Bermuda

The judge, who had been readily granting the right to speak, remained silent until the courtroom stirred. After the pause, he asked to confirm:

"...Do you wish to speak?"

Leonardo's gaze shifted from the council member to the judge. His expression seemed to say, "Of course I pressed it to speak. Why else would I have pressed it?"

However, what actually came out was a formal reply.

"I wish to speak."

The battalion commanders, council members, and observers all stared at his face, unprepared for this.

After a moment, the judge's permission—"Speak"—was ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) given, and an amplification magic circle appeared in front of Leonardo. Normally, he would have immediately snapped back, telling them not to talk nonsense, but today he began with a calm question:

"Council member, do you know what a battlefield is like?"

For a voice coming from a young man with bright golden hair that looked like it hadn't even dried yet, it carried considerable weight. The voice of the accused, resonating through the hall, was unexpectedly solemn and sweet, capturing the attention of even those seated in the last row.

Though flustered by the boldly yet politely thrown question, the council member soon cleared his throat softly and began to speak:

"Well, of course I do. The battlefield is an extreme situation stained with ruthlessness, pain, and despair. But at the same time, it can be said to be a historical stage where noble courage, dedication, honor, and military success—beyond protecting the empire and its citizens—are achieved to attain the goal of victory. Is that answer sufficient?"

Satisfied with his own eloquence, the council member asked back with a relaxed face, fingers interlocked. Leonardo looked at him and laughed with a deflating sound.

"Yes, well. It's not wrong."

The moment he dared to judge right and wrong with a sneer, the council member's expression twisted like an angry toad.

"It's not wrong, you say?"

"I mean, it's not a perfect answer either. At least not from what I know."

Leonardo smiled and opened his eyes clearly, which had been downcast. The atmosphere that had been feigning gentleness suddenly sharpened.

"Courage, dedication, honor, a stage of history... Those are things that come after the war ends. But that's just the perspective of people looking at the battlefield from the outside. For the dead—or the survivors who know the horrors—it's useless pretense in the moment."

Strength entered the last part of his previously even voice. Perhaps due to the amplifier's effect, everyone there could feel it.

"I'm not as good at speaking or as learned as the council member or the people gathered here. But I know well, from living more fiercely than anyone else for a time that may be short or long."

His hand gripped the end of the armrest.

"The battlefield, fair to both the living and the dead, is a wasteland where reason and order have collapsed—a hell full of screams and wails. There's only mud soaked in blood, flesh flying like shrapnel, enemies you want to tear apart and kill but it's not enough, comrades being violated by such creatures, and my own broken mind."

"..."

"To avoid being butchered by beams and shells, or to hide from monsters sniffing around like wild dogs. Do you know the fear of someone who crawls under the body of a comrade, intestines and brains spilling out, covering their whole body with the stench of decay to spend the night? Do you understand the resignation—the will to live—of someone who stands up with a broken gun and sword, thinking of the homeland that will become ruins like where they lie if they don't stop them, if they don't buy time by becoming a bullet shield?"

The horrors of that day he recited breathlessly, with bloodshot eyes, dyed the courtroom—once full of heat—with chills. The council member, overwhelmed by the momentum, did not answer. He couldn't know that, and he was at a loss for words.

"You probably don't know. If you did, you wouldn't speak so easily about support troops or being prepared to sacrifice your life in front of these injured people here."

Leonardo didn't seem to have expected an answer in the first place.

"Everything is raw on the battlefield. Victory and achievement? Emotion? That's just talk from someone like you sitting at a desk. 'We' shout for our homeland, and it becomes detached in the face of death. Even though the homeland has driven me and my comrades to the brink, we brainwash ourselves and arm our bodies and minds—on the verge of collapse—with loyalty. Because we have to survive first."

Leonardo didn't mention recognizing his own merits or the strength of the enemy that inevitably caused casualties. Instead, he spoke of the pain itself that everyone who participated in the subjugation must have endured.

"I believe that you, being an intelligent council member, understand what I mean. It doesn't matter how you judge the existence of 'me' in this subjugation. Just don't casually speak of the determination of the fallen warriors—who must have been desperate—as if you were handling chess pieces."

Sparks like lightning flashed in his golden eyes as he warned.

"There is no honor on the battlefield. At least not the kind of honor you spoke of."

After his words ended, silence fell over the courtroom for a while. Not even a small murmur could be heard.

The one who had been closest to war, the empire's war hero. The horrors of battle—and respect for the fallen—coming from his mouth gave a fresh shock to everyone in the courtroom.

The members of the subjugation team recalled themselves on that day as Leonardo spoke, feeling both anguish and a strange sense of satisfaction. This was probably because he represented the position of "us" rather than "me" and expressed anger on their behalf. It caused a small crack—and a flicker of elation—in the hearts of the members who had been sitting powerlessly.

Along with them, the bereaved families who had lost their loved ones just days ago also watched the young man who seemed to understand their hearts. Seeing their own flesh and blood, who had become stars on the battlefield, in him, they gradually took off their colored glasses and became honest with the sympathy rising within them.

Even Loren, who had been holding a dagger to cut the lighting circuit on the second-floor balcony at the back of the hall, quietly lowered her arm and looked down at the courtroom.

'The atmosphere has changed.'

She tilted her head, as if impressed, and decided to postpone the sabotage for now. It didn't seem bad to watch how this atmosphere would hold.

Leonardo, at the center of all attention, leaned back in his chair as if to finish his statement. Sitting once again in a composed posture, he scanned the audience and then rolled his eyes slightly toward the defense team.

He blinked one eyelid inconspicuously. The defense counsel, who had been standing on the podium with a blank face, caught the signal and hurriedly came to his senses.

It was a sincere one-shot from the subject of deliberation, more effective than a hundred defenses. The defense counsel, with a bright smile, turned his head toward the judge's bench with an eager expression.

"I would like to request witness examination next."

*****

A noise-mixed sound flowed from the small speaker set up inside the VIP room. Although there was a delay of about ten seconds, Hugo was receiving a fairly vivid transmission of the situation inside the courtroom.

He let out a small laugh filled with complex emotions as he stared out the window. He had worried that Leonardo might be trembling with anxiety in his absence, but his voice was dignified and mature to the point of being a little disappointing.

Moreover, even though he was only hearing it through sound, he could feel the atmosphere in the courtroom had changed. That guy always seemed to show abilities someone had honed for over a decade, as if he were born with them.

Hugo lowered the corners of his mouth that had risen in admiration and once again turned to face the presiding judge he had captured with the face of a death god.

"The subject of deliberation is facing such an unfavorable situation, yet you—who even took an oath at the inauguration ceremony—still intend to hold out?"

"N-Now, you... I'll say it again, it's better to stop here. I'm saying this for your sake. I'm under the protection of the empire, you know."

The presiding judge, sitting in a chair in front of a large table and bound by streams of water, kept muttering incomprehensible words while his inner cheeks trembled. Hugo sighed as if frustrated and looked up at the ceiling before lowering his eyes coldly.

"So. I understand that you're the same as them. I won't ask for a fair judgment anymore, talking about justice and conscience, since there's nothing left to be disappointed about. However, I'm proposing a negotiation now. We don't want to use force either, so cooperate willingly."

"W-Why, why are both sides doing this to me! You can't even agree among yourselves—what do you want me to do!"

Suddenly, the presiding judge shouted as if disgusted and squeezed his eyes shut. Hugo's eyes narrowed at the words.

"It seems there are other forces pressuring you besides me."

He asked with sharp eyes.

"Who is it? What did they instruct?"

The judge shouted boldly but soon clamped his mouth shut again, seemingly afraid of future consequences. Hugo stared intently at him, his legs crossed diagonally as if sitting on a billiard table.

Eventually, he stood up slowly from the tabletop where he had been sitting, using a long ice spear as a cue stick. He pushed the empty verdict form and quill pen in front of the judge with the tip of the ice spear. On the frozen tabletop, the objects slid naturally with a rattling sound.

The blank sheet spread out on the velvet cloth, only stopping when it hit the judge's solar plexus. Hugo dragged the ice spear across the floor and asked quietly:

"Was it Gladias Agrizendro who ordered you to hand over the presiding seat?"

The judge flinched for a moment. Meanwhile, Hugo went around behind the chair and pressed down on the backrest, asking again:

"Honorable judge. In this situation, whose words do you think you should listen to first?"

"..."

"Your family's honor. The purse strings. Who's holding them tight, I mean."

"Commander... if you do this personally..." 𝕗𝕣𝐞𝐞𝘄𝐞𝚋𝚗𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹.𝚌𝕠𝚖

The Commander who had been maintaining courtesy until now was gone. Hugo set aside formalities for a moment and returned to being a duke of the empire.

"Personally? This is plenty official."

He felt like he finally understood why the judge had remained unmoved despite continued pressure and attempts at persuasion. Any old-timer who had been in politics for a long time would know that Gladias Agrizendro's power was stronger than Hugo Agrizendro's in the Council.

Until now, Hugo had never gone against her direct orders, if only for the sake of peace between the Grand Madam and himself. But just as he had exercised his right of refusal to the order to put handcuffs on Leonardo, now there was something more important to protect than his own position.

His large hand came down on the presiding judge's shoulder. Then he gripped it tightly, applying pressure.

"You should know clearly who you need to serve."

Cold blue eyes reflected ominously on the frozen tabletop.

"Count Heimbert, don't make me angry."