The Extra Who Shouldn’t Exist - Chapter 297

Chapter 297: Chapter 297 : The next ruler (2)
Inside the royal palace, the throne room stood heavy with tension.

The grand throne at the far end—once occupied by King Edward—now sat empty beneath a banner bearing the imperial crest. Sunlight filtered weakly through tall stained-glass windows, casting fractured colors across polished marble floors and towering stone pillars.

The room was crowded.

Dozens of nobles filled the hall, dressed in their finest attire—brocade coats, embroidered dresses, jeweled pins, and family crests. Yet, despite the splendor, there was a clear sense of imbalance. Several key figures were missing.

Duke Reynard, Arthur williams , Marquis Starlight, Augustus Sinclair, and a number of other high-ranking nobles were nowhere to be seen—they were all currently at the borders, holding off invaders and trying to keep the empire from crumbling.

What remained in the capital were those who could afford to stay behind… and those more interested in power than in war.

The royal court had split cleanly into three factions.

On the right side of the hall stood the largest group—a dense cluster of nobles rallying behind the first prince, Joseph Evans Avaloria. He stood among them, dressed in overly decorated finery, his posture slouched with entitled arrogance. Joseph had inherited his father’s white hair, but his eyes were a soft brown like his mother, Queen Regina.

Despite his status, he was infamous as a good-for-nothing prince who spent his days drowning in wine and squandering money in pleasure districts. Yet many supported him, for one simple reason:

Queen Regina herself stood behind him.

To them, supporting Joseph meant currying favor with the queen. And Regina favored him precisely because he was easy to control. Through him, she intended to rule the empire from the shadows, using the eldest prince as nothing more than a puppet.

Opposite them, on the left, stood the faction of the second prince—Lucas Evans Avaloria.

Unlike his brother, Lucas had clawed his way up through sheer effort. His supporters were fewer than Joseph’s, but each one had been carefully secured through deals, pressure, and fear. Only Lucas knew how many blackmails, threats, and dirty deeds—including murder—had paved his path to this point.

Lucas was sharp, ambitious, and dangerous.

He bore all of Edward’s features—white hair and amethyst eyes, a cold regal presence like a sharpened blade. Among the three siblings, he was the most formidable contender for the throne.

At the far side of the hall, not too numerous and clearly outmatched in presence, stood a smaller, scattered group of nobles. Most of them were low-ranking—barons and minor lords.

They formed the third faction.

The faction of the youngest royal… Charlotte Evans Avaloria.

Compared to the others, they were undeniably the weakest. But they were also the ones whose loyalty was the least tainted by greed.

Suddenly, Joseph rose from his ornate chair to the right of the throne.

“I get tears in my eyes every time I see this empty throne,” he began, one hand dramatically pressed to his chest. “The throne where our beloved father once sat.”

A murmur rippled through the hall.

“But now,” Joseph continued loudly, “he is no more. Our lands are attacked day by day, eaten away by forces we barely understand. In such a time, we need a king—someone to lead us out of this predicament, to become the backbone of this empire, and to protect our people.”

He straightened his shoulders as if he bore some great weight. “And as you all know, it is the duty of the eldest son to inherit that role. My claim to the throne comes first as the firstborn. I want all of your support.”

He turned pointedly toward the left side of the hall. “And Lucas… you should give up your claim. Only I am the rightful heir.”

His supporters nodded and voiced their agreement, some clapping, others shouting their approval.

Lucas, however, suddenly burst into laughter.

“Hear that?” he said, laughing as he leaned forward. “Because you were born a few years earlier, that alone makes you the rightful heir? What era do you think this is?”

His gaze sharpened, the smile fading. “For all these years, I busted my ass to become worthy of Father’s legacy. While you—” his eyes swept over Joseph in disgust—”were getting drunk and wasting time with whores.”

Snickers ran through Lucas’s side of the court.

“Hell, I can defeat you with one hand tied,” Lucas said coldly. “You’re unawakened trash. Do you think someone with your pathetic strength is fit to rule anything?”

His supporters laughed openly. Some clapped him on the back, others smirked at Joseph without restraint.

Joseph’s face turned beet red. “What did you say?!”

Lucas tilted his head. “See, everyone? The man who wants to rule this nation doesn’t even have proper hearing.”

Laughter erupted again from Lucas’s faction.

Veins bulged on Joseph’s forehead as anger bubbled up inside him.

Before he could lash out, another voice echoed through the throne room.

“Did you all forget me already?”

Heads turned toward the grand doors as they opened.

A girl stepped into the throne room—Charlotte Evans Avaloria.

At barely seventeen, her beauty was already striking. Her long white hair flowed down her back in smooth, soft waves, but something had changed—the very tips of her hair were now tinged with a faint purple hue, subtle yet unmistakable. Her amethyst eyes, just like her father’s, shone beneath delicately shaped brows, carrying both fragility and stubborn strength.

She wore a fitted dark-blue dress embroidered with silver patterns along the hem and sleeves, elegant yet practical, paired with a white cloak that trailed just enough behind her to hint at nobility. A small silver tiara rested on her head—not overly ornate, but enough to remind everyone she was still a princess of Avaloria.

As she walked down the central carpet, several nobles swallowed nervously. Even those who didn’t support her couldn’t deny her presence.

The small group of barons and minor nobles that stood behind her faction straightened, hope flickering in their eyes as their princess appeared.

Joseph was the first to speak.

He laughed loudly. “Charlotte, what are you doing here? This isn’t a place for you to play princess.”

He sneered. “Don’t tell me you’re still dreaming of becoming queen.”

His expression twisted in mock pity. “Give up. You’ll never measure up to us. Didn’t Father tell you that himself? To stop dreaming about the throne?”

Charlotte’s jaw tightened, her teeth grinding together. For a moment, she said nothing.

Then she forced a smirk onto her face. “I am also a contender, last I checked. Father never denied me the right to compete. It’s my choice, brother.”

Lucas spoke next, eyes narrowed. “Alright. With what support, then?”

He swept his gaze toward the handful of nobles behind her. “You don’t have anyone backing you except those miserable barons you call nobles.”

Charlotte’s gaze hardened. “Watch your tone, Lucas. They are nobles.”

She turned to look toward the wider court. “And they’re not dogs who change their loyalty the moment they see a bigger bone.”

A quiet hush fell.

Several nobles on both Joseph’s and Lucas’s sides turned red with shame. Some glared at her, others looked away, offended but unable to deny the truth.

Joseph stepped forward, face contorted with anger. “Leave, Charlotte. Or there will be consequences.”

Charlotte burst out laughing. “With your meager strength, brother, I doubt you could do anything to me.”

A few stifled chuckles leaked from the crowd.

Joseph snapped. “Soldiers! Take her out of here. Use force if you have to!”

Armored guards moved in immediately, surrounding Charlotte with drawn weapons.

Charlotte did not flinch. She took a step forward, the voice in her mind whispering insistently.

{ Do it… Do it… Kill them all. }

Her fingers twitched.

She was about to move—

When another voice cut through the air.

“Well, well. What do we have here? Some dogs… defending other dogs.”

Every breath in the room seemed to stop.

All eyes turned toward the entrance as a figure stepped into the throne room.

Alex Dragonheart.

He walked forward with a calm, almost lazy stride, yet every step seemed to press on the air itself. His silver hair framed his face in slightly tousled strands that caught the light, and his blue eyes were sharp, clear, and impossibly deep—as if they held a starry sky within them.

Even dressed simply—a dark coat, fitted trousers, boots polished but not overly flashy—his presence was undeniable. There was something otherworldly about him now, a quiet, lethal beauty honed by battles that few could comprehend.

Many nobles involuntarily took a step back.

Lucas’s eyes widened, disbelief etched all over his face. “It can’t be… He’s alive.”

Almost everyone in the court recognized him—Avaloria’s “monster,” the one who fought Kyle, the man who had turned the world upside down.

Everyone… except one.

Joseph, who had spent most of his time drunk and absent from anything important, frowned as he saw the reaction of the hall. Annoyed at being upstaged, he stormed forward.

He grabbed Alex by the collar. “Who the hell are you supposed to be, pretty boy?”

He yanked him closer, face flushed with rage. “I’ll kill you for entering the royal palace without permission!”

The entire hall fell into dead silence.

Several nobles broke into a cold sweat, watching with horror.

‘He’s dead,’ they all thought at once.