The words, “Not guilty!” echoed in the vast, silent hall, dripping with a contempt that made my stomach clench.

  My eye twitched with annoyance. That miserable... disgusting... bastard. What a predictable, infuriating response.

  Apparently, though, Lord Ainsworth’s reaction was entirely anticipated by the court. The Justiciar, the grey-haired man in the dark uniform leading the proceedings, merely gave a curt nod, his expression impassive. I saw several people in the audience here and there openly roll their eyes or murmur disdainfully to their neighbors. Even King Richard, on his simple dais, was seen to sigh wearily and rub the bridge of his nose for a moment.

  It seemed everyone in Aegis already knew what a repulsive swine Ainsworth was.

  The Justiciar’s voice cut through the low hum of disdain. “Baron Ainsworth pleads not guilty! We shall therefore open the floor for witness testimony. Lord Rockford, you have the first word.” He nodded respectfully towards the Archmage.

  Lord Rockford rose gracefully from his seat at the table beside mine and walked to the center of the room, before the dais. He let out a heavy sigh before he began, his deep voice filling the Chamber of Final Light.

  “In our great city, in our home… Aegis, there are undoubtedly many fates from all walks of life. Members of the nobility are sometimes kidnapped or extorted; in the gutters, people kill each other for a few coins or even a bottle of cheap spirits. But what you did, Lord Ainsworth…” Rockford’s gaze fixed on the Baron, sharp and condemning. “…is explicable by nothing in this world. Everyone in this room knows of your past. We all know that you managed, with nothing but diligent work, to escape poverty and rise to become one of the most respected and wealthy citizens of this city. So why, then, was it necessary to murder a simple servant who had merely fled your estate? He was there in your household voluntarily, was he not?”

  Shaking his head slowly, a gesture of profound disappointment, Lord Rockford paused before continuing, his voice laced with controlled anger.

  “And as if murder were not heinous enough, you then had the audacity, openly and loudly, to refer to a young man as a ‘filthy, stinking slave of House Ainsworth’. Surely that was merely a base degradation of his perceived rank, spoken in your blind rage, was it not?”

  Lord Rockford stared directly at the Baron, but Ainsworth’s face remained an iron mask, betraying nothing.

  Lord Rockford then reached into his robes, produced a small leather pouch, and announced, “I call my first witness, Lady Irene, to the stand.”

  A ripple of murmurs immediately went through the assembled crowd. “The Spellbreaker?” I heard someone whisper nearby. Another gasped, “Wow, Lady Irene herself?!” She was clearly well-known.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lady Irene stand up from her seat in the audience and walk gracefully to the table where Lord Rockford had been sitting moments before. She took a seat, her expression calm and professional.

  “Lady Irene,” Lord Rockford said, reaching into the leather pouch. “Can you explain to the court what this is?”

  He pulled out my severed Bracelet of Servitude, holding it up for all to see.

  A collective gasp, a louder wave of shocked murmurs, swept through the chamber. The bracelet itself, a simple band of dark metal, was probably not so special. But the red gemstone embedded in it, which still held that faint, unsettling internal glow… that seemed to capture everyone's attention. Why did so many people seem to recognize it, or its significance?

  Lord Rockford held the bracelet aloft, turning it slowly so everyone could get a clear view. Then, he placed it carefully on the table before Lady Irene.

  She looked at it for a moment, then addressed the court, her voice clear and precise.

  “The object in question is a Bracelet of Servitude. This particular one was found secured around the wrist of the boy known as Grim.” Her eyes flicked briefly towards me. “Following the… conflict with Lord Ainsworth, Lord Rockford brought the boy and the bracelet to me at the Arcane Sanctum. Fortunately,” she added, a slight emphasis on the word, “we were able to remove it.”

  The room buzzed with excited, hushed whispers again. Was it really so unusual to remove these bracelets? Lady Irene had said it was unprecedented for one not to work, but perhaps removal was also rare. A cold shiver traced its way down my spine at the thought.

  Lord Rockford spoke again, cutting through the murmurs. “Thank you, Lady Irene. You may take your seat again. Next, I call Sir Jeffrey to the stand.”

  In a swift exchange, Lady Irene rose and returned to her seat, while Sir Jeffrey, the City Watch captain from the courtyard, took her place at the witness table.

  Lord Rockford posed several questions, and Sir Jeffrey explained, his voice gruff but steady, how Theo and I had emerged from the sewer into the City Guard courtyard, and everything that had transpired from that point until Rockford’s arrival. After him, several other guards who had been present were called, each one corroborating Sir Jeffrey’s account.

  And then, it was time. My stomach lurched.

  “I call Grim to the stand.”

  A thick lump formed in my throat as every single person in that vast, sunlit chamber turned to look at me. Oh gods.

  Slowly, trying to appear much calmer than I felt, I stood up and made my way towards the witness table, focusing all my concentration on simply not tripping over my own feet. Don’t embarrass yourself. Don’t embarrass yourself. Thankfully, I reached the table without incident and sat down, my hands clammy.

  Lord Rockford immediately posed his first question, his voice surprisingly gentle now. “Grim, can you tell us how you came to be in the household of Lord Ainsworth?”

  I swallowed hard, my throat dry. “I was brought into the city by a farmer named Orin Clayborne, from south of here.”

  As soon as I mentioned Orin’s name, another wave of quiet murmurs rippled through the crowd. It surprised me a little. I thought I even caught the name “Bloodhound” whispered somewhere. I pressed on, trying to ignore it.

  “Mr. Clayborne told me to wait in his cart in the courtyard of the Ainsworth manor. He went inside. I waited for quite a while and then… I think I was knocked unconscious from behind. When I woke up, I was in a bed inside the manor, and I saw Mr. Clayborne driving away from the estate. A short time later, Majordomo Conrad, from House Ainsworth, came and took me to meet Lord and Lady Ainsworth. I was told I am to participate in a tournament in four years for Lord Ainsworth, to win a good place, or even victory, for House Ainsworth.”

  More murmurs. This time, I heard a few distinct sneers, someone muttering something like, “The Ainsworths must be truly desperate if they’re relying on someone like… that.”

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  My fists clenched under the table, anger flaring hot and quick, but I forced it down, continuing my account.

  “For the next few weeks, I trained under their mage, Sir Crownfield, to gain better control over my magic. Until one day,” I paused, taking a breath, “I was locked in the cellar, apparently because I had, in some way, greatly embarrassed Lord Ainsworth.” I hesitated, then decided to add, “I would also like to note, before I continue, that during all this time, Lady Ainsworth consistently protected me from her husband’s temper and ensured I had a tolerable life within their household.”

  Hahaha, that probably wasn’t the smartest thing to say out loud. I risked a glance at Lord Ainsworth. His face was turning a dangerous shade of purple, fury practically radiating from him. Oh man… the satisfaction was immense.

  I tried to suppress a smirk, took another deep breath, and then explained everything: how I was locked in the cellar, found Theo, fled with him through the sewers, encountered the bandits, though I didn't mention their discussion about stolen crystals—Lord Rockford knew, that was enough.

  I tried to sound suitably dramatic when describing our escape and the dangers, but when I got to the part about how Lord Ainsworth… beheaded Theo… I had to swallow hard several times, the words catching in my throat. Those infinitely sad, empty eyes… I hadn’t known Theo well, not really, but I knew exactly how it felt to be nothing but dirt in the eyes of others.

  I pushed the grief and anger down again, focusing on finishing my statement. “…And as Lord Ainsworth limped towards me with his sword raised, he screamed, ‘DIE, YOU WORTHLESS SLAVE!’ At that exact moment, Lord Rockford stepped protectively in front of me and took Lord Ainsworth into custody.”

  Here and there, people started talking amongst themselves again. The Justiciar conferred quietly with Lord Rockford, while Lord Ainsworth spoke in urgent, hushed tones with the person beside him at his table.

  Then, I felt it—a gaze on me. The King. He was looking at me, his steel-grey eyes narrowed slightly, an unreadable expression on his tired face. Or maybe… no, I was probably just imagining it.

  After a few moments, the conversations died down. Lord Rockford cleared his throat and addressed the Justiciar. “I have questioned all necessary witnesses. The presentation of evidence can be closed.”

  The Justiciar nodded to Lord Rockford, who then came and took the empty seat beside me at our table. He leaned over slightly. “You did well, Grim,” he murmured. “You weren’t overly dramatic, and you summarized the essentials concisely.” I gave him a grateful nod.

  Then, the Justiciar spoke again, his voice filling the chamber. “Now that the presentation of evidence is concluded, we will give Lord Ainsworth the opportunity to defend himself.”

  Lord Ainsworth stood up slowly, his earlier rage seemingly replaced by a mask of sober humility. He addressed the Justiciar. “If I may, Your Honor, might I be permitted to stand in the center to better explain my position?”

  What in the world is he planning now? Apparently, I wasn’t the only one confused. Even the Justiciar frowned slightly but then gave a curt nod and stepped aside, allowing Ainsworth space.

  With a theatrically downcast expression, Lord Ainsworth walked to the center of the room. He bowed shallowly to the King and Queen, then turned to face the assembled court, taking a deep, shaky breath.

  “I know exactly how this looks,” he began, his voice filled with false sorrow. “To all of you, I must appear as someone corrupted by money, fame, and influence, especially after having lived a significant portion of my life in impoverished circumstances. But that is not so! The blame for all that has transpired, for all these terrible events, rests solely AND ENTIRELY WITH MARCHIONESS GENEVIEVE AINSWORTH!”

  He suddenly roared, his voice cracking with feigned emotion. As he shouted her name, he yanked down the sleeve of his fine tunic, revealing his forearm.

  And there, clamped around his wrist, was another Bracelet of Servitude! It looked exactly like the one I had worn.

  A wave of gasps and astonished murmurs swept through the dome. Every single eye in the chamber immediately swiveled to Lady Ainsworth, who was seated in the front row of the audience behind me.

  Lady Ainsworth had gone chalk-white. She pointed a trembling finger at herself, her mouth agape. “ME?!” she shrieked, her voice cracking.

  Instantly, all attention snapped back to Lord Ainsworth as he practically bellowed, stabbing a finger accusingly at his wife, “This woman and her treacherous family want to see me ruined, buried beneath the earth, all so they can get their greedy hands on my fortune! She is the one who enslaved me with her vile Spirit Magic, she orchestrated all of this! She hopes I will be condemned to death, so that no suspicion ever falls upon her!”

  The dome erupted into absolute uproar. People were shouting, arguing, pointing fingers—a chaotic scene.

  Only Lady Ainsworth remained still, though she looked like she might faint at any moment, all color drained from her face.

  The terrible thing was… his story, as outlandish as it sounded, could make perfect sense. She probably had the skills—Spirit Magic was subtle, manipulative. Maybe not Blood Magic directly, but she had the connections, the wealth, the motive to enslave Lord Ainsworth and secure his assets.

  But… it didn’t explain why she had consistently protected me from his rages. If she controlled him, she could have simply ordered him to behave. Nothing would have ever seemed amiss. She could have had him killed by bandits discreetly if she wanted him gone. No, something about this didn’t fit. And apparently, the Justiciar, or perhaps the King and Queen, thought so too.

  “Lady Irene, please come forward,” the Justiciar called out, his voice cutting through the uproar after a brief, whispered consultation with the royals.

  I watched as Lady Irene, her expression a strange mixture of skepticism and professional neutrality, walked forward to stand beside Lord Ainsworth.

  “Lady Irene,” the Justiciar requested, “would you please examine this bracelet and determine if it is genuine, and if the Baron is truly enslaved by its curse?”

  She merely nodded silently, then gestured for Lord Ainsworth to raise his arm. As he did, she placed her hands carefully over the bracelet on his wrist. Her hands began to glow with that soft blue light again, pulsing gently as she focused. After a tense moment, she let out a heavy sigh.

  “He is indeed under the curse of the bracelet,” she confirmed, her voice clear and firm. “However,” she added, frowning, “it is impossible to determine from the enchantment itself who currently holds the command over him.”

  A profound, heavy silence fell over the hall at her words. Lord Ainsworth, however, allowed a slow, triumphant grin to spread across his face.

  I frowned in confusion. Wasn't that incredibly stupid of him? Why bring it up if it doesn't prove Lady Ainsworth is the controller?

  I leaned over to Lord Rockford, who sat impassively beside me, and whispered a thought that just crossed my mind. The Archmage’s brow furrowed for a second as he listened, then he threw back his head and let out a sudden, hearty laugh that echoed through the silent chamber. All eyes immediately turned to him, startled.

  “Go ahead and say it yourself, Grim,” Lord Rockford said, his voice loud and clear for all to hear, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “I permit it.”

  The Justiciar turned towards us, his expression stern but curious. “What is it that you wish to share with the court, boy?”

  I stood up, but remained behind the relative safety of the table. My voice was a little shaky, but I spoke clearly. “If Lord Ainsworth is telling the truth,” I addressed the Justiciar, “and he truly is under Lady Ainsworth’s command… then Lady Ainsworth should simply order him to kill himself.”

  A gasp went through the room. Lord Ainsworth himself spluttered, “That’s… that’s absolute madness! Preposterous!”

  I ignored him and beckoned the Justiciar closer with a small gesture. Surprisingly, he actually came over, leaning down so I could speak without the entire room hearing every word.

  “Your Honor,” I whispered urgently, Lord Rockford also leaning in slightly to listen, “if Lady Ainsworth only commands him to hurt himself, he’ll naturally do it gladly, just to cast suspicion on her further. But if Lord Ainsworth truly is under her complete control via that bracelet, he must obey a direct command to end his own life. He would have to try, somehow, even without a weapon—even if it means bashing his own head against the floor until it’s pulp.” I took a quick breath. “And for the eventuality that he does genuinely try to kill himself, Lord Rockford will, of course, intervene to stop him before he succeeds.”

  The Justiciar’s eyes, when he straightened up, held a new, knowing glint. He gave me a single, emotionless nod, then turned back to address the court.

  “Lady Ainsworth. Please step forward and command Lord Ainsworth to take his own life, if you would.”

  Suddenly, all the color drained from Lord Ainsworth’s face, his triumphant smirk vanishing instantly. He looked utterly horrified.

  Hahaha. Lies have short legs, Lord Shitsworth.

  Lady Ainsworth stepped forward, her earlier pallor replaced by an icy resolve, her expression steely. She faced her husband and said, her voice loud and clear, resonating with cold command:

  “Victor. Kill yourself.”

  The room was dead silent. Every single person stared, transfixed, at Lord Ainsworth. He, however, just stood there, pale and trembling, looking desperately around. Finally, he stammered out, his voice small and weak…

  “W-With what? I… I don’t have anything?”