NOVPUBLanci still leaned casually in his seat, watching the brilliant lights on the high platform of Naikarisu’s royal palace spark, extinguish, and then ignite again.
The royal palace that had suddenly boiled over with excitement finally allowed all the hearts of the Demon Race nobility to relax.
They were all cries of victory, resurgence, and hope.
This game, which had nearly been lost, received a desperate counterattack, and their excited hearts were tremendously moved.
The Great Demon Clan felt fortunate that in the Demon World there truly existed an epic artist capable of rivaling the tenth ancestor of the Blood Clan.
Who would have thought that the final painting of the Demon Race would outdo all the others!
"Oh."
The tenth ancestor Ulysses’s previously calm gaze was momentarily captured by this painting.
He did not feel much disappointment or defeat, but rather, he was intrigued.
Following the gazes of the Demon Race, he looked toward the Radiant Demon with emerald eyes and spark-like patterns.
"Lord Ulysses, this demon is just benefitting from the home court advantage," scoffed the accompanying Bloodline Viscount Giovanni disdainfully.
Both being epics, even if the painting of the tenth ancestor Ulysses was better, the Princess would surely choose the painting of their Demon Race.
Furthermore.
If it were not for the Blood Clan being delayed on the road, lacking proper conditions for painting, the completion would undoubtedly have been faster by the tenth ancestor Ulysses.
With equal quality in their work, it only proves that Ulysses’s own foundation is stronger.
Besides, Marquis Ulysses was not fighting at full strength; to him, the only worthy opponent was True Night Sir, and at most, it was just a game.
"What do you think of this painting?"
Duke Eduado, the fourth ancestor, asked in a deep voice.
He would not blame Ulysses, because whether it was magic or magical artifacts, epic was nearly the highest level there is.
"Not bad, it stands out amongst the ordinary," replied the tenth ancestor Ulysses, tilting his head and evaluating for Duke Eduado, the fourth ancestor, sitting behind him.
"Is that so."
The fourth ancestor Eduado snorted coldly and leaned on his palm, saying nothing more.
But there was no change in his expression.
There would be no change in today’s outcome.
"Sigh..."
Lisandra, sitting on the left side of the Regency Hall where the court members were, took a deep breath and soothed her chest.
Until the last moment when Fallen Lord unveiled the painting, she had not harbored any hope that their Demon Race would suddenly produce an artist capable of creating an epic painting.
And that member of the Demon Race happened to be her neighbor, McCarthy.
At that moment, she fully understood why Her Highness chose painting out of a competition full of possibilities—
The Princess knew better than anyone that no matter the obstacles, as long as the signal was conveyed to McCarthy, he would definitely win everything for her.
Time seemed to speed up and slow down simultaneously, and the admiring voices of the noble demons were like rain after a long drought, filled with endless enthusiasm and release, ready to vent all their suppressed emotions.
However, Lisandra was not in the mood to appreciate Mr. McCarthy’s masterpiece, because the girl shining in the evening glow in the painting was the truest and most beautiful form of the Princess she saw every day.
The moment the Demon Race exhaled their admiration, she had already seen McCarthy, sitting on the steps among the onlookers, looking at the Princess with an approving gaze.
As if asking the Princess: I did well, didn’t I?
Lisandra could not detect any pride in him; the more the noble demons cheered, the more composed he appeared.
The Princess was even calmer than expected.
If one had to say.
The expression of the Princess at the moment was almost the same as that of the girl in the painting.
It was the kind of look that comes only when one gazes upon a beloved man.
It’s just that without a mirror, she could not see her own eyes at this time.
After locking eyes with Lanci for a long time, Hyperion suddenly felt as if she was called back to consciousness by the noisy voices in the throne hall, diverting her gaze as if waking from a dream.
When she looked back at the painting and caught Lanci’s gaze again, she felt her heart beating so fast that she couldn’t control it.
In a panic, Hyperion lowered her head, trying hard to adjust her breathing but feeling completely out of breath, as if she had forgotten how to exhale.
"Your Highness, which painting would you like to choose?"
Fallen Lord Calila looked at the Princess with flushed cheeks and couldn’t help but reveal a smile of amusement.
Just now, all the members of the Demon Race panicked, but she didn’t. She maintained the absolutely dignified demeanor of a princess.
Now that everyone in the Demon Race was celebrating, the Princess chickened out, no longer behaving like a Princess of the Demon Clan.
Even though Calila knew which one the Princess would choose, it was still necessary to go through the process.
More importantly, she was very interested to hear the Princess muster the courage—to publicly declare her answer.
"This one."
Hyperion’s voice was as faint as a mosquito’s, as she lifted her slender arm and pointed to the painting.
"I can’t hear."
Fallen Lord Calila placed her hand near her ear, tilting her head slightly as if the hall was too noisy for her to hear the Princess’s words.
The moment Calila raised her hand, the voices of the seated demons in the great hall began to gradually quiet down.
They understood that it was time for the Fallen Lord to continue conducting the ceremony. They shifted their attention back to the platform at the end of the throne hall, politely returning to their seats, maintaining the composure of the aristocrats of the Demon World.
"Very well, Your Highness, please tell me earnestly—whose author of the painting do you wish to become your husband?"
Fallen Lord Calila asked with utmost seriousness and solemnity.
The still air made Hyperion more aware of what kind of scene this was, she even subconsciously pressed her feet down, wanting to stand up and run away using invisibility.
But the Fallen Lord was right beside her.
In front of this Ninth-order Great Demon, she had no hope of escaping.
Embarrassed to the extreme, she felt her head spinning.
Hyperion knew that Lanci was watching her, waiting for her answer.
Although she knew that at this moment it might just be a performance.
But who could delineate what was real and what was false?
They had always been there for each other, since the day they met—classmates, companions, best friends—sharing the purest of friendships, which was the most precious treasure to her.
She feared that once she gave her answer, everything would change.
Having only brought misfortune to those around her since childhood, she knew not to be greedy, dared not overstep, and did not aspire to demand more from Lanci.
However, now that she was somewhat certain of Lanci’s intentions, all she wanted was to impulsively agree to him.
She kept telling herself it was just a trivial matter, but when the words reached her throat, she couldn’t say them out loud, feeling as if she would die of embarrassment. She had never in her life had to express feelings similar to "like" to someone.
Just one more second, just say it in the next second.
Hyperion clenched her fists, forcing herself to speed up.
As time ticked by, the gaze of the Fallen Lord was almost too much for Hyperion to bear.
The waiting state of the demons in the chamber became more and more restless, with minor clatters becoming more frequent.
"Your Highness..."
The voice of disappointment from the Fallen Lord came through.
Her patience seemed to have worn thin.
"If the Princess does not tell me the answer soon, I shall have to make a random choice for the Princess."
"This one!!"
Hyperion lifted her head, her resolute gaze barely concealing the shyness that was about to make her cry,
"I will marry him!"
Hyperion pointed to [Picture·Her Golden Moment], as if shouting through all the breath in her diaphragm.
In that instant, all the demons in the Regency Hall cheered and leapt up from their seats, bowing and clenched-fist shouting.
