The individuals in attendance are taken aback by Reinhard's words; nevertheless, before they can react fully to the revelatory news, the main entrance begins to open slowly.
Emerging from there is a radiant young girl. Her golden hair gleams as if spun from the very threads of gold itself, as she walks gracefully adorned in a splendid yellow dress embellished with delicate white sleeves enveloping her dainty hands, and immaculate boots.
An orange ribbon graces the perfect center of her head.
Her attendants walk behind her with equal grace but come to a sudden halt halfway toward where she stands in all her noble splendor.
Adorned as she is now, she appears more dignified and illustrious than she has ever seemed before. Though, of course, no one but me knows the truth: she is indeed of noble birth and a member of the royal family, which likely gives her a greater chance in the eyes of the elder dragon of being chosen as a successor.
She walks with a radiant smile on her face as she approaches the forefront. Unlike before, this time Rom is by her side.
I suppose he is the one who has urged her to participate in the elections in some way.
Reinhard steps aside to yield the prime spot to Felt. She glances briefly at me, and in that very instant, she notices my presence among the expectant crowd. I return a smile and attempt a discreet greeting, but she swiftly approaches with a broad smile on her lips:
"Little brother!" Felt exclaims as she positions herself in front of me. "What are you doing here? I'm glad to see you're well."
I endeavor to express myself, yet before I can articulate coherent words, her attention shifts towards Beatrice, and without a second thought, she places her hand upon Beatrice's head while jesting in a carefree, jovial tone.
"I see you wasted no time, my dear... You have a very lovely daughter here," she remarks.
Beatrice gently withdraws Felt's hand, saying nothing but wearing a shy smile on her lips. At that moment, Gildark intervenes with a neutral tone:
"Miss, if you have finished conversing with your old acquaintances, please approach."
"Yes, yes, one formality after another," Felt replies with slight irritation as she walks.
I observe Beatrice, surprised by her reaction, but she continues to wear that sweet smile.
"Hehe," Beatrice whispers cheerfully.
Who would have thought that Felt would endear herself to Beatrice? Well, at least seeing her happy warms my heart.
Felt stands beside Emilia and extends her hand forward. Reinhard takes the insignia into his hands and carefully positions it in Felt's outstretched palm, causing it to gleam intensely.
"First and foremost, it is important to present this," Reinhard declares as all present gentlemen and ladies observe attentively. "As you can see, ladies and gentlemen gathered here, Miss Felt, whom I personally endorse as the candidate for the future queen of the Kingdom of Lugunica... is our last contender for the throne."
A widespread murmur fills the room as everyone gazes in surprise at Felt, though she maintains a somewhat vexed and bored expression on her face.
"Thus, we officially commence the royal selection," Reinhard continues solemnly.
Gildark places his hand on his chest, followed by the rest of the knights present, showing their respect for Felt. Nevertheless, one of the scholars' interrupts with a voice full of disdain:
"Even though the dragon's gem acknowledges Miss Felt as a priestess... do you not think there might be some complications during the selection?"
"Are you insinuating that the Imperial Knights have made a mistake?" Gildark retorts with a firm and challenging voice.
Tension fills the air as Gildark poses this question. The Imperial Knights, furious at this affront to their honor, cast serious glances toward the nobles present, who respond with haughty expressions, ignoring these menacing gestures.
The tension between the two sides is evident, and I realize I need to better grasp the intricate political structure of the Kingdom of Lugunica to understand the implications and repercussions of this ongoing royal selection.
The whispers of the nobles' swirl in a sea of questions about the mysterious identity of the young lady, whose past seems shrouded in shadows.
Knight Reinhard, with gravity in his countenance, agrees to explain briefly how he encountered the enigmatic figure.
Skillfully, he omits any mention of our encounter and what transpired between us, but true to his nature, he cannot help but reveal an undeniable truth.
"A street rat!" one of the nobles exclaims with disdain.
At that moment, Felt turns toward the haughty noble and, with unparalleled courage, responds:
"Yes, that's right! I may be a street rat, but I am worthy of aspiring to the throne!"
Her reply to sheds light on her true nature, and I gaze at her with a new perspective. I can barely contain my laughter as I witness the noble's expression, unable to maintain his haughtiness in the face of the young woman's audacity.
The man, furious, searches for more words to hurl at Felt, but before he can do so, Priscilla intervenes with her characteristic air of superiority:
"These trivial matters are tedious," Priscilla says with a malicious smile as she covers her mouth with an elegant fan. "In the end, a rat can only hold a conversation at its intellectual level."
Felt's disdain for Priscilla is palpable in her gaze, and with a spark of challenge in her eyes, she retorts:
"What do you suggest then? Do you want to fight?"
At that moment, Priscilla begins to release small amounts of mana, causing her delicate dress to gracefully flutter in the air.
"Tremendous insolence for a rat. Do you even know who you are speaking to?" Priscilla proclaims, waving her fan as tiny flames emerge from it, increasing the tension in the atmosphere.
Emilia bravely steps between Felt and Priscilla, ready to protect her friend, but before she can act, Reinhard takes control of the situation.
An aura of mana dances around him, though his expression remains impassive, as if Priscilla's display has no effect on him.
"My apologies, Miss Priscilla," Reinhard offers a small smile, attempting to appease her.
Emilia then appears ready to act, placing her hand on her chest and directing her question towards Priscilla:
"What do you wish to do in this sacred place?" Her concerned gaze is overshadowed by Priscilla's disinterested look.
Even though I personally wouldn't have intervened, I know it's part of Emilia's intrepid and unyielding nature. It's something that will never change. After all, Emilia will always be a kind-hearted person.
That's why I feel the responsibility to be her silent protector.
Priscilla responds with disdain, "I was merely trying to teach discipline to the rat you're protecting."
Emilia exclaims with force, showing flashes of anger, "You should apologize for your disrespect!"
Priscilla once again covers her face and responds without looking directly at her, "In that case, you should apologize to everyone present for being born," she says with a contemptuous look at Emilia, "a half-elf with silver hair."
Emilia pauses for a few seconds before sighing calmly. She then turns to Felt and asks with concern, "Are you okay?"
Felt nods and faces Priscilla. I don't think staying silent in the face of these insults is the best course of action for her, but I consider this progress for Emilia. It used to affect her a lot when she faced similar situations, but now I see a certain strength in her.
I only hope I can speak for her when it's necessary.
The wise leader, with a tranquil gaze, intervenes, "Have you finished, ladies?"
He's an intriguing individual. His gaze seems capable of encompassing the entire situation. He probably foresaw that something like this would happen from the moment he learned that Emilia was a candidate for the throne. Despite it all, he shows no favoritism.
"Without further ado, let's begin the presentation of the throne candidates," Gildark announces as he invites one of the aspirants to step forward.
Priscilla is the first to advance to the center of the stage.
She positions herself two steps above, at the level of the scholars. She turns toward us with an arrogant smile, one hand on her waist and the other raising her fan while gesturing to everyone.
"These elections are pointless; undoubtedly, I am the only one capable of ruling you," she proclaims with an elevated tone. "All you need to do is bow at my feet and serve me. Whether you like it or not, that's what will eventually happen."
No one says anything, except for Al, who lets out an exhausted sigh. I haven't spoken to him, but being a servant to someone like Priscilla must be draining in many ways.
The next to step onto the stage is Crusch; she maintains a martial posture. Felix stands behind her with a sincere smile filled with pride.
"If I were to rule," Crusch says, "my first decree as queen would be to abolish the contract we have with the dragon." People look surprised at her words, but she remains undisturbed and extends her hand to explain, "The Dragon Empire of Lugunica bears the dragon's name, but it doesn't truly belong to it; it's us who make up this empire."
Crusch descends from the stage, and Anastasia takes her place beside Julius.
As I set my eyes upon her once more, as previously noted, Anastasia is of diminutive stature, possessing cerulean eyes that capture light and convey a serene tranquility. Her long, wavy tresses, delicately hued in shades of purple, cascade gracefully down to her hips, swaying with each motion she makes. She dons an elegant white gown that bestows upon her an ethereal and delicate appearance.
Her hair is adorned with a star-shaped yellow pin, adding a charming touch.
She smiles with avarice and, directing her gaze to all, begins to speak: "I am an ambitious young woman; I desire to possess everything around me because my commercial successes alone are insufficient for me." She closes her eyes before adding firmly, "I want to have my own realm."
With these final words, Anastasia steps down from the stage. As we had planned beforehand, Emilia encourages Felt to step up as the next candidate.
The plan is for her to be the last to present herself; no matter what happens, being the last will imprint Emilia's words on all of us.
Selfish words, ill-intentioned words, words filled with arrogance and devoid of sense.
Felt stands before all with an expression of annoyance on her face. Reinhard smiles as he stands behind her.
"I didn't know exactly what to say, but I no longer care," Felt says as she places her hand on her chest and proclaims firmly, "I will destroy everything! This kingdom is rotten through and through, which is why I'll sweep it all away and rebuild it in my own way. I will breathe new life into these lands!"
The nobles regard her with disdain as they restrain their urge to speak; the murmurs grow increasingly audible as Felt descends from the stage with a smile.
Now it's her turn.
"The final candidate to present is Emilia, who is accompanied by her sponsor, Roswaal L Mathers," Gildark announces as Emilia prepares.
With composed and confident steps, Emilia gracefully ascends the stage; her smile never leaves her face as she turns toward the audience.
Our eyes meet, and I can see that she is ready. Her gaze is resolute, devoid of any trace of nervousness or turbulent emotion.
With a voice filled with determination, Emilia begins her speech, "Today, I stand before you, humble yet resolute, as a candidate who aspires to lead this realm towards a prosperous and bright future.
In this crucial moment in our history, I wish to focus on what truly matters: our potential to grow and advance together.
Her words are clear and concise, without hesitation or unnecessary embellishments. Emilia takes a brief pause to look at everyone before continuing.
"In our hands lies limitless potential, and it is my steadfast belief that each of you has the capacity to achieve great accomplishments."
The nobles gaze at Emilia in surprise; even the knights and others present seem to be paying attention to her words.
"From the humblest peasant to the most enterprising merchant, all of you play a crucial role in the fabric of our society. It is in unity and the recognition of our individual strengths that we will find the path to collective success."
Now is the time to apply pressure.
"Like..."
Interrupting Emilia, a member of the audience starts to stammer.
"This is senseless. We've listened to the candidates, and having to endure her for so long is disgraceful," the man declares with disdain, waving his hand as if trying to rid himself of the sound of her voice.
There wasn't a designated time for speaking; if the previous candidates made their proposals so simple, it's because that's the extent of what they could improvise.
When making a campaign proposal, you must be direct, but this is not a mere advertisement.
Emilia's speech serves a different purpose.
At that precise moment, one of the council's scholars joins in the general disdain: "I agree. Allowing a girl from the slums to present here. Even Marquis Roswaal L Mathers dares to bring a half-demon into this sacred chamber!"
The sudden transformation of the atmosphere takes Emilia by surprise, turning those present from being astonished to insulting, and she can do nothing to prevent it. The knights show confusion, and some furrow their brows with contempt.
Among them all, it's Julius who seems most affected; his hands clench tightly, struggling to maintain composure.
With a noble countenance, her fervor for self-control is palpable.
"Let her finish!" exclaims a noble, creating a division of opinions and discussions.
Who would have thought that someone would support her?
Amid a seemingly endless dispute, only one option remains. When reason loses its relevance, force must take the reins.
Turning to catch Felix's attention, I call out to him, infused with mana, and raise my voice with strength and mirth, "HA!" The beginning of my laughter resonates throughout the room, "Hahaha!"
All eyes turn toward me, setting aside insults and arguments in an attempt to interrupt me.
The noble who triggered it all, the man whose unattractive appearance could represent seven ugliness's combined, interrupts me with curiosity, "Who the devil is this individual?"
My tears of laughter barely fade away, and as I return to seriousness, I fix my gaze upon that man, aware that if ugliness could be personified, this individual would be its faithful representative. With his long, grizzled beard and mustache, he resembles a surly goat.
"It doesn't matter who I am; what truly matters here is that you are committing a grave offense," I respond firmly, unyielding to his furious gaze.
The man, demanding an explanation, scrutinizes my countenance with anger, while anticipation seizes the surrounding audience.
"Allow me to offer an opinion to all those who are pouring hateful comments toward the person I have chosen to support," I say, directing my gaze toward the impatient audience. With a confident smile, I continue, "The candidates for the Dragon of Lugunica's throne are currently the most significant figures in the entire realm."
I rise to my feet, causing everyone to wait for me to speak. "Speak up or leave!" exclaims that noble and his allies with hatred.
Ignoring their hostile reaction, my gaze settles on the candidates, who observe me with curiosity. Only Priscilla remains unruffled. Anastasia looks at me impatiently, while Crusch offers me a serious look.
Emilia, on the other hand, gazes at me in surprise, as I had told her that winning the favor of the people was crucial, but I omitted a crucial lesson.
Politics is governed by factions; to succeed, one must know who their allies and enemies are.
"With their great significance, all the candidates rank above any of us," I say, placing my hand on my chest. "If I may say, insulting and disrespecting any of them is equivalent to betraying the dragon's wishes and disobeying the imperial mandate."
With a sharp look, I scan those who have deliberately insulted Emilia. I watch them squirm as they perceive the truth in my words.
"I am aware that the imperial decree states that any act of treason is punishable by the death of the guilty party, regardless of their status," I continue, addressing everyone present.
My assertion stands as an indisputable fact, causing murmurs among the crowd. Even Anastasia is taken aback by the unexpected turn of events.
The noble who triggered this remains impassive. Being the one who provoked the looks of disdain, all his council colleagues fall silent immediately, assuming the role of authoritative figures, which makes his action truly condemnable.
In the blink of an eye, the noble attempts to defend himself:
"How does a person of servitude dare to speak about laws and reason against us, the nobility?" He points at me with fury, and his spit flies with the emphasis of his words.
"Indeed, you have just insulted all those who are superior to you. You should be arrested immediately." And with a malicious smile, he exclaims, "Arrest him!"
The situation becomes tense once more, with people even more divided between those who understood my words and those seeking to defend themselves.
I clasp my hands firmly as I watch Marco attempting to defend me. I cannot blame him; I, myself, thought I would be able to conclude my discourse despite the looks filled with disgust directed at me.
But despite all my efforts, it seems that nothing will work.
Marco tries to quell the situation with composure, but now he is the one subject to the most despicable insults.
"He's just a common villager!" someone spits with disdain.
"He thinks himself important with that cudgel at his back!" another adds, filled with hostility.
I have never been fond of fights.
I have always believed that forging a world for everyone entails collaboration and mutual assistance, as it happens in Irlam, where the residents work together to keep the village prosperous and flourishing.
Their words no longer affect me as they once did, but when I feel all that aversion directed at me, I can't help but wish to cover my ears and escape.
However, I must maintain my strength.
Just because they now think I am not worth it doesn't mean that opinion will be eternal. Everyone deserves a chance at redemption.
Nevertheless, the situation becomes increasingly tense, and Marco becomes the enemy of all.
I try to utter some words, but Roswaal places his hand on my shoulder, stopping me.
"He did it so that, when they expel him, you can conclude your speech. Thus, despite the consequences he faces, everyone will know that his words are true and will respect your opinion," Roswaal explains wisely.
Marco is always there, ready to assist me, but what I desire goes beyond his help.
A persistent feeling that my efforts have been in vain is harbored in my heart, where a fearful spark lies waiting to ignite its fire.
My surroundings turn hostile as insults towards Marco continue to rise. Felt, in an attempt to intervene, has her voice silenced by the clamor of others.
Gildark is held back by one of the sages, while their leader, with penetrating eyes, scrutinizes mine directly. In that moment, it seems as if he reads the outcome of this conflict in the depths of my soul.
"It was a fine speech, a regrettable situation," expresses the leader of the council of sages.
He is the only one who hasn't cast me a contemptuous glance, except for another elder who seems absorbed in his own thoughts. It is true that all my efforts seem to dissipate in the face of the appearance I bear.
No, the root of all this lies in those who cannot see beyond appearances. I have been blessed with companions and family who understand me, even though the path has not been easy.
Now, I have many people by my side.
And Puck, I know, waits somewhere in the world for me to discover myself.
Marco insists that I am too kind and that I should consider my well-being. But I disagree, as helping others is, in itself, an act that benefits my own being.
Before, I only aspired to be a ruler to thaw the hearts of the people in my village.
Now, my purpose is to transform everything I touch.
Felt and I are kindred spirits.
"I will handle it myself!" exclaims a person who approaches Marco. Reinhard seems to try to intervene, but something sinister is happening.
My breathing becomes heavy, and a magical oppression spread, plunging the atmosphere into a dense sense of uncertainty.
"An attack?" Gildark questions with bewilderment.
But I know who the culprit is.
Betty, with deep resentment in her gaze, ascends into the air while maintaining her spell. For a moment, I observe Anastasia struggling, and I hurry towards her.
"Forgive her, it wasn't her intention to harm you," I say as I place my hand on her back and deactivate the spell, "she's just acting based on what others said."
Then I realize that Anastasia's door doesn't exist, which justifies her reaction. She thanks me with a look before turning her attention to Betty.
Julius gazes at me intensely for a moment, but I smile at him, trying to reassure him.
Betty continues to watch as everyone prepares to defend themselves, even Reinhard looks surprised. Marco, on the other hand, wears a smile as if everything had been planned by him.
"Dare to touch a single hair of my contractor, dare to attempt something, and, like the great spirit Beatrice," the pressure intensifies, forcing some to kneel, "I promise that no soul will go without regretting their insolence."
The oppression subsides, allowing people to catch their breath and stand upright again. Marco has completely dispelled his initial impression, but the root of all this lies in my inability to be a proper ruler.
"Arrest him immediately!" Gildark exclaims, causing fear among the knights.
The situation deteriorates, and I remain immobilized, still unsure which path to take.
"You have a great companion, Miss Emilia," affirms the leader of the council, struggling to stand.
I know what I must undertake, I truly do, and yet, I feel like a fool. Pardon me, Marco, it appears I have ruined everything, despite the current circumstances. You taught me that one should carry out their duties.
"Yes, more than a mere companion, he is a star that has graced my life," I reply, offering a smile in this situation. The knights encircle Marco, and the situation could not be bleaker, although he seems to have no intentions of interfering.
I do.
I draw in a deep breath, and with all my strength, I shout out, "Halt!" I release my mana, capturing everyone's attention.
A slight mist rises from my breath as they all turn toward me.
I was mistaken in thinking that I had to endure insults indefinitely, but sooner or later, this would have happened.
"How dare you shout like that? Without a doubt, both you and your servant are deranged. You should be ashamed, you repulsive half-demon."
At that very moment, an ice spike emerges at his feet. Without uttering a single word and without hesitation, the man's mouth shuts in an instant, and fear is evident in his dreadful eyes.
This is not something I would normally do, but if I want to protect those I care about, I must do what is necessary.
I am fed up, furious.
"The one who should remain silent is you," I say, gazing at everyone while my hand rests on my chest, struggling to calm the heart that threatens to burst. "As a candidate for the throne of Lugunica, I have the same rights as any other aspirant. Whether anyone likes it or not, I have been chosen by the will of the dragon."
The knights stop surrounding Marco, who approaches Reinhard. I am outraged. I never wished to accept these feelings.
"Those who call themselves wise must demonstrate their wisdom. Holding xenophobic and racist views towards any individual is an act of ignorance and disrespect," I assert, my gaze firm as I try to make them understand. "His words are my words; disrespecting a candidate for the throne should be severely punished. If one cannot respect the status or any sentient being, then one can never properly govern a kingdom."
Now I must appease the higher authorities.
"I apologize for the behavior of our campaign. If I have to face any penalties, I will accept them gladly," I observe them all, while their leader flashes a smile. "I believe the position of the wise entails the ability to see beyond. It deeply hurts to be compared to one of the worst catastrophes, simply for being born with her presumed appearance."
"That doesn't matter! Your resemblance to her is undeniable!" someone exclaims.
I turn with determination, fixing my gaze on each one with anger, and place my hand on my chest.
"I AM EMILIA! I am not someone else, no matter how you see me. Judging someone based on their appearance is as ignorant as it is lacking in nobility."
Yes, I am Emilia. I have finally expressed it to everyone.
"I am not a monster. My proposed campaign will always persist. We began in a humble village and are gradually expanding our reach. I must give my all.
"As a future ruler, I shall be there for everyone, regardless of their status or needs. I will always provide support, for it is my duty as a leader," I furrow my brow, displaying my annoyance. "However, a ruler who does not command respect will never be adequate. Hence, I demand that the grand council of elders arrest the chief instigator. An individual like him should not work under the protection of the noble dragon of Lugunica."
My heart threatens to burst from my chest; saying these words, acting in this manner, is something I would never have done.
But I know it is necessary.
The chief sage signals to Gildark, who nods and escorts the man who started all of this. Without an opportunity to utter a word, he is led away and removed from the scene.
Now, with someone to bear the blame, Marco should have no issues.
A calm silence envelops the chamber; everyone looks at me as I slowly catch my breath after speaking so much. Among the knights, there are surprised glances accompanied by some smiles.
But the smile that comforts me the most is Marco's. He raises his thumb and winks at me, and my heart calms a bit.
"Miss Emilia, we deeply apologize for the inconvenience caused. You have proven yourself worthy of bearing the title of a candidate, and we would like you to conclude your speech," the elderly man who remained silent before expresses.
Although not everyone is in total agreement, they do not oppose it.
"Thank you very much," I incline my head in gratitude, apologizing for what happened. Then, I stand resolute and continue with determination. "My words are not without foundation. My goal is clear. If you do not believe in me due to my appearance, if you do not believe in my name, then I will show you that you must believe. "
"Irlam is a small village within the dominions of Marquis Roswaal L Mathers, my generous sponsor. Starting from scratch, we have been steadily growing. People begin to look at each other because that name seems familiar to some."
"The steam engine, an invention created and commercialized in Irlam, has been on everyone's lips. This invention was not devised by a noble, nor conceived by a mage." I point toward Marco, causing all eyes to focus on him.
"The person present here is the inventor of the steam engine. With their ingenuity, they have demonstrated that potential lies in opportunities. Everyone has the opportunity to grow, to progress. As a society, we must aspire to move forward and become stronger. To achieve this, we need everyone to work together."
With my hand on my chest, I express my gratitude for the support given by Marco and all the inhabitants of Irlam.
The moment has come, and now, with determination burning deep within me, I will reveal one of the darkest threats that has loomed over these realms.
"The Archbishop of Sin of the Witch's Cult, that being who embodies sloth and whose name resonates like a terrifying echo: Petelgeuse Romanee Conti, has been officially eradicated from this world."
I'm sorry, Father Guise. I know what happened to you was my fault, but I also know that you want me to move forward.
My words, suffused with passion and conviction, resonate in the majestic chamber, and I immediately exclaim with force, demonstrating that my words are not mere groundless boasts:
"He was defeated by a group without swords, without cavalry training, by little more than forty individuals! Together, we obliterated an evil that had resisted extermination for generations."
The people present begin to murmur, their expressions a mix of surprise and incredulity at the extraordinary feat. However, I do not yield to their doubts. I maintain my steadfast gaze, my eyes shining with determination.
"Allow me to be the bridge that leads us to a brighter and more prosperous future," I declare, standing resolute.
It is the culmination of my speech, and I do it with the certainty that my words will reach receptive ears. I do not regret my actions, though I understand that the challenges I will face are immense. Perhaps I should have taken this step earlier, but destiny has led us here.
I am Emilia. A half-elf with silver hair, a half-elf who supposedly resembles the Witch of Envy. But beyond the comparisons and stigmas, I know who I truly am. I remain Emilia, a living force willing to weave a new path for all those who, like me, yearn for a better future.
At the conclusion of the speech, my eyes remain wide open, surprised by the unexpected intensity of Emilia's words. What we rehearsed earlier was overshadowed by the authenticity and passion that emanated from her being at this moment.
I observe the satisfied gaze of Roswaal, sensing that this outcome was planned by him from the beginning. However, I am not concerned because, regardless of what transpires, I am determined to stand by her until the end.
"I'm sorry, I suppose," Beatrice is in my embrace, apologizing for her earlier behavior. Although the situation was unexpected and nearly put our contract in jeopardy, I cannot find it in my heart to reprimand her.
She shone brightly on this stage, and that fills me with pride.
"Calm down, Betty. You shone like never before, my princess," I assure her, and she nods, understanding my unwavering support.
My mind focuses on the next step. I observe the nobles who supported Emilia, as they could become valuable assets for her cause.
However, one of the sages' challenges Emilia's words, questioning the truth of her claim to have vanquished the archbishop with the aid of peasants. Emilia affirms the veracity of her statement.
In this place, only two individuals can fully discern the truth. I am not one of them, but I know that I will not lie under any circumstance. Roswaal, singled out by Emilia, provides his testimony, sealing the credibility of her assertion.
"I have personally verified the accuracy of this information. As Marquis, I, Roswaal L Mathers, solemnly swear that everything stated is true," he asserts.
In the face of Roswaal's unwavering commitment, there is little more to be said. However, he requests that the person who was present and delivered the final blow to the archbishop speak.
Reinhard's gaze falls upon me with surprise, but I smile calmly. I lower Beatrice and take her hand with determination. Now is the time to demonstrate my true strength.
Before everyone, without hesitation, I make my way to the center.
I am unsure of the reason behind Roswaal's actions, but I understand that the contents of his book of wisdom will change if someone else testifies.
With no time to falter, duty compels me to kneel before the candidates and the council. In this moment, my will merges with Emilia's, prepared to face whatever challenges destiny has in store for us.
"Approach us so we may examine you closely," one of the sages' requests with a serious tone.
I humbly nod my head.
"I beg your pardon, but I would not dare to turn my back to the throne candidates in such a manner. Therefore, I request to speak from this position."
Respecting the formalities and reaffirming the error made by the nobles, they have no choice but to accept.
Gildark orders firmly, "Present yourself before all."
From my vantage point, I gaze forward with unwavering confidence. There is no trace of fear within me, for I know precisely what I am undertaking.
"As the Mayor of the village of Irlam, inventor of the steam engine, general of the Irlam army, spiritual mage of a grand spirit, and the individual who vanquished an archbishop of the cult, I stand before you. Furthermore, I am an associate of the throne candidate, Emilia."
My pride and determination are mirrored in my gaze as I declare my identity.
"I am Marco Luz!"