The days following the ball were quiet, but Ayanokoji knew better than to mistake quiet for peace.
Beneath the surface, the game continued—alliances forming, plots hatching, enemies gathering.
He spent his time in the library, researching everything he could find about the Sword Saint and his family.
The Astrea lineage was ancient, stretching back to the founding of the kingdom itself.
They had produced generations of heroes, warriors blessed with divine protections that made them nearly invincible.
But there was something else, something that nagged at the edges of Ayanokoji’s consciousness.
A pattern he couldn’t quite identify.
The Astrea family had been unusually quiet in recent years.
Their influence had waned, their presence in politics diminished.
It was as if they were waiting for something.
Waiting for the Selection, Ayanokoji realized.
They’ve been positioning themselves for this moment.
But to what end?
The answer came from an unexpected source.
Puck, the cat spirit, appeared in the library one afternoon, his usual playfulness subdued.
“You’ve been asking questions about the Astrea family,” Puck said, floating lazily near the ceiling.
“Dangerous questions.”
“Knowledge is never dangerous,” Ayanokoji replied.
“Only ignorance.”
Puck chuckled, but there was no humor in the sound.
“You sound like an old sage.
But you’re wrong.
Some knowledge is dangerous precisely because of what it reveals.
The Astrea family has secrets—dark secrets that could shake the kingdom to its foundations.”
“What kind of secrets?”
Puck floated down to eye level, his small face serious.
“I can’t tell you.
Not because I don’t want to, but because I literally can’t.
There are oaths involved, ancient magics that bind the tongue.
But I can tell you this: the Sword Saint is not what he appears to be.
His power, his blessings—they come with a price.”
Ayanokoji considered this.
“You’re saying Reinhard’s abilities are not purely a gift.
There’s a cost.”
“There’s always a cost.
The divine protections that make him invincible also isolate him.
He can never truly connect with others, never experience the normal human emotions that bind people together.
He’s a weapon, created and honed by forces beyond his control.”
The description hit uncomfortably close to home.
Ayanokoji recognized the pattern—a child shaped into a tool, stripped of normal human experiences in the pursuit of perfection.
“He’s like me,” Ayanokoji said quietly.
Puck’s eyes widened slightly.
“Perhaps.
But with one crucial difference.
You chose to become what you are—or at least, you’ve accepted it.
He never had a choice.”
Ayanokoji absorbed this information.
Reinhard van Astrea was not just a powerful ally or potential enemy—he was a kindred spirit, someone who understood the burden of being created for a purpose.
That could be useful, Ayanokoji thought.
If I can connect with him on that level, I might be able to earn his trust.
But that would require revealing more of himself than he was comfortable with.
And trust, once given, could be exploited.
“I need to meet with him again,” Ayanokoji said.
“Privately.
Away from the politics and the crowds.”
Puck nodded slowly.
“I can arrange that.
But be careful.
The Sword Saint is not someone to be manipulated lightly.”
“I’m not trying to manipulate him.
I’m trying to understand him.”
“Is there a difference?”
Ayanokoji didn’t answer.
The question was too close to the truth.
The meeting was arranged two days later, in a quiet tea house on the outskirts of the capital.
Reinhard arrived alone, his casual attire doing nothing to diminish his overwhelming presence.
“I was surprised by your invitation,” Reinhard said, settling into a chair across from Ayanokoji.
“Most people are too intimidated to approach me directly.”
“I’m not most people.”
Reinhard smiled.
“No, you’re not.
Puck tells me you’ve been researching my family.
That’s either very brave or very foolish.”
“Perhaps both.
Your family’s history is fascinating.
Generations of heroes, each one blessed with extraordinary abilities.
But there are gaps in the records—periods where the Astrea family withdrew from public life, events that were never properly documented.”
Reinhard’s expression became guarded.
“Every family has its secrets.”
“True.
But your family’s secrets seem particularly significant.
The Sword Saint’s power, the divine blessings, the connection to the Dragon—these aren’t just matters of historical curiosity.
They’re relevant to the Selection.”
Reinhard was silent for a long moment, his blue eyes studying Ayanokoji with an intensity that would have made lesser men squirm.
“What do you want, Ayanokoji-san?
Really?”
It was a direct question, and Ayanokoji decided to answer honestly.
“I want to win the Selection.
I want Emilia to become the ruler of Lugunica.
And I believe that your support—or at least your neutrality—could be decisive.”
“And why should I support Lady Emilia?
What makes her different from the other candidates?”
“She’s the only one who genuinely cares about the people.
The others see the throne as a prize to be won—Priscilla wants power, Anastasia wants profit, Crusch wants order.
But Emilia wants something different.
She wants a kingdom where everyone can live without fear.
Where demi-humans are treated with the same respect as humans.
Where the Witch’s shadow no longer looms over the land.”
“That’s a beautiful dream,” Reinhard said quietly.
“But dreams don’t win thrones.”
“No.
Victories do.
And that’s where I come in.
I can give Emilia those victories.
I can defeat her enemies, outmaneuver her rivals, and position her as the only logical choice for the throne.”
Reinhard leaned back, his expression thoughtful.
“You’re very confident.”
“Confidence is just another word for preparation.
I’ve studied the other candidates, the Council, the political landscape.
I know what needs to be done, and I have the skills to do it.”
“Then why do you need me?”
“Because there are variables I can’t control.
The Cult’s power, the other candidates’ hidden resources, the unknown forces that Puck hinted at.
I need allies who can help me navigate those uncertainties.”
Reinhard was silent for a long moment.
Then he smiled, a small, knowing expression.
“You’re asking for an alliance.
But you haven’t offered anything in return.”
“What would you want?”
The Sword Saint considered this.
“The Selection will change the kingdom, regardless of who wins.
The old order will be disrupted, new powers will rise.
I want to ensure that the change is managed properly—that the kingdom doesn’t tear itself apart in the process.”
“Then we want the same thing.
Stability, prosperity, peace.
Emilia can deliver that.”
“Can she?
Or will she be overwhelmed by the forces arrayed against her?”
Ayanokoji met his gaze steadily.
“That’s what I’m here to prevent.”
The meeting ended with an unspoken understanding.
Reinhard had not committed to anything, but he had not refused either.
The door was open, if only slightly.
It’s a start, Ayanokoji thought as he left the tea house.
Building trust takes time.
But I’ve planted the seeds.
The game continued.