Chapter 4: The Royal Selection Commences
Trumpets blared a triumphant fanfare as the grand doors of Lugunica's Royal Palace opened to admit the gathered guests. The throne room had been transformed for the Royal Selection ceremony: banners of the kingdom's dragon crest hung from marble pillars, and an opulent red carpet stretched from the entryway all the way to the dais where the king's throne stood empty. In its place, the Council of Wise Old Men – a group of elder statesmen – sat solemnly, ready to oversee the proceedings in the absent king's stead.
Nobles, knights, and foreign dignitaries lined the hall in their finest attire, creating a kaleidoscope of colors and sparkling jewels under the glow of enchanted chandeliers. Lively murmurs filled the air as attendees whispered about the candidates, alliances, and of course, gossip of the day.
Cain stepped into this spectacle just behind Emilia. Immediately, dozens of eyes turned towards their party. Emilia, looking ethereal in her lavender gown, drew respectful bows and a few cold stares (prejudice not so easily set aside among some). Behind her, Roswaal (having rejoined them moments before) strode in his flamboyant harlequin-like attire, smiling with lazy amusement. To Roswaal's side was Ram, poised and cool, representing the Margrave's household.
And then there was Cain, walking slightly apart from the formal entourage, with Rem having insisted on standing by him as his "attendant" for the event. Cain had to ditch his casual wear and don something appropriate – so he now sported a stylish outfit Rem hastily prepared: a high-collared long coat of midnight blue trimmed in silver, fitted pants, and polished boots. He almost looked like a foreign prince or a knight from a faraway land.
He certainly didn't go unnoticed. People in the crowd whispered, trying to identify this striking man accompanying Emilia's camp. Was he a new knight? A bodyguard? He carried no visible weapon, yet moved with the confidence of one who needed none.
Cain scanned the room quickly, his heightened senses picking out key figures:
To the left, he saw the indigo-haired Crusch Karsten in a smart military-esque suit, talking to a handsome blond knight – Ferris – who wore a cat-like grin. Crusch's emerald eyes flicked over at Emilia's group analytically.
Further along, a cheerful young woman in a frilly pink dress – Anastasia Hoshin – was engaged in animated conversation with a tall man with violet hair (likely her knight, Julius). Anastasia's keen gaze darted toward Cain's group, lingering on any potential useful info.
By one pillar, a rough-looking man with an artificial metal arm – Old Man Wilhelm Cain recognized – stood near a petite figure with golden hair in a ponytail: Felt. Felt was clearly out of her element in a borrowed formal dress, fidgeting and scowling at anyone who looked her way. Reinhardt was right behind her, exuding calm reassurance. They locked eyes with Cain; Reinhardt gave a small respectful nod, while Felt's eyes widened then she gave him a feral grin and thumbs up (she was still riding the high of discovering she was a candidate and apparently found the whole thing amusing now).
And on the far right, commanding attention like a sun amidst candles, was Priscilla Barielle. The red-haired princess reclined casually on a throne-like chair that an attendant had fetched for her, even though all other candidates stood. She wore an extravagant crimson and gold dress, shoulders bare, a jeweled tiara glinting atop her lustrous hair. At her side, kneeling with head bowed, was a hulking dark-armored man – Al, her knight – though his face was concealed by a helmet. Priscilla fanned herself lazily and observed the room through half-lidded eyes that oozed arrogance. When her gaze fell on Cain, she raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the unfamiliar face that didn't grovel or avert eyes before her.
Cain felt a spark of excitement. He could practically feel Priscilla's domineering aura across the hall. So that's the famous Princess who thinks the world bends to her whim. This would be fun.
Emilia led their group toward the front where the candidates were to assemble. Cain and Rem hung a few steps back, to not overshadow Emilia's space.
Roswaal peeled off to join the other camp sponsors at the side (with a theatrical wave toward Crusch and a playful wink at Anastasia, which both women pointedly ignored).
As Emilia took her place among her fellow candidates, one of the wise men began a droning introduction about the importance of the selection, the dragon's covenant, etc. Cain half-listened, more interested in observing the dynamics among the candidates:
Crusch stood firm, like a knight at attention, exuding leadership. Anastasia kept a pleasant business-like smile, eyes shrewd. Felt rocked on her heels impatiently, clearly bored of the speech. Priscilla… well, Priscilla looked as if this was all a tiresome formality existing purely for her entertainment. She even yawned, covering her mouth with her ornate fan, making no attempt to hide her disdain for the proceedings.
At one point, the announcer mentioned each candidate's full name and titles. When he got to Emilia, he hesitated before saying "Emilia, of House…. um, simply Lady Emilia." A few in the audience murmured at the lack of noble lineage announced (and perhaps at her being a half-elf). Emilia held her head high despite the slight. Cain felt annoyance on her behalf.
He was tempted to make a scene – maybe conjure some dramatic show to hush the murmurs – but decided against it for now. There'd be time to make impressions later.
Finally, after the formalities, the candidates were invited to each speak or otherwise present themselves.
Crusch gave a short but powerful pledge of protecting the kingdom with her martial and governing prowess, earning respectful applause.
Anastasia charmed the crowd with a crafty little anecdote about economic prosperity and how she'd turn Lugunica into a richer nation, which got the merchants in the hall clapping eagerly.
Felt, though reluctant, stepped forward with a fierce declaration that she'd change the kingdom from the ground up so that "even a slum kid like me can stand here," which startled the nobles but earned an appreciative cheer from some of the common attendees and knights.
Emilia was next. She was clearly a bit nervous – Cain could see her hands clasped tightly – but she spoke with sincerity about wanting to unite people and treat all citizens fairly, regardless of race or status. There was a lukewarm response (some hearts warmed, others skeptical), but Cain silently applauded with an encouraging smile when she finished.
Then all eyes turned to Priscilla, the last to speak. Priscilla didn't move from her chair. Instead, she tapped her fan against her chin, feigning deep thought. "Mine introduction?" she drawled, voice melodic but dripping conceit. "How utterly unnecessary. Those with eyes can see my radiance, and those without are beneath my regard."
A ripple of laughter and uneasy shifting went through the audience. Priscilla stood then, Al quickly moving her chair aside. She sauntered to the center, owning the space as if she were already Empress.
"The world itself conspires to favor me," Priscilla declared, sweeping her fan outward to gesture at the hall. "Lugunica deserves a ruler whom fortune itself bows to. What need have I to promise anything? Rather, you should be promising your loyalty to me."
Gasps and murmurs, some offended, some oddly charmed by her audacity. Priscilla smiled languidly, clearly enjoying the scandalized looks.
Cain chuckled under his breath. What a character. He appreciated her absolute self-assurance; it rivaled his own. He noticed Priscilla's amber eyes flick toward him briefly during her speech, as if noting his reaction in particular.
With the self-introductions over, the formal part neared its end. The council announced that the selection would be ongoing until one candidate was deemed worthy by the Dragon (lots of ritual talk), and that each candidate's knight or sponsor may swear fealty.
Reinhardt stepped forth and knelt to Felt, pledging the Astrea family's sword to her cause, which left Felt scratching her head awkwardly.
Julius did an elegant kneel-and-kiss-hand routine to Anastasia, spouting flowery knightly vows that made Ferris roll his eyes.
Ferris (though technically Crusch's knight more than servant) asked Crusch's permission and then very theatrically got on one knee and vowed to love and serve her, to which Crusch just sighed with a faint smile as the crowd chuckled.
Al lazily thumped a fist to his chest from where he stood by Priscilla, a far less romantic pledge, but Priscilla didn't care – in her mind, everyone was pledged to her by default.
Then came Emilia's turn. Roswaal was nowhere to be seen at that moment (he had conveniently slipped out, avoiding making any binding oath since he had his own agenda). Normally, this is where Subaru in canon barged in and made a scene pledging himself as Emilia's knight, causing a big ruckus. But Subaru was absent here.
A hush fell as it seemed no one stepped forth for Emilia. A few sneers could be seen on some nobles' faces – the half-elf had no knight? How pitiful.
Emilia's face drained of color slightly, realizing the awkward situation. She wasn't expecting to have to address that. She opened her mouth, unsure what to say – when a strong, clear voice cut through the silence:
"I, Cain, offer my sword and soul in service to Lady Emilia!"
Gasps erupted. Emilia whirled around to see Cain stepping forward out of line, Rem behind him with hands over her mouth in surprise.
Cain strode confidently to Emilia's side and, to her astonishment, went down on one knee. He took her hand gently (the crowd murmured at the familiarity) and bowed his head. "If you'll have me," he added in a softer tone for her ears only, giving her a subtle playful wink.
Emilia's heart fluttered. This wasn't planned – Cain was acting on his own. Part of her worried it might be improper. But looking at him kneeling there, shielding her from humiliation, those worries melted into gratitude and something warmer.
She smiled and nodded, finding her voice. "I… gratefully accept," she announced, voice steady. "Thank you, Cain."
The hall exploded in chatter. A new knight? Some recognized Cain now as the one who had been at her side when entering. Whispers: "Is he strong?" – "He must be, if she chose him." – "I heard he took down a dozen bandits single-handedly" (rumors had already grown about his market fight). – "And handsome to boot!" some young noblewomen giggled.
Julius, standing by Anastasia, narrowed his eyes. Something about that man irked him – his casual defiance of decorum, perhaps. Reinhardt looked intrigued and pleased for Emilia's sake. Priscilla's lips curled into a small smirk, tapping her fan as she watched Cain rise and Emilia beam; clearly, this day wasn't as boring after all.
Cain rose from his kneel, and as he did, he theatrically snapped his fingers. A sudden swirl of wind magic (or what appeared to be) fluttered through the chamber, and a bouquet of violet flowers seemingly materialized in his hand (in truth, he had sped to grab some decorative flowers from a vase faster than eyes could follow, but to onlookers it was like a magic trick). He handed the bouquet to Emilia with a flourish. "For you, my Lady."
Laughter and some applause at the dramatic gesture. Emilia accepted the flowers, cheeks rosy, and couldn't help a laugh. "Cain… you didn't have to…"
He leaned in slightly, whispering, "I told you, I aim to please."
The council cleared their throats loudly, somewhat flustered by these antics but unable to censure anything since no rules were broken. "Ahem, very well! Lady Emilia has found her knight. With that, we conclude the formal ceremonies. May the selection proceed under the Dragon's guidance. Glory to Lugunica!"
"Glory to Lugunica!" the hall echoed.
Soon the gathering relaxed into more of a social event. Servants brought refreshments, and people began to mingle now that the official part was done.
Emilia turned to Cain, excitement and relief in her eyes. "Thank you," she said earnestly. "I-I was so worried when Roswaal wasn't there… I didn't expect you to do that."
Cain shrugged lightly. "I couldn't let you stand alone. And besides, being your knight? How could I pass that up?" He grinned. "The best seat in the house for the adventures to come."
Emilia shook her head with a smile. "You're unbelievable."
Rem came up to them, positively glowing with pride. "Congratulations, Lady Emilia. And Sir Cain!" she added, eyes shining at Cain.
Cain chuckled, "Just Cain is fine, Rem. No need for the 'Sir' even if I'm playing knight now."
Rem only blushed and nodded, clearly intent on calling him Sir anyway in her mind.
Just then, a servant timidly approached Emilia to inform her that some lords wished to speak with her. Emilia sighed but put on a polite face and excused herself to go network. Rem followed dutifully, after giving Cain a sweet glance that promised she'd be back soon.
Cain now was left free to wander. He grabbed a glass of wine from a passing tray and decided to enjoy the party.
He spotted Priscilla lounging again, now chatting idly with Anastasia and Crusch who had approached her (likely discussing candidate alliances, though Priscilla looked bored by it). Cain thought about joining that conversation, but perhaps better to catch Priscilla one-on-one.
He meandered near where Reinhardt and Felt were. Felt gave him a nod of acknowledgement. "Hey, hero. Saw your little show. Not bad!" she quipped, one hand on hip.
Cain smirked. "I learned from the best," he joked. "I was following your lead, Lady Felt, with your rousing speech."
Felt pulled a face, "Ugh, don't 'lady' me. This fancy life ain't for me. Soon as I can, I'm bolting."
Reinhardt sighed patiently, "Now, Felt-sama, please don't say that."
Cain laughed. It was good to see Felt hadn't changed. "Well, if you do bolt, at least invite me. We could stir up some real trouble in the city."
Felt grinned. "Deal."
After a bit more banter (and Reinhardt thanking Cain again for earlier help in the capital), Cain slipped away. As he moved through clusters of people, he caught snippets of conversation praising or questioning him. His keen hearing also picked up something else – whispers about the Witch Cult. The guests included a few churchmen and nobles fretting that the increase in Witch Cult activity might threaten the kingdom during the selection.
Cain's eyes narrowed. Witch Cult… Betelgeuse and his ilk. They would surely target candidates. In canon, they went after Emilia's village and caused havoc. If they struck now, here? Unlikely in this heavily guarded palace. But later, on the road or back at the territory, definitely.
He made a mental note: stay alert, and ensure his precious people were safe from those fanatics. The thought of encountering Betelgeuse's crazed form made him grin. He'd love to mock the madman's "Love! Love!" rantings.
"Enjoying yourself?" came a sultry voice at his shoulder.
Cain turned to find Priscilla standing there, Al a few steps behind. How had she snuck up? Well, likely he was distracted in thought – sloppy. But no harm.
Priscilla had left her fan-wielding aside and was regarding him with open interest. Up close, Cain couldn't deny she was stunning: perfect porcelain skin, full red lips twisted in a half-smile, and eyes the color of molten gold that looked at him as though he were an amusing toy.
Cain flashed his most charming smile. "Immensely. And even more so now, Lady Priscilla."
She raised an eyebrow, clearly expecting him to kneel or bow. When he didn't, her smile widened slightly. "You're the one who made that flowery pledge to the half-elf girl. How quaint. Is she that incapable she needs a stray dog to defend her?"
Cain chuckled at the provocation. "Hardly. Emilia's quite capable. Think of me as… an added bonus."
Priscilla circled him slowly, much like Beatrice did but with a predatory air. "You speak boldly. Are you a noble from some province? I don't recall a 'Cain' in any aristocracy. Or is Cain an alias, hmm?"
Cain merely smiled, enjoying her attempt to puzzle him out. "Let's say I'm self-made."
Priscilla came to a stop in front of him, very close. The height difference was small; she was tall for a woman, just a few inches shorter than him. "A commoner rising to knighthood by sheer bravado… sounds like a fairy tale. What do you seek, truly? Money? Titles? A royal consort's bed perhaps?" She said the last bit with such a coy disdain it was clearly a test to provoke him.
Cain shrugged lightly. "None of the above. I seek only excitement and the freedom to be where I please. Right now, that's here. Tomorrow, who knows?"
Priscilla's eyes glinted at the word "freedom". She could tell he truly wasn't awed by power or wealth; he radiated a confidence completely divorced from status. That intrigued her – a man who didn't need anything from her, yet didn't fear her.
"You're either a fool or a very dangerous man, Cain," she purred, trying out his name. "I do so wonder which one."
He leaned in slightly, dropping his voice. "Oh, definitely a fool. The most dangerous fool you'll ever meet."
Priscilla's lips curved into an genuine smile – a rarity, since hers were usually smirks. She actually laughed, a low melodic chuckle. "Hah! How delightful. Perhaps this tedious process will have some entertainment after all." She flicked a finger under his chin boldly, a gesture both flirtatious and asserting dominance. "Do try not to die or disappear too quickly. I have a feeling you and I will have much to discuss in the days to come."
Cain gave a slight bow finally, but more like a stage actor finishing an act. "I'm at your service, Princess, whenever you desire an audience." He then dared to add, "Though I suspect you desire far more than an audience with me."
Al made a choking sound behind his helmet. The nearby eavesdroppers nearly gasped that someone would insinuate such to Priscilla Barielle.
Priscilla herself went very still for half a heartbeat, her golden eyes widening – not in offense, but in sheer surprise at his guts. Then she broke into a grin, showing pearly teeth. "Careful, dog. You might just find yourself on a leash you can't escape."
Cain tilted his head. "Only if the owner is worth staying for."
Their eyes locked, a fierce challenge and chemistry in the air that practically crackled. Priscilla finally turned away with a swish of skirts. "Until next time, Sir Cain." She sauntered off, hips swaying, Al trailing while muttering, "Jeez, Priscilla-sama, you'll give the poor guy a heart attack…"
Cain chuckled and took another sip of his wine. That had gone exceedingly well. Priscilla was definitely intrigued; he'd planted a seed there.
Rem soon rejoined him, having finished attending Emilia. She noticed Priscilla's departure and Cain's pleased look. "Sir Cain, was that… Lady Priscilla you spoke with? If I may ask, how did it go?"
Cain gave Rem a wink. "Better than expected. I think Her Highness likes me."
Rem smiled softly. "Of course she does," she said as if it were obvious. "Everyone seems to."
Before Cain could respond, there was a sudden commotion by the entrance of the hall. The main gates swung open and a royal guard hurried in, heading straight for the council elders. He whispered something urgently, eyes wide. The council members stood abruptly, looking alarmed.
One of them stepped forward and clapped for attention. "Ladies and gentlemen, we must conclude this gathering promptly. We have received word of a security concern. Please, all guests, return to your residences in an orderly fashion. Knights, be on alert."
A ripple of alarm and confusion swept through the hall. Guards moved swiftly to escort the gentry out. The candidates were quickly surrounded by their protectors.
Emilia, who had reconvened with her group upon seeing something was off, looked around worriedly. "What's happening?"
Roswaal, reappeared by her side with unusual timing, had a grim line to his mouth (rare for the clownish mage). "It seems some uninvited guests have made a fuss somewhere in the city. Perhaps—" He caught Cain's eye knowingly, "—the Witch Cult."
Emilia gasped softly. Rem's face went pale at that name.
Cain immediately stepped closer to Emilia protectively. "If the Cult is here, they might target the candidates. We should—"
Before he finished, a distant boom echoed from outside, like an explosion. Screams faintly heard in the distance beyond the palace walls. The guards inside the hall drew swords, tense.
"We need to get Emilia to safety now," Cain said, all business.
Roswaal nodded. "Agreed. My dragon carriage is out front. Ram, Rem—"
The twin maids flanked Emilia at once. Ram's expression was steeled, Rem's determined despite fear. Beatrice peeked out from behind Ram's skirt (she had come but stayed hidden until now), and with a snap of her fingers, opened a quick door portal. "This way leads near the entrance, I suppose."
Cain flashed a grin despite the situation. "Handy trick, Beako."
She pouted. "This isn't for you, it's for Lia, in fact."
Emilia quickly thanked Beatrice and one by one their group hurried through the magical door which bypassed the panicked crowd and took them to the palace foyer.
Just as they appeared, another crash rocked the air. Smoke and chaos were visible beyond the open main doors of the palace. It seemed something (or someone) had caused an explosion in the city, and now panicking people were running even toward the palace for refuge.
At the bottom of the steps, Cain saw their carriage and the ground dragons, spooked but held by the reigns of a brave footman. Good, transport was ready.
He led Emilia down the steps at a quick pace, the others just behind.
Suddenly, a man covered in soot and blood ran towards them from the courtyard, nearly collapsing at Reinhardt's feet (Reinhardt and Felt's group had reached outside too). "M-monsters!" the man cried. "Archbishop—of the Witch Cult—he's—"
Before he could finish, a black blur of motion shot from nowhere and skewered the man through the chest. Clawed dark hands… attached to elongated arms that stretched unnaturally.
The man gurgled and went limp, hoisted up like a grotesque puppet. Gasps of horror rang out.
There, stepping into view as he retracted his arm (the limb shrinking back to normal size) was a tall, thin figure in a tattered clerical outfit stained with blood and bearing the Witch's cult symbol. His head tilted at an insane angle, eyes bulging and ringed with dark circles, and a wide grin splitting his face.
"Ahhh, what's this? More unbelievers gathered? How splendid, how LOVELY!" the man crooned, tossing aside the corpse. "Which of you… which of you is the greedy one, hm?"
Cain felt Emilia tremble slightly next to him. He narrowed his eyes. Betelgeuse. The Sin Archbishop of Sloth. Earlier than expected and daring to strike here of all places – he must be insane (well, he was).
Knights unsheathed swords and formed a defensive line. Reinhardt's hand was already on his Dragon Sword's hilt, his eyes fiery. Julius had come out with Anastasia and was similarly ready to fight.
Betelgeuse giggled, then suddenly darted forward with a jerky, disturbing gait, faster than a normal man had a right to be. Several of his cultists – robed figures – now appeared behind him, armed with knives, shrieking praises to Satella as they lunged at people.
Chaos erupted anew. The royal knights engaged the cultists. Reinhardt went straight for Betelgeuse in a blur – but to everyone's surprise, Betelgeuse didn't stand and fight. Instead, he sank into the ground, a spiritual body trick, evading the Sword Saint's initial strike, then popped out yards away nearer the candidates.
"Witch's daughter! Which one, which one? Ah, there!" His eyes locked onto Emilia with manic delight. "Half-elf… witch's smell! Love! LOVE! Give me love!"
He barreled toward Emilia, unseen hands (invisible to most) emanating from his back, ready to tear her limb from limb.
Emilia, though terrified, summoned her ice magic with a cry, launching a volley of frozen spikes. Betelgeuse's unseen hands smashed them aside like twigs. Rem and Ram both moved to shield Emilia, but they wouldn't withstand those invisible attacks—
Cain moved faster. In a flash of golden light, he transformed – just to Super Saiyan level 1, a golden aura erupting around him and hair lifting, turning bright sunlit blonde. He hadn't needed this form for trivial things, but now he needed speed beyond human to deal with those intangible hands.
With blinding velocity, Cain interposed himself between Betelgeuse and the girls. The Archbishop's unseen hands – dozens of them – lunged. Cain could see them now, thanks to heightened senses, or perhaps just instinct. He met them with his own hands, arms a flurry of motion. Thud-thud-thud! Shockwaves burst as each of Betelgeuse's strikes was parried or outright smashed aside by Cain's fist.
Betelgeuse's bulging eyes went wider in disbelief. "Wh-who, WHAT are you?!" he hissed, momentarily lucid in shock.
Cain grinned fiercely, aura flaring. "I'm the greedy one you were looking for." And he slammed a punch straight into Betelgeuse's gut faster than the madman could react.
For a moment, Betelgeuse's body bent around Cain's fist comically. Spit flew from the cultist's mouth, his eyes nearly popping out.
Cain followed up by grabbing Betelgeuse by the face. He briefly considered killing him outright – but he knew this one had a trick of body-hopping if not fully destroyed. Perhaps capturing him would be wiser, let the kingdom deal with his spirit.
So instead of obliterating him, Cain channeled just enough ki to knock him completely unconscious. A pulse of energy through his palm and Betelgeuse's body went limp, eyes rolling back. Cain then lifted and slammed him into the stone pavement, leaving a small crater and the man embedded, unmoving.
Cultists all around shrieked in despair seeing their leader felled. Some tried to rush Cain; Rem and Ram took that cue and in a coordinated dance of wind magic (Ram) and flail strikes (Rem), neutralized the few who got past knights.
Reinhardt zoomed over, having dispatched any threats near him, and now gazed at the downed Archbishop with admiration. "Impressive," he commented to Cain. "We should restrain him before—"
Suddenly Betelgeuse's body twitched. A hideous laughter gurgled out of his bloodied mouth. "Ah… ahahaha… sloth… sloth… how diligent of you… buuuut! I cannot… I cannot die until I have her love… The witch… my gospel…"
His bent neck snapped back into place unnaturally and for a moment his strength surged again, an unseen hand flailing wildly and knocking Rem off her feet as she'd approached. Rem yelped as she was flung back.
Cain's eyes flashed. Enough of this. So long as his soul (witch factor) remained, he'd be a threat.
"Reinhardt, back off," Cain ordered. The Sword Saint, sensing what Cain intended, gave a curt nod and swiftly pulled the unconscious cultists and Rem (gentle with her) further away.
Betelgeuse lunged up, trying once more for Emilia with mad single-mindedness, but Cain was done playing.
He grabbed the man by the throat mid-lunge. Golden aura intensifying, Cain stared directly into those crazed eyes. "End of the line, finger freak."
And Cain headbutted Betelgeuse – a simple but devastating blow infused with his ki. There was a bright flash and a boom. Betelgeuse's head cracked against Cain's like an egg. The Archbishop's body fell limp again, this time his head lolling at an impossible angle, a contented grin frozen on his face as if he saw the Witch welcoming him.
Cain knew from the lore that might not stop his spirit from jumping to another body, but perhaps with all these capable people around, they could capture whatever happened next.
However, strangely, nothing immediate occurred. Perhaps because the designated next body (one of his "fingers") were all neutralized or too far? This gave time.
"Bind him and call the council's sorcerers to contain his soul," Julius barked to some royal mages who were present. They rushed in with sealing shackles and spells.
Cain powered down his aura and hair returning to black, lest he attract too much uncomfortable question. Though many had seen his transformation, they might just think it a powerful magic. Right now, no one was questioning the how, just thankful the threat was ended.
Emilia ran to Rem who was being helped up by Ram. "Rem! Are you alright?"
Rem nodded, though she was shaken. "I-I'm fine, just… a little dizzy."
Cain went to them, placing a reassuring hand on Rem's shoulder. "Good work. You too, Ram."
Ram gave a small "hmph" but actually smiled in relief that Rem was okay. "Thank you."
Emilia looked at Cain with awe. "You were… glowing… and your hair…"
Cain winked. "Just a little trick of mine. I try not to use it often."
Puck suddenly reappeared (having awakened at the disturbance, apparently) and settled on Emilia's shoulder, eyeing Cain. "So that's your true power, eh? Color me impressed."
Before more could be said, guards returned saying the cult attack was contained—apparently Betelgeuse had tried a desperate assault with a small unit, likely a suicide mission to kill as many candidates as possible. They hadn't counted on the likes of Reinhardt, Julius… and certainly not Cain.
In the aftermath, the council thanked everyone for their bravery. The candidates, due to the attempt on their lives, were advised to retire to secure locations.
Roswaal wasted no time hustling Emilia's group back into the carriages and off, wanting to leave the city quickly in case of further danger.
As Cain sat in the carriage once more with Emilia, Rem, and Ram (Beatrice had gone back to her library by her own portal), he finally exhaled and relaxed into the seat.
Emilia was exhausted, leaning on Puck who comforted her. "So much… in one day," she murmured.
Rem, across from them, looked at Cain with pure adoration now. "Sir Cain… you were like a hero from legend. That light… it was beautiful."
Cain gave a gentle smile. "I'm just glad I was here to protect you all."
Ram, surprisingly, nodded in genuine agreement. "We owe you greatly. Thank you."
Cain closed his eyes for a moment as the carriage rumbled on the road back towards Roswaal's domain. What a climactic day – and it wasn't even over, technically, as afternoon sun cast long shadows.
He reflected: He'd swayed Priscilla a bit, reinforced bonds with Emilia's group, and even taken out Betelgeuse early. That might cause some changes down the line – other Cult Archbishops might react, maybe the Witch's factors could be in play.
He glanced at Emilia, who had dozed off against Rem's shoulder now, Puck snoozing in her lap as an older cat form. Ram too had her eyes closed, resting. Only Rem was quietly awake, watching Cain with a soft smile. She tentatively reached out and took his hand on the seat, giving it a little squeeze of gratitude and affection.
Cain squeezed back reassuringly. No words needed. Rem's cheeks tinted pink and she looked away shyly, but didn't withdraw her hand.
They rode in peace for a while. Cain enjoyed the quiet moment, gazing out at the beautiful countryside moving by, the warmth of Rem's hand in his, and the knowledge that he'd steered fate significantly today.
But things were only going to escalate from here: Sanctuary, Witches, Pandora perhaps, and Zarestia – the wild spirit that could appear. He had to be ready. Yet he felt confident, more than ever, with this many allies and his power.
For now, he allowed himself to enjoy the victory and the company of the people around him.
The unpredictable path continued, and he marched along it with head high and a trail of awe-struck hearts behind him. Whatever came next, he'd face it as always – with a grin, a taunt, and overwhelming strength.
(To be continued in Chapter 5: Trials of the Witch)