Chapter Forty-Five: The Court Trial (Part One)

The next morning, Kevin and his two companions returned on time. They had barely sat down to rest when a group of guards stormed into the church. The leader flicked out a piece of paper for them to see. “Court summons. Come with us.”

With no choice, Kevin and his companions pushed Laolu along and followed the guards. This was the result of the previous night’s negotiations between the stationed ambassador and the city lord. The ambassador had not returned that night, sending only a message: court would be held the next day.

Courts, after all, are institutions reserved for societies that uphold the rule of law. In a place where chaos reigned—where murders happened at night and the dead were simply written off—such a thing as a court was meaningless, and thus nonexistent. But now, for the sake of these few foreigners, they had hastily converted a hall, decorating it in a slapdash manner to pass for a courtroom.

Once official procedures were invoked, a cascade of attention was inevitable. The highest officer of Somtam City’s Defense Office had accused Priest Laolu of the Kingdom of Laubole of breaking into the city’s defense office in the dead of night. Even in times of peace, such a matter would ripple like a stone cast into a tranquil lake. The Laubolean Ministry of Foreign Affairs sent a letter expressing grave concern, reminding the Kingdom of Laiboquier of the need for a fair and just verdict.

There was fierce debate over the location of the court and the selection of judges. Strictly speaking, the city lord was not a single person but a man with a whole retinue of wise advisors. The ambassador, on the other hand, was alone, and to argue alone against the city lord and his coterie was no easy feat.

Nevertheless, the incident had occurred within Laiboquier’s territory, and, as a recognized sovereign state, they had the authority to establish a court. It would be impossible to hold the court in Laubole or in some no-man’s-land on the border. But to set it up in the city lord's manor or the defense office would place it firmly within their sphere of influence, rendering any verdict suspect. The selection of judges was equally fraught.

Eventually, a hall was chosen, conveniently situated at the heart of the main city and near the marketplace, exposed to the eyes of the public and difficult to manipulate. Three judges were appointed to ensure fairness: the resident ambassador of the Lion Empire, an elven diplomatic envoy, and, additionally, a shaman from the Beastfolk.

The city lord had objected fiercely, insisting that human affairs should not be judged by outsiders—that it was a farce. But the ambassador was adamant: since two nations’ interests were at stake, the hosts must avoid even the appearance of bias, and a third party was essential.

Kevin and his companions, escorted by the guards, soon arrived at the makeshift court, where three figures of vastly different appearances sat on the dais, each wielding a gavel. Their curiosity was piqued. Jack even closed his eyes and muttered, “Oh no! This isn’t symmetrical at all.”

The courtroom was rudimentary. The Lion Empire judge sat in the middle, the elven judge to the left, and the shaman to the right. None were random passersby: the Lion Empire’s ambassador was self-explanatory; the elven judge was a male, a level-seven Light Elf archmage, who had hurried over from Laubole the day before—a visiting professor at the Royal Academy. The Beastfolk shaman, apparently conducting a sociological survey in the region, was one of his people’s most esteemed sages, known as a prophet among the Beastfolk.

Three judges sufficed; even if disagreements arose, the majority could overrule. According to continental custom, all three donned white wigs. The shaman, in his wig, looked even more like an elderly goat.

The hall, once festooned for grand celebrations, had been stripped bare. Guards surrounded the area in clusters, bristling with weaponry and exuding menace. The city lord, the ambassador, and other dignitaries were in attendance, and in the rear, curious citizens had gathered to watch the spectacle.

At least the hall had a roof, so the soldiers were spared from fainting in the heat today.

“Order!” declared the Lion Empire judge in the center, striking his gavel. “Court is now in session! All rise! Play the national anthem of Laiboquier!”

Everyone: “……”

There was a moment of stunned silence. The citizens in the back were puzzled. “National anthem? Since when do we have music?” Most couldn’t even write their own names, let alone know their anthem. And this makeshift court had no musicians. The judge had said 'play' the anthem, not 'sing' it.

The Lion Empire judge looked slightly embarrassed; this was his first time presiding over a court, and he had simply followed his homeland’s procedures—never expecting Laiboquier to be so impoverished.

“Sit!” The elven judge broke the tension, skipping the step entirely. “Now, would the plaintiff’s counsel please present the case.”

“Honorable Judge,” said a black-robed figure at the defense chief’s side, “I am the attorney for Chief Hebru of the Somtam City Defense Office. I will present the circumstances of that night!”

With that, the attorney launched into a lengthy oration, emphasizing Hebru’s dedication—his daily patrols, vigilance against threats, tireless inspections of the city’s magical defenses. He was, by all accounts, a model official.

Clearly, the attorney had sized up the three judges as amateurs and hoped to make a good impression from the outset. He succeeded only in earning a round of disdainful glares from the assembled soldiers.

“Objection!” Kevin slammed the table. “The counsel’s statements are irrelevant and grossly at odds with the facts!”

The room stilled. The three judges exchanged glances. The Lion Empire judge struck his gavel. “Objection overruled!”

The elven judge struck his. “Objection sustained!”

The shaman pondered for a moment. “Objection sustained.” His Laubolean was heavily accented, making everyone wince.

The attorney, defeated, moved on to the heart of the matter. “That night, Chief Hebru was asleep when intruders broke in. But he had been prepared and used a magic array to strike back, wounding the enemy. He had also stationed an ambush where the intruders would attempt escape, capturing them all. The so-called Priest Laolu, who was injured, is no priest at all—he is an impostor; there is no such priest in the Church of Light!”

“And furthermore!” The attorney slammed the table. Kevin felt an invisible force shove him; caught off guard, he was thrown against the wall. “This man once claimed to be Sain, the son of the commander of Laubole's three great knight orders, but in truth, he is merely a down-and-out bard—an imposter spouting lies! Utterly shameless!”

Bang! The elven judge struck his gavel. “No magic in the courtroom.”

“Yes, Your Honor.” The attorney shrugged indifferently.

Kevin got up, dark-faced; the attorney had used a psychic attack. It was a form of hypnosis, though a blunt one. Xiao Jiu’s charm spells were also a type of hypnosis, but much softer by comparison.

Hypnosis works by dulling a person’s intellect and making them susceptible to suggestion. One’s intelligence fluctuates; someone just woken, or caught in extremes of fear, excitement, or rage, thinks less clearly. Hypnosis induces and sustains such a state, making people more gullible.

This involves psychic attacks—sometimes seduction, sometimes a brute psychic blow—to the same end. Such attacks leave no visible trace, only subtle psychic ripples, hard to detect.

Of course, the attorney had overdone it, using both psychic force and telekinesis to knock Kevin over. He was taking advantage of Kevin’s weaker power and the judges’ inexperience.

In theory, perfect composure makes one immune to hypnosis—but true composure is a myth.

“Are you all right?” Spoon hurried over anxiously to help.

Kevin dusted himself off. “I’ve been psychically attacked. I request a half-day recess.”

“Objection!” The attorney cried, “He’s stalling!”

“Objection!” Kevin retorted, “He attacked me first, showing no professionalism. I move for contempt of court—”

“OBJECTION!” the attorney roared, slamming the table and launching another psychic assault.

Kevin dodged nimbly. The invisible psychic force shot past him and struck the ambassador, who merely lifted an eyelid; the force rebounded, sending the attorney flying into a wall, where he collapsed, frothing at the mouth and unconscious.

Bang, bang, bang! The elven judge rapped his gavel. “No magic in the courtroom!”

The Lion Empire judge said, “It seems the attorney is injured. I suggest a half-day recess.”

“Objection!” Kevin slammed the table. “We don’t even have an attorney! All we need is to reconstruct the scene and reveal the truth—why do we need lawyers? I request that Chief Hebru himself come forward and debate me!”

The three judges exchanged glances; the Lion Empire judge struck his gavel. “Objection overruled.”

But the other two said, “Objection sustained.”

Chief Hebru had no choice but to grit his teeth and step forward. “Fine. First, who are you really?”

“I am Kevin Inquesiting,” Kevin replied calmly. “I admit I once impersonated Sain, but that was—”

“Enough!” Hebru cut him off with a wave. “You liar—nothing you say can be trusted!”

Kevin snorted. “So, Chief Hebru, you must be precisely as your lawyer described—a paragon of diligence, inspecting the magical defenses till late into the night?”

“Of course,” Hebru replied without batting an eye.

Kevin turned to the soldiers. “Is your chief truly so dedicated? Does he toil so selflessly for you?”

The soldiers did not dare answer, but contempt was written all over their faces. Kevin turned to the judges. “Your Honors, please observe the soldiers’ expressions.”

At this, the soldiers looked embarrassed, unsure how to compose themselves. The judges were no fools; they understood.

“Many people, under certain circumstances, are compelled to lie,” Kevin sighed. “If I hadn’t pretended to be Sain that day, we’d likely have lost our heads. But should we have? We are innocent!”

“Objection!” Hebru interjected. “This man lies with every breath!”

“Oh? What proof do you have that I’m lying?” Kevin shot back.

“I have a witness!” Hebru dragged over a mage. “This is a level-four mage, an expert in psychic detection—an elite lie detector! He can prove it!”

“Yes!” The lie detector stepped forward. “I confirm, he is lying!”

Kevin burst out laughing. “You say everything I say is a lie? Then let me say this: ‘I am lying.’” He repeated with confidence, “I am lying!”

The lie detector fell silent.

“Can you prove my last statement was a lie?” Kevin pressed.

Kevin roared, “You have no ability to prove anything! Fraud! Get out!”

The lie detector instinctively retreated two steps and slumped back into his seat.

Bang! The Lion Empire judge struck his gavel. “That’s a paradox and proves nothing.”

Bang! The shaman struck his gavel. “No! I find it quite interesting.”

Bang! The elven judge struck his gavel. “We seem not to have reached the main issue at all so far.”