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Chapter 11
On the day of the swordsmanship division’s transfer exam, the front of the Royal Academy was crowded with people.
“Why are there so many…?”
Margaret, who had come to cheer for Silia, sounded bewildered. The number of spectators was far greater than at the academic division’s exam she had watched with Juline the day before.
Silia answered calmly.
“The royal family’s attending this one. Princess Marcella, the Fourth Princess, said she’d be watching to choose a potential fiancé. So everyone who wants to make a good impression on royalty showed up.”
“What?!”
Juline didn’t look the least bit surprised.
“Of course. Even if royal authority’s weakened, His Majesty’s still the king. The royal family’s the wealthiest in the kingdom—it’s perfect if you want investment or favor.”
And as she said that, she gave Silia a knowing look.
As if to say, Was this your doing?
‘Not exactly wrong.’
Strictly speaking, it was a setup Croundel arranged for Silia that night in the greenhouse.
“I’ll make sure you draw everyone’s attention during the exam. That’s your chance to show your skills.”
“And how exactly are you going to do that?”
She had deliberately left out the part that questioned whether he had that kind of influence. But the prince caught on quickly. Admitting honestly that he didn’t have much power himself, he’d proposed this:
“Coincidentally, one of the Fourth Princess’s fiancé candidates is taking this transfer exam.”
He was on good terms with his half-siblings. Silia had assumed the so-called “outcast prince” was completely isolated, but apparently he got along well enough with those far from the line of succession.
“She’s curious by nature. If I hint that her potential fiancé’s participating, she’ll want to see for herself. Once she does, people who want to impress her—and the royal family—will gather in droves.”
“And you’re fine with using your sister like that?”
“She has every right to see the man who might become her fiancé. It’s better for her to judge for herself, don’t you think?”
It wasn’t wrong—and there was genuine concern for his half-sister in his tone. Since it was also a great opportunity for Silia, she’d accepted. No—she’d done more than accept.
“If we’re doing this, let’s make the stage even bigger.”
“Huh?”
“I heard the Second Prince’s looking for a bride lately too. Spread a hint that he might be watching this exam.”
“But…”
“Just hint at it—‘there’s a chance.’ That’s enough.”
After all, a prince was still a prince, even a penniless one.
And apparently Croundel had followed through, because she’d already heard murmurs among the crowd about the Second Prince’s possible attendance.
“Doesn’t anyone even know what he looks like? And aren’t there bad rumors…?”
“Still, you never know.”
Exactly like that.
Margaret blushed, her eyes shining.
“How romantic, coming to watch the man who might be her fiancé.”
“Pretty sure she’s here to cut him off cleanly if she doesn’t like him.”
“……”
“And that fiancé candidate’s name was…”
“You must mean Young Lord Ingram Phillips, heir to the Marquisate of Phillips.”
The answer came from Flier Diaman, who had accompanied Silia as her sponsor. Even amid the chaos, his tall build and gentle smile drew every noble’s gaze.
“I hear it might be a very good match for her.”
“That’s true for your side as well—”
“Sorry?”
“Nothing.”
You really don’t notice, do you?
The crowd’s eyes swept past Silia—her face hidden by a robe—and over Margaret and Flier instead, assessing whether the two might be engaged. If they’d heard that, both would’ve fainted.
‘If not for status differences, they’d actually make a good pair.’
Seeing the kindness in Flier’s expression made her feel a twinge of regret. He really did seem perfect for Margaret. When she turned her head, Juline was giving her a weird look.
‘What?’
“We should get going.”
At Juline’s prompt, Silia glanced toward the practice arena—the swordsmanship division’s exam site.
“We’ll go ahead and get seats.”
“Is that necessary?”
Juline only smiled and led Margaret away, as if doing Silia a favor by leaving. What’s that supposed to mean?
Just as Silia frowned, Flier offered his arm. She took it, and he began guiding her forward, firmly clearing a path through the crowd.
“The exam won’t be too difficult.”
“It’s not the official entrance exam—most people with a recommendation pass.”
“So you already knew. I was only trying to ease your nerves, but it seems you don’t need that.”
“I’ve been through enough that this kind of thing doesn’t shake me.”
Ignoring his curious glance, Silia adjusted her robe with her bandaged hand, pulling the hood closer. Too many stares were aimed their way, mostly at Flier—but she was catching the spillover.
She’d refused the Diamans’ offer of a new outfit and worn an old one instead, so at least no one paid too much attention.
Still, murmurs drifted through the air:
“Who’s the ragged one beside him?”
“Doesn’t matter. I heard the Diaman heir slew a beast recently.”
Actually, Silia had slain it.
“With that, Diaman’s become the most eligible house for marriage.”
‘I’ve just tossed one of my relatives into the bloody marriage market myself.’
Silia gave a short, silent prayer for Flier. Maybe she should’ve been honest about killing the monster—it would’ve made her a celebrity by now. But spilled milk and all that. All she could do was hope today’s performance would get through.
Inside the arena, she spotted the royal seating—lavishly prepared, of course. There sat Princess Marcella: long black hair neatly tied, a girl who looked mature for her age.
And beside her—
So much for “not showing up as a prince.”
Even dressed like a servant, Croundel’s physique gave him away. His face, however, was blurred—likely hidden by a magical item, maybe enchanted glasses. His hair now appeared a dark blue-black, likely dyed or covered by a wig.
Silia grinned faintly as she looked over the seats. Flier, too, seemed impressed.
“The stage really has grown.”
The magic tower’s mages, royal guards, high nobles, even a few faces Silia remembered from the battlefield—all gathered here.
Perfect. With this audience, word would spread like wildfire once she showed her strength. Even Illode, hiding in seclusion, wouldn’t be able to miss it.
He won’t sleep easy after this one.
She’d been a little worried before—but apparently the prince had more initiative than she’d given him credit for.
Maybe that airheaded act’s just for show.
At that thought, Croundel noticed her and gave a discreet wave.
“……”
Silia rubbed her temples.
Or maybe he’s just an idiot.
If someone recognized them, what then? Did he not realize this was supposed to be secret?
‘I’ll have to remind him later to keep his mouth shut.’
“Good luck,” Flier said softly beside her.
“I’d better have it.”
She looked him in the eye.
“After all, I owe you one.”
He smiled warmly, apparently taking her words differently.
“I hope you don’t think of it as a debt to our house.”
‘Still kind of is, though.’
“Don’t mind the stares. I’ll be watching from the stands.”
“Thanks.”
She nodded lightly as he headed off. Only the examinees remained in the arena—far fewer than the size of the crowd suggested.
“The swordsmanship exam will begin shortly! Please line up in your assigned groups!”
At once, the noble youths moved with practiced coordination. They were handed wooden practice swords tipped with special ink, then began eyeing one another warily.
“This looks dull.”
Silia turned at the voice.
It was Ingram Phillips, the princess’s fiancé candidate.
He had slicked-back hair heavy with oil and looked older than Marcella. Several flatterers clustered around him.
“How could we possibly compare to you, young lord?”
“Indeed, I wonder how these others will—”
Derisive eyes followed. They landed on Silia—dressed in worn clothes—and a few other common-born applicants.
“You’ll soon learn the Royal Academy’s swordsmanship standards—”
“What nonsense.”
Heads whipped toward her. The group blinked, unsure if they’d heard correctly.
When they looked to her for clarification, Silia replied flatly,
“I said you’re all full of yourselves.”
“Full of—?”
“Y-Young lord, I think she means you’re as precious as gold! That’s a compliment!”
“Yes, yes—shining like gold under the Marquis’s prestige! Hahaha!”
“Be careful, though,” Silia added with a faint smile.
“Gold’s flashy—but soft.”
Confusion flickered across their faces.
Was that an insult or a compliment?
Just then, a sound like shhhk filled the air as something was brought into the arena—oddly shaped scarecrows.
Silia recognized them instantly.
‘Training-grade magical dummies.’
She’d fought those before in the army—rarely, since they were more expensive than soldiers. They were enchanted to detect targets and launch preemptive attacks.
Normally, training involved one-on-one bouts against a dummy. But this time—
“This exam will be in groups of three! Your scores will be based on how many effective hits you land on the dummies! The ink on your wooden swords will show the results!”
“…Hmm.”
“Group One! Step forward!”
Watching the first group head out, Silia’s lips curved slightly.
Something about this stank.
