Low-Fantasy Occultist

Chapter 395

The collective gasp took the breath away from the Hall of Judgment.

In the insular, elitist culture of the Tower, killing an adventurer was a misdemeanor, a matter settled with blood money and paperwork, and it would cost some face. But targeting two fellow mages? Especially his fellow apprentices?

That was anathema. It was the one line that, if crossed, threatened the sanctity of the entire institution. That was the main reason this entire trial had been convened, after all.

Promising people like Osmod could have their careers ruined if they were even slightly responsible for an apprentice's death, regardless of their connections.

“You said he was planning to kill you from the beginning?" the Head Judge asked, silencing the murmurs. He leaned forward, his hood shadows receding just enough to show eyes blazing with icy fury.

"Yes, Your Grace," Nick confirmed calmly. He didn't need to lie. Joran had threatened everyone, but framing it as a premeditated attack on the apprentices was the dagger in the heart of the prosecution's case. "Raphael struck only when it became clear that Joran intended to kill Lina and Malik and join our enemy.”

The Head Judge leaned back, slowly turning his gaze toward his colleagues, specifically at the portly judge, who was now scowling deeply, arms uncrossed, unable to argue against the protection of the Tower’s own. Even the most corrupt mage knew that if they let students kill each other for political gain, the Tower would tear itself apart within a generation.

"This changes the nature of the charge," the Head Judge said gruffly. He looked at Portius, who was still standing near the witness box, pale and clenching his teeth with suppressed rage. "Lord Illismonde, your son’s actions, if proven—and the testimony under the Circle is convincing—constitute Treason against the Tower.”

Portius opened his mouth to argue, but the intense focus of the twelve judges silenced him. He bowed stiffly in a painful-looking gesture and slipped back into the shadows of the gallery.

Everyone’s attention turned to Nalia, waiting to see if she had anything to add. To her credit, she went through the proper checks, calling for a Master Artificer who wasn’t Tholm to verify that the circle was functioning correctly and that neither Nick nor Raphael was wearing interfering enchantments.

When nothing came up during the search, she retreated back, shaking her head when asked again if she had anything to add.

"In light of the testimony regarding self-defense against a rogue element, the charge of Murder is dismissed with prejudice.”

A sigh of relief escaped Raphael, so loud it was audible through the entire courtroom.

Nalia simply nodded, as if she had anticipated this outcome the moment the roles had been reversed, and despite searching for it, Nick couldn’t find any personal resentment. She was truly committed to uncovering the truth, even if it meant admitting she was wrong.

Once the charges were struck from the official record and the witnesses retreated to join the others, she took the floor again.

And here comes the hard part. Tholm said I need to be as vague as possible and let my deeds speak for themselves, but I can’t imagine she will let me squirrel my way out of giving a thorough explanation.

Lying was a perfectly reasonable option. Nick was unaffected by the Circle of Veracity, and since it had just been checked for interference, he could plausibly say anything without triggering it. However, the facts of the matter were more complex than that.

After all, he’d be speaking to an audience of experienced mages, all of whom had delved deeply into the arcane and could tell if he was outright bluffing, even if spiritual magics and rituals were somewhat of a lost art.

I’ll need to focus on the details here. As long as I don’t invent anything outright, I should be able to sound realistic enough.

Telling the truth didn’t even occur to Nick. He doubted that the Kabbalah and the Tree of Life were known magic, and even more so that they were truly forbidden, but sharing those details would only raise more questions. Questions he couldn’t answer without revealing too much.

“Your Graces," Nalia began evenly, unrolling a different scroll. "Regarding the secondary charges of Reckless Use of Magic and Forbidden Practices..."

The room seemed to tense up. This was the one thing that could alter the outcome of the trial. Even if the murder was justified, disrupting a Prestige ritual couldn't be easily explained by regular magic, and the prosecutor would score a victory, walking away from the whole thing with her head held high if she demonstrated that Nick had engaged in dark arts.

Nalia reached into her sleeve and pulled out not a piece of parchment, but a cylinder of black iron sealed with gold wax.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

"The Prosecution has received a directive from the Crown regarding the classification of the Southern Incident," Nalia stated even as the scroll floated up toward the judges, who inspected the seal with great care. "In light of the unique nature of the threat neutralized, and the commendations filed by the Royal Intelligence Service, the Crown has asserted jurisdiction over the magical anomalies encountered.”

The Head Judge unrolled the scroll and read it quickly before passing it along.

Nick sensed notable emotional shifts, all masked by the sheer power differences, but clear enough for him to know that the judges were genuinely surprised.

"The methodology used by Nicholas Crowley and his team is now classified as a State Secret. As such, this Tribunal lacks the clearance to prosecute or inquire further.”

The fat judge slammed his fist on his armrest. "This is an internal Tower matter! The King cannot simply—“

"The King," the Head Judge interrupted, his voice like grinding tectonic plates, "can do as he pleases when State Security is invoked. Do you wish to file a complaint with the Palace, Master Ingras?”

The angry wizard snapped his mouth shut.

"The Prosecution withdraws all remaining charges," Nalia said, turning to face Nick. Her dead eyes met his, and for a fleeting second, there was a spark of something like respect, or perhaps just professional acknowledgment of a game well played. "The Crown considers the matter closed.”

The gavel struck one last time. "Case dismissed. The accused are released.”

The adrenaline that had kept them going for three days faded, leaving Raphael looking like he might faint, though he pulled himself together by the time they reached the elevator.

"We did it," Raphael whispered as the lift doors closed, shielding them from prying eyes. "I thought we were done for.”

“You did well," Tholm said, patting his senior apprentice on the back with a grandfatherly smile. “Take the next couple of days off, you certainly deserve it after everything that happened. See your friends, celebrate.”

"That went better than expected," Nick noted. "I didn't think Nalia would fold so easily on the second charge. That seemed like the more likely of the two to stick, if I’m honest.”

"She didn't fold," Tholm corrected quietly. "She was overruled, and she's not going to forget this. The Shadows must have filed their report immediately, which is not something that happens often, young Nicholas, nor for just any reason.”

"Is that going to be a problem?" Nick asked. The Shadows had been grateful, in their odd way, so he wasn’t completely surprised that they’d intervened on his behalf, but Tholm was making it seem like it might not be necessarily a good thing.

"It is a good thing," Tholm said, though his expression remained serious. "But do not mistake it for charity, Nicholas. The Shadows never move without the express permission of the Crown, especially when it comes to interfering with internal matters like these. The mere fact that they were aware of the trial, and that they reached out to the prosecution so quickly, means they have a plan.”

Nick gave a slow nod. He wasn’t naive enough to believe that such help could come without strings attached, but he hadn’t considered just how unusual it was for the Crown to interfere in the Tower’s internal affairs, especially after exerting its influence on the Tower Master only a few months earlier.

This could all be part of a larger plan to limit the freedom that Towers enjoy. Two data points don't make a data set, but something tells me there is a bigger game afoot.

It would also provide more context for the sudden influx of priests into Alluria. If they were being allowed to expand their influence to serve as a counterbalance to other local factions, then the Duke’s inability to stop them would make sense.

"You are now on the board, Nicholas, and seen as a valuable asset. That means you are protected from petty disputes among minor houses, but it also means you attract the Crown’s attention. That can be very dangerous if you lack the influence or personal power to resist it.”

"I can handle expectations," Nick said, though internally, he was already planning a late-night trip. He needed to know more if he wanted to avoid being blindsided again.

"I know you can," Tholm sighed. "Now go. I have a mountain of paperwork to file to cement this victory. Don't let me see your faces until tomorrow.

Back in the dorms, the relief was explosive. Willow cried, hugging Raphael until he turned red. Lina pulled out a bottle of wine she had been saving, and even the usually stoic Mikel looked like a heavy weight was finally gone from his shoulders.

But after an hour of celebration, the air in the room started to feel stifling to Nick. He needed to move. He needed to check the water temperature outside the fishbowl.

"Get up," Nick said, giving Raphael’s boot a gentle kick.

Raphael blinked and looked up from his wine glass. “What?"

"We're going down to the student lounge," Nick said.

"Are you insane?" Raphael hissed. "I just got cleared of murder. Half the Tower probably still thinks I'm a butcher.”

"Exactly," Nick grunted, pulling his friend up. "If we hide in here, we’ll look guilty, no matter the verdict. If we walk into the lounge and act like nothing is wrong, we’ll be able to change the narrative before others have time to.”

Raphael looked genuinely annoyed, but he saw the logic. "Fine. But if I get challenged to a duel, you're taking it. I’m expecting at least one idiot who thinks they can get in with Archmage Hone to try it.”

“Suckers’ bet,” Nick said as he tapped the elevator, but he still put up a single silver. You never know, people can surprise you sometimes.

Going down to the eleventh floor took a couple of minutes, and when the doors opened, he saw that the lounge was much more crowded than the last time he had been there. Dozens of students from different years were gathered in groups, studying, drinking, or playing magical board games. Every single head turned as Nick and Raphael entered.

An awkward silence stretched, and Nick didn’t need his senses to realize that Raphael was struggling with all the stares, yet he guided his friend toward a corner table where three familiar faces waited.

Eona, Tim, and Bellamy were staring with genuine surprise, but they recovered quickly once they sat down.

“Well, you definitely know how to make an entrance,” Bellamy grinned.

“I almost thought you’d forgotten about us, with all the rumors about you saving dragons and killing princesses,” Tim added, and that finally made Nick and Raphael snort.

“I’m pretty sure you have the order wrong,” Eona muttered, not removing her eyes from Nick’s. She was searching for something and eventually seemed to find it, giving a slow nod. “You’ve grown stronger again.”

Nick winked, “I’m sure you haven’t slacked off while I was gone. We’ll have to organize a few training sessions together to see how far you’ve come.”

Judging by the horror dawning on Tim’s face, that probably had come out more intense than he expected.

They spent the next hour pretending to be normal. It was a deliberate act, meant to show the Tower that House Illismonde hadn't intimidated them.

As they prepared to leave, a group of students blocked their way to the elevator.

They were seniors, dressed in the silver of the upper class, the same as Raphael’s. In the center stood a tall young man with the same sharp, arrogant features as Joran, although his hair was darker and longer.

“I told you,” Raphael snarked, and Nick sighed, reaching into his pocket and handing over a silver coin.