Chapter 231: Which Is Scarier, the Witch of Envy or Me?
After Shiro's warning shot, most of the young noble's earlier arrogance vanished.
But the matter was not over.
As long as he stubbornly insisted that Felt did not possess royal blood, even Reinhard would have no way to prove otherwise now that the royal bloodline had already died out.
However—
What the young noble failed to realize was that neither Felt nor Reinhard intended to use the possibility of royal blood as an advantage for their faction.
Felt had grown up an orphan and already held some resentment toward the parents who abandoned her.
Reinhard's reason for mentioning her possible royal heritage was even simpler.
House Astrea had traditionally stayed away from Lugunica's politics.
He merely needed to explain why that family had suddenly decided to openly support Felt.
At this point, Reinhard only needed to clarify his stance and the noble's argument would naturally collapse.
With that thought, Shiro turned toward Reinhard.
Their eyes met.
"?!"
Before Shiro could react—Reinhard's strangely hollow gaze instantly regained its usual clarity.
He placed the Dragon Sword before himself and spoke with complete conviction.
"The royal bloodline has already been severed."
"I cannot prove that Lady Felt is the daughter Lord Ford lost fourteen years ago."
"However—"
"Even if Lady Felt possesses no blood relation whatsoever to the previous royal family, I still believe she is the person most suited to become king!"
As though the strange moment earlier had been nothing more than Shiro's imagination—Reinhard's behavior and reasoning were exactly the same as usual.
Yet Shiro knew one thing for certain.
That cold, emotionless gaze that seemed to look down upon all living things—Was not an expression that belonged on Reinhard's face.
Shiro silently studied the red-haired knight, someone who could truly be called a child favored by destiny.
Something had happened.
Something beyond what Shiro could see.
"The qualifications of a Dragon Maiden are unquestionable."
Miklotov stroked his beard and looked solemnly toward Felt.
"However, if you truly possess royal blood, the difficulties you face from this point onward may far exceed anything most people can imagine."
"Knowing that, do you still intend to participate?"
Possible royal blood would not necessarily bring only advantages.
For example—The previous royal family had died one after another from an unknown illness.
If their deaths had actually been caused by someone—Then once the culprit learned that Felt might have survived, would they return to eliminate the final loose end?
And if that happened—Could Reinhard truly protect Felt from whoever had managed to wipe out the royal family?
In short—If Felt truly was the surviving royal child, the obstacles that identity created during the Royal Selection might far outweigh its benefits.
"Hmph."
"I survived all this time in a place rotten straight to the core."
Felt grinned.
"I can't brag about much else, but when it comes to running away, my speed is famous."
She had originally become a thief simply to earn enough money to leave the slums and live better in the royal capital.
Yet Felt proudly presented the escape skills she developed for stealing as one of her strengths.
Perhaps in her eyes—That too was something she had earned through effort.
"I see."
"I accept your position."
Miklotov calmly nodded once Felt returned to the line.
"Marcos, continue."
"Yes."
Marcos faced the candidates.
"Then the final candidate—"
"Lady Emilia and her knight, please step forward."
The atmosphere tightened instantly.
Everyone unconsciously held their breath and turned their attention toward the person who had been destined from the beginning of this meeting to face rejection.
The one candidate least likely to ever become ruler of the Dragon Kingdom of Lugunica.
The silver-haired half-elf considered taboo throughout the entire kingdom—Emilia.
"Honored members of the Council of Wise Men."
"It is a pleasure to meet you."
"My name is Emilia."
"I have no family name."
"I am simply Emilia."
Her soft voice, clear as a flowing spring, gently reached everyone's ears.
Yet even that warmth could not erase the fear inspired by her appearance.
There was no hesitation in Emilia's blue-violet eyes.
Under everyone's gaze—She gathered the wish hidden within her heart and turned it into words.
"As everyone can see, I am a silver-haired half-elf..."
Her eyes dimmed slightly.
But only for a moment.
Then she recovered.
"So I only have one request."
"Fairness."
Images of all the discrimination she had suffered because of her appearance flashed through Emilia's mind.
She transformed them into motivation.
"Because of how I look, I have faced many unfair situations in the past."
"I understand that compared to the others, I may still be immature."
"There are many things I need to learn."
"But when it comes to my willingness to work hard for that goal, I will not lose to anyone."
"So during this Royal Selection, please look at me as you would any ordinary person."
"I am not the witch you know who brought disaster upon the world."
"I am Emilia."
"Emilia without a surname."
"And nothing more than Emilia without a surname."
Emilia's attitude could hardly have been more sincere.
She did not ask everyone to support her immediately.
She merely hoped they would give her a chance—A chance to slowly prove that she had nothing to do with the terrifying Witch of Envy.
In a school speech among students who had never entered society, those words might have been considered successful.
However—In pursuing fairness, Emilia had overlooked one thing.
In the world of adults—Benefits were often more important than sincerity.
A transaction required both sides to offer something the other desired.
If only one side gave while the other provided nothing in return, it could hardly be called a transaction.
The same principle applied to Emilia now.
Even though this meeting concerned selecting the ruler of an entire kingdom—Most people present still cared about one question above all else.
What could Emilia give them?
Why were they so afraid of Emilia becoming king?
Her appearance was only part of the reason.
There was another very simple one.
Emilia was not offering them enough.
As the saying went—Money could make even ghosts turn a millstone.
If the benefits were large enough, plenty of people would suppress their terror and speak to the Witch of Envy herself if she stood before them.
But Emilia currently had nothing valuable enough to persuade these nobles to abandon their existing principles and stand beside her.
And beyond those willing to sell anything for profit—There were also many people truly loyal to Lugunica itself.
People willing to advise their ruler even at the cost of their own lives if they believed it necessary to preserve the kingdom.
"What nonsense!"
"Even if the Divine Dragon recognized her, this old man will never support a silver-haired half-elf ascending Lugunica's throne!"
Sure enough—The moment Emilia finished, someone immediately objected.
But this time, the person speaking was completely different in status from those who had interrupted earlier.
The voice came from behind Shiro and Emilia—Near where Miklotov was seated.
In other words—The speaker was a member of the Council of Wise Men.
Shiro turned toward the elderly man.
His presence was completely different from Miklotov's.
A sharp fighting spirit radiated from his entire body.
It was the kind of presence only a warrior who had spent years walking between life and death could develop.
While Shiro studied him—The old man noticed his gaze and glared back without the slightest weakness.
For a moment—The atmosphere became dangerously tense.
Everyone assumed the two were about to fight.
Then—
"Uh... who are you?"
Shiro suddenly asked.
"..."
Marcos coughed awkwardly.
"This is Lord Bordeaux Zellgef, a member of the Council of Wise Men."
"During the Demi-Human War, he led the Zellgef Squad and repeatedly achieved great military accomplishments for Lugunica."
"So Lord Bordeaux isn't someone opposing Emilia's participation in the Royal Selection for some petty personal benefit, right?"
Shiro looked toward the old hero who had once fought on Lugunica's battlefields.
"This might be unnecessary, but could I ask your reason?"
"Her appearance and origins alone are enough to imagine how terrified people would be upon hearing she had become Lugunica's king."
Bordeaux answered without hesitation.
"If other nations or our own citizens simply called us insane, that would still be manageable."
"But do not forget where we are."
"This is the Dragon Kingdom of Lugunica—"
"The land where the Witch sleeps!"
His blunt response made it clear that he would not easily change his position.
Bordeaux did not oppose Emilia because she failed to offer him sufficient benefits.
He had genuinely considered the reaction of both Lugunica's people and surrounding countries if she became ruler.
And even more importantly—This was the Dragon Kingdom of Lugunica.
Four hundred years ago—The Divine Dragon, the Sage, and the First Sword Saint had joined forces here to seal away the Witch of Envy after she devoured half the world.
And now—Another silver-haired half-elf stood upon this land.
Her goal was to become the ruler of that very kingdom.
The irony was almost unbearable.
If Emilia truly became king of the Dragon Kingdom of Lugunica—Then after Bordeaux and the others died, how would they face the heroes who had sacrificed their lives fighting the Witch of Envy?
What would those dead heroes think of the people who allowed a girl bearing the same face as the Witch to sit upon the throne?
"I see."
"I more or less understand your position."
Shiro nodded.
"But before coming here, I already promised Emilia that I would attend this meeting as her knight."
As he spoke—His right hand lightly closed around empty space.
In an instant—The surrounding temperature skyrocketed.
Scorching heat filled the air, making it feel as though the entire hall had been thrown into a furnace.
The trained knights endured it well enough.
But the civil officials and nobles, born with silver spoons in their mouths and accustomed to comfortable lives, immediately began sweating profusely.
At the center of the heat—A massive crimson sword appeared in Shiro's hand, blazing with red light.
"Then the solution is simple."
"Fight me."
Shiro pointed the Yang Sword toward Bordeaux.
His expression was as casual as though he were discussing what to eat for dinner.
"What exactly do you mean by that?"
Feeling the temperature continue to climb without any sign of stopping, Marcos frowned in displeasure.
Naturally—As Captain of the Royal Guard, he recognized the Yang Sword, one of the Ten Swords of Power.
What angered him was Shiro openly drawing a weapon in a place like this.
Less than ten minutes earlier—Miklotov had already warned Shiro for attacking a noble.
And now—He had gone even further and drawn a sword outright.
To knights who took pride in protecting the kingdom, this was unquestionably a provocation.
Marcos's hand already rested upon his sword hilt.
If Shiro made one wrong move—
He would strike without hesitation.
"My meaning is exactly what it sounds like."
Shiro glanced around.
"Knight or noble, I don't care."
"One-on-one or all of you together, that's fine too."
"If you want to stop Emilia from participating in the Royal Selection—"
"Fight me."
Shiro glanced toward Emilia.
Seeing nothing in her expression beyond concern, with no sign that she intended to stop him, he continued.
"If you defeat me, I'm confident I can persuade Emilia to voluntarily withdraw from this Royal Selection."
For a moment—Everyone froze.
Then excitement appeared on several faces.
They had been struggling to find a legitimate way to remove the half-devil from the Royal Selection—And now an opportunity had simply dropped into their laps?
No matter how strong Shiro was—Could he possibly be stronger than the entire trained Royal Guard?
Just as that thought appeared—
████—!
The next instant—
A wordless force spread through the hall.
Except for Reinhard—Everyone suddenly felt as though a blade had been placed against their throat.
As though the moment they dared issue a challenge—Their head would be sent flying.
Yet this was no illusion.
It was an inevitability created by fate itself.
Because Shiro was stronger than every one of them.
Even if they challenged him, defeat would be the only outcome.
And once fate became too fixed to overturn—There was no longer any need to experience the process.
This was the terror of a Desperado.
When the difference in strength reached a certain point—Numbers became meaningless.
No matter how many enemies came—They could no longer threaten a Desperado.
With a single thought, a Desperado could slaughter them all.
Shiro was exploiting that very trait.
By himself—He had turned every person in the hall into a hostage held within his grasp.
"What the hell are you trying to do?!"
One noble was the first to collapse beneath the terror of death.
Snot ran from his nose as he dropped to the floor and screamed toward Shiro.
Being condemned by fate itself—Knowing that no matter how hard one struggled, death was the only destination—Was an unbearable feeling.
It was like hanging above an abyss by an impossibly thin thread.
Every movement merely caused the thread to snap faster.
Aside from saints or those who had truly transcended worldly attachments—Very few people could calmly accept death.
At the very least—No such person existed in this hall.
Watching themselves be manipulated and pushed step by step toward the abyss was enough to drive most people present into despair.
Under the fearful and furious gazes surrounding him—Shiro did not answer the noble.
Nor did he lower the blazing Yang Sword.
His golden eyes swept across every face in the hall.
Then—He asked them a question instead.
"Now tell me."
"For all of you..."
"Which is scarier?"
"The Witch of Envy—"
"Or me, who can kill every one of you whenever I want?"
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