Sol-Regis Royal Palace – High Court Hall. Morning – Day 1 Post-Riven's Victory.
The atmosphere in the High Court Hall was not just tense; it was suffocating. Hundreds of nobles filled the balconies dressed in black, as if prepared to mourn the impending death of House Sudrath.
In the center of the hall, Marquess Morvath stood with absolute confidence. He had bribed half of the judges, and he was certain the law was on his side.
On the opposite side, Sir Roland Sudrath stood alone. No lawyers, no witnesses. He carried only a single, slim leather briefcase.
"Charge: First-Degree Treason," the Chief Justice read the indictment. "House Sudrath is accused of massacring 2,000 'Security Guards' belonging to Marquess Morvath at the Southern border."
The King of Aethelgard watched from his throne with a grim expression. He needed a reason to suppress the rising Sudrath family, and Morvath had provided it on a silver platter.
"Marquess Morvath, you may speak," the King ordered.
Morvath stepped forward, his face a mask of manufactured grief.
"Your Majesty... my heart is shattered. I sent those men merely to guard the roads from bandits. They were loyal sons of Aethelgard. Yet, in the dead of night, Sudrath's iron monsters slaughtered them in their sleep! This was not a war; it was a mass murder!"
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the balconies. "Barbaric!" "Sudrath must pay!"
Morvath offered a thin, mocking smirk toward Roland. "What is your defense, you deceitful brat? Do you dare deny the fact that your family murdered my men?"
Roland stepped forward. He showed no fear. Instead, he smiled—the kind of smile a teacher gives a child caught in a clumsy lie.
"I do not deny it," Roland said calmly. His voice echoed clearly through the hall.
"My brother, General Riven, indeed destroyed that force. Leveled it to the ground."
GASP!
The entire room recoiled. A confession of guilt at the very start of the trial? Was he insane?
"Ha! Look!" Morvath shouted. "He admits it! Justice, strike the gavel now!"
"Wait a moment," Roland interrupted softly. He raised a finger.
"I admit my family destroyed 'something.' But the question is... what exactly did we destroy?"
Roland walked toward Morvath, his gaze piercing and sharp.
"Marquess Morvath, you claim under oath that these were your 'Private Security Guards,' correct?"
"Correct!" Morvath snapped.
"According to Article 14 of the Aethelgard Military Act," Roland began quoting the law by heart, "a Marquess is only permitted to maintain a private force of a maximum of 500 men for internal security. Anything beyond that is considered preparation for a coup."
Roland leaned in close.
"Battlefield reports state the number of corpses and prisoners reached 5,000. So, Marquess... if you admit they were your men, you have just admitted to violating military limits tenfold. Were you preparing a coup against the King?"
Morvath's face went pale instantly. He had walked right into the first trap.
"N-No! That... that was a coalition! Most were civilian contractors! Mercenaries I hired!"
"Ah," Roland nodded as if enlightened. "Mercenaries."
Roland turned to face the King.
"Your Majesty, according to the Royal Decree of 405, hiring fully armed foreign mercenaries into royal territory without written permission from the Palace is an act of Illegal Invasion. The punishment is death by hanging."
Roland turned back to Morvath with a devilish smile.
"So, Marquess. Pick your poison. Are they your Private Guards—meaning you are a Traitor—or are they Foreign Soldiers—meaning you are an Invader?"
Cold sweat poured down Morvath's forehead. His tongue felt like lead. Roland had just created a Legal Paradox. No matter how Morvath answered, he was dead.
"T-They..." Morvath stammered, searching for a loophole. "They were just... logistics guards! They weren't heavily armed! Sudrath attacked unarmed men!"
"Unarmed men?" Roland laughed. A cold, mocking laugh.
"Marquess, you say they were logistics guards. Yet in the ruins of your camp, we found ten units of 105mm Howitzer Cannons."
Roland opened his briefcase and pulled out a Magical Print (photo) of the wreckage.
"Simple logic, gentlemen," Roland said, showing the photo to the balconies. "Since when do 'logistics guards' need siege artillery with a five-kilometer range? Were you planning to shoot warehouse rats with cannons?"
"There is only one reason to bring Siege Artillery to a neighbor's border," Roland's voice turned low and dangerous. "A Planned War of Aggression."
Morvath was cornered. He panicked.
"It's a frame-up! Those are Sudrath's cannons! You planted the evidence!" Morvath shrieked hysterically. "Your Majesty, do not listen to this snake! There is no proof I ordered the attack! It was the mercenary commander's own initiative! I knew nothing!"
Roland stopped walking. He stood still in the center of the hall.
"You knew nothing? You're washing your hands of this?"
"Marquess, in my family's territory, there is a saying: the echo of a voice is more cruel than any deed."
Roland pulled out his ace. A small metal box from the Underground City.
The Voice Recorder.
"You can deny documents. You can deny witnesses. But can you deny the voice of your own dying Commander?"
Roland pressed the PLAY button.
KRESEK...
Colonel Varg's voice echoed, clear and filled with terror.
"...I am Colonel Varg. Marquess Morvath paid us 500,000 Gold... His orders were specific: 'Level Iron Hearth Castle. Kill every Sudrath male. And most importantly... kidnap their children to be used as technological hostages'..."
"...Morvath also ordered us to fire upon the royal banner if any King's envoys came to interfere. He said: 'In the North, I am the King'..."
CLICK.
The final sentence—"In the North, I am the King"—echoed through the deathly silent hall.
This was no longer a dispute between nobles.
This was a direct insult to the King of Aethelgard.
The King slowly rose from his throne. His face, once hesitant, was now flushed with uncontrollable rage. His hands trembled as he gripped his scepter.
Morvath collapsed to his knees. His strength had utterly failed him.
"I-It's... it's a fake voice... Your Majesty..."
"ENOUGH!" The King's roar shook the glass windows.
"You brought foreign soldiers. You brought illegal siege weapons. And you dare call yourself King in my land?!"
The King pointed at Morvath with a finger adorned with a ruby ring.
"Guards! Drag this traitor away! Strip him of all titles! Confiscate all his assets! And throw him into the Black Tower Dungeon!"
"NO! THIS IS A TRAP! SUDRATH IS A DEMON! THEY ARE THE DANGEROUS ONES!"
Two royal knights dragged the struggling Morvath out of the room. His desperate screams sounded pathetic.
Roland stood calmly in the middle of the commotion. He straightened his jacket, which wasn't even wrinkled.
He had won decisively. Without raising a sword, without shedding a drop of blood. He had killed his enemy with words.
He offered a respectful bow to the still-fuming King.
"Justice has been served, Your Majesty. House Sudrath is merely a loyal servant clearing the pests from Your Majesty's garden."
The King stared at Roland for a long time. It was a different gaze than before.
Before, he had seen Roland as a lucky son of a poor noble.
Now, he saw a political predator who could manipulate the law at his whim.
"You..." the King said softly. "You are more dangerous than your brother who carries the Iron, Roland Sudrath."
Roland offered a sweet smile—a perfect diplomat's grin.
"That is the highest compliment I have ever received, Your Majesty."
The hearing was closed.
House Sudrath was no longer just a wealthy family.
They were now "Untouchable."