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{3rd Pov}
For as long as Felt could remember, she had lived in the slums. Her earliest memories were of the crumbling streets, the stench of rot in the air, and the constant hunger that gnawed at her stomach.
She had been taken in by Rom, a half-giant and the last of his kind, who had raised her since she was very young.
Rom was a towering figure, rough in manner and appearance, but he had given her a roof over her head and enough food to keep her alive.
Life in the slums was merciless.
There were days when she would go without eating a single scrap, her hunger so sharp that the only relief she could find was gulping down water until her stomach felt heavy.
Rom tried to look after her in his own way, but his care was practical, never warm.
In fact, in the beginning, Rom hadn't liked her much at all. He kept his thoughts to himself, rarely speaking to her unless necessary, and often regarded her with a cold or distant expression.
As a child, Felt couldn't understand why Rom seemed to dislike her, or why she sometimes caught him staring with what looked like resentment—or even hatred.
Despite that, Rom was the closest thing she had to family.
She had never known her real parents.
She had no memory of a mother's embrace or a father's voice.
According to Rom, as well as other slum dwellers, she had been abandoned as an infant—left behind because she was unwanted.
Felt quickly learned that in the slums, nothing came for free.
Whether it was food, clothing, or even the smallest scraps, you had to take it for yourself.
Rom provided shelter and enough food so that she wouldn't starve to death, but it was clear he didn't see her as his own flesh and blood.
To him, she was more of a burden—someone left in his care by another's will.
Her meals were often stale bread or whatever scraps could be scavenged. Her clothes were always old, ragged, and dirty.
She grew up knowing that if she wanted better, she'd have to earn it herself.
From a very young age, she began working to survive.
Sometimes she did hard physical labor for a few coins; other times she ran messages for shady deals, her speed and agility aided by her Divine Protection.
One afternoon, when she was about nine years old, she had spent the day helping merchants unload heavy crates and belongings from a carriage.
Her small frame had been pushed to its limits, but by the end, she'd earned a few precious copper coins.
Exhausted but satisfied, she started making her way back through the narrow alleys toward Rom's place.
That was when she was intercepted by a group of boys from the slums.
They surrounded her suddenly, cutting off her path.
Felt's eyes darted between them, trying to figure out why they were blocking her way.
She didn't know their exact reason, but their expressions told her enough—their intentions were far from friendly.
Instinctively, she tried to bolt past them, but they were older, stronger, and faster. Even with her Divine Protection, they grabbed hold of her before she could get away.
One of them snatched her coins from her hand.
"Give that back! I worked all day for that money!" Felt shouted desperately, lunging forward to try to reclaim it. Her voice was high and trembling, but fierce.
The boy holding the coins—a lanky fourteen-year-old—sneered and shoved her back with a hard kick to the stomach. "Shut up! This is our money now! If you don't want a beating, then get lost!"
Pain radiated through her small body, but she still pleaded with them, her voice cracking. "Please… sob… I worked… all day… hard… I'm hungry… please give it back…" Her cheeks were wet with tears, but she kept trying to step forward, even as her legs trembled.
They didn't care. Another boy, clearly irritated by her crying, shoved her again and sent her sprawling to the ground. "Cut it out with the useless crying! Do you think bawling will change anything? If you're so upset, blame yourself for being weak and pathetic!"
A third boy spoke up, his voice less confident. "Guys… maybe this is too much. We already took her coins…"
But the first two only laughed at him. "Too much? Don't make me laugh. That old man she lives with only keeps her around out of pity," the taller one said. "I've heard plenty of times how he doesn't feed her for days, makes her go get food herself."
Another smirked, adding, "At least we've got parents. She's probably the brat of some noble's fling. Her mother probably tossed her out like trash the moment she was born."
Their laughter echoed down the alley as they turned and ran off, still chuckling to each other about their cruel remarks.
Felt stayed where she was, her hands pressed to the dirty cobblestones. The sting of their words hurt almost as much as losing her hard-earned coins.
The tears came harder, her small shoulders shaking as she cried louder and louder, her voice breaking into raw sobs that no one in the slums cared to hear.
After nearly half an hour of crying in the alley, Felt's tears finally dried.
Her throat was raw, her face felt tight from the salt stains, and her eyes burned.
Wiping her nose on her sleeve, she slowly made her way back to Rom's place.
The walk felt longer than usual, every step heavy from exhaustion and the lingering ache in her stomach.
When she reached the door, she knocked weakly.A moment later, it creaked open, and she was greeted by a scowling Rom. His massive frame filled the doorway, his shadow falling over her like a wall.
"What is it, brat? Why are you back already?" he asked gruffly, his voice low but edged with irritation. "Didn't I tell you? If you want food and a place to sleep, you have to earn the money for it."
Felt shrank back slightly under his towering presence. "Y-Yes, I know," she stammered, her voice small. "But… I couldn't earn anything today. I—I got sick, and I vomited in front of a customer. He kicked me out right after."
She glanced up at him with a flicker of hope in her eyes. "I promise I'll pay you back for everything. I don't even need much—no food if you don't want to give it. Just… just a glass of milk with some water mixed in will do. And I can sleep on the floor. Please."
Rom's eyes narrowed slightly as he noticed the faint trails of dried tears on her cheeks.
His frown deepened, but this time it wasn't just out of annoyance. Slowly, he bent his massive knees and crouched so he was closer to her height.
"Tell me what happened," he said simply, his deep voice quieter now.
Felt forced a sad little smile onto her face, shaking her head. "It's nothing, Old Man Rom… If you don't want me here tonight, I'll just go."
She turned to leave, but before she could take more than a step, Rom's huge hand caught her by the shoulder. He let out a long, heavy sigh.
"No need for that. I'll give you food—on loan," he muttered. "It won't be anything fancy. Just bread and watered-down milk. You can sleep on the sofa tonight."
Her eyes lit up immediately. "Thank you, Old Man Rom!" she said with genuine relief, wrapping her small arms around his thick waist in a sudden hug.
The gesture clearly caught him off guard—he stiffened but didn't push her away this time, though he didn't return the hug either.
After a few moments, she let go, looking down at the floor with a hint of embarrassment. Rom's gaze lingered on her bony arms, her thin frame, and the hollows beneath her eyes.
Something in his chest twisted, though his expression remained unreadable.
They ate together in silence—her tearing into the stale bread like it was a feast, him slowly sipping his drink. Afterward, he set his cup down and looked at her again.
"Listen, Felt," he said flatly. "I don't care whether you live or die. But you owe me money, and I don't want you dropping dead before you pay me back. So—tell me what really happened today."
Felt, calmer now from the meal, hesitated before nodding. She told him everything—from the day's work to the moment the boys cornered her in the alley and took her coins.
She didn't leave out a detail. Rom's face didn't change as he listened, but his massive fists clenched tightly against his knees.
"They… they said I'm just some filthy child from a noble's fling," Felt added softly, her eyes lowering to the table. "Maybe it's true. I mean… otherwise why would my parents throw me away?"
Rom didn't reply. He simply reached out one large hand and gave her a single, rough pat on the head. "Go to sleep," he said.
She nodded without protest.
She was used to his bluntness and didn't expect comforting words.
The fact that he had listened to her at all was enough for her.
Hours passed. The night was black and thick with heavy rain, the sound of it hammering against the roof. Felt was half-asleep on the sofa when the creak of the old wooden floorboards woke her.
She heard the slow, deliberate thuds of Rom's heavy footsteps. Blinking against the darkness, she saw him moving toward the door.
She sat up slightly. "Old Man Rom…?" she whispered, but he didn't answer. He was pulling on his coat.
Curiosity gnawed at her, mixed with worry. It was the middle of the night, the rain was pouring, and yet he was heading out.
She hesitated for a long moment, torn between staying where it was warm or finding out where he was going.
In the end, her concern won.
She slipped off the sofa, keeping her footsteps quiet as she followed him at a distance into the wet, cold streets.
The rain soaked her instantly, plastering her hair to her face, but she kept going. She trailed him through winding alleys until he stopped in front of a small, run-down shack in the slums. He knocked hard on the door.
A boy's voice came from inside before the door cracked open. The moment the boy saw Rom, his face twisted into irritation. Words were exchanged—low at first, then rising sharply into an argument.
Suddenly, Rom's massive fist shot forward, connecting with the boy's chest and sending him flying back into the room.
The sound of the impact was followed by shouts as two more boys scrambled to their feet. Rom barreled into them, striking with heavy, deliberate blows.
The noise of the fight spilled out into the street, drawing the attention of nearby slum dwellers who poked their heads out into the rain to see what was happening.
Rom's voice roared above the downpour.
"Listen to me! If any one of you so much as lays a finger on Felt again, I'll tear you apart! I'll rip your head clean off your body and feed it to the Wolgrams! You touch her, you're dead!" His words echoed in the narrow street, carrying a raw fury that made people flinch.
From her spot in the shadows, Felt's eyes widened.
She realized then that the three boys in the shack were the same ones who had robbed her earlier.
The storm and darkness made it impossible to see their faces clearly, but their shapes and voices were unmistakable.
One of the boys, clutching his arm, shouted over the rain, "Are you insane?! Why go this far for some useless, family-less brat?"
Rom's response was a deafening roar as he slammed his fist into the wall, splintering the wood. "She's not an orphan! She's got me! I'm Rom—the one who raised her! I'm her grandfather! And anyone who tries to hurt her will answer to me!"
Lightning flashed, thunder bellowed, and the rain came down harder. Felt stood frozen, the words echoing in her head.
She watched the scene in disbelief, the cold rain on her skin unable to drown out the sudden warmth spreading in her chest.
Intense emotions churned inside her, so strong and unfamiliar that she couldn't even put a name to them.
Her chest felt tight, but not in the same way it did when she was angry or afraid.
Even as the cold rain pelted her small frame, soaking her hair and clothes, and the wind cut through the street like icy knives, there was a strange warmth blooming deep within her.
Her vision blurred as fresh tears welled up and mixed with the rain streaming down her cheeks.
The droplets rolled off her chin and splashed onto the muddy ground.
Her soft sobs were almost completely swallowed by the constant roar of the storm, but the tears kept coming anyway.
She quickly rubbed at her eyes with her sleeve, forcing herself to stop before the sobs grew louder. She couldn't let him see her like this—couldn't let him know she had followed him through the rain.
Turning on her heel, she ran back through the alleys to Rom's tavern, her wet clothes clinging heavily to her body.
She moved fast, splashing through puddles, ignoring the ache in her legs and the numbness in her fingers.
By the time she got back, the place was dark and quiet. She slipped inside and lay down on the sofa, pulling the thin blanket over herself.
Her heart was still beating fast from what she had seen. A few minutes later, she heard the tavern door creak open. Rom stepped inside, his massive silhouette outlined by the faint light from outside.
He cast one glance in her direction, and seeing her still form under the blanket, assumed she was asleep. In the dim light, he didn't notice her wet hair or soaked clothes.
Without a word, he headed straight to his room.
From that night onward, something shifted between them.
Rom never said anything about what had happened, never openly admitted it, but his behavior changed.
He started treating her differently—more like family than just some unwanted responsibility. He began talking to her more often, showing a softer side she had never seen before.
Even though he didn't say the words out loud, Felt knew that in his own way, he had claimed her as his granddaughter.
He even began offering her portions of his own food every day. But Felt refused to simply take it for free. Instead, she made him a promise.
"One day, Rom… one day we'll leave this slum behind," she said, her voice firm and her eyes burning with determination. "We'll have our own cozy home. We'll eat fresh, warm bread and drink milk that isn't watered down. We'll have a farm and grow our own food, all the good things nature has to offer. I promise, we'll make it happen."
Rom stared at her with his usual neutral expression. "Stupid brat," he muttered. "Unless you start stealing, that's just a dream."
"Then if that's what it takes, I will steal!" Felt shot back without hesitation. "Why should the rich eat fancy meals every day while we struggle to chew on stale bread? Why do they get warm beds in big houses while we have to patch up holes in the roof just to keep the rain out? If they don't care about people like us, then I won't care about them! I'll take their money!"
Rom exhaled slowly, almost like a sigh, but didn't scold her.
He knew she was right—he also knew how desperate their situation was.
A faint hint of guilt tugged at him when he thought about her malnourished frame and the fact that he hadn't been able to provide her a better life.
"Alright then, brat… but don't go getting yourself caught because of some pathetic, clumsy attempt at thievery," he said, a smirk tugging at his lips. "I don't want you dying before you pay me back. So… get ready. I'll teach you the art of stealing properly."
From that day, Felt's life took a different turn.
Under Rom's guidance, she learned the tricks of thievery—how to move unnoticed, how to pick a pocket clean without a sound, how to slip away before anyone realized she was there.
She began saving the money she stole, bit by bit.
Her diet improved slightly, but she still kept herself on a strict routine: eating only twice a day, just enough to keep her body working, so she could store away more coins for the future she dreamed of.
Her goal never wavered—she would save enough to get both herself and Rom out of the slums one day.
Years passed, and her skills only sharpened.
One afternoon, she had just lifted a purse from a wealthy noble's belt when her escape was cut off. A tall figure stepped into her path, his presence almost radiating authority. Her stomach dropped.
'Oh no… I'm dead,' she thought instantly, her eyes locking onto the man's uniform—the official attire of the Royal Knights.
His blazing red hair and piercing blue eyes left no doubt in her mind. This was Reinhardt, the Sword Saint himself, the most famous knight in the kingdom.
Panic surged through her. She tried to bolt, but he moved like lightning. In a single smooth motion, he disarmed her and blocked her way, leaving her no chance to flee.
"Thank you, Sir Reinhardt! If not for you, this thief would have gotten away with my gold coins!" a noblewoman exclaimed, hurrying over.
Her voice was dripping with gratitude for the knight, but her expression turned venomous the moment her gaze landed on Felt.
"You filthy little slum rat! How dare you try to steal from me!" she spat, raising her hand as if to slap Felt across the face.
Before she could bring it down, Reinhardt's arm shot out, catching her wrist.
"Miss, please remain calm," he said, his tone polite but his voice edged with steel. "This girl will face the proper formal process. Until then, I cannot permit her to be harmed in any way."
The noblewoman, clearly unhappy with being stopped, huffed but forced herself to nod. "Very well," she muttered.
She shot Felt one last glare, her eyes full of contempt, and then turned away, muttering curses under her breath as she clutched her precious coins.
Felt stayed silent, her jaw tight. She had been caught, and there was no talking her way out this time.
Reinhardt, without warning, reached into his coat and pulled out something small and metallic-looking. Before Felt could react, he grabbed her wrist and forced the object into her palm, pressing it there with surprising strength.
"Hey—! What the hell is this?!" Felt snapped, yanking her arm and trying to pull free. She felt a strange heat radiating from the object.
Her eyes widened in panic. "Don't tell me this is a slave seal!" she shouted, struggling harder, but Reinhardt's grip was unshakable, his hand like a vice around hers.
The strange insignia began to glow faintly against her skin.
Reinhardt's mouth curved into a small smile—though to anyone watching from the outside, it could have looked disturbingly wrong, almost like some creep harassing a young girl in the middle of the street.
What he did next didn't help the impression. In one swift move, he knocked Felt unconscious and carried her away toward his mansion.
If Subaru had been around to witness the scene, he would've probably called the FBI on the spot.
Even if Reinhardt's intentions were supposedly "good," the way he went about it was completely unacceptable in Felt's eyes.
Things only got worse once she woke up and realized she was being kept in a massive, polished noble estate.
The maids there were terrifying—cold, efficient, and absolutely relentless.
They forced her into study sessions, drilled her on etiquette, and constantly corrected her speech and posture.
Reinhardt, always smiling politely as if nothing was wrong, only added to her frustration.
She tried to escape multiple times, slipping out through windows, hiding in laundry carts, and even climbing over walls.
But each time, either Reinhardt himself or one of the hawk-eyed maids caught her before she got far.
When they told her she was actually the fifth Royal Candidate, she couldn't have cared less. That title meant nothing to her.
Eventually, under constant pressure from the maids—and Reinhardt's infuriatingly calm demeanor—Felt was forced to learn about Lugunica's history, the structure of the nobility, royal customs, and the boring rules of high society.
Once, in pure frustration, she punched Reinhardt square in the chest while he kept that same damn smile on his face.
When the day of the Royal Selection finally arrived, she entered the main hall and made her stance clear from the start.
She stood there in front of everyone and bluntly announced that she wouldn't participate.
That declaration didn't last long. Not after what happened next.
Rom, in his own reckless way, stormed the castle in an attempt to take her back.
But his intrusion into the Royal Mansion was treated as a severe crime. The knights arrested him on the spot, and the punishment for such an offense was execution.
Faced with the reality that Rom could be killed, Felt realized she had no choice.
To gain the political power to save him, she reluctantly accepted her role as the Dragon Priestess. But in her heart, she made a vow that day—one she spoke out loud for everyone in the hall to hear.
She would tear down the current ruling class, crush the existing nobility system, and turn the entire kingdom upside down.
Time passed.
She later heard about the battle where Crusch was defeated by the White Whale and the news that Reinhardt's grandfather had died. That day, she saw something rare—Reinhardt looking genuinely sad.
"Why don't you just go and avenge your grandfather already?!" she demanded, glaring at him.
Reinhardt shook his head slightly. "It isn't that simple, Lady Felt. Until the Sage Council gives me official orders, I cannot take any action."
That answer made her blood boil. "Why the hell are you listening to those senile fools?!"
His smile faded a little, but his voice stayed calm. "Lady Felt, please do not insult them. They are the ones who manage this kingdom."
"Manage my ass!" she snapped, stepping forward. "Where are they when people starve to death? Where are they when children go to sleep hungry every night on the streets? Where are they when families are packed into rotting wooden shacks, with holes in the roof and mold in the walls?!"
Her words hit him like a slap. Reinhardt didn't reply. He didn't try to argue. For a few seconds, the silence between them was heavy.
He knew she was right—he'd probably always known—but he was trapped by the same chains that bound him to the kingdom.
"I'm your lord now, aren't I?" Felt said sharply. "Then obey my order. Slay that damn oversized fish."
Reinhardt bowed his head slightly. "I apologize, but I have been ordered not to pursue that matter."
She was about to explode in anger, but then she caught a clearer look at his face. For the first time, she saw more than just the polite mask—there was sadness there, real sadness, and even a flicker of anger buried deep in his eyes.
His jaw was tight, and his fists were clenched so hard that the leather of his gloves creaked.
She stopped herself from shouting. In that moment, she understood—just like her, Reinhardt was trapped by circumstances outside his control.
She'd heard of the "Reinhardt laws" and the ridiculous restrictions that governed his every action.
It became obvious to her that someone had deliberately ordered him to stand down, and the realization only made her hate the Wise Men and the rest of the nobility even more.
"I promise you, Rein," she said firmly. "When I become queen, I'll make sure you get your revenge. And I'll drag those bastards into the light and make them face justice."
Without waiting for a response, she turned and walked away.
Behind her, in the middle of his sorrow, a rare and genuine smile crossed Reinhardt's lips. "I'll wait for that day… Felt," he murmured quietly.
But no one else was around to hear him.
To be continued...
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