Chapter 117: Picking Up

The scorching midday sun blazed down on the high platform, and the hastily constructed stage creaked and groaned, as if it might collapse at any moment.

The burning light made the figure of the silver-haired girl appear even more fragile, standing atop the platform, her silver hair nearly translucent in the dazzling sunlight, her blue eyes narrowed slightly against the glare.

Yet her gaze remained fixed on the dense black mass of people below; even if she wanted to look away, she couldn’t.

Too many, far too many.

At this moment, the base of the high platform was still submerged by the crowd.

Things had gone beyond expectations.

No, it was Emilia’s influence that had gone beyond expectations.

The wind howled, swirling and lifting the hem of her pure white dress, fluttering like struggling wings.

The thin white silk clung to her waist, then, in the next instant, flared out dramatically.

Slender jade hands brushed aside her windblown silver hair.

She seemed lost in thought, no one could tell what she was thinking, but soon she returned to herself and smiled gently, so softly, as if remembering something beautiful from the past.

As more and more people gathered, the pleading voices in the crowd gradually turned into hoarse cries.

Perhaps they finally realized their mistakes, realized they were wrong—of course, the premise was that they understood they were about to die.

Days without Lady Emilia were days lived in filth, nothing but a pile of crap…to be toyed with until death.

“Emilia, Emilia…”

“Emilia…”

“Emilia…”

These voices rose and fell in her ears.

Gerald, too, didn’t know what to do.

What now?

She simply stood there in a daze, not moving at all.

From time to time, she’d lift a hand to wipe the sweat from her brow.

After all, Duke Olay had said she only needed to show up as a good luck charm—no need to do anything else.

That was a small mercy.

She couldn’t even imagine herself giving a speech.

Besides, she was Emilia herself; she couldn’t possibly act like the person she was supposed to be, nor could she mimic the right demeanor.

Simply put, it was safer not to move; moving made mistakes more likely.

Soon, Duke Olay appeared at just the right moment.

He strode up with steady steps, coming to stand beside the girl on the platform.

His tailored black suit accentuated his upright figure—it was clear he trained regularly.

The high collar half-concealed his sharply defined jawline, and a family crest pin at his collarbone gleamed with a cold light.

Long, gloved fingers clapped together softly.

It was as if he was reminding the girl of his arrival, also signaling the start of the speech.

He needed to quell the empire’s internal strife as soon as possible.

This performance was necessary—a crucial part of the plan.

He glanced at the dazed silver-haired girl nearby; thankfully, she was willing to cooperate, saving him a great deal of trouble and effort.

His eyes narrowed as he looked over the well-dressed Gerald.

Whether on a whim or long in the making, he began to tease, his tone light yet purposeful.

“Not bad. It fits you well, just as I expected. It seems my foresight in preparing this outfit for you was well-founded, Your Majesty Gerald. No need to thank me—this is simply my duty as a subject.”

“Get lost…”

She clearly couldn’t be bothered to pay him any mind, not even deigning to spare him a glance.

Her exquisitely beautiful face was coated with a layer of icy weariness, lips not even twitching into a smile—not even granting him a proper cold sneer.

All she hoped was for this ordeal to end quickly.

Not only was it sweltering and stifling here, but she also wanted to get back and recover properly, to consider how best to face Dely.

By her ear, Olay was still chattering away.

He’d long been annoyed with her, yet continued trying to provoke her—even at such an important occasion.

“Your Majesty Gerald…”

At that, she turned and stepped away, putting distance between them—out of sight, out of mind, and hopefully out of earshot too.

As she turned, her silver hair lashed out in a sharp arc, the ends nearly brushing his face.

Whether by accident or on purpose, it was almost certainly on purpose.

Slender jade fingers raised to give him a middle finger in reply.

“I get it, Your Majesty Gerald. Let’s get this started and end it as soon as possible.”

With that, Duke Olay stopped his pointless rambling.

He cleared his throat, collected himself, and with the aid of magic, spoke each word clearly, reciting those insincere lines as if going through the motions for the thousandth time.

But for these fools, it worked.

After all, hope was an extremely dangerous thing.

He mechanically recited the script, his voice as flat as if reading off a menu.

He wasn’t gifted at stirring hearts, but manipulating people—now that he could do.

Still, it was like pushing a duck onto a perch, he thought with a sigh, as he began:

“Fellow citizens of the Empire, you’ve come here with faith and hope. We are facing unprecedented challenges—the Empire is on the brink of collapse. We must unite if we are to create a better tomorrow. I am not just spouting empty words—Lady Emilia herself is the best proof.”

His voice was steady, but lacked any highs or lows; he even had to use Emilia for support.

“I’m sure you all feel the same. In these difficult times, we must stand together. I believe that with everyone’s combined effort, we can overcome these hardships. The Empire will not perish—because Lady Emilia is here. She needs you all, and you know she is the Empire’s hope…”

The speech ended dryly.

Anyone could see he’d done his best.

The crowd heard what they wanted to hear, and cheered wildly, but a faint unease lingered.

Perhaps it was because Lady Emilia herself hadn’t spoken; they could never be fully satisfied, no matter how loud their shouts.

The situation grew more and more intense, gradually slipping out of control.

Perhaps this was Emilia’s standing in the Empire.

The noise was too chaotic to make out any words.

Soon, the crowd below seemed to unite in a singular purpose.

Whether Gerald or Duke Olay, only one thing rang in their ears: “Emilia, Emilia,” echoing again and again throughout the crumbling Empire.

It was the overwhelming power and madness of the people.

Seeing this, Duke Olay had no choice but to push her forward—like forcing a duck onto a perch—utterly helpless.

Not that his word had ever counted for much anyway, but this time, he truly hadn’t wanted her to go onstage.

He had considered many things—there were simply too many variables.

But now, even if she didn’t want to, she had to go up.

Gerald shrugged helplessly and stepped forward.

After all, she didn’t want these crazy bastards to topple the platform, send her tumbling down, and get swarmed by the frenzied crowd below…she didn’t even dare imagine the consequences.

She pondered a moment, recalling how Emilia had handled things before.

Her silvery hair danced lightly in the wind.

Her thoughts stilled as she stood firm.

She took a deep breath and, using magic to amplify her voice, swept her piercing gaze over every weary, hopeful face below the platform.

“Everyone…”

Very soon, Emilia returned, and words of encouragement were printed in newspapers and spread to every corner of the world—even the Demon King’s Castle was no exception.

Why could the Demon King’s Castle get the papers?

Well, Sieg was simply too bored—he always needed something to amuse himself.