Sol-Regis Royal Palace – High Court Hall. Morning.
The atmosphere inside the High Court this morning wasn't merely tense; it was asphyxiating, as if the oxygen had been leeched from the grand hall. Hundreds of nobles crowded the balconies, draped in somber black attire, creating a scene so grim it felt as though they were attending a funeral for the imminent demise of House Sudrath. The scent of burning beeswax and polished ancient wood hung heavy in the air, thick with the pungent aroma of collective anxiety.
At the center of the hall, Marquess Morvath stood with his chin held high. Having bribed half the bench of judges, he walked with the confidence of a man who believed the law was a slave to his whims. Across from him, Sir Roland Sudrath stood alone. He had no lawyers to flank him, no witnesses to bolster his case. He held only a single, weathered leather briefcase.
"The Charge: First-Degree Treason," the High Justice declared, his deep voice booming and echoing against the vaulted ceiling. "House Sudrath is accused of the merciless slaughter of two thousand Security Guards belonging to Marquess Morvath at the Southern border."
The King of Aethelgard watched from his throne, his expression clouded. He sought a reason to suppress the rapidly ascending House Sudrath, and Morvath had just served him a very tempting bait.
"Marquess Morvath, present your testimony," the King commanded.
Morvath stepped forward, his face a mask of manufactured grief. He dabbed at the dry corners of his eyes. "Your Majesty... my heart lies in ruins. I dispatched those men merely to maintain order and protect the roads from bandits. They were loyal sons of Aethelgard. And yet, in the dead of night, Sudrath's iron monsters butchered them in their sleep! This was no war, Your Majesty... it was a systematic massacre!"
Gulp. Hushed murmurs of agreement rippled through the gallery. "Barbaric!" "Sudrath must hang!"
Morvath offered a faint, fleeting smirk, a triumphant glint directed at Roland. "What say you in your defense, you little fraud? Will you dare deny that your family wiped out my forces?"
Roland stepped forward with a preternatural calm. There wasn't a flicker of fear on his face. Instead, he offered a thin smile, looking very much like a teacher watching a student's amateurish attempt at a lie.
"I do not deny it at all," Roland said. His voice was clear and resonant, cutting through the whispers and silencing the room. "My brother, General Riven, did indeed destroy that force. He leveled them to the ground."
Gasp! The hall erupted in shock. A full confession at the very start of the hearing? Had the boy lost his mind?
"Ha! Do you hear that?!" Morvath bellowed in delight. "He admits it! Justice, strike the gavel this instant!"
"Wait a moment," Roland cut in softly, raising a single finger. "I admit my family destroyed something. However, the question remains... what exactly did we destroy?"
Roland strode toward Morvath, his gaze turning razor-sharp, as if dissecting the Marquess's very soul. "Marquess Morvath, you claimed under oath that they were your 'Private Security Guards,' is that correct?"
"Correct!" Morvath snapped, his face flushing with irritation.
"According to Article Fourteen of the Aethelgard Military Code," Roland began, reciting the law as fluently as if he were reading a breakfast menu, "a Marquess is only permitted a maximum of five hundred private guards for internal security. Anything exceeding that is classified as a paramilitary force prepared for insurrection."
Roland leaned in, his voice dropping to a low, lethal vibration. "Battlefield reports indicate the count of the dead and captured reached five thousand. So, Marquess... if you admit they were your men, you've just confessed to violating military limits tenfold. Were you planning a coup against the King?"
Morvath's face went deathly pale. He had just stepped into the first snare.
"N-no! That... they were a joint force! Mostly civilian contractors! Mercenaries I hired!" Morvath defended, his voice beginning to quaver.
"Ah," Roland nodded, feigning understanding. "Mercenaries."
Roland turned, now addressing the King directly. "Your Majesty, according to the Royal Decree of 405, hiring fully armed foreign mercenaries into the kingdom's territory without written permission from the Palace is an act of Illegal Invasion. The penalty is death by hanging."
Roland looked back at Morvath with the smile of a grim reaper. "So, Marquess. Pick your poison. Are they your Private Guards—meaning you are guilty of treason and plotting a coup—or are they Foreign Soldiers—meaning you have invaded your own country?"
Cold sweat drenched Morvath's brow. His tongue felt like lead. Roland had just woven a lethal legal paradox. No matter his answer, the gallows were waiting.
"They... they were..." Morvath stammered, his eyes darting wildly. "They were merely... logistics escorts! They weren't heavily armed! Sudrath attacked unarmed men!"
"Unarmed?" Roland let out a short, cold laugh of pure derision. "Marquess, you say they were logistics escorts. And yet, in the wreckage of your camp, we recovered ten units of 105mm Howitzer Siege Cannons."
Roland opened his briefcase and pulled out a Magical Print showing the twisted remains of a gargantuan iron cannon. "Simple logic, gentlemen," Roland said, displaying the photo to the gallery. "Since when do 'logistics escorts' require siege artillery capable of leveling a fortress from five kilometers away? Were you planning to shoot warehouse rats with a barrel that large?"
"There is only one reason to bring Siege Artillery to a neighbor's border," Roland's voice shifted into a dangerous baritone. "A Premeditated War of Aggression."
Morvath was cornered. Panic seized him, his entire body trembling violently. "Slander! Those must be Sudrath's cannons! You planted false evidence!" Morvath shrieked hysterically. "Your Majesty, do not listen to this serpent! There is no proof I ordered an attack! It was the mercenary commander's own initiative! I knew nothing of this!"
Roland stopped pacing. He stood still in the center of the hall, adjusting his spectacles, which hadn't moved an inch. "You knew nothing? You wish to wash your hands of it now?"
"Marquess, in the North, we have a saying: a voice leaves a trail far more damning than a footprint."
Roland pulled out his final ace. A small metallic box from the Underground City. A Voice Recorder.
"You can deny documents. You can deny witnesses. But can you deny the voice of your own commander as he lay dying?"
Roland pressed the PLAY button.
KRESEK...
Colonel Varg's voice came through crystal clear, though saturated with palpable terror. "...I am Colonel Varg. Marquess Morvath paid us five hundred thousand gold... His orders were specific: 'Level Iron Hearth Castle. Kill every Sudrath male. And most importantly... kidnap their children to use as technological hostages.'"
"...Morvath also ordered us to fire upon the royal banner if any King's envoys interfered. He said: 'In the North, I am the King.'"
CLICK.
That final phrase—"In the North, I am the King"—echoed through the hall, which had fallen so silent it felt as though everyone had stopped breathing. This was no longer a dispute between nobles. It was a direct, mortal insult to the Crown.
The King of Aethelgard slowly rose from his throne. His previously wavering face was now a violent shade of crimson, barely containing an explosive rage. His hand trembled with fury as he gripped his scepter.
Morvath collapsed to his knees, the strength completely leaving his legs. "It... it's a fake voice... Your Majesty... mercy..."
"ENOUGH!" The King's roar rattled the hall's windows. "You brought foreign soldiers into my land. You brought illegal siege weapons. And you dared to call yourself King in my presence?!"
The King pointed at Morvath with a finger shaking with wrath. "Guards! Seize this traitor this instant! Strip him of every title! Confiscate all his assets! And throw him into the Black Tower Dungeon for the rest of his miserable life!"
"NO! THIS IS A TRAP! SUDRATH IS A DEMON! THEY ARE THE ONES WHO ARE TRULY DANGEROUS!"
Two royal knights dragged a thrashing, screaming Morvath from the room. Roland stood calmly amidst the uproar, smoothing his suit, which wasn't even wrinkled. He had won a total victory. Without lifting a sword, without shedding a drop of blood by his own hand, he had dismantled his enemy with words alone.
He bowed deeply to the King, who was still breathless with emotion. "Justice has been served, Your Majesty. House Sudrath is but a loyal servant, merely clearing the vermin from Your Majesty's garden."
The King stared at Roland for a long time. It was a look entirely different from before. Once, he had seen Roland as the lucky son of an impoverished noble. Now, he saw a political predator who could twist the fates of others at a whim.
"You..." the King said softly, barely a whisper. "You are far more dangerous than your brother and his iron machines, Roland Sudrath."
Roland offered a sweet, flawless diplomatic smile. "My, that is the finest compliment I have ever received, Your Majesty."
The hearing was adjourned. House Sudrath was no longer just a "nouveau riche" family. They were now an entity that was "Untouchable."