[The Imperial Court]
"Do you have any idea who I am? I am Vorenus, Tower Master of Crimson Veil! How dare you—"
Vorenus’s head jerked up. The dark sword hilt caught his attention instantly—the same one he had seen four nights ago. The boy holding the sword stood motionless, one hand resting lightly on the pommel.
A flicker of recognition crossed Vorenus's gaze.
“It’s you. How dare you…” Vorenus shouted, but before he could finish, the heavy, tense atmosphere choked him. Something was very wrong here.
Vorenus’s attention snagged on the silver embroidery of two crossed swords on the boy’s chest. He raised his head; the boy was smiling. Finally, pitch-black eyes and dark hair—the trademark of the Crown Prince—filled his vision.
“No way… Your... Your Highness, the Crown Prince.”
It was the Crown Prince who had seized him. Vorenus looked away in horror. Sweat ran down his face, dripping from his chin to his stomach. He searched the guards, the silent nobles, and the closed doors for any sign of escape.
Vorenus’s gaze landed on the high dais. The golden throne, adorned with roaring lions on both armrests, held the Emperor—a man with pale golden hair and eyes, looking down from above.
His knees immediately hit the floor. "Your Majesty. I... I have no idea why I've been brought before you. There must be some mistake—"
“Tower Master Vorenus,” the Chamberlain spoke in a flat voice, projecting it to the court. “You are accused of storing an excessive amount of refined Bavarium, which led to the Rosewick explosion. The Crown Prince alleges that you received payment and instructions from Silver Star Tower for this illegal act. Do you deny these charges?”
“We… we are a new organization, Your Highness,” he stammered. “Such an accident was beyond our wildest imaginations. Please, have mercy. We were just doing our jobs—”
His gaze drifted sideways, coming to rest on Conner.
"You! You're right there!"
Vorenus prostrated himself fully, forehead grinding against the marble. "Your Majesty, it's him! He delivered the orders! He paid us to buy the materials! Their Tower forced us to do their illegal work."
The man’s claim of being coerced held no weight in court. What mattered was his direct confession before the throne, which irreparably damaged the Silver Star Tower.
Alden lifted a parchment from the evidence table. His voice carried the dry, precise cadence of a scholar.
“'The legal avenues provide insufficient material. We urgently require more refined Bavarium to observe the formula’s effects. Prepare them as soon as possible. Additionally, ensure that our identities remain strictly confidential. Geralt'—This was the correspondence sent by Tower Master Geralt to Tower Master Vorenus on the eighth of Storme. Do you recall this, Master Vorenus?"
Vorenus looked up. A shudder racked his frame as he met Alden's unyielding, obsidian depths.
He bowed low. “Yes, Your Highness. Every word is true. I personally received this letter and gathered the necessary material for Tower Master Geralt. Look how he commands us. We had no say in this; we merely acted as intermediaries.”
“Lies!” Conner exclaimed. “Your Majesty, this is the desperate accusation of a man who is now caught doing something illegal! Vorenus must have faked it. He will say anything to save his own skin!”
Alden produced a leather-bound journal, its pages yellowed with age.
"Tower Master Geralt’s personal journal, retrieved from his private chambers," Alden announced, displaying the book to the court. "The handwriting is cramped, yet the intent is clear."
Opening to a marked page, he began to read aloud. "Rosewick Market... an ideal storage ground."
His finger traced the lines as he continued reciting the incriminating words. "Plan: steal the Bavarium refinement method after removing Hadrian. Objective: take the monopoly from the Alchemists' Conclave with the help of the traitors."
A dry chuckle escaped him as he read the final entry. "The Imperial purchase limit is insufficient. Infuriating."
He held the journal high for the court to see.
"It never happened—Your Highness, you've never visited our tower! How did you obtain internal Silver Star documents?" Conner's voice pitched up, cracking. "These are forgeries! Someone must have stolen our seals—"
"The representative's theory," Alden cut in, his words spacing out like hammer strikes. "Someone infiltrated Silver Star's archives. Bypassed defensive wards. Stole official seals. Forged Tower Master Geralt's handwriting so precisely that the Imperial Archives—who have verified his correspondence for twenty years—cannot detect the difference. Planted documents throughout your records. Created a false paper trail spanning months. All to frame Silver Star."
Conner's throat worked. His mouth opened, then closed.
"Or," Alden said softly, "Silver Star wrote these documents."
On the dais, the Emperor’s finger stopped tapping against the armrest. His hand clenched briefly before relaxing.
“Are these documents authenticated?” The Emperor’s voice reverberated through the hushed atmosphere.
“Yes, Your Imperial Majesty,” the Chamberlain replied promptly. “The information has been verified by the Imperial Archives. All documentation aligns with Silver Star’s standard records, and Geralt's handwriting matches the handwriting in the records.”
Duke Helbart narrowed his eyes. In the lower gallery, Countess Alderton clutched a handkerchief tightly in her lap, twisting it so hard that the fabric almost tore.
Conner’s rebuttal came out strained. “Why would the Tower Master write his masterplans so clearly in his diary for someone to find? It simply doesn’t make sense,” he said.
The Emperor stared at him with a dry, dismissive air before returning his attention to Alden.
Alden began speaking, “The Grand Magister personally authenticated every document, seal, ink composition, paper age, and handwriting. Now, does the representative intend to accuse the Grand Magister of incompetence or deception?”
Conner’s mouth fell silent. If he denied the handwriting, he would be insulting the Archives. Conversely, if he admitted that Geralt’s disciples had written it, he would confirm that the letters originated within the tower.
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He gasped, clutching the stone pillar beside him for support as his knuckles turned white. Duke Ashvale spoke from his seat, “Why would Silver Star take such a risk, Your Highness? They must have been aware of the danger.”
Alden turned his head slowly, taking in the entirety of the court. “A research breakthrough that would make Silver Star crucial to the empire and grant them a monopoly on refining Bavarium. From their perspective, it was a risk worth taking," Alden replied, turning to face Duke Helbart. “Or they have someone backing them up.”
“Don’t make wild assumptions, Your Highness,” Duke Helbart said, leaning back in his chair. His expression remained impassive, yet a subtle muscle twitched rhythmically in his cheek. “Every word spoken in this court carries weight. I worry that making meaningless statements could harm your reputation.”
“If you insist, Your Grace,” Alden replied. “I shall present evidence instead.” He signaled to Limon.
Limon stepped forward, arms laden with heavy ledgers. He dropped them onto the central table with a thud. Alden picked one up and began to unroll the parchment while stating:
“Silver Star’s crimes extend beyond illegal trade; they obstructed the Imperial investigation. Planted evidence against the Alchemists’ Conclave. Fabricated merchant confessions about illegal Bavarium sales. And obscured the trail leading back to Silver Star. Such crimes require planning, organization, and protection."
He held the top ledger up. "Financial records. Silver Star paid four thousand gold crowns to derail the investigation. Bribes to city guards, dock workers, merchants, minor officials. All to create false leads."
Alden looked up, projecting his words. “The corrupt officials have been arrested and confessed. If Silver Star was innocent, why interfere with an Imperial investigation?”
“When did he do all that?" the young noble gasped. "Did the Emperor secretly help him?”
“Perhaps. But why am I hearing all this for the first time?” the viscount murmured.
Limon puffed out his chest with pride and offered a nod to Captain Lut. They had worked tirelessly for the past four days to find all the suspects Alden had listed before leaving.
“Silence,” the Emperor commanded. “Representative Conner, please present your defense. Do not waste the court’s time with empty pleas. How would your tower compensate the victims and cover up your crimes?”
Conner heaved his chest. “Your Majesty, we have been framed, but we are willing to pay the price. We will offer thirty gold coins to each family of the fallen. And…” He took a deep breath. “We will donate thirty percent of our revenue and twenty percent of our profit for two years to the Imperial Treasury as recompense for the harm done. This is our sincere gesture. Please accept it.”
A ripple of murmurs moved through the nobles. Some nodded, calculating the sum.
Duke Varik's lips curved into a faint smile, even as his fist tightened on the armrest—impressed, perhaps, but wary of what this young prince would demand next.
However, Alden was not done.
“That would have been sufficient… if that were all Silver Star had done.” He took two slow, deliberate steps forward after putting down the ledger. “Obstruction was merely a shield. One does not bribe officials and forge documents to conceal an accident."
Alden snapped his fingers. A sharp, clear sound.
The main doors opened. Captain Lut entered, jaw set in a grim line. He dragged a shackled figure behind him—a servant in threadbare clothes.
It was Kael.
Alden flexed his fingers, adjusting his gloves. "This man attempted to poison my meal. He has confessed."
Kael threw himself to the floor immediately, pressing his forehead to the marble. "It... It is true, Your Majesty! Silver Star... They threatened me—said if I refused, they'd kill my son. My child—" He choked on his own words, dissolving into a sob.
Countess Alderton’s fan slipped from her numb fingers, causing a clatter that echoed through the room. The nobles seated near Conner shifted away, scooting down the benches until a physical gap of isolation surrounded him.
“Your Highness, it might be wiser to limit our discussion to relevant crimes,” Duke Varik suggested, his eyes crinkling. “Your evidence already justifies a severe verdict. Exaggerating could undermine your meticulous work.”
“Indeed, Your Highness,” Marquis Ashford interjected, cutting through the murmurs. “We cannot convict an entire Great Tower solely based on the testimony of servants and criminals. Moreover, you must acknowledge the gravity of such accusations, do you not?”
Conner let out a strangled laugh. "Right. Your Highness. Had we really poisoned you, how would you still be fine? You are currently standing before us..."
Alden simply looked down at Kael and then back at the court. “How am I standing?” A faint smile crossed his lips before he called out, "Limon!"
Limon stepped forward, his teeth clenched tightly. He held up several parchments bearing the distinctive red stamp of the Palace Medical Wing. "These are the official records of inquiry and the physicians' prescriptions. For the last four days, His Highness has been recuperating under strict supervision."
Limon bowed to the throne. "Your Majesty, His Highness suffered greatly... remaining unconscious for days." A tremor of indignation ran through his words. "He was in such critical condition that he could not even receive me. The pain must have been unbearable."
He then looked straight at Conner. "Your Majesty. I beg for justice... for my Prince."
"What... it can't be," Conner stammered, backing away. "It's not us..."
Kael screamed, pointing a shaking finger. "Your Majesty! The order came from a man with a silver star symbol on his robes! I saw it!"
"That commoner is lying! There was no one wearing the Silver Star's emblem when they gave the order—"
Conner’s outcry reverberated off the ceiling before he froze. Many nobles, whose faces were carefully blank, averted their gazes.
Alden’s lips curled into a sardonic smile. He began circling Conner, studying the trembling man’s form before returning his attention to the throne.
"The Representative seems remarkably informed about who did—or did not—issue orders. Curious. For someone who claims the Tower knew nothing."
Conner’s face turned pale. Blood drained away so fast that he looked like a lifeless corpse standing upright.
Alden pulled out a small vial from his chest pocket and held it between his fingers. A drop or two of dark, viscous red residue remained inside. “This vial contains Silver Star’s latest creation: Will-Sapper.”
"No... we never..." Conner tried to refute, shaking his head violently.
"Ah. You don't need to explain yourself, Representative." Alden touched the hilt of his sword. "Do you recall a disciple named Bofur?"
Conner blanched. "Bofur? How do you—"
He stopped. Alden raised the vial to eye level.
"He died in a 'drunken accident' in a tavern. While transporting smuggled Bavarium and Poppy pods. The Bavarium was required for explosions. And the Poppy pods... for this."
Alden produced a small wooden token. It was carved with a silver star. "Found on his person. A Silver Star disciple's mark."
Conner gasped, his teeth clamping together. "Bofur was a known drunk! We had disciplined him repeatedly! If he was involved in criminal activity, he acted alone! One rogue disciple's crimes don't implicate an entire institution! We have hundreds of disciples—we cannot be responsible for every individual's—"
"Silver Star wrote continuously to inquire about Bofur's progress on the delivery of materials for 'Will-Sapper' production—three days before his death." Alden produced another letter. Red wax seal. Silver Star's crest. "The letter orders: 'Will-Sapper is almost perfected. We need the materials as soon as possible. Stop dawdling and hurry back. Master Geralt grows impatient.'"
Conner staggered. He dared not refute anymore as Alden’s rebuke followed.
"Representative, is the Crown a joke to you?"
Conner's body went rigid. His attention ricocheted between the vial, the token, and the letter.
Murmurs spread through the hall like wildfire.
"They tried to assassinate the Crown Prince..."
"A mere alchemy tower..."
"Who backs them to be so bold?"
Alden, bowing respectfully before the Throne, declared, “I, Alden Alger de Leonhelm, accuse Silver Star Tower of high treason: the attempted assassination of the Crown Prince.”
He turned his icy scrutiny to the dukes and asked, “Do Your Graces still wish to question the evidence?”
Conner’s legs trembled as he dragged a hand down his face. He muttered incoherently, staring blankly at nothing. “High treason. Three generations. Roots and branches.”
Alden said nothing. He merely adjusted his gloves, tightening the fabric over each finger. He glanced up at the grandfather clock behind the throne. _Tick. Tock._ He waited.
Duke Helbart, still languid, rose from his seat.
“The evidence is indeed extensive, Your Highness,” he said, turning to the Emperor. “However, Your Majesty, we must acknowledge a critical factor: evidence is only as valid as its origin. The integrity of the source determines the truth of the conclusion.”
Helbart spread his hands to the assembly. "His Highness presents evidence seized from Silver Star's sanctums. Convenient, isn't it? One wonders about the legality of such... acquisitions."
His tone turned lethal. “The court deserves transparency, Your Highness. Does it not?” He straightened, a hard glint in his expression as he fixed his gaze on Alden.
"The court must know... Where did you obtain these documents? How did you access Silver Star's private archives? Their internal correspondence? Tower Master Geralt's personal journal?"
