Capítulo 224: [FGO]: 224
In terms of physique, this young lady might be considered the finest among all the girls present, particularly with her majestic figure that captivates men's gazes—a generous estimate might place her bust at 36E. Coupled with her off-shoulder, intricately designed gown adorned with red and black gemstones, she fully embodies the image of an aristocratic young lady from a prestigious family.
Unlike Crusch, who is disciplined and modest, this girl, Priscilla Barielle, exudes a signature noble arrogance that defines her first impression. Her crimson presence, reminiscent of blood, radiates arrogance from her very core, even her soul. However, it's not the irritating kind of arrogance, but the solitary pride of a true ruler.
In terms of popularity and influence, she might be Crusch's greatest obstacle to ascending the throne.
As for the blonde-haired girl to the far left, wearing a perpetual expression of "Don't mess with me! Get lost," that's Felt, who has previously crossed paths with Ryou and his group.
To be precise, her full name is Felt Lugunica, the last surviving descendant of the royal family. Despite wearing a luxurious bright yellow court gown with an elegant makeup look, her untamed wildness is impossible to conceal. This draws whispered criticisms from the nearby nobles:
"Uncouth," "Ill-mannered," "Lowly origins"—these insulting comments are spoken just loudly enough for Felt to hear.
Naturally, Felt isn't one to take insults lightly. She immediately turns around and starts berating the offenders. Priscilla, annoyed by the noise, sneers sarcastically, provoking Felt to shift her focus and fire back at her instead.
Priscilla, of course, is not one to back down either, and the situation quickly escalates toward confrontation. Watching Felt's combative behavior, Reinhard stands nearby with a calm smile, though internally he's nearly at his limit.
The once dignified council chamber now resembles a bustling marketplace, causing the Wise Men present to shake their heads in disapproval. Initially, the Council of Wise Men viewed Felt as the ideal candidate for the throne. As the last royal descendant, she possessed the perfect legitimacy while lacking any real power base, making her the perfect puppet.
Unfortunately, growing up in the slums had shaped Felt into a defiant spirit, set against the nobility at every turn. This attitude was naturally unacceptable to the Council of Wise Men, the very embodiment of the aristocratic elite.
"Ahem!"
At that moment, Miklotov, the elderly chairman seated closest to the throne, cleared his throat. The knight commander standing at the front of the crowd immediately bellowed:
"Everyone, silence!"
The combined authority of the Council of Wise Men's leader and the knight commander instantly quieted the hall.
"Have we all calmed down? Perhaps we should get to the main topic."
"Tch," Felt muttered under her breath, turning her face away.
"Hmph!"
Beside her, Priscilla snapped open her feathered fan, her seductive, almond-shaped eyes now filled with a cold, menacing gleam.
"Sir Miklotov, there is still one Candidate absent. Shall we wait a little longer or..." the knight commander hesitated.
"You mean the half-elf? It's already an extraordinary mercy from the Divine Dragon to let her participate. To arrive late to such an important event—I say we strip her of her candidacy outright!" an angry, bald Wise Men seated opposite snapped before Miklotov could respond.
"Indeed! A lowly half-elf keeps so many distinguished individuals waiting?"
"The Divine Dragon must have chosen poorly to grant that silver-haired half-elf her qualifications," murmured a cluster of civil officials, fanning the flames.
Though the knights on the left remained silent due to their discipline, disapproval was evident in their eyes. Only a few, including Reinhard and Julius, maintained neutral expressions.
Meanwhile, a certain cross-dressing individual fixed his gaze on his elegantly dressed master, their roles in their peculiar dynamic crystal-clear.
Among the four royal candidates, reactions varied. Crusch stood upright, refraining from comment. Anastasia appeared contemplative.
"Perhaps the silver-haired half-elf knew she couldn't win and decided to forfeit," Priscilla remarked smugly, needling everyone as usual.
"Even if she forfeits, it doesn't mean you've won. What are you so proud of, idiot?"
Felt retorted, seemingly incapable of not responding to Priscilla.
"Looks like this little runt is itching to die!"
Priscilla's almond eyes flashed with hostility.
"Bring it on! You think I'm scared of you, you crazy woman?!"
Felt shot back, baring her teeth like a wildcat.
The two seemed like a red fox and a stray cat locked in a standoff, eliciting simultaneous sighs from Reinhard and Aldebaran, the latter of whom wore a full-face helmet and had only one arm.
Their gazes met, and a silent understanding passed between them—both shared the misfortune of serving such troublesome masters.
As the room verged on chaos once more, the knight commander turned to Miklotov with a pleading look.
"The Royal Selection Ceremony is a sacred ritual granted by the Divine Dragon. It must not be delayed for anyone," Miklotov remarked kindly, though his words were ruthlessly clear: Emilia was excluded from the selection.
The chamber erupted in mocking laughter and derision. The knight commander sighed, sympathizing with the silver-haired half-elf girl. However, ensuring the stability of Lugunica was paramount. Should Emilia, with her negative reputation, ascend to the throne, it would spell disaster for the kingdom.
Resolute, the knight commander declared:
"I now pronounce the start of the Royal Selection Ceremony!"
His powerful voice resounded through the chamber, signaling not only the beginning of the ceremony but also Emilia's complete exclusion.
Bang!
At that moment, the grand doors to the chamber swung open, and two silver-haired figures strode in gracefully, meeting the crowd's mixture of shock, scorn, hostility, and schadenfreude head-on.
Walking behind was Anastasia, her face frosty, while slightly ahead was Emilia. But today, Emilia felt completely different.
Normally, her smile carried an innocent charm—three parts sweetness, three parts purity, and three parts humility. While many feared her due to her identity as a silver-haired half-elf, her warm, spring-like demeanor softened the fear into reluctant acceptance. Yet today, Emilia's expression was as icy as Anastasia's. Her sharp ears were deliberately hidden beneath her hair, and the two girls, walking one behind the other, exuded an air of sisterhood.
Emilia strode forward without acknowledging the mocking gazes directed at her. Her steps on the crimson carpet were steady and regal, her demeanor both proud and composed. Today, she presented herself as a different Emilia altogether—one befitting the title of queen.
This new Emilia, however, brought to mind the image of the Witch of Envy, who once consumed half the world.
Without realizing it, the mocking murmurs of the nobles quieted, replaced by an oppressive silence. Their derision faded, replaced by wariness as they beheld her imposing presence.
Among the assembled strong, a few noticed the subtle shift in her aura. Reinhard, in particular, felt an intense unease. A foreboding sensation filled him as if something catastrophic was about to occur. His unease deepened when his dragon sword, Reid, began to quiver at his hip. The blade's faintly exposed edge gleamed sharply, hinting that it might draw itself.
The implication was clear: at least one of the two girls before him was deemed a worthy adversary by the dragon sword—possibly both!
How is that possible? Reinhard thought, a sense of absurdity creeping over him.
Unbeknownst to him, as Emilia approached, the Witch's Core sealed within her body pulsed ominously. Dark energy began to leak from its chains, and it throbbed like a heartbeat.
Before Reinhard could grasp what was happening, the sharp voice of a Wise Men interrupted.
"How dare you be late for the sacred Royal Selection ceremony! You filthy silver-haired half-elf, how insolent you are!"
The speaker was the bald Wise Men from the right side of the chamber, notorious for his fiery temper and rivalry with Miklotov for the position of council leader. Wasting no time, he pointed at Emilia and unleashed a tirade, treating her not as a candidate chosen by the Divine Dragon, but as a lowly servant girl who had erred.
Ordinarily, this would fluster Emilia, who might hurriedly apologize in submission.
But not today.
Emilia shot him a frosty glare.
"Are you done? If so, kindly shut up. Now it's my turn to speak."
"I had assumed a Wise Men of your stature would possess wisdom and eloquence, yet all you spew are vulgarities unbecoming of your position!"
"You! How dare you! Guards! Seize this insolent woman immediately!" the blad man fumed, his rage boiling over.
Miklotov, meanwhile, hid his delight behind a benign smile. Emilia's outburst gave him ample grounds to disqualify her. Feigning mediation, he interjected:
"Lady Emilia, don't you think this behavior is a bit unbecoming—"
Before he could finish, Emilia turned her pointed finger toward him and declared loudly:
"Silence! You shameless! I once thought you were devoted to serving the people, but now I see you for what you truly are—a scheming, manipulative fraud!
"You deceive the Divine Dragon, oppress the people, and form cliques to consolidate power, removing dissenters."
"Despite living 106 years, you've achieved nothing of merit—no reforms to benefit the kingdom, no accomplishments in foreign affairs. All you've done is wag your tongue and feather your own nest!"
Boom!
The entire council hall erupted in an uproar. Dozens of astonished and incredulous eyes turned to Emilia, the silver-haired half-elf who stood proud and defiant.
This wasn't just any outburst—she had openly insulted the leader and vice leader of the Council of Wise Men, the two most powerful figures in Lugunica's political and economic circles!
It was equivalent to scolding the emperor and prime minister in the Vollachia Empire.
And yet, Emilia had done so in front of hundreds of Luguica's elite, pointing directly at their noses!
Their authority lay shattered. Unless the two Wise Men could swiftly crush Emilia's challenge, their decades of carefully built prestige would crumble.
But Emilia's bold words weren't entirely her own. They came from a certain mischievous adviser, whose penchant for stirring trouble had crafted a flawless tirade.
The cathartic sensation left Emilia oddly intoxicated.
The reactions of those present varied wildly. Nobles and knights alike stared at her as though she were a creature from another world.
Among the four other candidates, Crusch remained composed, yet her surprise was evident.
Anastasia's expression was complicated, her calculating mind reeling from this unexpected revelation. For someone who prided herself on reading people, Emilia's transformation was deeply unsettling.
Priscilla, initially scornful of Emilia, now hid a sly smile behind her feathered fan. Her ruby-red eyes gleamed with curiosity.
"How amusing! To think this dull, timid half-elf had such a fiery spine. Most intriguing!"
Felt, ever the straightforward one, unabashedly gave Emilia a thumbs-up.
"Silver-haired sis, you're amazing!"
"Guards! Where are the guards? Arrest this insolent woman immediately!" Miklotov roared, his beard trembling with fury.
"By the authority of the Council of Wise Men, I hereby strip you of your right to participate in the Royal Selection!"
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