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After receiving the system's final reward, Arthur immediately used it to erase the hemophilia gene from Queen Victoria's bloodline. Now that she was aware of it, she remembered clearly: she carried the defective gene but never showed symptoms herself. Even so, she had passed hemophilia to one of her sons and at least three of her grandchildren, spreading the disease throughout several European royal houses—earning it the grim title *"the royal disease."*
But now, thanks to the system, Arthur had eliminated the problem at its root.
After the spectacular display of "authority before the monarch" during the coronation ceremony, Victoria's prestige among the empire's ruling class soared to unprecedented heights.
Everyone realized that this young queen was no mere decorative "flower vase" waiting to be manipulated. She possessed wisdom, resolve, and an iron hand that belied her youth. The old foxes who had been harboring ulterior motives immediately sheathed their claws and began approaching the new sovereign with a newfound reverence.
As a result, the political climate in London became exceptionally stable.
Yet beneath this surface calm, another silent war was intensifying.
This was the struggle for the title of **Prince Consort**.
The Queen had come of age and taken the throne; naturally, her marriage became a matter of national urgency. Whoever succeeded in becoming the husband of this brilliant young monarch would become one of the most powerful men on the planet.
All eyes were on two young contenders.
The first was **Prince Albert**, scion of an illustrious German lineage.
The second was **Arthur Lionheart**, a genius industrial magnate—immensely wealthy, dazzlingly talented, and someone the Queen trusted deeply.
Prince Albert, after suffering a double humiliation at the year-end ball, did **not** flee London as Arthur had hoped. Instead, he displayed impressive resilience and political instinct.
He no longer tried to compete with Arthur on the ethereal battlefield of "talent and spectacle." Instead, he began frequenting salons and high-society clubs, forging alliances with aristocrats and archbishops of the Conservative Party. With his refined knowledge, elegant conversation, and impeccable aristocratic manners, he swiftly gained the support of many "traditional forces."
To these people, Albert was the most legitimate, suitable, and compliant candidate for Prince Consort under the *Royal Marriages Act*. He could reinforce stable royal bloodlines across Europe and, in their view, guide this seemingly "overly radical" queen back onto the "proper path."
Soon, in public and private, they began boosting Albert's reputation while relentlessly attempting to smear Arthur.
"A merchant of unknown origins? Making him Prince Consort? It is an insult to royal blood!"
"Yes, he is wealthy, but can such vulgarity ever be worthy of Her Noble Majesty?"
"Her Majesty is still young—surely she has been deceived by his honeyed words! We must put a stop to this farce!"
For a time, public opinion swung sharply against Arthur.
Meanwhile, buoyed by the backing of his faction, Albert regained his confidence. He believed he had finally found the perfect way to defeat Arthur—by exploiting his own "identity advantage" and "political correctness" to crush his rival once and for all.
He decided to issue a public, direct challenge. He would defeat Arthur in front of all London and reclaim his honor.
Thus, with the help of the Duke of Wellington and several others, a public debate was scheduled under the pretext of "assisting Her Majesty with matters of grave concern."
The topic of the debate was razor-sharp:
**"How should one resolve London's worsening issues of poverty and pollution?"**
It was an ancient, thorny problem—complex, multidimensional, and almost impossible to solve. But it was also a perfect stage: whoever proposed the more convincing solution would appear to possess superior "governing ability," gaining public favor.
Albert was certain he would win.
He had studied the issue carefully, consulting scholars and philanthropists, and crafted what he believed was the perfect solution.
Soon, the letter of challenge was placed on Arthur's desk.
"Arthur, are you really going to compete with him in *his* strongest field?" Henry asked anxiously, holding the latest newspaper. "I heard Prince Albert has been mingling with charity groups and church circles. He's well prepared. Should we… stay low for a while?"
"Hide?" Arthur looked at the letter with a lazy, amused smile. "Why should I hide? If he's offering me his cheek, I won't run like a frightened rabbit."
"Poverty and pollution?" A glint of disdain flickered in Arthur's eyes.
For someone from a later era, this was a kindergarten-level puzzle.
Albert's "little solutions," built on nineteenth-century knowledge, were nothing short of laughable—like trying to fix global warming by wrapping the Earth in a layer of iron.
"Henry," Arthur said, "send them my reply. Tell them I accept."
"And spread this as well." A wickedly handsome smile curved his lips. "Say that, out of respect for His Royal Highness, I will reveal my plan only at the debate—and I won't speak at all beforehand. Let him talk as much as he pleases."
"What?!" Henry was stunned. "Arthur, you're giving him the whole stage!"
"Let him talk," Arthur said softly, his smile turning enigmatic. "The more one speaks, the more mistakes one makes. I just have to unveil my plan at the end. That will be enough."
He wasn't seeking a mere verbal sparring match.
He wanted a sweeping, crushing conceptual demonstration—one that would leave the opponent without the courage to even respond.
He wanted all of London, the entire empire, to witness the future—brilliant, unprecedented, unfathomable—that *Arthur Lionheart* could bring to this nation.
Thus, the long-awaited "clash of rivals" officially began in the chambers of the House of Commons.
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