After leaving MacLaren, Gulion strode out the door and caught up with the presiding judge who had earlier adjourned the court.
Seeing the venomous look on Gulion's face, the other four judges tactfully quickened their pace and departed.
They could guess some of what had transpired, but had no desire to get mixed up in it.
Once the four were far enough away, Gulion locked his glare onto the presiding judge's eyes and ground out between clenched teeth, "What is the meaning of this?!"
The old man lifted cloudy pupils.
Perhaps due to his advanced age, there was little fear in his gaze. He simply looked back at Gulion for a few moments, then spoke in a slow, steady voice.
"General Gulion, I am merely a colonial magistrate, not a soldier under your command. I have no obligation to explain my work to you. If you are dissatisfied with my ruling, you are welcome to lodge a complaint with Triumph City and ask them to send someone more professional."
In the Legion, the judiciary enjoyed a degree of independence. It belonged neither to the military officer corps nor to the civilian bureaucracy, but to the oversight apparatus of the Praetorian Guard.
That is to say, it answered directly to the Marshal.
However, because the Marshal and the Praetorian Guard did not meddle in specific administrative affairs, exercising only supervisory authority with loyalty as the primary metric of assessment, the Praetorian Guard had not evolved into a factional interest group.
This design traced its origins back to the founding of the Legion system.
After all, in the Legion's early days, its population had consisted entirely of soldiers and their families, with no other professions. When a court concluded a trial, the task of arresting offenders was handed to the Praetorian Guard—and those arrested were always soldiers.
It was much like the Alliance's guards: early on, they were just gatekeepers at the base, and only later, as the population swelled, did they gradually evolve into a police institution with distinct departments, spinning off the personal guard.
Yet, while the Legion's Praetorian Guard had not grown into an interest group like the Southern Legion or the civilian faction, human beings inevitably harbored their own interests.
After all, not everyone was as glorious and loyal as the Praetorians.
Furthermore, as the Legion expanded and developed more settlements and colonies, the operational scope of its judicial system was no longer confined to Triumph City and the core settlements. Vast numbers of posts opened up with this territorial expansion.
To advance their careers, some magistrates often chose to attach themselves to other interest groups, leaving behind Triumph City with its narrow ladder of advancement to pursue opportunities in the colonies.
The regional legions did not hold a monopoly over judicial authority in their domains, so they were more than happy to cooperate with these magistrates from Triumph City, engaging in mutual exchanges of favor.
In a sense, this was one reason why "decrees changed flavor the moment they left Triumph City."
The most typical example was the decree on the protection of slaves' rights.
Beyond Triumph City, that decree had never truly been enforced, and its efficacy only degraded the farther away one went.
It was no different now.
Gulion had promised him that as long as he complied, he would help him become the chief magistrate across all colonies in Brahma Province.
Truth be told, it was a tempting offer, even if the Southern Legion currently controlled only half of West Sail Port.
Yet every transaction demanded equal exchange.
Compared to the title of chief magistrate, the price he would have had to pay was simply far too steep.
Watching the magistrate turn his coat so shamelessly, Gulion narrowed his eyes slightly.
"That wasn't what you said before."
The presiding judge fired back without hesitation, "And you never told me the waters behind this case ran this deep!"
Gulion's expression stiffened.
Seeing him rendered speechless, the judge knew his instincts had hit the mark again. He chuckled dryly and said, "General Gulion, I care nothing for your internal or external feuds, nor do I mind lending a small hand in the judicial realm. But if you expect me to become a villain condemned by history for your sake, to have my son sneer at me, my wife despise me, my neighbors mock me, and to throw away my career and everything I have on your conspiracy... I'm afraid your favor doesn't stretch that far."
Gulion flushed crimson with fury, glaring daggers at the old man.
Yet the elderly judge merely offered a slight nod before walking down the corridor and leaving.
Just then, an officer approached General Gulion and whispered, "General, Crown Prince Akbar of the Xilan Empire has arrived. He's at the military camp right now... Should we have him come here, or keep him waiting there?"
"Ignore him. Leave him out in the cold for a couple of days."
Gulion glared viciously at the judge's receding figure, spat a curse under his breath—"worthless old fossil"—and wheeled around to leave.
***
Meanwhile, inside the courtroom echoing with cheers and applause, the officers and soldiers of the Southern Legion had already filed out in haste, unwilling to linger a moment longer.
Though the officers, Ross included, held firm political stances, that did not mean they felt no shame in their hearts.
The impassioned citizens, amid deafening applause and cheering, surged forward to embrace Pangolin as he stepped down from the dock, enthusiastically clapping him on the back.
"Well done, brother!"
"Thank you for saving my wife and children!"
"I salute you, General! You're the kind of soldier we need!"
"Those scoundrels... doing so much filthy work in the dark!"
"They won't keep the lid on this!"
Battlefield Guy responded warmly to their passion while soothing their agitated emotions.
"Regrettably, our evidence is far too thin. Suspicion alone cannot convict an individual or a faction. But I promise you, I will not drop the appeal, nor will the people standing behind me... Three thousand lives demand an accounting! Whether it is the arsonists, those who incited them, or those who handed them the torch, they will all face justice in the end!"
Though he knew in his heart that his words were more like an appetizing pie in the sky, he genuinely believed that so long as they never gave up the search, the truth would surface one day.
And justice would have meaning.
Through the dense crowd, he caught sight of Penny watching him with tears glistening in her eyes.
They were tears of relief and excitement.
He could easily imagine how worried she must have been.
He didn't make her wait long.
Squeezing out of the throng, Battlefield Guy stepped forward and swept her into a big embrace.
Preempted before she could make her move, Penny felt a flutter of shyness at having her thoughts laid bare. A blush involuntarily rose to her cheeks.
With pairs of eyes all around locked onto them, filled with silent blessings, she was too flustered to speak.
Her personality, however, was naturally candid and forthright. She soon lifted her head to meet his gaze.
"You told me before that my battlefield was in Triumph City. I have to correct you."
Extending a soft index finger, she gently straightened his collar.
Her clear eyes burned with such resolve that Battlefield Atmosphere Group held his breath without realizing it.
"...This is our war. Whether in Triumph City or West Sail Port, I will stand by your side. Don't even think about leaving me behind, and don't you dare shoulder all the trouble alone!"
***
The bustling courtroom finally emptied. Spectators left the gallery in high spirits. Once everyone was gone, several local native laborers entered carrying trash bags and brooms.
They had waited on the sidelines for ages, finally seeing this tedious trial come to an end.
To be fair, these Wilante certainly had plenty of gimmicks—courts, post offices, and all—broadening the horizons of rustic folks like them.
The only flaw was that these big-noses weren't the sharpest tools in the shed; their brains couldn't make a simple turn.
In their view, that judge was genuinely amateurish and lacked majesty, falling far short of a Xilan noble, let alone the decisive swagger of a baron.
Not only had the old man let the defendant remain standing during the trial, he had even permitted him to whisper back and forth with others. What kind of decorum was that?!
"...Wilante can fight, but they can't judge a case for shit!"
"Truth be told, they'd be better off putting me up there! What good is all that sweet talk? If I say you're guilty, you're guilty, what the hell can you do about it?"
"That's way too extreme—the crowd won't buy it! You have to be subtle about it. Say, give him twenty lashes first, pour boiling-hot sand down his throat, clip his eyelids open for a few days to keep him awake until he's half dead, and only then make him speak! I guarantee that even if he had an injustice high as the heavens, he wouldn't be able to squeak out a single argument!"
"Me, extreme? You're the extreme one! Just kill him and be done with it, why the fuck do you need an excuse? It's just lopping off a head, why bother with so much hassle!"
"Aiyo, either way, I reckon that judge's career is done for."
"Just his career? If I were a Wilante, I wouldn't even let him live. If you don't execute one to warn a hundred, how do you expect to rule anyone?"
They kept their voices low, not daring to let the Wilante outside overhear.
After all, the Wilante wouldn't make them judges; more likely, they'd drag them out and bury them alive.
An elderly lion-kin sweeping nearby seemed to have received some education. Unable to stomach it any longer, he finally snorted twice.
"...Pity you aren't one. You're a Brahma man. You can only imagine a high-bridged Brahma master sitting above barking edicts, while behind closed doors bending over and offering his backside to an even greater master—and you think the whole wasteland works that way."
Leaving aside how vile those methods were, different peoples genuinely had different bottom lines, shaped by culture, national character, and countless other factors.
The Wilante despised tail-wagging dogs to their bones. A subservient sycophant was scorned by those above, unable to command respect from those below, and ultimately relegated to the margins of the system.
These big-noses' rules certainly had their own evils, but finding a judge who was simultaneously venerable in stature and adept at tail-wagging fawning was indeed no easy feat.
And that was precisely what pained him to his core: the "clever" ideas his compatriots could muster were the very reason Brahma people were treated as disposable chattel.
It was not just the Wilante who didn't treat them as human beings.
Those high-and-mighty Heavenly Kings, those sweet-talking Family members, even they themselves... who among them treated their own kind like people?
Perhaps he was simply too pessimistic.
Having lived through so much turmoil at his age, he always felt that neither Laxi nor Abusek could ever accomplish anything lasting.
This menagerie was more like a circus.
The clowns masquerading as animals needed a master dancer adept at navigating all sides.
He didn't need to know much natural science, nor did he need to be an expert in any particular trade.
He needed only one skill: to choreograph a dance for the circus clowns.
Only then could they scrape together a semblance of dignity while muddling along in their petty cleverness.
Yet whether that could be called hope was hard to say.
The sun would indeed rise as usual, but in this place, calling day night was an everyday occurrence.
The loyal would die first, then the brave, and finally the cunning.
When all idealists had exited the stage, what remained was a contest between hypocrites and outright scoundrels.
No matter who won, it would be a disaster.
Just two different kinds of catastrophe.
He loved this land more than anyone, and more than anything, he wished he were wrong.
In the end, something was missing here.
Perhaps a true hero blessed with the might of heaven and earth, capable of turning the tide single-handedly.
Or perhaps civilization itself.
Whatever it was, it was missing.
Stung by the words, the worker flushed red, yet completely missed the point, choking out a rebuttal that left everyone speechless: "I'm of the Snake tribe! What the fuck is a Brahma person?!"
The others chimed in with jeers.
"What the fuck are you showing off for? Think you're still a noble?!"
"Old bastard, why didn't those Heavenly Bandits butcher your whole family?!"
"If I were a Wilante, I'd bury you alive!"
Ironies flew thick and fast.
The old man shook his head. He felt no humiliation, only pity, and took his broom toward the corner...
Nearby, a handsome youth around fifteen or sixteen walked in, anxiously looking left and right as if searching for someone.
Behind him trailed two elderly men whose deferential demeanor suggested they were his servants.
A court staff member passing by quickly spotted them, walked over, and barked impatiently, "This is a sacred hall of justice. Unauthorized personnel are not permitted."
Seeing someone trying to kick him out, the youth flushed with indignation and glared at the staff member. "My name is Akbar Xilan! I am the Crown Prince of the Xilan Empire... I'm here to see General Gulion. I heard he's here!"
The staff member paused, scrutinizing the youth with obvious disbelief.
Just as he was about to demand identification, thumping sounds abruptly rang out nearby.
The low-caste servants holding brooms were all dropping to their knees in shock, kowtowing to the floor.
"Crown Prince?!"
"Greetings, Your Highness!"
"You... weren't you in the north?! How did you get here?!"
Beholding his kneeling subjects, Akbar adopted a benevolent, humble expression and raised his hands gently. "Rise, everyone, rise! I have come here on urgent business with friends of Xilan. Go on with your work, and do not neglect our friends."
The people on the ground rose with submissive nods.
Having said that, the youth named Akbar turned back to the staff member, a smug smile tugging at his lips. "Can you take me to see General Gulion now?"
Met with that boastful look, the staff member stared at him with an odd expression for a moment, then nodded. "Fine... wait here. I'll go ask for you."
The empire had already gone to complete ruin; he couldn't fathom why this kid was still smiling, let alone what he was so proud of.
Perhaps he just had an optimistic disposition.
Watching the staff member turn and leave, Akbar said cheerfully, "Yes, hurry along!"
***
Meanwhile, in a lounge at the courthouse, General Gulion was reporting everything that had happened in the courtroom faithfully to the Southern Legion's Chief of Staff.
Yet after hearing his report, the Southern Legion's second-in-command showed no strong reaction, merely stating flatly, "I understand the general situation. Go attend to your business."
Seeing no instructions from his superior, General Gulion couldn't help asking anxiously, "...Is there nothing I should do on my end?"
He couldn't shake the feeling that letting Pangolin return alive was a terrible idea, though getting rid of him now would be no simple matter.
The Chief of Staff smiled faintly. "I think there was one line from that chiliarch named Pangolin that was quite interesting."
Unable to decipher the Chief of Staff's intent, Gulion inquired cautiously, "...May I ask which line?"
The Chief of Staff replied in a quiet voice, "'What did you come here to do?'"
The moment he heard those words, Gulion froze for a few seconds. A bead of cold sweat rolled down his forehead, and he lowered his head. "Subordinate understands... Forgive me. I acted on my own initiative."
High command had never wanted him meddling in this matter.
"Using legal means to eliminate the civilian faction's envoy" was entirely his own presumptuous interpretation.
It was just like his subordinates dumping sewage into the dungeon cells on their own whim—redundant and foolish, contributing not a shred of positive impact to the situation, only risking grave consequences for petty spite.
It was at that exact moment that he snapped back to reality, fully grasping the profound implications behind what General MacLaren had told him...
As if satisfied by his contrition, an approving tone came across the communication channel. "You are a smart man. Both Legion Commander Tyre and I think highly of you. But being clever for cleverness's sake is no virtue—especially when your petty scheming risks putting us on the defensive.
"A single chiliarch cannot sway the big picture, and Triumph City's affairs are not yours to worry about. We have our own deployments against the civilian faction's attacks. As for you, completing the mission Legion Commander Tyre gave you is enough. We care about your performance on the battlefield, not in frivolous distractions."
General Gulion's Adam's apple bobbed. He bowed his head respectfully. "Understood..."
The call ended.
Gulion let out a long breath and tossed the buzzing receiver back onto the desk, unaware that his back was drenched in cold sweat.
Thinking calmly, whether a single chiliarch lived or died truly mattered little.
Even if he returned to Triumph City alive, what of it?
The civilian faction in Triumph City were neither mute nor deaf; had they held substantial, hard evidence, they wouldn't have waited until Pangolin returned to produce it.
A few mouths and plausible doubts were not enough to substantiate an accusation that the Southern Legion had orchestrated the West Sail Port tragedy. Even if Abusek stepped forward personally, it would mean little.
The Southern Legion had acted with extreme caution throughout the conspiracy. Clues pointing to the high command were practically non-existent, and what few doubts lingered could easily be explained as accidents—which was precisely why the civilian faction had not brought formal charges against them.
Unsubstantiated accusations constituted slander, a grave offense in the Legion.
Yet in a moment of hot-headedness, he had committed precisely that blunder—initiating this trial in the name of the Southern Legion without sufficient evidence!
Now they were in a bind. The Southern Legion was obligated to provide supplementary evidence to prove their own charges of "threefold treason."
How had a hero who rescued more than two hundred Wilante survivors become a traitor in their eyes?
What had he betrayed?
What was the Southern Legion preparing behind the scenes?
If this escalated, it might even alert the Marshal...
At this stage, it was too late even if they wanted to drop the charges.
The moment they withdrew the case, the civilian faction in Triumph City would never let it drop. They would immediately file a counter-suit, putting the Southern Legion on the defendant's bench and demanding an explanation... and then their position would be even more precarious.
Gulion finally realized what an utter fool he had been. This was even stupider than assassinating the man in prison... but it was too late for regrets now.
He should never have presumed to lift burdens from the shoulders of the high command.
He couldn't even help cursing MacLaren—that sly old fox had never warned him earlier!
As Gulion stewed in anxiety, a soft knock came from the lounge door.
Taking a deep breath, he masked his anxiety and cleared his throat toward the door. "Enter."
The door opened, and his confidant stepped inside.
Approaching the desk, the officer reported solemnly, "My lord, the Prince of Xilan tracked you from the military camp to the courthouse. He seems dead set on seeing you."
In no mood to entertain such nonsense, Gulion said irritably, "I told you to leave him out in the cold for two days. Tell him to get lost."
"Yes, sir..." The officer paused, then gave a crisp salute and turned toward the door.
Just as he reached the threshold, Gulion called out again, "Wait."
Stopping in his tracks, the officer turned back with a respectful look. "Do you have further orders, my lord?"
Gulion didn't answer right away. He walked over to the wall and stared at the map hanging there for a moment before speaking abruptly, "Bring him in."
Uncertain why his superior had suddenly changed his mind, the officer didn't pry. He merely saluted respectfully. "Yes, sir."
Without glancing at his subordinate, Gulion kept his eyes glued to the map.
He had originally planned to execute the proposal he laid out at the strategy meeting step by step, gradually nibbling away at Brahma Province's territory through vassalization.
Now, it appeared his timetable would have to be moved forward...
While the empire's crown prince nervously met with this "old friend" of the empire at last, far away on the border of Mammoth State in the northeast of Brahma Province, a battle that would determine the empire's fate had finally drawn to a close...
Chapter 846