At this moment, Reinhard had stepped back, standing with Emilia to protect Felt.
Meanwhile, the dangerous aura radiating from Priscilla had quietly receded.
Seeing that the conflict had temporarily subsided, Tsukasa shrugged and walked back to the line beside Al.
Although for a split second he had indeed considered the possibility of "sparring" with Reinhard, it was merely a passing thought.
Al said at the right moment as the situation calmed down, advising Priscilla, "Princess, can we leave it at this? Making too many enemies is a hassle."
Beneath that pitch-black helmet, he cast a look of near-complaint toward his tyrant.
"Especially opposing the Sword Saint—that's a massive source of disaster. Could you just rein it in a little?"
Priscilla was unconcerned. "Since you are my subordinate, you are not permitted to speak such defeatist words. And what of the Sword Saint? At best, he is merely the strongest on the surface. Can you not use your brain to think of a solution?"
"Whatever solution I think of won't last even a minute." Al calmly saw through the gap in strength and raised the white flag early.
Priscilla gave a "truly useless" expression at Al's submissive attitude, but she finally put away her fighting intent.
"Thank you, brother."
Al turned to Tsukasa beside him, his voice beneath the helmet filled with sincere gratitude. "If you hadn't reacted quickly just now, I'm afraid…"
The atmosphere at the scene remained stagnant.
Just as the moment called for a chance to break the silence, a high-pitched voice suddenly rang out.
"Everyone, you should all feel a bit more at ease now, right?"
Miklotov drew everyone's attention.
"Felt-sama, Emilia-sama."
Marcos also spoke at the right moment, his tone returning to a business-like steadiness. "Have you both calmed down?"
"Eh, um… I'm fine." Emilia nodded quickly, simultaneously looking at the girl in her arms. "This child is also…"
"Are you done yet! I told you to let me go, I'm not hurt!" Felt shouted, twisting her body.
Only then did Emilia realize she was still holding her, and she quickly let go.
"I'm perfectly fine, so stop worrying blindly!"
Felt straightened her rumpled dress and glared at Emilia. "Don't look at me like some little brat who needs taking care of!"
"I see." Emilia bowed her head slightly, her tone gentle. "I'm sorry, I was meddling."
"I won't thank you for that!" Felt immediately turned her head away awkwardly.
Watching their interaction, Reinhard cast a look of gratitude toward Emilia, then silently walked back into the Royal Guard ranks.
Emilia and Felt returned to their respective rows of Royal Selection candidates, though a hint of awkwardness still lingered between them.
As for the instigator of this conflict, Priscilla remained with her arms crossed, wearing an expression of "how utterly boring," showing not a hint of remorse.
In any case, seeing that the dispute had finally come to an end, Miklotov cleared his throat and solemnly declared, once again in his capacity as the head of the Council of Wise Men.
"Then, let us return to the original agenda—the Royal Selection concerning the future of the kingdom."
His gaze swept over the five girls below. "Regarding the method of conducting the Royal Selection, I formally propose the following: each candidate shall personally participate in and attend the regular meetings of the Council of Wise Men."
Miklotov's authoritative declaration caused the atmosphere in the hall to tighten once again. The candidates unconsciously straightened their backs, and the onlookers also put away their relaxed expressions.
Miklotov looked around at the other members of the Council of Wise Men, seeking approval for the meeting procedure. The old men nodded one by one, signaling their agreement.
"Thank you all for your agreement. Then, let us get to the main topic. The agenda is, naturally—'Who Can Become King'."
"The problem lies in the method of selection. The dragon tablet records that the candidates must be gathered, but it does not specify the method of selection. In order to decide this matter, first, we need to understand the resolve of each candidate."
The other members of the Council of Wise Men nodded again.
After confirming there were no objections, Miklotov signaled to Marcos, who was standing in the corner.
Receiving the signal, Marcos walked to the front of the stage again.
"Forgive my presumption once again, but I will preside over the following proceedings."
"Every candidate has their own platform and position. First, please allow everyone present here to understand them."
After saying this on behalf of everyone in the hall, he bowed deeply.
"Then, first, we invite Crusch Karsten-sama and her knight, Felix Argyle."
"Mm." Crusch nodded steadily and stepped forward.
"Okay." Felix answered briskly and trotted to follow.
On the way, he tilted his face up to look at Marcos, his tone filled with a spoiled, complaining air. "Commander, I've told you already, please call me Ferris, don't call me Felix. Ferris-chan will be hurt."
Marcos's expression remained unchanged, his tone business-like. "I will not favor any subordinate. And that, of course, includes you. Go to the front."
Crusch had already stood still, her posture as straight as a soldier's, looking majestic. Beside her, Felix remained in his usual frivolous and casual manner.
At this moment, Al, who was to the side, tilted his head slightly and spoke to Tsukasa in a volume only the two of them could hear, "The Karsten Family, with Crusch-sama as its head, is a long-standing ducal house that has supported the Kingdom of Lugunica for centuries."
"In terms of loyalty to the country and the reliability of their lineage, they are impeccable. Furthermore, Crusch-sama has been managing the entire ducal house as its head from a very young age. Her talent is rarely matched. To say she is the unrivaled choice for king is no exaggeration at all."
He paused, his voice beneath the helmet carrying a hint of helplessness. "Although this might be disheartening, in my heart, I still think Princess is a cut above, right?"
Tsukasa glanced at him sideways, his face revealing an undisguised expression of speechlessness.
"Priscilla's advantage? Might as well let me go up there, at least my chances of winning are higher than hers."
Just then, a low murmur of discussion broke out in the hall.
The attendees around them—whether Civil Officials, nobles, or some knights—were all whispering, their gazes frequently cast toward the girl in the green military uniform at the front.
"Allow me to speak."
However, the one who interrupted this low murmur was none other than her.
Crusch herself raised her hand. She scanned the hall, her green eyes calm yet powerful, and her voice spread clearly. "It seems that most of you present here have misunderstood."