"Once I heard Emilia-sama would attend, I figured you'd be here too. Long time no see, Shichen."
Reinhard wore his breezy smile and offered his hand.
"How are you so sure?" Shichen clasped it.
"Call it intuition. The day I saw you with Emilia-sama, I felt you two would stay together. And you tipped me off about Felt's identity—made me think you'd get tied up with the royal selection."
"As expected of you."
"Nya-ha-ha~ so Shichen even knows Reinhard," Ferris sidled in, eyes crescented with a grin.
"Oh? Ferris, you know Shichen too?"
"Sure do—and Shichen said he likes my cat ears, nya." Ferris answered, pleased.
"Did he now? That's so like Shichen."
"I feel like you've got the wrong idea about me. Is liking cat ears some kind of feat?"
"No—your… unusual presence is what impresses me."
"Doesn't that go for Subaru too?"
"Subaru… indeed." At the name, Reinhard chuckled and shook his head.
"How is he? He's not giving you trouble, right?" Shichen asked offhandedly.
"Not trouble—just hard to keep up with his tempo."
"Hah, that's him. As long as he's not a handful."
"More than not—thanks to him, I feel I've gotten no small amount of help," Reinhard admitted from the heart.
"That so?" Shichen nodded. Reinhard was too straight-laced; a modern's mindset like Subaru's could only broaden him.
"Right, let me introduce a friend." Reinhard indicated a young man who'd been quietly standing by.
The youth's violet hair was carefully combed back. Tall as Shichen, slim without seeming frail, he was a textbook handsome man. He wore a dragon-crested uniform with ornate trim, a slender rapier at his waist—much like Reinhard. Their professions were likely similar.
"Shichen, this is my good friend Julius Juukulius—just call him Julius… Julius, this is the Shichen I told you about."
"Sir Shichen, a pleasure." Julius gave a mild smile and extended his hand.
"Hello, Julius." Shichen shook it.
"So then, Shichen-sama—have you become Emilia-sama's knight?" Julius asked as he released his grip.
"I have. Is that a problem?" Shichen replied with a smile.
"Remarkable," Julius said simply.
"Haha, more than remarkable. I doubt Shichen would lose to me," Reinhard added.
"Nya? Really?" Ferris' eyes went wide.
"My Reid told me so."
Reinhard gestured to the great golden blade at his hip.
The Dragon Sword—this world's strongest sword.
Clink… clink… clink—
The resplendent, awe-soaked weapon quivered, radiating fighting spirit—aimed squarely at Shichen.
"Unbelievable…" Julius' eyes flashed with surprise; he looked to Shichen in disbelief.
"Shichen's amazing," Ferris gasped, hand over mouth, the picture of a cute girl.
"Reinhard, don't exaggerate," Shichen demurred.
"Don't be modest," Reinhard chided lightly.
"Sigh, have it your way… That said—you're all here at the very front, not just as Royal Guard, I take it…?" Shichen let the implication hang. He, Julius, even Priscilla's knight stood at the very front—quite the conspicuous spot. Not a trivial place to be.
"Aiya~ Shichen's very clever, nya," Ferris giggled. He wore the skirted, women's version of the Guard uniform below the waist today.
Julius smoothed his hair; his look turned solemn. "Indeed, I'm not only a member of the Royal Guard. It's possible I'll be your enemy before long, Sir Knight over there—please take note."
He meant Priscilla's knight.
"Ah—me? I'm not much for formalities, so spare me the 'Sir Knight' bit… I'm just—uh—yeah, a penniless vagabond. Not at all like you men of firm conviction," Priscilla's knight replied listlessly. His couldn't-care-less attitude rankled Julius' sense of knightly decorum.
Julius was opening his mouth to argue when the armor-clad knight on the dais raised his voice, loud and clear:
"All members of the Council of Sages and the royal candidates are present. With permission, I—Marcos, Captain of the Royal Guard—will preside."
"Hm. We leave it to you," Miklotov nodded faintly.
Marcos saluted, then faced the assembly, expression severe. "We have called all of you to the royal castle, and gathered the Council of Sages, to choose the next king—that is, to deliver an important notice to those concerned with the royal selection."
His voice wasn't booming, but it carried, drawing every eye and ear in the hall.
"The root begins roughly half a year ago—when the late king and the royal line perished in succession. A realm without a sovereign is grave enough; for the Dragon-favored Kingdom of Lugunica, the matter ties closely to our covenant."
The covenant—that pact with the Dragon. Shichen had already heard the details from Ram.
The kingdom's tie to the Dragon went back centuries: King Farsale Lugunica made the pact with the Divine Dragon Volcanica; time and again in crisis, the dragon saved the realm and helped it prosper. Thus Lugunica's symbol was the dragon.
"…Volcanica is a faithful guardian—though the ages turn, from beyond the Great Waterfall he still watches over our kingdom," Marcos continued, pausing to glance at Miklotov, then pressing on. "Therefore maintaining the covenant is integral to the kingdom's existence. Yet the royal blood was struck by plague—most lamentable. We must soon appoint a new 'Priestess of the Dragon'—the one who, at the Covenant Renewal, communes with the Dragon and bears the sacred duty once passed down the royal line. We will seek a new successor."
Marcos placed a hand to his chest. "Accordingly, by order of the Council of Sages, the Royal Guard was tasked to find the maidens marked by the Dragonstone's light."
He reached into his breast, drew out a small badge set with a jewel—the same proof that qualified one to join the selection. Stepping down from the dais, he saluted the four women in line, then held the badge up.
"Please present your Dragonstones."
The four raised theirs. In an instant, color flooded the hall—the gems on each emblem shining in different hues. Emilia's glowed red.
The response set off murmurs from the Guard; the sages' faces eased.
"As you see, each candidate bears the Priestess's qualification. With that confirmed, we shall abide by the Dragon-Chronicle—"
"—Is that not enough?" A gentle voice cut across him. The speaker: the lilac-haired girl in white, her Dragonstone shining blue.
"Ah know y'all want it neat an' tidy, Cap'n, but Ah'm real busy, see? Back in Kararagi, we say time's money, suga'," she said with a mild smile—clearly not trying to break decorum, but not willing to waste time either—and slipped her stone away. "'Stead o' speechifyin' stuff we all heard ten times over, Ah'd rather hear the real reason we got called here."
Her lilt was distinct—Shichen's ear pegged it as Kansai-esque.
"Indeed," another voice, crisp and commanding, agreed—the green-haired military beauty with arms folded.
"Karsten-sama, for the head of House Karsten to say such—" Marcos began, uneasy.
"Obsessing over protocol has its place, but time is limited. Best to state the reason plainly—though I can guess," Crusch said, cutting her eyes toward Miklotov.
"As expected of the head of House Karsten—you have divined why," Miklotov nodded, approving.
"So it's to hold a banquet, is it not? It would make sense—though we shall be rivals, we scarcely know each other yet. A shared table—"
"No. Not so," Miklotov cut her off.
"Ferris, what's going on?" Crusch frowned toward their side, questioning Ferris.
Shichen kept his expression even and studied her—not because he knew her, but because, like Priscilla, she carried a Divine Fragment within.