Low-Fantasy Occultist

Chapter 394

Once every judge had finally taken their seat in their high-backed chairs and could look down at the witness stand like ancient kings, a bailiff slammed the butt of his staff against the floor, and the chamber’s doors were sealed shut with a flicker of mana.

“As all witnesses and interested parties are present,” the judge sitting in the middle chair said, one of those who felt neutral about the whole affair, “I declare the trial open! Prosecution, you may begin.”

"The Prosecution calls Master Edgar Pollen Shoe to the stand," Nalia announced. Her voice, amplified by the room's acoustics, was dry and crisp, lacking any theatrical flair. Though Nick would probably never like her after this, he could tell the woman saw her role only as necessary for truth and justice to come out.

You’d think that if they had enough pull to get some of the judges on their side, the prosecution would be the first they’d target, but maybe things aren’t as easy to manipulate as they seem. The Tower is still the Tower, and I doubt even an Archmage could undermine its entire judicial system.

A side door opened, and a man in flamboyant robes and a top hat shuffled in, tugging at his imperial mustache. Master Shoe was a brilliant scholar but a terrible public speaker, known for droning on through his lectures on planar geometry. Despite that, he was still a powerful mage in his own right, a Prestige-tier comparable to Master Battera, if rumors were to be believed.

Raphael stiffened when he saw who they’d called to testify, clearly aware that nothing would escape the man’s gaze.

"Master Shoe," Nalia began, consulting a scroll. "You have examined the forensic evidence retrieved from the southern theater?”

"I... yes. Yes, Prosecutor. I did have a chance to study the body of the deceased,” Shoe replied, though he didn’t seem to have enjoyed the process. Considering that Joran’s body had been left in the middle of a monster-infested swamp, it was undoubtedly a gruesome sight.

"And your conclusion regarding the cause of death?” she asked.

“A [Spatial Shear],” Shoe replied confidently. "A thumping good one at that. High-velocity, extremely localized. It bypassed the natural durability of the subject's mana almost without resistance, killing him in one blow, probably before he even noticed he was under attack.”

Nalia made a note of that before proceeding with her questions. ”Is such a wound consistent with an accident? A stray spell in the heat of battle?”

"Oh, heavens no," Shoe shook his head vigorously. "The precision required... the vector calculations... it was a deliberate, targeted spell. An executioner's stroke, if you will.”

A murmur spread through the gallery. Nick looked up. The most malicious judge—the heavyset wizard emitting angry red light—was leaning forward, and although he couldn’t see his face, the predatory satisfaction he was radiating was anything but discreet.

"Thank you, Master Shoe," Nalia said, dismissing him with a respectful nod. The man twirled his mustache again, clearly not convinced that the questioning had been as thorough as possible, but he couldn’t speak unless spoken to, so he slinked off to the side.

Once he left the stand, she turned to the judges. "The Prosecution submits that the death of Joran Illismonde was not a casualty of war, but a calculated murder of a peer. We call the accused, Raphael Uther.”

Raphael stiffened even more, if such a thing was possible, and Nick wondered whether he would have escaped if the Tower's infinite power hadn't been locking the doors.

“Go,” he murmured. “Remember to stay calm and not let them corner you."

Hesitantly, Raphael approached the podium.

"Activate the Circle of Veracity," the Head Judge called, lifting a hand.

Golden runes on the podium flickered to life, and a cylinder of shimmering light rose around Raphael, isolating him from the rest of the room. Even without being an expert on the subject, Nick could tell it was a high-ranking enchantment, strong enough to compel honesty from anyone beneath the Prestige rank.

Raphael gasped as the magic took hold, gripping the edges of the podium until his knuckles turned white.

Nalia took a moment to shuffle her papers, though Nick could tell it was mostly a ploy to make the witness more nervous. Once enough time had passed for others in the room to start shuffling, she slinked toward him like a big cat.

“Mr. Uther,” she began. "On the date in question, did you cast the spell that ended the life of Joran Illismonde?”

"Yes," Raphael choked out, before his mouth snapped shut with a click.

That’s a spiritual enchantment, Nick realized. Something very much like a curse, though dressed up in a nice enough way so people wouldn’t call it that. It can’t be particularly pleasant, and I doubt it gives much freedom to speak.

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He glanced at Tholm, who was still observing the proceedings with a dark look, but he didn’t seem ready to intervene for now.

"Did Joran Illismonde attack you personally before you struck the fatal blow?”

Raphael hesitated for a moment, and sweat beaded on his forehead. "Not... me. No.”

"So he did not attack you," Nalia pressed. "Did you offer him terms of surrender before you decapitated him?”

“No."

"Did you intend to kill him?”

“Yes.”

“Do you regret it?”

“No,” Raphael spat out, for the first time not sounding like the words were forced out of him.

The gallery fell into quiet whispers as Nalia turned to the judges, spreading her hands. “Your Graces, the facts are clear. The accused admits to deadly intent against a fellow student who had not struck him, without giving any mercy. This is obviously not a case of self-defense. He deliberately and intentionally killed the victim, with no mercy.”

Raphael looked like he was about to pass out. The golden light of the circle made him appear sickly, trapped like an insect in amber, and Nick sincerely doubted it was particularly kind on the receiver.

"The Prosecution rests on the charge of Murder," Nalia stated, stepping back.

The Head Judge turned his hooded gaze toward the tribunes, correctly guessing that the students wouldn’t defend themselves. "Does the Defense wish to add anything?”

Tholm stood up. It was hard to tell what he was feeling, as he wore his usual set of rings, but Nick knew the man well enough to realize that he was only keeping a lid on the boiling fury he had to be feeling.

"The Defense," Tholm growled, his rich baritone silencing the whispers instantly, "calls Lord Portius Illismonde to the stand.”

Not a pin drop could be heard after that. The whispers, the almost tangible sense of smugness and victory that had hung over a couple of the judges, vanished completely, and everyone had to recalibrate what was about to happen.

Even Nalia blinked, her mask of indifference cracking for a moment. Calling the victim's father was a bold move and definitely not something someone seeking sympathy would do.

“Granted,” the Head Judge said after a moment, when no one argued against it.

Portius Illismonde walked down the higher tribune with heavy steps. He was tall, dressed in mourning black velvet, but his stride was arrogant. He glared at Tholm, then at the students, with hatred so intense it felt like they should have been set on fire by it.

He took the stand, and the Circle of Veracity flared again.

"Lord Illismonde," Tholm began, clasping his hands behind his back. "My condolences on the loss of your son.”

Save your pleasantries, Archmage," Portius spat. “You still harbor his murderer, despite Joran being your apprentice just as much as he is."

Noticeably, he was much more talkative than Raphael had been, though perhaps comparing a shaken teenager to an experienced noble wasn’t entirely fair.

"We shall see," Tholm replied coolly. "Lord Illismonde, your House has long been a pillar of the Tower's enchanting supply lines, which is how we’ve come to know each other, and the reason Joran developed enough skill in the Art to impress me. Is that correct?”

“Yes,” Portius said, and Tholm nodded.

“Tell me, was your son acting on your House’s orders when he joined this expedition?”

Portius sneered. "My son was your student. He sought greater experience through the opportunities you provided, as I had suggested.”

"Is that so?" Tholm moved closer to the circle. “You mean to say you gave him no instructions on how to behave in the dungeon?”

“I spoke with him,” Portius replied, though he was noticeably less confident as Tholm’s questioning grew more pointed. “Gave him the usual counsel.”

“What counsel?” Tholm growled, “What exactly did you tell him to do? What were his orders if things escalated outside of my sight?”

Portius’s mouth opened, then snapped shut. His face turned a mottled red as he fought against the magic, and the veins in his neck bulged.

A long moment went by, but he said nothing.

"The witness is silent," Tholm noted for the court. "Strange. A simple answer would suffice if it were the truth. Let me ask another question. Did you order your son to kill his fellow students in their mission?”

Ripples of surprise swept through the crowd. They’d been silent up to that point, shocked by the sudden change of direction, but the implications in Tholm’s words were impossible to ignore. Even Nalia appeared surprised.

"No," Portius barked.

Of course, he didn’t. Everyone learns to talk around such issues for a reason: to tell the truth and still lie at times like these.

“Did you suggest that he betray them if the opportunity to do so without it being known arises?”

Portius froze again. The struggle was fierce this time. He grabbed the podium as his breathing became uneven, and the urge to tell the truth fought with his instinct to protect himself. “I- I only told him… to think of himself… and our House’s position.”

“Your House’s position," Tholm repeated. “Now, why would that come into the discussion when, as far as he and you knew, we were to take a trip into the wilderness? And even then, was that at the cost of the lives of his team?”

Portius glared with hatred. "The House... comes first. Always.”

"Thank you, Lord Illismonde," Tholm said dismissively, clearly realizing he wouldn’t be able to get a direct confession. "You may step down.”

The gallery was well and truly buzzing now as the narrative of the poor student fell apart. People still didn’t fully grasp the picture Tholm was painting, but it wouldn’t be long before they did.

"The Defense recalls the accused, Raphael Uther," Tholm said. "And calls the witness, Nicholas Crowley.”

Raphael, looking a bit less worried now that the tide had shifted, stepped back into the circle, and Nick joined him shortly after.

As the golden light washed over him, he felt a strange, invasive pressure in his mind. It was like a hook trying to latch onto his tongue, or a suffocating weight that demanded obedience.

SYSTEM NOTIFICATION!

Your trait [Blasphemy] has prevented a spiritual intrusion.

The pressure disappeared just as quickly as it had come, and Nick had to hold back a grin at the triumph. I knew it was spiritual in origin.

He tried his best to mimic Raphael’s pained expression, not wanting to reveal that he was free from the circle’s control.

“Apprentice Raphael," Tholm asked. "You admitted you intended to kill Joran. Why?”

"Because he was about to kill us," Raphael said, growing more confident. "He openly admitted to working with the enemy, and when I attacked him, he was about to execute the other apprentices with an alchemical fire I’d seen burn through trolls.”

"Apprentices," Tholm repeated, turning to the judges. "Not hired swords. Not adventurers. Apprentices of the Tower.”

Tholm turned to Nick. "Apprentice Nicholas, you were with the team leader on the ground. Can you confirm the target of Joran’s aggression?”

"I can," Nick said clearly. He didn't need to lie, but the immunity he had gave him leeway to choose his words carefully. "Joran Illismonde used the chaos of the fight against the Guardian to isolate two apprentices. He explicitly threatened the lives of Lina and Mikel, two second-year students of yours, and was clearly planning to kill them.”

The mood in the courtroom finally shifted as the winds of justice began to blow in their favor.