The letter arrived at dawn, delivered by a messenger who claimed to have traveled through the night from the capital.
It bore the seal of the Sage Council—a mark of such significance that Roswaal himself came to receive it.
Ayanokoji watched from the shadows of the hallway as the Margrave broke the seal, his mismatched eyes scanning the contents with unusual intensity.
When he finished, Roswaal’s expression was unreadable.
“The Council has called a public hearing,” he announced, his voice carrying a strange mix of amusement and concern.
“All candidates are required to attend.
They will be questioned on their vision for the kingdom, their qualifications, and their proposed policies.”
Emilia, who had joined them in the entrance hall, paled slightly.
“A public hearing?
But the Selection has barely begun.
Why would they call for this so early?”
“Because someone on the Council is impatient,” Ayanokoji said, stepping forward.
“Or someone wants to force the candidates to reveal their hands before they’re ready.”
Roswaal’s eyes flickered to him.
“An astute observation, Ayanokoji-kun.
The question is: who benefits from this hearing, and why?”
Ayanokoji’s mind was already racing.
A public hearing meant public scrutiny.
Each candidate would be judged not just by their words, but by their composure, their intelligence, their ability to think on their feet.
It was a test of character as much as policy.
This is an opportunity, he thought.
But also a trap.
The other candidates have more experience with politics, more polished presentations.
Emilia will be at a disadvantage—unless we prepare properly.
“We need to strategize,” he said.
“Immediately.
Emilia-sama, what do you know about the Council members who will be conducting the hearing?”
Emilia shook her head, her expression uncertain.
“Very little.
I’ve only met a few of them in passing.
They’re…
intimidating.”
“They’re politicians,” Ayanokoji replied.
“Which means they have egos, biases, and personal agendas.
If we can identify those, we can use them.”
Roswaal smiled, a slow, knowing expression.
“I see you’re already thinking several steps ahead.
Good.
Let’s retire to my study.
We have much to discuss.”
The study was cluttered with maps, documents, and the remnants of Roswaal’s ongoing intelligence operations.
Ayanokoji cleared a space on the large oak desk and spread out the notes he had compiled on the Council members.
“There are seven members of the Sage Council,” he began, his voice calm and methodical.
“Each one represents a different faction within the kingdom.
Lord Bordeaux Zellgef is the military representative—a hardliner who values strength above all else.
Lady Miklotov McMahon is the diplomatic representative—she favors compromise and negotiation.
Lord Belius Weller is the economic representative—he cares about trade and prosperity.”
He paused, tapping a name on the paper.
“The remaining four are less predictable.
Lord Rickert Hoffman is a traditionalist who believes in maintaining the old ways.
Lady Constance Ashford is a reformer who wants to modernize the kingdom.
Lord Aldebaran Vance is a scholar who values knowledge and education.
And the seventh member…”
He trailed off, his expression darkening.
“The seventh member is unknown,” Roswaal finished for him.
“The seat has been vacant for months.
No one knows who will fill it, or when.”
“That’s a problem,” Ayanokoji admitted.
“An unknown variable could disrupt even the most carefully laid plans.
We need to prepare for multiple scenarios.”
Emilia, who had been listening quietly, spoke up.
“What kind of questions do you think they’ll ask?”
“Everything,” Ayanokoji replied.
“Your background, your goals, your policies.
They’ll probe for weaknesses, look for inconsistencies.
They’ll try to trip you up, to make you reveal more than you intend.”
He turned to face her, his gray eyes cold but focused.
“The key is to control the narrative.
Don’t let them dictate the conversation.
Answer their questions, but steer the discussion toward your strengths.
Make them see you as the only logical choice for the throne.”
Emilia nodded slowly, but her expression remained uncertain.
“And if I make a mistake?
If I say something wrong?”
“Then I’ll fix it.
But you won’t make a mistake.
You’re smarter than you give yourself credit for.
Trust your instincts.”
The words came out before Ayanokoji could stop them.
He felt a flicker of something—surprise, perhaps, at his own uncharacteristic encouragement.
Emilia looked at him with wide eyes, a faint blush coloring her cheeks.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
“I…
I’ll do my best.”
Roswaal watched the exchange with a knowing smile but said nothing.
The days leading up to the hearing were a whirlwind of activity.
Ayanokoji drilled Emilia relentlessly, preparing her for every conceivable question.
They practiced in the library, the garden, even the dining room—anywhere they could find privacy.
“You’re too defensive,” Ayanokoji said after one particularly grueling session.
“When they ask about your heritage, you retreat.
You need to own it.”
Emilia’s expression tightened.
“But my heritage is a weakness.
The people fear me because of what I am.”
“Only because they don’t understand you.
Turn it into a strength. Follow the newest chapters on g.com.
You’re a half-elf—the first half-elf to be chosen by the Dragon for the Selection.
That’s not a weakness; it’s a statement.
It says that the Dragon believes in equality, in a future where all races can coexist.”
Emilia was silent for a long moment.
Then she smiled, a slow, genuine expression that lit up her face.
“You’re right.
I’ve been letting my fear control me.
But I won’t anymore.”
Ayanokoji nodded, ignoring the strange warmth in his chest.
“Good.
Now, let’s try again.
The question about your connection to the Witch—”
They continued until late in the night, long after the servants had retired.
When Emilia finally stumbled to her chambers, exhausted but determined, Ayanokoji remained in the library, reviewing his notes.
Rem appeared with a cup of tea, her expression concerned.
“You should rest too, Ayanokoji-kun.
You’ve been working non-stop.”
“I’ll rest when the work is done.” He accepted the tea, his fingers brushing against hers.
A small, almost imperceptible touch.
Rem’s cheeks flushed slightly, but she didn’t pull away.
“You’re pushing yourself too hard.
And Lady Emilia too.
She’s strong, but even she has limits.”
“I know.
But the hearing is in three days.
We can’t afford to be unprepared.”
Rem studied him for a moment, her blue eyes unreadable.
“You care about her.
More than you admit.”
The words hung in the air between them.
Ayanokoji took a sip of tea, using the motion to buy time.
“I care about the mission,” he said finally.
“Emilia is the key to that mission.
Her success is my success.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know.” He met her gaze, his expression neutral.
“But it’s the only answer I can give.”
Rem nodded slowly, as if she understood something he hadn’t said.
“Then I’ll help you.
However I can.”
She left, her footsteps silent on the wooden floor.
Ayanokoji watched her go, a strange ache in his chest.
Emotions are weaknesses, he reminded himself.
Attachment leads to vulnerability.
I can’t afford either.
But even as he thought it, he knew that the walls he had built were beginning to crack.
The day of the hearing arrived with the kind of crystalline clarity that precedes a storm.
Ayanokoji stood with Emilia in the grand chamber of the Sage Council, surrounded by nobles, officials, and the curious eyes of the kingdom.
The other candidates were present—Priscilla, resplendent in her arrogance; Anastasia, composed and calculating; Crusch, stern and disciplined; and Felt, the wildcard, looking as out of place as a fox in a henhouse.
The Council members sat in a semicircle on elevated thrones, their expressions varying from bored (Lord Weller) to intensely focused (Lady Ashford).
At the center sat Lord Bordeaux Zellgef, the military hardliner, his grizzled face set in a permanent scowl.
“We are gathered here today,” Zellgef announced, his voice booming through the chamber, “to hear from the candidates for the throne.
Each will be questioned on their vision, their qualifications, and their ability to lead this kingdom through the challenges ahead.”
He turned to the candidates, his gaze sweeping over them like a general surveying troops.
“We will begin with Lady Emilia.”
Ayanokoji felt Emilia tense beside him.
He placed a hand on her shoulder, a brief, reassuring touch.
“Remember what we practiced,” he murmured.
“Control the narrative.
Own your strengths.”
Emilia took a deep breath and stepped forward, her silver hair catching the light.
She looked small against the vastness of the chamber, but there was a quiet dignity in her posture that commanded attention.
“Honorable members of the Council,” she began, her voice clear and steady.
“Thank you for this opportunity to speak.
I am Emilia, candidate for the throne, and I stand before you today not as a politician or a warrior, but as someone who believes in a better future for this kingdom.”
Lord Zellgef’s eyes narrowed.
“A pretty speech.
But words are cheap.
Tell us—why should we support a half-elf who has never held political office, never commanded an army, never negotiated a treaty?”
The question was brutal, designed to rattle her.
But Emilia didn’t flinch.
“You should support me because I understand the people,” she replied.
“Not the nobles, not the merchants, not the soldiers—the people.
The farmers who work the land, the craftsmen who build our cities, the families who struggle to survive.
I have lived among them.
I know their struggles, their hopes, their fears.
And I believe that a ruler who understands the people is a ruler who can truly serve them.”
There was a murmur in the chamber.
Ayanokoji watched the Council members’ reactions, noting the flickers of interest, the subtle shifts in posture.
Good, he thought.
She’s winning them over.
Lady Ashford leaned forward, her expression curious.
“You speak of understanding the people.
But how do you plan to address the deep divisions within our kingdom?
The prejudice against demi-humans, the resentment between nobles and commoners, the lingering fear of the Witch’s legacy?”
Emilia met her gaze without hesitation.
“By leading through example.
I am a half-elf, yes.
But I am also a candidate chosen by the Dragon—the same Dragon that has protected this kingdom for centuries.
If the Dragon believes in me, then perhaps the people can learn to believe as well.”
She paused, her voice growing stronger.
But I can shape the future.
I can show the people that the Witch’s shadow does not define me.
That I am my own person, with my own dreams and my own vision.”
The chamber was silent.
Ayanokoji felt a surge of something—pride, perhaps, or satisfaction.
Emilia had risen to the challenge, had exceeded even his expectations.
But the hearing was far from over.
Lord Zellgef’s scowl deepened.
“Fine words.
But what about the Witch’s Cult?
They’ve already attacked you once.
How do you plan to deal with them?”
Emilia hesitated, and Ayanokoji knew this was the critical moment.
The Cult was a sensitive topic—one wrong word could undo everything.
“The Cult is a threat to all of us,” Emilia said carefully.
“Not just to me, but to the kingdom as a whole.
I believe that the only way to defeat them is through unity—by bringing together all the factions, all the races, all the people, to stand against the darkness they represent.”
“A noble sentiment,” Zellgef said.
“But sentiments don’t win wars.
What concrete steps will you take to protect this kingdom?”
Before Emilia could answer, Ayanokoji stepped forward.
“May I speak, Lord Zellgef?”
The chamber fell silent.
All eyes turned to him—the unknown advisor, the outsider who had somehow earned a place at Emilia’s side.
Zellgef’s eyes narrowed.
“And who are you?”
“Ayanokoji Kiyotaka.
Lady Emilia’s strategist.” He met the old soldier’s gaze without flinching.
“I have concrete plans, if the Council is willing to hear them.”
There was a long moment of silence.
Then Lord Zellgef nodded slowly.
“Very well.
Speak.”
Ayanokoji stepped forward, his voice calm and measured.
“The Cult’s greatest weapon is fear.
They attack from the shadows, strike without warning, and disappear before we can respond.
They rely on chaos and confusion to achieve their goals.”
He paused, letting his words sink in.
“To defeat them, we need to take away that advantage.
We need to fight them not with brute force, but with intelligence, strategy, and precision.
We need to anticipate their moves before they make them, to strike at their leadership and disrupt their operations.”
“And how do you propose to do that?” Lady Ashford asked.
Ayanokoji allowed himself a small smile.
“By thinking like them.
By understanding their methods, their motivations, their weaknesses.
The Cult believes in the Witch’s return—a fanatical faith that blinds them to reason.
But faith can be exploited.
It can be manipulated.
It can be turned against them.”
He reached into his coat and withdrew a document—the results of weeks of research and analysis.
“I have compiled a detailed assessment of the Cult’s operations, their likely targets, and their potential vulnerabilities.
I have identified three key weaknesses that can be exploited to disrupt their activities and neutralize their threat.”
The chamber erupted in murmurs.
Even the other candidates looked surprised.
Lord Zellgef took the document, his eyes scanning its contents.
His expression shifted—from skepticism to surprise to something that might have been respect.
“This is…
thorough,” he admitted.
“You’ve done your homework.”
“I always do.”
Lord Zellgef studied Ayanokoji for a long moment.
Then he turned to the other Council members.
“I move that we adjourn for a brief recess to review this document.”
The motion was passed, and the chamber emptied.
Ayanokoji found himself surrounded by curious nobles, all wanting to know more about the mysterious strategist who had just stunned the Council.
But his eyes were on Emilia, who was watching him with an expression he couldn’t quite read.
It was something between gratitude and wonder—as if she was seeing him for the first time.
“Thank you,” she said softly when they were finally alone.
“That was…
incredible.”
“I just did what was necessary.”
Emilia shook her head.
“No.
You did more than that.
You showed them that I’m not just a naive girl with a dream.
You showed them that I have the strength to win.”
She reached out and took his hand, her fingers warm against his.
“I couldn’t have done this without you.”
Ayanokoji looked down at their joined hands, feeling something shift inside him.
It was dangerous, this connection.
But for the first time, he found himself not caring.
“You don’t have to thank me,” he said.
“I’m just doing my job.”
Emilia smiled, a small, knowing expression.
“Is that all it is?”
Before he could answer, the doors to the chamber opened, and the Council returned.
The hearing would continue, and there were still battles to be fought.
But as Ayanokoji returned to his place at Emilia’s side, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed.
Not just in the eyes of the Council, not just in the politics of the Selection—but in himself.
This is dangerous, he thought.
She’s becoming more than just a mission.
He pushed the thought aside and focused on the task at hand.
The game was far from over, and he couldn’t afford distractions.
But the walls around his heart were cracking, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to repair them.