The eldest son of the Beallon County, Kyle Beallon.
The second son of the Caelid Duchy, Deron Caelid.
The second son of the Rosfell Marquisate, Blund Rosfell.
The sole child of the Raphelion County, Elden Raphelion.
Except for the somewhat declining Raphelion family, all candidates were descendants of robust and highly regarded houses in the Northern Region of Winterfell, throwing their hats in the ring for the marriage arrangement with the Grand Duchess Lumia.
They were winners who had made it to the final round among a hundred participants.
In terms of looks, martial arts, intellect, wealth, and each one’s esteemed accomplishments, they were undeniably outstanding, making them suitable match candidates for the third Grand Duchess Lumia.
The issue was…
‘…Why on earth did she select only these guys?’
If one were to glance beyond their superficial attributes and peek beneath the surface, they’d find nothing but pathetic and shameless individuals.
They delighted in dominating the weak, shunned no excess, and had no qualms about committing heinous acts for personal gain—classic portrayals of a depraved aristocrat.
Thus, Gelwood, the Central Advisor to the Grand Duke of Winterfell, earnestly prayed when these individuals reached the top ten, that Lady Lumia would not choose these four.
He hoped earnestly that this heartfelt desire would reach her.
However, whether she merely brushed his wish aside or plucked out his sincere concerns like unwanted earwax, she precisely went on to select those four as the final candidates, leaving Gelwood to drink deeply from the cup of despair.
Given her character and extraordinary perceptiveness, her choice was utterly baffling to him, but as a mere advisor, he had no choice but to abide by her decision, all while trying to suppress his dismay as he reviewed the arrangements for the joint stay starting tomorrow. That was until a moment ago.
“…Hahaha, it appears that Lord Elden visited us not with a request but rather with a joke?”
A joke, indeed.
That was what Gelwood believed.
He had no other option but to believe it fervently.
Because if only those four finalists remained in this world, he would choose Elden Raphelion.
Not as the best, but as the lesser of evils.
The reasoning was simple.
It was simply that Elden Raphelion was ‘comparatively,’ ‘less’ cunning and vile than the other three. At least he was just a beast true to his instincts, unlike the others who wore some hypocritical mask.
So, upon hearing the declaration of his withdrawal, Gelwood forced an uncomfortable smile and asked for clarification.
However, the response he received contradicted his expectations.
“Such thoughts are far from the truth.”
His eyes shone with seriousness, and the sincerity in his voice resonated.
Once Gelwood finally grasped the situation, he stiffened and questioned again.
“…You are serious. What’s the reason behind this?”
“I realized that I am far too insufficient to be the fiancé of Her Grace, the third Grand Duchess.”
“You passed both the preliminary and main evaluations with remarkable scores, and you were handpicked by the Duchess herself. How could you consider yourself unworthy?”
“I have obtained an honor that far exceeds what I deserve. When you grasp hold of something beyond your reach, it’s only right to let it go.”
“Are you really prepared to render all the effort you’ve put in worthless?”
Elden, indifferent, shrugged his shoulders with a calm demeanor.
“I’m merely avoiding further wasted effort.”
“…This status is a position that hundreds of noblemen would kill for. Are you really sure you wish to surrender it?”
“Yes.”
A short yet resolute answer.
In an atmosphere where persuasion would barely make an impact, Gelwood pondered for a brief moment before deciding to retreat.
“Candidate withdrawals have never occurred in the history of the betrothal competition… I believe this needs to be reported to the Grand Duke. If you grant me a day, I’ll swiftly convey his response.”
Elden let out a soft sigh.
For him, a day’s delay felt excessively prolonged, as he was eager to escape this place immediately.
However, the thought of a sudden withdrawal possibly angering the Grand Duke of the North left him little choice but to communicate his request politely to Gelwood.
“Well then, please deliver my regards to His Grace.”
Please, just help me with my escape.
Unaware of the desperate plea disguised within those words, Gelwood offered a warm smile in response.
“Don’t worry. We will respect the candidate’s wishes.”
“Right.”
Elden offered a slight nod in Gelwood’s direction.
By the kingdom’s hierarchical structure, Elden was technically superior to Gelwood, but as the central advisor to the ruling family of the North, Gelwood held a higher societal position, thus mutual respect was expected, even if it wasn’t an obligation.
Naturally, for Gelwood—who was perhaps a bit taken aback, as it was the first time he encountered such deference from Elden—this was all quite bewildering.
It had been two weeks since the betrothal contest had initiated, during which they had met and conversed multiple times, but Elden Raphelion’s head had always been stubbornly stiff.
No, it wasn’t mere stiffness. He had distinctly raised his head, refusing to bow at all.
Furthermore, the overwhelming aura surrounding this young man, along with his fierce crimson eyes, gave the impression of gazing into the eyes of a proud beast.
Yet somehow…
‘…It’s different now.’
To be more precise, the intense feeling of unease that had gnawed at Gelwood’s mind solidified with the bow Elden just offered.
The young man’s eyes held the tranquility of a serene lake, and the air around him felt as gentle as a breezy spring day.
Even the sharpness in his behavior and arrogance seemed to soften and become polite.
This change was subtle enough that one might dismiss it as mere imagination, but being the sharp advisor he was, Gelwood recognized and adapted to Elden’s transformation in demeanor.
Thus, he hastily returned the bow in kind.
“Then, take care, Lord Elden.”
“I’ll leave you to your work.”
Click-.
As Elden departed from the office, Gelwood mulled over the young man’s behavioral shift while making his way to the Grand Duke’s study.
However, the more pressing matter wasn’t Elden’s change but rather the unprecedented withdrawal from the betrothal contest.
“Tsk.”
Once I exited the aide’s office, a click of my tongue escaped me. My escape had been delayed.
Not only that, but I hadn’t even received a clear confirmation.
Things could get complicated if the Grand Duke chose to invalidate my withdrawal.
Of course, it was unlikely he would refuse the exit of a scion from a waning house like mine.
Still, all I could do was hope the Grand Duke of Winterfell accepted my wish without much ado.
“In any case, time to start packing.”
To preempt any interference, I sent the Head Butler on an errand.
Despite this body’s background, packing up my belongings had no complexity for me.
Rushing back into my room, I gathered what I could see.
‘My baggage is lighter than I assumed.’
Since the Duchy had provided various amenities to the finalists, there wasn’t a lot for me to pack.
Just a few sets of clothes, shoes, some accessories, and a couple of bottles of good liquor.
The scattered empty bottles I found indicated that the original Elden enjoyed drinking during his stay.
‘Heh-. So it’s true that villains and alcohol are inseparable.’
Having nearly completed my packing for a potential night escape, an elderly man knocked and entered the room.
It was Head Butler Rendler, who I had dispatched on the errand.
“My Lord, I have brought the items you requested.”
They served no real purpose or significance.
So, I pointed to the cabinet and instructed him to “Just put them over there.”
“……”
As I straightened my back after organizing my belongings, the Head Butler stared at me, as though he had witnessed something forbidden.
He glanced around anxiously and asked, “Why are you just standing there? Go put my things away in the cabinet.”
“……What do you mean?”
Was it really that hard to comprehend?
It shouldn’t have been.
Perhaps the old butler harbored some foolish hope that I might emerge victorious? Just because a slothful scion from a declining family like mine managed to reach the finals? Sorry to break that hopeful illusion.
“Reaching this far is astonishing in itself. It’s as though one gains credibility simply by being a finalist in the Duchess’s betrothal competition. Therefore, countless noble families will extend marriage proposals and offers based on this. There’s no point in grasping onto a fight I have no chance of winning.”
“……”
I thought this clarifying statement would suffice, yet the glint of hope in Rendler’s eyes didn’t wane as I expected.
Just when I felt a twinge of pity for the old butler, he surveyed my packed belongings and stammered a single sentence.
A statement that revealed the true vile nature of Elden Raphelion.
“So…What you mean, My Lord, is that…You’ve ‘personally’ packed your… belongings? H-How can this be…?”
“……?”
So, the butler wasn’t shocked that I had given up on the contest, thus destroying our family’s strongest opportunity for a name revival. Instead, he was astonished that I, Elden Raphelion—the disgraceful heir—had packed my own things?
Didn’t this insinuate that Rendler hadn’t held onto so much as a glimmer of hope that Elden Raphelion would succeed in this contest?
……
……
Elden Raphelion.
What kind of life had you lived?
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