Final Selection (2)
Asella’s final selection test to determine her personal physician. It was a considerable ordeal.
“Hah.”
The moment he saw the emerald dragon hatchling presented as the task, a sigh escaped first.
Dragons were magic beasts intimately connected to spells. The flames spewed by flame dragons could even be considered a form of magic. They favored mana-rich food, so every year, at least five mages met their end by carelessly wandering near dragon nests and getting devoured.
Emerald dragons had the unique trait of consuming healing spells. Even a hatchling—truly befitting the imperial family, somehow procuring one of the dragonkin.
“Not exactly a welcome prospect for me.”
This one wasn’t sick anywhere; it simply craved healing spells like a starving pig. Greedily. Endlessly!
The problem was the conversation with Gis before the test.
‘Young master will naturally stick to just the medicine from the practical exam, right? You’re on a whole different level from us!’
Provoked like that, he’d confidently replied.
‘Haha, of course. I’ll pass using only medicine.’
But now, resorting to a healing spell would be utterly humiliating. Behind the blind, the imperial physicians dispatched to score him were surely watching. No backing out here—what to do?
“Hey.”
Calling the hatchling, it glanced over with indifferent eyes before letting out a loud belch. It had apparently already digested the spells pilfered from the previous candidates. The stench was foul.
“No idea. Might like this, though.”
He offered it a rose candy. Sniff sniff—the creature wrinkled its elongated nose, then smack! It raised sharp claws and batted the candy away.
Driving him mad. How precious that candy was.
“Ah, come on, let’s catch it first. Hey, come here, come here, okay?”
He grabbed the hatchling’s neck, pried open its jaws, and pressed the candy to its tongue.
—Kieek!Kreeek!
Now it was thrashing wildly. Or expressing refusal, perhaps? Wasn’t that dragon tongue? Or was it that sensitive to the rose scent, beyond even honey’s cover?
In the end, his methods drew intervention from a senior healer, who halted proceedings. Wait—maybe it would like other medicines. Insisting on more tests sparked a scuffle, culminating in the hatchling breaking free from his grasp.
“Hey, hey, wait a sec.”
Crash! In chasing it down, a shelf toppled, and his eyes locked squarely with the scorers behind the blind.
Beside his father sat an elderly man who appeared to be the supervising physician. Both gaped, staring blankly at him.
“Um, hello.”
Awkward greetings were exchanged.
“White hair... Could that candidate be... No, that’s the marquis’s son?”
“Umm.”
His father pressed his temple, looking troubled. The test was meant to be anonymous for fairness, so it was only natural.
Damn. Was the personal physician gig slipping away so anticlimactically? Reaching the final selection only to fail over the test format would be a shame.
‘Seen him before. Imperial Medical Office physician, Palkenhain.’
If the opponent was this man, he had leverage to exploit.
Click-clack.
As he racked his brain, sharp heel strikes echoed through.
Everyone turned toward the sound from the corridor. The door swung open moments later.
Asella scanned the exam room with a dissatisfied expression.
“Princess.”
Palkenhain offered her a greeting. It wasn’t overly formal—fitting, considering his role attending the Second Prince.
Asella’s downturned gaze fixed on him before turning to Palkenhain.
“Sir Palkenhain. What is the intent behind deciding my personal physician without summoning me?”
“That is...”
Palkenhain faltered at Asella’s blunt display of ire.
His father answered in his stead.
“Princess. To ensure fairness in selecting the physician, Sir Palkenhain prepared the tasks, and we’ve been conducting a blind test.”
“That’s precisely my grievance. Isn’t it only natural for me to choose my own physician?”
“However, Princess.”
Palkenhain countered with a grave expression.
“As you well know, a physician to the imperial family holds authority far beyond mere attendance. In the Imperial Medical Office, where the empire’s top 200-odd healers gather, it’s the highest post, commanding an entire healer faction.”
Palkenhain was simply conveying facts, devoid of ulterior motive.
“Thus, as the senior attending physician, I must vet the candidates. The Gotberg training program has credibility, so I entrusted it up to selecting the finalists. But if the chosen physician bears any disqualifying flaw that would tarnish the Imperial Medical Office’s dignity...”
“What more is needed beyond tending to me?”
Asella tilted her chin up, glaring at Palkenhain. Overpowered, he fell silent.
“Settle your Imperial Medical Office games among yourselves. I manage my physician. And from the finalists, there’s one I wish to select.”
Swish. Asella raised her arm, pointing straight at him with her index finger.
“Ras Gotberg.”
Silence descended.
The other candidates and observing senior healers alike felt chills from the heavy tension.
Palkenhain spoke first.
“As expected, of the Gotberg house. Does the Princess wish to select that candidate?”
His expression, oddly, brimmed with relief—nay, he was grinning ear to ear, alone in his mirth. What was that about?
“Hold on—we can’t accept this!”
Gis, who’d been watching, stepped forward from behind the blind.
“That young master just now showed zero results with the task right in front of him! He even ruined the anonymous test. If the passer was predetermined from the start, what’s the point of this selection?!”
“I agree!”
The third candidate raised his voice too. What was his name again? Forgotten.
On principle, their arguments weren’t entirely wrong. Gis might feel genuinely aggrieved.
But having come this far, he had no intention of yielding tamely.
Asella glanced at the other candidates.
She strode up to Gis, questioning in a frigid tone.
“You—do you wish to become my personal physician?”
Gis faltered at her approach, stepping back slightly as he replied.
“O-of course.”
“Are you prepared to pledge lifelong fealty to me, Asella von Württemberg, Princess of the Empire?”
“...That, of course.”
Gis’s voice shrank under Asella’s intimidation.
Asella openly scoffed at him, then invoked a spell.
“Ice Spear.”
Three magic circles formed instantaneously from her raised right hand. The air liquefied and coalesced like melting rivulets, swiftly shaping into razor-sharp awls.
Gis gulped at the sight. Only now did the gravity of his challenge sink in.
But Asella’s follow-up was somewhat unexpected.
Swish!
She flicked her right hand, slashing her own left arm with the ice awl.
The abrupt incident froze everyone present solid.
Drip, drip—crimson blood beaded from her porcelain-white forearm.
“Heal it.”
Asella issued the emotionless command.
Gis blanched, trembling hands rising slowly.
“...We pray to the merciful goddess.”
He cast a healing spell. Divine power seeped out, enveloping Asella.
In that instant—
—Crack!
The pristine divine power warped in midair as if crushed in a fist, shifting to Asella’s signature gold.
“Wh-what...”
“You too.”
Asella nodded at the other candidate. The result was identical—his healing spell failed.
Asella’s overwhelming mana instinctively repelled and shattered the inferior incantation.
Finally, her gaze turned to him.
‘Tyrant as ever.’
He shrugged and approached Asella. He drew a handkerchief from his pocket.
Carefully wiping the blood trickling down to her elbow.
“Stings a little.”
He applied red antiseptic to the cleaned wound. He felt her arm twitch faintly, though her face remained impassive.
The cut wasn’t deep—just a light slice. No scarring likely.
He produced a linen bandage for first aid, tying a neat knot on her left arm.
“All done.”
Her arm took on an orange hue—proof the treatment was working.
Asella tilted her head back to regard Palkenhain. No further words needed.
Palkenhain shot to his feet, clapping heartily.
“A splendid demonstration. Some procedural issues, but the substance is more than convincing.”
He turned to his father.
“It seems the Princess’s physician has been decided. Congratulations, Gotberg.”
“Thank you.”
The senior healers began applauding the selection’s conclusion.
He glanced at the other candidates. Gis gritted his teeth in frustration but nodded in acknowledgment.
At least he could accept defeat.
“Young Master Ras.”
The sharp voice at his ear made him whip around.
“Yes, Princess.”
“You don’t look thrilled.”
“Perish the thought. I’m profoundly honored to serve Your Highness henceforth.”
Asella’s golden eyes peered up at him.
Hm. Intimidating.
She quirked her lips ever so slightly, adopting a perfectly villainess-worthy expression as she commanded.
“I’ll show you the imperial palace. Follow me.”