The Sub Male Lead is Burning with Jealousy - Chapter 9 Part 14
‘I am the last of the Dragon lineage, and I will not be intimidated by a mere human!’
Kirthalros told himself, but as soon as their eyes met, he remembered the beating he’d taken in Radiel’s garden. Even at this distance, a powerful dread swept through him, causing his hair to stand on end.
“Empr…”
He tried to speak, but the blatant aura of killing intent radiating from the imperial family viewing area made him choke on his words. Rationally, he knew Rahil, as a human, couldn’t cross such a long distance in a single step but the hair on the back of his neck stood on end nonetheless.
Even Theodore, standing behind, glanced back in silence. Only Anais gently tapped Rahil’s arm and whispered for him to ease up on the terrifying stare.
‘I’ll die. I’m going to die.’
With a fierce premonition of death—of outright dying—pounding at the back of his head, Kirthalros eventually looked away.
“U-uh, the young lady with the golden hair…” he stammered.
“Ah! You must mean Lady Lolie!”
Since none of the Maiden of Abundance candidates had been chosen yet, Lolie beamed, delighted to present her handkerchief to the chamberlain. Kirthalros accepted it, practically grinding his teeth in humiliation.
‘I’ll kill that bastard for sure!’
Meanwhile, Rahil, satisfied that Anais hadn’t been chosen again, let a smile tug at his lips.
‘Maybe that fellow isn’t the dragon after all.’ he mused.
It was a completely self-serving conclusion.
* * *
Though Karel had almost lost consciousness after being struck by a silver goblet, he refused treatment to remove the bruise around his eye. When the priest asked why, Karel replied in a calm tone,
“I’d like to keep it for a long time since it’s such a rare souvenir.”
Keep what, exactly?
“The bruise, you mean?”
Karel nodded. The priest gave him a look as if he were crazy but followed his request. Instead of healing the bruise, the priest simply checked that his eyeball was fine. Surprisingly, his eye was unharmed.
‘As expected of His Majesty! Such precise control!’
Karel once again felt admiration for Rahil. If it had been a blow he couldn’t dodge, it should have been strong enough to crack his skull. Yet, only a bruise formed around his eye, leaving the eyeball intact.
‘There can’t be many on the continent who can control their strength to this extent…!’
The only one who could possibly face His Majesty would be His close friend, Duke Theodore Calix…
Hoping he could someday hone his skills and stand shoulder-to-shoulder with them, Karel gazed at the bruise in the mirror with rapt delight.
‘At least he doesn’t seem to be holding a grudge.’
Following Anais’s orders, the official had checked on Kirthalros and was now trying to assess Karel’s state. One look at Karel’s expression was enough to convince him: this fellow was definitely a fan of His Majesty. Otherwise, why else would he look so pleased about a bruise on his face?
“To be happy about a bruise…. Then I guess asking Her Majesty the Empress for a handkerchief must be out of loyalty to the Imperial Family?”
Fortunately, there was another candidate who asked exactly what the official had wanted to know. After all, Karel’s grinning at his bruised face in the mirror was bizarre, to say the least.
At that, Karel put down the mirror and spoke seriously,
“No. It’s because Her Majesty the Empress is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
‘What is wrong with this guy?’
Both the candidate who asked and the official who’d been watching were at a loss for words, as Karel continued,
“If I win, I plan to ask for the honor of serving as her personal guard.”
“…Whose guard, exactly?”
“Her Majesty the Empress’s, of course. His Majesty is already strong enough, isn’t he? I’ve long dreamed of serving as the guard of someone so exquisitely beautiful.”
The official turned away without a word and began to leave. He was already struggling to figure out how to tactfully report to the Empress that Karel Decart was, to put it nicely, a complete oddball.
***
Within Kirthalros’s palm, Lady Iolie’s handkerchief smoldered away. Engulfed in a small flame, it vanished, leaving nothing but a handful of ash.
‘I, of all beings, ended up yielding to scum like that!’
Even in hindsight, it was a humiliating moment he never wished to recall. He was fortunate that only Duke Noer knew he was a dragon; had it been otherwise…
“Duke Noer—that bastard needs to be killed.”
He was someone Kirthalros had intended to dispose of eventually, once his plans succeeded anyway. Since he knew Kirthalros’s disgraceful secret, the duke’s name was added to the list of humans who must be killed, just like Rahil.
Knock, knock.
At the sound of knocking on the waiting room door, Kirthalros glared at it.
“…What do you want?”
“I’ve come to explain the tournament’s regulations and deliver your provided gear.”
When Kirthalros jerked his chin, his attendant moved forward and opened the door. A young man dressed in an imperial official’s attire entered, leading another attendant.
“First of all, congratulations on making it into the final eight and advancing to the tournament.”
“…..”
Kirthalros flared silently at the official, who paid it no mind and instead turned to the attendant. The attendant placed down the armor and sword they had brought.
“Take it away. I’ll use my own arms and armor.”
“The rules of this tournament stipulate that you must use the provided weapons and armor.”
What?
Kirthalros, who had borrowed the power of a magic sword to slay monsters, was taken aback. When he’d investigated the tournament earlier, he hadn’t heard of such a rule.
“Is this a new rule?”
“No. Sometimes there are candidates who rely on magic artifacts… Did you happen to use any magic artifacts in the trial?”
At the official’s question, Kirthalros clamped his mouth shut, breaking into a cold sweat. Because it hadn’t been explicitly stated in the rules, unfortunately, they couldn’t disqualify him for it. Usually, anyone using such tricks would fail in the final trial anyway—after a near-death experience, no less.
