Romeo and Juliet

“Morning stars, honey lips, night winds—all overused metaphors!”
“The content? Empty, exaggerated! ‘Sword and blood’—but no real context to support it!”

“And this forced melodrama—’humble knight’? Just a clichéd, pathetic lover playing the victim!”

His critique made half the crowd realize—there was truth in it.

At first, they’d been dazzled by the poem’s fancy words.
But thinking deeper—wasn’t it just word salad?

“Lord Lambert, once a great poet—his analysis is profound. I’d rate this poem average at best.”

“I think it’s fine—simple and clear beats fake sophistication.”

The audience debated—divided opinions.

Alice tapped her fingers on the armrest—as if she’d expected this.

Moments later, she calmly told Black:

“He’ll still be rated excellent.”

“Why?”

Black didn’t understand—the debate was intense.
And Lord Lambert’s words were spot-on.

“Because this is politics.”

Alice said no more.

But Black got it.

These nobles were opportunists. They wouldn’t risk offending a rising Round Table Knight’s heir over a meaningless poem.

“Now—judges, please vote!”

As expected—after Duke Gran spoke, most judges gave “Excellent.”
Only Lambert gave “Average.”

Final score? Excellent.

Tch. All behind-the-scenes manipulation—no fairness at all!

Some upright nobles were outraged, dissatisfied.

But they couldn’t voice dissent—risking Seth’s wrath.

In the end—they were no different from the rest.

Sigh.

Alice let out a small breath.

Literary duels among nobles were always like this—not pure like martial contests.

Too subjective—inevitably influenced by power.

Much of the empire’s corruption stemmed from this self-serving, cowardly noble culture.

All petty schemers!

Alice had long despised this—but as a low-status princess, her voice meant little.

“How is your poem? Ready? What’s your chance of winning?”

She composed herself—asked Black.

But Black looked deep in thought, brow furrowed—didn’t hear her.

Seeing his expression, Alice thought he was stressed—raised her voice:

“Don’t worry. Just do your best. They won’t offend Seth—so they won’t offend me either.”

“Just match his poem’s level. Even a tie—we win.”

Their goal was only to stop Seth from winning two contests. A draw counted as victory.

“If needed—I’ll pressure these old fools myself.”

Alice’s tone turned icy—the princess truly had some authority.

“Ah? What did you say, Your Highness?”

Black had been deciding which famous love poem to use—completely zoned out.

“… …”
“… …”

Alice and Karina both twitched their lips—thinking this youth unreliable.
Was he backing down?

“Her Highness asked—have you finished your poem? What’s your chance of winning?”

Karina repeated.

“To answer, Your Highness—I’ve finished. And I have a 100% chance of winning.”

Black replied casually.

Just now—he’d chosen his poem. A legendary one. He was absolutely confident!

Unless these game NPCs understood nothing about art!

Hearing this—Alice and Karina were shocked.

100% chance?!

Has this guy lost his mind from stress?!

Alice, confused, opened her mouth—

But saw Black’s calm face—his eyes bright, focused—locking onto hers.

“Your Highness—leave it to me.”

That gaze gave Alice a never-before-felt security.

Could this man… be a hidden literary master?

Black stood—walked forward with ease—spoke clearly:

“Ladies and gentlemen—I’m no scholar, but I’ve composed a poem too.”

As soon as he spoke—mocking laughter erupted.

From Seth’s followers—and arrogant nobles alike.

Though Alice declared him a royal guard—in their eyes, he was still a pirate.

A pirate forever.

“Interesting—did you even get a proper education? Know what poetry is?”

“Composing poetry? Won’t it be some joke poem?”

“Don’t think being a royal guard makes you someone!”

Mockery poured in—Lily and Marsha loudest.

Clearly, they still hated him for the last incident.

Elaina knew why her sisters targeted Black—looked at him with worry.

She deeply thanked Black—thanks to the Obsidian Nectar, she’d broken through to Level 20.

So when Black faced humiliation—her mouth, once able to fit two puddings, could now only eat one.

How much pain she felt.

Among all present—only Krystin believed in Black!

This pure saintess now gazed intensely at him.

To her—Black was so mysterious. Even a great poet wouldn’t surprise her.

“Before reciting, allow me to tell a story—a tragic tale of lovers.”

Black bowed—spoke slowly.

A story before a poem?

He instantly hooked everyone’s curiosity.

No one had seen a poet tell a story first.

“Interesting.”

Even the uninterested Lord Lambert leaned in.

Black’s mind held countless Western love poems.
But for classic fame? Only one choice: Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet.

Clearing his throat—his usual laziness vanished. He transformed—like a tavern storyteller.

“In the distant city of Verona, two noble families were bitter enemies…”

“When Romeo first saw Juliet—he cried: My past love was false, tonight I meet true beauty! His voice full of youthful passion and devotion…”

“Juliet stood under moonlight—unaware her Romeo hid in the garden. ‘Romeo, oh Romeo,’ she sighed.
‘Why must you be a Montague? Deny your name, or—if you won’t—just swear to be my love, and I’ll no longer be a Capulet…'”