow.
Mimi: « Anna! We're done with training! Oh? Are you talking about a duel?! »
Hetaro entered more calmly.
Hetaro: « Mimi, you're interrupting a serious discussion. »
Tivey adjusted his glasses.
Tivey: « The atmosphere was clearly strategic. »
Ricardo burst out laughing, but his expression soon became more serious.
Ricardo: « Sorry about the entrance, Anna-bo. But this time it's important. »
He lifted a sealed envelope bearing the royal coat of arms. The red wax seemed almost too bright. The atmosphere changed instantly. Even Mimi remained silent. The noise from the corridors suddenly seemed distant.
Anastasia stood up.
Anastasia: « Give it to me. »
She broke the seal and unfolded the letter. Her eyes scanned the lines quickly. Her smile never disappeared, but she froze for an imperceptible microsecond. Julius noticed the moment her fingers stopped moving.
Julius: « What does it say? »
Anastasia set the letter down carefully.
Anastasia: « The Council of Elders is summoning all the candidates. An urgent meeting. »
A heavy silence fell over the room. Ricardo crossed his arms.
Ricardo: « All of them? Urgently? »
Mimi blinked.
Mimi: « A royal meeting?! Come on, Anna! »
Hetaro frowned slightly.
Hetaro: « "Urgent" is not a reassuring word. »
Tivey nodded.
Tivey: « The lack of a motive is even more worrying. »
Anastasia tapped the letter against the table.
Anastasia: « I can only take two people. »
Mimi jumped up.
Mimi: « Huh?! That's not fair! I want to see the palace too! »
Ricardo put a hand on her head.
Ricardo: « If this is serious, we're not going to turn it into a school trip. »
A collective summons. Without explanation. With escort restrictions. Anastasia was no longer smiling in quite the same way.
Anastasia: « The Council isn't convening the candidates for a formality. Someone has made a move. A major decision... or an announcement they can no longer delay. »
Julius straightened his posture.
Julius: « We must leave immediately. »
Anastasia nodded.
Anastasia: « Julius, you'll come with me. »
Julius: « Of course. »
She then turned her gaze toward Ricardo.
Anastasia: « Ricardo-san. You too. »
Ricardo smiled.
Ricardo: « Count on me, Anna-bo. »
Mimi puffed out her cheeks.
Mimi: « Hmph... At least bring me back one interesting story! »
Anastasia stood up, calmly adjusting her coat. Her gaze swept across her desk one last time—the maps, the contracts. All of this could wait.
Anastasia: « Time is money. And I don't like wasting either. »
She walked toward the door. Julius followed her with silent determination. Ricardo joined them. Behind them, the triplets observed the scene with a new gravity.
In the constant turmoil of the Hoshin company, one thing had just changed. If the Council had deemed it necessary to summon all the candidates without explanation, the kingdom was about to reveal something significant enough to shake up far more than just the markets.
Within the vast Barielle estate, the morning sun streamed through intricately carved windows, illuminating corridors where thick carpets muffled every footstep. Priscilla Barielle walked with a light step, her robes billowing behind her like golden rays. Every movement was perfectly calculated, giving the impression of a divinity moving at will. The world had to bend to her, and she was content with that.
Beside her, Al, the one-armed servant, nearly stumbled on the Persian carpet. Since dawn, he had followed his mistress through endless detours as she inspected every room and hall she deemed worthy of attention. His breath was short, and each step seemed to weigh more heavily on his shoulders.
Al: « Princess... won't we rest for a moment? I'm exhausted... from following you everywhere since this morning... »
Priscilla stopped, slowly closing her fan with a precise click. Her gaze lingered on him with icy amusement.
Priscilla: « Your weakness is a handicap, Al. But since you insist... we will allow ourselves a few moments of rest. »
A slight smile stretched her lips, betraying her amusement at seeing her servant so reduced.
They entered the estate's private drawing room: a sumptuous space with walls draped in cream silk. A large coffee table stood in the center, where a tea service awaited. Priscilla sat gracefully in the central armchair, while Al slumped into a side chair with a long sigh. The gesture slightly disturbed the princess, but she merely raised her eyebrows.
Priscilla: « Bring me some tea. »
A maid bowed and disappeared to carry out the order. Al secretly longed for a cup, but he knew that any inappropriate gesture could cost him dearly. He fell into a thoughtful silence.
His thoughts drifted to a boy he had met by chance. Not only did this individual belong to the same world as him, but he was... different. A reflection—a perfect imitation crafted by the enigmatic Echidna—but one who lacked the arrogance to rely solely on extraordinary abilities. The original, on the other hand, seemed ordinary, almost fragile at first glance, but Al hadn't been able to forget his audacity at the meeting, nor the power he had displayed when confronting Julius.
« Maybe... there's something about this boy. Something the copy didn't possess, » Al thought.
He wondered if this difference might be the key, but for now, everything had to follow the plan dictated by his teacher.
Priscilla silently watched Al from her armchair. She smiled as she saw her servant lost in thought. With a quick, playful gesture, she flicked her shoe at his helmet, striking it with a sharp sound.
Al: « Ouch... Princess! »
Priscilla: « Stop thinking about trivial things and pick up my shoe. »
Al bent down, muttering under his breath. He had barely finished when the sound of wheels announced the arrival of the tea tray. Schult, the loyal young servant, entered with the tray, carrying the cups and a sealed letter.
Priscilla sat up slightly, and her usually indifferent face softened when she saw the child.
Priscilla: « Schult… »
Schult bowed shyly as he placed the tray on the table. Before he could even sit up, Priscilla took him in her arms, squeezing him gently. Al, in the background, let out a small grunt.
Al: « Lucky brat... »
Priscilla then noticed the letter Schult was holding.
Priscilla: « And what is this? »
Schult: « A missive from the palace, Princess. Apparently, it is important. »
Priscilla caught the letter with calculated elegance and broke the seal. She scanned the contents quickly, and an amused smile stretched across her lips.
Priscilla: « Well... this promises to be amusing. The world has decided it should be so. »
Al: « What... what exactly is going on? »
Priscilla gazed at them both, her eyes shining with a mischievous glint.
Priscilla: « Perfect. You will both come with me. »
Schult: « Where are we going, Princess? »
Priscilla: « To the royal palace. A meeting is being held with all the candidates. And my divine self has received word that it will be a spectacle worthy of my attention. »
Al and Schult exchanged a look, understanding the inevitable.
Thus, Princess Priscilla Barielle, accompanied by Schult and Al, left the estate, ready to head to the royal palace, impatient to see the scene that was about to unfold.
..........
As the candidates passed through the grand doors of the royal hall, the sound of their footsteps echoed on the polished marble, punctuated by soft murmurs among the nobles and guests present. High windows filtered in clear light, illuminating gold-embroidered tapestries and intricate frescoes, accentuating the majesty of the room. The very air seemed thick with anticipation, every breath and movement resonating with a weighty solemnity.
Crusch, accompanied by Wilhelm and Felix, was the first to enter. Her gait was impeccable and measured, worthy of her reputation. Head held high and gaze precise, she scanned the room with the meticulousness of a strategist, attentive to every detail. Wilhelm, the loyal knight, followed without wavering, his presence silent and reassuring. Felix, standing slightly back, allowed an amused smile to play on his lips while his eyes subtly scanned the space and the newcomers.
Crusch: « Good morning, everyone. »
Anastasia, arriving a few moments later with Julius and Ricardo, inclined her head slightly.
Anastasia: « Crusch-sama, always so punctual. I must say, I am impressed. »
Crusch: « Anastasia, Julius, Ricardo. Your arrival is equally remarkable. »
Their greetings were brief but precise, marked by mutual respect. Anastasia's eyes swept the room, noting every detail: the positions of the candidates already seated, the measured expressions on their faces, and the implicit alliances visible in their exchanged glances. Julius stood straight and motionless, his face impassive but attentive. Ricardo, for his part, gave Felix a slight wink, a sly smile reflecting his usual mischievousness. A few hushed words exchanged between them barely broke the silence:
Ricardo: « Still as strict as ever, eh? »
Felix: « Nothing surprising from Crusch-sama… »
A few minutes later, a sudden crash shook the air. The hall doors burst open and Priscilla stormed in, Al and Schult at her side. Her dramatic entrance, chin held high and a haughty smile on her face, instantly captivated everyone's attention.
Priscilla: « The world is mine! »
She gave a quick wave to the other candidates, exchanging swift and almost provocative greetings. Glances met—some frowning, others smiling—all intrigued by her flamboyant personality.
Al, exhausted by the morning's endless detours, wore his helmet and slumped his shoulders slightly, while Schult remained upright, his eyes carefully scanning the room, vigilant to ensure the princess did not put herself in danger or create unnecessary chaos.
The room continued to fill, each group taking its seat carefully while observing its rivals. Glances were exchanged, sometimes fleeting, sometimes lingering; each gesture and seating position revealed or concealed intentions. The tension intensified, becoming almost palpable, and the hushed silence that settled between glances testified to the weight of the stakes.
Priscilla, seated with disconcerting ease, quickly met the gaze of several candidates already in place, exchanging brief but emphatic greetings that betrayed her arrogance and assumed superiority. Al and Schult stood beside her, attentive and present, already aware of every detail around them. A few murmurs and quick nods between the attendants were enough to demonstrate politeness and a mutual recognition of their roles.
After a few minutes, Marcos, the Council's assistant, stepped forward to the center of the room, his clear voice breaking the ambient murmur:
Marcos: « Ladies and gentlemen, the sages are arriving. Please welcome Bordeaux and Miklotov. »
The doors opened again, revealing the two imposing figures of the Council. Bordeaux entered, not slowly but deliberately, his face grave and his gaze methodically sweeping the room to weigh each candidate. Miklotov followed, rigid and impassive, his sharp eyes analyzing every detail. The entire room seemed to hold its breath.
Bordeaux: « Welcome to this exceptional meeting. The agenda is of paramount importance for the future of the kingdom and the position of each of you. »
Miklotov: « Any distraction or lack of discipline will be noted. We expect your full attention and respect during this session. »
The murmur died instantly, replaced by a solemn silence. Each candidate straightened their posture, their companions remaining at their sides, attentive but motionless. Glances met; every expression and gesture was meticulously observed. The atmosphere was electric, saturated with palpable tension: alliances, ambitions, and calculations hung in the air. The meeting, now ready to begin, made it clear to everyone that this moment would mark a turning point, and that every word could have a significant impact on what followed.
And so, when calm fully returned to the room and the elders stood before the assembled candidates, the atmosphere changed imperceptibly. It was no longer just a formal meeting; it was a pivotal moment.
The heavy doors were now closed. Rays of light streaming through the tall windows cast golden bands across the marble floor, frozen as if even the sun refused to interrupt the moment. The wall frescoes seemed to silently observe the scene, witnesses to an event that would undoubtedly soon be recorded in the annals of the kingdom.
Crusch Karsten stood straight and perfectly aligned, equidistant from Anastasia Hoshin and Priscilla Barielle. Her posture betrayed nothing, but her gaze analyzed. She assessed the sages' breathing, the tension in their shoulders, and the tightness in their jaws. Someone important was about to be revealed.
Standing back and slightly to the side, Wilhelm van Astrea, Felix Argyle, Julius Juukulius, Ricardo Welkin, Al, and Schult remained silent. None of them spoke, but each observed. Glances were exchanged strictly between knights and their attendants—silent greetings and tacit recognition, but no inappropriate familiarity. The moment demanded restraint and dignity.
The only camp absent at that time was Felt's, as she and Reinhard had already left to attend meetings in another city.
Crusch: « Why have we been summoned? »
Her voice was clear and firm, devoid of aggression but also devoid of submissiveness. She was asking a legitimate question; she was demanding an answer.
Miklotov took a step forward. The mere friction of his sole against the marble seemed to resonate louder than it should.
Miklotov: « Very well. You all have the right to know the answer. However, I require you to keep this strictly confidential, at least until the full report is made public. »
An immediate silence fell. Even breathing became more subdued. Ricardo crossed his arms. Julius raised his chin slightly. Felix stopped smiling.
Miklotov placed a hand on the base of the Dragon Tablet.
Miklotov: « The Dragon Tablet has received a message... »
An invisible shiver ran through the assembly. The Tablet—that name alone was enough to freeze minds.
Miklotov: « Last night... the beast that had haunted the world for four hundred years... the White Whale... was killed. »
The impact was not noisy; it was dense. The air seemed to suddenly become heavier. Crusch did not move, but her jaw tightened. Felix opened his eyes wider than ever, his hand unconsciously rising toward his chest. Wilhelm… Wilhelm remained motionless for a full second. Then his fingers slowly closed into a fist.
Wilhelm: « The... White Whale... killed? »
It was not a question; it was a realization.
Crusch, through gritted teeth: « So someone found it before us... »
Her voice was low and controlled, but a metallic tension vibrated beneath each word.
Felix: « All our men mobilized... all the routes studied... all the sacrifices made... »
He did not finish his sentence. His feline ears trembled slightly, betraying an anger he was trying to contain. Wilhelm was barely breathing. For decades, he had waited for this moment. Every year lived, every battle fought, every training session pursued despite his age—everything had led to this hunt. And now… someone else had delivered the final blow.
Anastasia broke the silence with a slight, restrained, and calculated laugh.
Anastasia: « Oh dear... this is news that changes everything, isn't it? Julius, what do you think? Who could possibly accomplish such a feat? »
She did not seem shocked; she seemed... interested. Julius thought for a second, his eyes closing briefly.
Julius: « If we are talking about pure power... only one name naturally comes to mind. Reinhard van Astrea. »
Wilhelm slowly raised his eyes toward him.
Wilhelm: « Master Julius... are you implying that Reinhard killed the beast? »
There was no anger in his voice, just a suppressed pain.
Julius: « I am not implying anything. I am simply stating that he possesses the necessary strength. Few beings in this world could survive a direct confrontation with the White Whale... let alone defeat it. »
Silence.
Wilhelm: « ...You are right. »
But in his eyes, there was no relief—only an immense emptiness. If it had been Reinhard… then even his own grandson would have preceded him. The irony of fate would have been cruel.
Al, standing next to Priscilla, shrugged slightly.
Al: « Honestly... it doesn't change much for me. It's not like we were planning to chase it. But still... it would have been more interesting if my princess had done it. »
Priscilla let out a light, crystalline, almost mocking laugh.
Priscilla: « Hehehe... The world always bends to my will. But I highly doubt we were summoned simply to announce an anonymous victory. »
She turned her gaze toward Miklotov, confident.
Priscilla: « You know the victor's identity. And that identity is sufficiently... compromising... to require a closed-door meeting. Is it not? »
Silence. Miklotov blinked. Bordeaux exchanged a discreet glance with him.
Miklotov: « ...You have a point, Barielle-sama. The Tablet did not simply announce the death of the White Whale. It also revealed the names of those who defeated it. »
This time, even Anastasia stopped smiling. Crusch raised her chin slightly. Wilhelm stared intently at the sages. Miklotov breathed in slowly.
Miklotov: « Subaru Natsuki... accompanied by his contracted spirit Beatrice... and Rem, a servant of the Mathers estate... have defeated the White Whale. »
The silence was absolute. There was no exclamation—not immediately. Just a total suspension of the world. Felix blinked once, then twice. Crusch remained motionless, but her pupils contracted. Anastasia lost her smile, replaced by a rare expression: sincere surprise. Julius frowned slightly. Wilhelm… Wilhelm felt his heart skip a beat.
Al: « ...Pardon? »
Priscilla stopped laughing. Even Ricardo had nothing to say.
Miklotov: « Those are the exact words from the Tablet. »
The weight of that sentence fell upon the room. Subaru Natsuki—a name that, for some, evoked a reckless young man; for others, an unstable element; for a few… an enigma.
And now… a legendary calamity killer.
The tension changed in nature. It was no longer the frustration of having been overtaken. It was something denser, more dangerous. If that were true… then the political balance had just been disrupted. And everyone in that room knew it.
No one spoke for several long seconds, because everyone was calculating. Everyone understood that the world had, at that precise moment, just changed.
A heavy silence fell. Their eyes met. No one was speaking. Then, the murmurs began. They did not rise suddenly; they were born first in the ranks of minor nobles, retired knights, and advisors seated behind the great figures. A rustle of silk. A held breath. A hand tightening on a cane.
The White Whale. A scourge four centuries old. Devastated.
In the Royal Council chamber, the light falling from the high windows seemed colder. Miklotov remained motionless in the center, his hands clasped behind his back. He did not repeat the announcement; he let it sink in.
Anastasia slowly placed her fan against her lips. The light clicking of varnished wood against her skin was almost imperceptible, but in the still-heavy silence of the official announcement, the sound took on a strange clarity. Her half-closed eyes betrayed neither surprise nor admiration; they were calculating.
Anastasia: « ...So that is what he was planning. »
She did not speak loudly. Her tone was soft, almost distracted. But everyone knew she was talking about Natsuki Subaru. She did not say his name; she did not need to.
Ricardo burst into a deep, frank laugh, almost out of place in such a solemn room.
Ricardo: « HA! The kid who fought with Julius?! He shot down the Whale?! That's legendary! »
His laughter rolled under the vault like a drum. A few nobles frowned. A murmur of indignation ran through the ranks, but Ricardo did not care.
Julius was not laughing. He stared at the ground, silent. His white gloves were perfectly fitted, impeccable as always. Yet, his fingers had slightly closed, barely stretching the leather.
Julius: « …No. This is not a joke. »
The contrast with the previous laughter was brutal. Ricardo turned his head toward him, surprised by the gravity in his voice. Julius slowly raised his gaze. His violet eyes held neither humiliation nor resentment, only rigorous reflection.
Julius: « If the news is proclaimed here... if it is validated by the Dragon Tablet... then it means he was the central figure. »
He paused. The weight of his words settled between them.
Julius: « Such a proclamation is not granted for a minor role. »
It was not a defense; it was an observation. Anastasia observed her knight with discreet attention. She noted the absence of bitterness. She noted the honesty. She also noted the carefully contained tension.
Anastasia: « With a reduced force... without an official royal army... without institutional support... »
She lightly tapped her fan against her lips, her gaze lost in invisible calculation.
Anastasia: « ...It is an exceptional logistical achievement. »
She no longer spoke of courage, nor of strength. She spoke of organization, of coordination, and of influence. Ricardo stopped laughing. Even he understood that the tone had changed. Anastasia lowered her fan slightly, revealing her gaze more clearly.
Anastasia: « Interesting. Very interesting. »
She did not see it as a mere achievement; she saw a new variable in the power equation. A man capable of uniting divergent interests without an official title. A man whom the Dragon Tablet had just publicly legitimized. And that... changed everything. She was not smiling out of admiration; she was smiling because an unexpected piece had just entered the chessboard. And she loved unexpected moments.
A clear laugh then pierced the atmosphere. Crystalline. Assured.
Priscilla: « Fufufu... The world still acts according to my will. »
She raised her chin with that studied slowness that transformed every gesture into a declaration. The light from the stained-glass windows seemed to fall naturally on her, highlighting the curve of her smile.
Priscilla: « Even an insignificant creature can shine if it lives under the same sky as me. »
Her voice was soft and warm, but within this gentleness vibrated an absolute certainty. For her, it was not arrogance; it was an obvious truth.
Al crossed his arms, letting out a soft whistle.
Al: « I'm not going to lie, Princess... I didn't think he'd go that far. Killing the Whale isn't exactly a walk in the park. »
He inclined his head slightly toward the assembly.
Al: « It's shaking things up even for the old nobles. »
Priscilla did not even look at him. Her gaze slid across the room, over the tense faces, the frozen advisors, and the other candidates deep in analysis.
Priscilla: « He simply seized the opportunity that fate gave him. »
She delicately joined her fingers in front of her.
Priscilla: « Those who possess true radiance attract events to themselves. »
A slow, almost indulgent smile stretched across her lips.
Priscilla: « A person capable of overthrowing such a monster deserves, at the very least... my attention. »
The word « attention » resonated like a rare favor. Behind her, Schult carefully observed the other camps. He noticed the tense shoulders, the clenched jaws, and the quick whispers. Political tension was thickening like an invisible fog.
Priscilla, for her part, was savoring the moment. Not the victory, not the military feat, but the spectacle of the world adjusting itself. She loved those moments—those precise moments when the balance trembles, when hierarchies waver, and when certainties crack.
She slowly looked ahead, her golden eyes shining with sovereign amusement.
Priscilla: « See how everything converges. Even the world's tragedies ultimately serve the natural order of things. »
She spoke in a light tone, but in her words was an absolute conviction: whatever happens, whatever changes, it could only lead to her. And around her, despite the whispers and calculations, no one could ignore that the air itself seemed to vibrate with a new tension.
.....
Crusch didn't speak.
Her posture remained upright, almost irreproachable in its military rigor—her shoulders perfectly aligned, her chin stable, her expression disciplined. But her fingers betrayed a slight tension. They had tensed against the carved armrest of her seat, the engraved wood bearing under pressure the discreet mark of her internal conflict.
Crusch: « So... it is him. »
Her voice glided through the room without trembling. Calm. Too calm to be insignificant. Felix, to her right, immediately sensed this shift. He gritted his teeth.
Felix: « It is impossible, nyan... »
Several heads turned. The word resonated, breaking the ceremonial restraint of the assembly. Felix sat up abruptly, stung to the quick by the announcement.
Felix: « I took care of him. I know his physical condition. »
He placed a hand against his own chest, as if to emphasize his medical authority.
Felix: « He is unstable. Fragile. He has neither the magical ability nor the endurance necessary to withstand a prolonged confrontation against a Great Mabeast. »
A murmur rippled through the ranks. Felix looked away, his ears pricking with irritation.
Felix: « His contracted spirit must have done the bulk of the work. And he... reaps the glory. »
The air changed. Subtle, but tangible. Crusch slowly turned her head toward him. This simple movement was enough to silence the murmur.
Crusch: « That is enough. »
Her voice was not loud. It did not snap. But she had made her decision. Felix parted his lips slightly, ready to reply.
Crusch: « If the Dragon Tablet mentions him, it is because he played a decisive role. »
She held his gaze. Without anger. Without indulgence.
Crusch: « We will not belittle an ally based on assumptions. »
A thick silence fell. Felix lowered his eyes. Not out of submission, but because he knew she was right.
A few steps away, Wilhelm remained motionless. Statuesque. However, something had changed. His eyes had locked.
Wilhelm: « …The Whale. »
His voice was low, loaded with the weight of years.
Wilhelm: « I had sworn to deliver the final blow. »
He wasn't trying to hide the crack in his tone. It wasn't wounded pride; it was an oath. An oath sworn before the grave of a deceased wife. Fourteen years of hunting. Fourteen years of honing a blade for a single strike.
Crusch fixed her gaze upon him, and in that gaze, there was neither pity nor condescension.
Crusch: « Your blade contributed to the victory. »
Wilhelm closed his eyes for a brief moment, as if to calm the inner storm.
Wilhelm: « ...If my lady accepts it, then I have nothing to say. »
But the scar had reopened. And everyone, even without knowing his story, could feel the invisible weight that had just fallen back onto his shoulders.
In the background, the Sages observed. Bordeaux frowned. A young man with no name, without lineage—a feat recorded by the Dragon Tablet itself. The people were going to seize upon this story. And stories shape kingdoms.
Miklotov finally spoke again. His voice, usually formal, carried a deeper gravity this time.
Miklotov: « This morning, we received an official message. »
The room froze.
Miklotov: « A member of the Witch Cult has been captured and transferred into the custody of the Royal Knights. »
The atmosphere changed immediately. Admiration dissipated; vigilance took its place. Shoulders straightened. Gazes became sharper. Julius slowly straightened up, as if each vertebra were returning to its place in an invisible suit of armor. Wilhelm opened his eyes. Anastasia stopped playing with her fan. Priscilla suspended her smile for the space of a breath.
Miklotov paused. Calculated.
Miklotov: « Preliminary interrogations have revealed the existence of a coordinated operation. »
Silence. Heavier than the previous one.
Miklotov: « An attack was planned. »
Crusch: « The target? »
A single word. Direct. Miklotov scanned the assembly with his gaze.
Miklotov: « The Mathers Estate. »
The silence that followed was not gradual. It fell. Brutal.
Emilia. The name was not spoken; it didn't need to be. Anastasia narrowed her eyes, her calculations accelerating. Julius slowly raised his head, his pupils contracting. Felix froze, his ears pricked up. Wilhelm understood even before what followed.
Priscilla let out a soft laugh.
Priscilla: « ...Fufufu. I see. »
She tilted her face slightly, as if the room had finally revealed its true interest. Miklotov took a deep breath. Even the knights near the gates had stiffened. Their halberds did not tremble, but their hands did.
Miklotov: « The exact words on the Dragon Tablet are as follows. »
A shiver ran through the room.
Miklotov: « The Archbishop of the Sin of Sloth, Petelgeuse Romanée-Conti, was defeated by Natsuki Subaru in a direct confrontation. »
The shock was silent.
Ricardo: « …Huh? »
An incredulous sigh. Julius remained frozen. His eyes opened imperceptibly. Felix turned pale. Wilhelm felt his heart tighten in his chest.
An Archbishop. A name that is not a rumor, but a calamity. A pillar of the Cult. A symbol of terror. And Subaru's name had just been placed opposite his.
Miklotov continued, without hesitation.
Miklotov: « The forces of the Witch Cult operating in these lands were annihilated by the camp of candidate Emilia. »
This time, the silence was not only heavy—it was oppressive. It was no longer an ancient monster slain at the end of a hunt. It was an organization. A network. A blow struck at the very heart of a religious scourge.
The same thought formed in everyone's mind. The half-elf candidate… and her self-proclaimed knight… they had just erased the White Whale. They had just overthrown an Archbishop of Sin. In just a few hours.
It was no longer just a military feat. It was no longer just a spectacular deed. It was an earthquake. A sudden shift in the lines of power.
Glances were no longer exchanged in the same way. Future calculations needed to be rewritten. And in this tense silence, vibrant with mingled ambitions and fears—one certainty became clear.
The war of succession had just entered a new phase.