"Glory to the Empire! May the sun be with us!"
Roland declared, his voice firm and unwavering, eyes blazing with newfound resolve as he met the gazes of the six elders.
Beside him, Eugene's head snapped toward him. "What?!" He blurted, clearly taken aback.
"No. No. No. How can someone like him even attempt to consume an ancient beast? He can barely survive ten minutes under the sun!"
... And here we go again, with the discrimination against my fragile body. Roland sighed inwardly, rolling his eyes.
"What does it matter to you if I choose to participate? If I die in the process, wouldn't it be the same outcome?" Roland retorted, side-eyeing Eugene.
"You—" Eugene began, but Roland cut him off.
"Besides, consuming an ancient beast is a mental challenge, not a physical one."
At this point, Eugene was fuming with rage. He clenched his fists tightly, veins bulging. But just then, an unexpected voice rang out.
"He is right. It doesn't matter whether he chooses to participate or not," said the crimson-haired Archduke, his eyes fixed on Roland with cold indifference.
Tsk. Spare me your fake righteousness. You're not defending me, you just don't think I'm worth your attention. Roland scoffed inwardly.
"Since none of you five will be dropping out, you may now step forward and choose which ancient beast you wish to claim." The head elder declared, gesturing toward the pile of decayed corpses.
The five candidates exchanged brief glance, tense and calculating before moving forward together, each beginning to inspect the remains in silence.
Each of the corpses had similar size around that of an apple, however there were slight differences in appearence.
I think I'll just—
As Roland reached out his hand, a sudden wave of déjà vu washed over him. His eyes drifted toward the right corner of the pile, where one particular corpse lay.
Its charred black surface shimmered faintly, with streaks of orange glow pulsing from within, like embers waiting to reignite.
It feels like... it's calling to me, Roland thought, a flicker of confusion crossing his mind.
He glanced around and saw the other candidates still hesitating, deep in debate over which corpse to choose. Not wanting to waste any time, Roland reached out for the one that had drawn him in.
The moment his right hand touched its surface, a strange certainty washed over him—there was a connection.
I weirdly... feel comfortable with it, hethought, a hint of unease mixing with familiarity.
Before Roland could second-guess his decision, the other candidates reached out and claimed a corpse of their own.
Looks like I'm stuck with this one— for better or worse, he sighed inwardly, returning to his original spot alongside the others. Each steps heavier than before, as if the weight of the beast he carried was already pressing down on him.
"We will now explain the ritual," the head elder announced.
A skinny, white-haired elder with glasses stepped forward. "The ritual is as follows," he began in a calm, measured voice.
"You will cut your palm and let your blood drip into a chalice filled with holy water. Then, you must offer a prayer to the Sun God."
He paused, then recited the words slowly and with reverence:
"Eternal light of salvation, Lord of the Sun, I pray for your blessing and protection."
"Once your prayer is complete, you will drink from the chalice and then consume the ancient beast."
This ritual is different from the one the past Roland conducted, Roland thought, deducing that either the previous Roland had been misled, or that different beasts require different rituals, something the council isn't revealing.
Regardless, Roland remained skeptical of the ritual, but ultimately decided to trust it, considering it was being instructed by the elders.
"You will soon be provided with an isolated room and the materials for the ritual. Please note that this process will take approximately three hours. You may speak with your attendant beforehand," the head elder announced as a servant guided the candidates out of the hall.
As Roland exited the hall with the corpse in hand, he spotted Enzo, along with Alice's knight and Eugene's butler.
The scholarly Enzo glanced at the strange, charred corpse but said nothing at first. Soon, an attendant arrived and guided them to a secluded chamber.
"Is that… what I think it is?" Enzo finally asked, disbelief flickering in his eyes.
"Yes," Roland replied calmly. "Each candidate was given a choice—consume an ancient beast or withdraw from the selection."
Enzo's expression turned grave. "Young master… don't you think this is far too dangerous?"
"It is," Roland admitted, "but it's the only way I might stand a chance at winning the throne." He then offered Enzo a warm, reassuring smile. "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."
Enzo bit his lip, clearly conflicted. He slowly removed his monocle and let out a long sigh. "It seems I can't talk you out of it… Then at least promise me one thing, young master—don't die. Young Lady Eleanor would be devastated if you did."
Roland didn't say another word. Instead, he gave Enzo a firm pat on the shoulder before turning away and stepping into the room.
Enzo remained outside, silently watching the door close behind him. His fingers tightened slightly at his side.
"Please… be safe," he whispered.
...
Standing alone in the quiet room, Roland took a moment to observe his surroundings. In the center lay a golden chalice and a ceremonial knife, both carefully placed on a cloth-draped pedestal. Sunlight filtered through the high window, casting a warm glow directly upon them.
He stepped forward and knelt before the altar. With steady hands, he picked up the knife, its edge gleaming faintly in the light. Slowly, deliberately, he brought the blade to his palm.
"Do I really have to cut my hand?" Roland muttered, the question more rhetorical than anything else.
He hesitated for a moment, then pressed the edge of the blade against his palm. Slowly, he dragged it backward, wincing as a line of crimson began to surface. Blood welled up from the cut, warm and vivid.
Setting the now-stained knife aside, he clenched his fist, allowing the droplets to fall into the holy water below with soft, rhythmic splashes.
He watched as his blood diffused into the water, staining it a deep crimson dark and rich, like vintage wine.
Taking a breath, he intertwined his fingers and began the prayer, his voice steady and low.
"Eternal light of salvation."
"Lord of the Sun."
"I pray for your blessing and protection."
Each line echoed softly through the still, sunlit room—reverent, alone, and full of quiet resolve.
"Guess this is it... Either I gain superpowers, or I kick off another transmigration loop." Roland mused with a bitter smirk.
He picked up the apple-sized, charred corpse and slowly raised it to his face. Strangely, despite its decayed appearance, there was no foul odor. In fact, it didn't smell like anything at all.
That, however, didn't make it any more appetizing.
Without giving himself another moment to hesitate, he shoved it into his mouth. The instant it touched his tongue, it began to disintegrate crumbing apart like ash.
He instantly felt his eyelids grow heavy, his thoughts turning sluggish.
So… this was... how the... past Roland felt…
It was like his mind was trudging through layers of mud just to form a single coherent thought.
He tried to move his body, but it was like sending a message over terrible internet on a ten-year-old phone, no less. In short, everything was excruciatingly slow. The lag between thought and action was painfully clear.
After that failed attempt, he gave up trying to fight back. Instead, he embraced the overwhelming darkness, sinking into a deep slumber. His last fleeting thought was:
I... will... survive...