Chapter Thirty-Two: The Royal Candidate Sets Out

“The Royal Knights? Why would they come here?” Qin Le asked, puzzled.

Beside him, Aymeya’s brows furrowed, a sense of foreboding in her tone. “The Royal Knights obey only the King’s command. For Orina’s so-called father to swallow his pride and dispatch the Knights here, there’s only one explanation: he’s at his end.”

“A royal selection,” Qin Le murmured, realization dawning on his face.

He’d long heard that the old King was gravely ill. If the Knights had come for Orina, it could only mean one thing: a summons to the capital for the royal selection.

‘The timing couldn’t be worse. I hadn’t expected the old King to deteriorate so quickly. Looks like it’s impossible to secure the throne for Orina through the usual means. Still, it’s not hopeless—maybe I can leverage the prestige of the so-called higher humans again.’

If the rules for choosing the monarch were as described, Orina stood little chance. Even Xuanlü’s formidable resources might be of no use.

From Aymeya’s account, it was clear the King didn’t much care for Orina. Otherwise, he would never have assigned her this remote, insignificant village—it was an obvious move to keep her from inheriting the throne.

Of course, some experts argued that perhaps the King merely wanted to protect Orina, who had no background or allies. In a society of power, they reasoned, talent could sometimes outweigh lineage.

“Orina, stop playing around and come here!” Aymeya stood and called out to Orina, who was challenging more than a dozen elite soldiers on the training grounds.

Orina glanced back, and in that split second of distraction, was swiftly brought down by the surrounding elites. The undefeated princess of the elite melee tournament had suffered her first loss.

It must be said: against sheer physical might, even the strongest elites of Xuanlü were no match. If the knights of this world ever realized they could not best a modern army in open battle, and instead turned to assassination, tactical maneuvers, or guerrilla warfare, things would get ugly fast.

Orina, hair slightly disheveled, emerged from the grounds, her signature bright smile in place as she approached the two. “What’s up, Aymeya?”

Aymeya got straight to the point. “The Royal Knights are here for you. Seems the royal selection is at hand—your dear father is at death’s door.”

“The royal selection, huh?” Orina scratched her head. “Can I skip it? I’d only be there for the spectacle anyway. I don’t really want to be King.”

Her territory was flourishing, and she was genuinely happy here. She truly didn’t want to return to that distasteful place.

Aymeya’s face was expressionless. “What do you think?”

...

Outside the base.

A well-equipped company of knights waited silently several hundred meters away, numbering in the dozens.

Each wore armor inscribed with mysterious patterns, radiating an aura that dared not be met head-on. Most striking were their steeds: towering warhorses nearly two meters high, rippling with muscle.

Judging by appearances alone, they easily outclassed the knights of Count Daina’s domain, and had all the flair of knights from a fantasy tale.

“Captain, are these the so-called higher humans we’ve heard about? They look so weak—not a hint of aura,” one Royal Knight said, eyeing the dark-haired humans in the distance who trained strange devices on them.

The other knights were equally perplexed. They’d heard rumors of black-haired humans appearing near the Death Marsh before arriving.

Unlike the local knights of the remote Daina domain, these knights—said to be the kingdom’s strongest—remained composed in the face of these supposed higher humans.

Still, despite their composure, the strange metallic constructs arrayed before them left their nerves unsettled.

The knight captain glanced at his men. “It’s only legend. Even if they are those higher humans, they’re not for you to judge.”

Truth be told, the captain was equally bewildered. Yet before setting out, the commander had ordered them to avoid conflict with these black-haired humans if at all possible. Such a command told the captain these folk, whether or not they were the legendary higher humans, were not to be trifled with—otherwise, the commander would not have been so insistent.

Then there were those ominous iron beasts and the odd implements in the black-haired humans’ hands—none of it boded well.

“Her Highness the Princess is coming out.”

Seeing the golden-haired girl escorted by the oddly dressed black-haired humans, the Royal Knights all dismounted.

The captain led his men forward, placed his right hand to his shoulder, bowed slightly, and humbly announced, “Princess Orina, by order of His Majesty, you are summoned to return to the capital for the royal selection.”

Orina nodded. “Understood. You should return ahead. I’ll arrive in a few days.”

To her, the royal selection was just a formality; there was no need to rush back to that detestable place.

“But…” The captain hesitated. “Your Highness, His Majesty’s command is for us to escort all princes and princesses to the capital. We cannot return alone.”

“Then I’ll go with you in three days. In the meantime, stay with Count Daina.”

With that, Orina turned and headed back toward the base.

“Wait, Your Highness!” The captain tried to follow, but was quickly blocked by soldiers.

The troops raised their rifles at the knights; behind them, heavy weaponry swiveled into position, ready to unleash deadly force at the slightest provocation.

Previously, Xuanlü had no response to unknown attacks, but against overt threats like these, their doctrine was clear: overwhelming force would be demonstrated.

Faced with these strange metal machines, the captain felt a growing sense of danger and barely restrained himself from drawing his sword. The other knights were equally tense.

A standoff ensued for more than ten seconds, then the captain took a long look at the armored vehicles before returning to his warhorse. “Let’s go. We’ll return in three days.”

...

Inside the base, at the elite troops’ quarters.

The mess hall, built from tents, was filled with long tables and the aroma of the cooks’ lavish fare. Orina entered, her signature cheerful smile in place as she greeted each of the elites. Though language was a barrier, it did nothing to impede goodwill.

After her greetings, Orina naturally sat at Qin Le’s table, where the exploration team and her friend Aymeya were gathered.

“How did it go?” Aymeya set down her chopsticks.

“No rush. I told them to come back in a few days.” Orina picked up her bowl and chopsticks and began stuffing her cheeks full.

Though her mood was low, it didn’t dampen her appetite.

“Orina, are you really not going to try for the throne?” Aymeya asked, glancing at Qin Le from the corner of her eye.

If she remembered correctly, Qin Le had once hinted he could help Orina vie for the crown.

“I’m not interested. I’m happy here,” Orina replied firmly.

“Only you, you fool, would say something like that.” Aymeya rolled her eyes. “The King not only wields immense power and wealth, but more importantly, inherits the Sword of Dawn—a genuine mid-tier royal relic.”

Artifacts with magical powers were called treasures, classified as high, mid, or low tier. Those of greatest power were named royal relics, tools fit for sovereigns.

The foundation of the Dawn Kingdom was none other than the Sword of Dawn. Without it, the family would be little more than a duchy, unable to control such vast territory.

“So what? It’s not like it’ll be me,” Orina replied indifferently.

Aymeya, exasperated, pressed on. “Why not you? In the end, the world values talent. At seventeen, you’re already a third-tier knight. Aside from lacking a background, you’re the ideal candidate.”

She glanced at Qin Le again—this was no longer a hint, it was a blatant offer.

Qin Le gave a faint smile and set down his chopsticks. “Orina, as collaborators, Xuanlü can support you. I’ll send an elite unit and several experts to assist.”

“You’re not coming with me?” Orina tilted her head, a flicker of hope in her delicate features.

Qin Le shook his head. “There are still matters at the base. We’ll see.”

Of course he would attend the royal selection, but not until the situation in the capital was clear.

“See? Now you have backing. With higher humans as your support, you’re a thousand times better off than your siblings.” Aymeya gave her a thumbs-up. “Believe in yourself—you can do it.”

Orina eyed her friend skeptically. “You seem more invested than I am. Be honest—is there something in the capital you want to steal? That old sword?”

“Uh… I am a noble and beautiful elf! How could I stoop to such petty thievery?” Aymeya protested righteously.

Orina stared at her, unconvinced.

Finally, Aymeya sighed in defeat. “I heard that at each royal selection, the Sword of Dawn bestows a blessing on all witnesses.”

“A blessing?” Orina asked, puzzled. “What good is that?”

“It’s a kind of healing blessing—it can cleanse abnormal conditions from the body, but only once,” Aymeya explained. “But witnesses must ensure the selection proceeds smoothly. It’s a contract of sorts.”

“So that old sword has such a function. Why do you need that blessing?” Orina gave her friend a long look, but saw no sign of injury.

Aymeya scratched her head, hesitated, and after several false starts finally said, “Well… um… Oh, right! A few years ago, when I was working part-time at the Church of Night, I accidentally picked up some… unclean thing.”

...

Three days later, a convoy of ten armored vehicles rolled slowly out of the base.

Inside were elite soldiers who had just awakened their supernatural abilities and were regaining their peak strength, along with diplomats specially assigned by Xuanlü.

Among them was a genius with a rare gift for languages; though not fully fluent in the common tongue, he was now able to manage basic conversation.

...

The royal capital—a bountiful, bustling metropolis. Six-meter-wide avenues teemed with traffic; tall buildings lined the streets, and crowds of every race milled about.

There were handsome elves, sturdy dwarves, giants over three meters tall, mages clad in robes, and monster hunters in all kinds of gear.

Shops along the road sold everything imaginable: food, weapons, potions for wounds, even monster carcasses. Everywhere the eye could see was prosperity.

In stark contrast to the filthy, cramped cities of the Daina domain, it was nothing like Orina’s small village.

Ornate carriages glided down the streets under the escort of Royal Knights, drawing the eyes of all.

Everyone knew that within sat a prince or princess, returning for one reason—the royal selection.

News of the Dawn King’s illness had spread throughout the land. In recent years, those with power sensed the tides shifting; the kingdom’s factions, both overt and covert, had formed a web of alliances around the nine candidates for the throne.

Each prepared to employ every possible means to ensure their chosen candidate would seize the crown.

Inside one carriage sat two men and a woman.

The first wore a black robe embroidered with gold, brown hair streaked with gray, his face lined with age—at least fifty years old.

The second was dressed in a white, suit-like garment, also brown-haired, with a tall, strikingly beautiful face that verged on the feminine. At first glance, one might have mistaken him for a woman.

The third, a woman, wore a pale court dress, her generous figure accentuated by a hint of white at her chest. Her makeup was exquisite, a beauty mark at the corner of her eye adding a touch of allure.

This woman was Princess Erila Dawn, third daughter of the Dawn Kingdom, accompanied by Grand Duke Carter and his son.

“Grandfather, I heard that a month ago, my eldest brother fled the palace in disgrace. What did he do to anger Father this time?” Erila Dawn asked.

“The eyes and ears in the capital only relayed that the prince left in disgrace,” the Grand Duke replied. “He’s impatient and lacks propriety—colluding with officials before His Majesty has even passed. He’s as good as lost to the throne.”

Beside him, his son Miru Carter said, “That means your main competitors are the fourth prince and the sixth princess, backed respectively by the Church of Light and the Merchant Alliance.”

“Heh, neither my brother nor sister are worth worrying about. They’ve chosen the wrong supporters,” Erila sneered.

The Dawn Kingdom had always frowned upon church interference in the royal selection. Even if Father said nothing, in name alone, it was a disadvantage. As for the Merchant Alliance, it was just a cabal of profit-driven merchants—money, but no knights.

“This royal selection is already mine. I wonder how dazzling the Sword of Dawn will be in my hand.”

Erila Dawn could already picture herself seated on the throne, sovereign of the realm, wielding the mighty Sword of Dawn.

Seeing her expression, Grand Duke Carter dampened her spirits: “Don’t get ahead of yourself, dear Erila. Have you forgotten two people?”

Erila’s face showed confusion—she couldn’t imagine who else could rival her.

“The commoner princess Orina, and the rebellious princess Irene,” the Grand Duke replied.

At the mention of these names, Erila’s brows knit together. “Grandfather, you know the royal selection measures a candidate’s governing ability. One is playing mayor of a peasant village, the other a filthy, savage monster hunter. Neither has any backing.”

“Erila, you’re still too young.” The Grand Duke sighed. “The royal selection does test governance—but what demonstrates that most in this world? Power.”

“I recently received intelligence: the second princess, Irene, has become a gold-ranked hunter—a fourth-tier Judicator Knight. The ninth princess, Orina, is only seventeen and already a third-tier Grand Knight, with the support of a mysterious group.”

“Still, you have the greatest chance. They have no armies; no nobles will support them. Without the nobility, they could never rule the whole kingdom.”