As the imperial judge Aethus left, Damian the royal messenger arrived with a news.

  Damian was a man without a name of his own, only a title whispered behind his back—the royals' hound. He did not sit on a throne, nor did he wear a crown, but in many ways, he was more dangerous than those who did. Where the royals ruled from their palaces, Damian moved in the shadows, ensuring their word was law.

  He carried himself like a man who belonged nowhere, yet held power everywhere. His black coat, lined with silver embroidery, was a mark of his station—neither noble nor servant, but something in between. His boots never left traces, his gloves never bore stains, but his hands had delivered more death than any warrior on the battlefield.

  His face was sharp, unreadable, as if carved from stone. His dark eyes held no fire, no passion—only cold obedience. A tool. A weapon. A dog that bit when commanded.

  Damian : I greet the Masters.

  Gin: What is the royal dog doing here?

  Iris: Why are you so persistent?

  Damian: I am just doing my job. I don’t see the True Masters.

  Reyna: Huh? Don’t you see us three?

  Damian: Yeah I see the bottom line of the Aetherblades.

  Reyna: Your tongue is too long. Should I cut it?

  Damian: You can’t unfortunately. I am sent by the Imperial Knight himself.

  Gin: That’s why you are talking too much.

  Iris: On the point, Why are you here?

  Damian: The Priest Patrick has returned and as the Order commands the trial will proceed with the Judicium Veritas.

  Gin: The truth and dare spell?

  Damian: The Spell of Absolute Judgment. It reveals all truths and all lies. There will be no deception, no manipulation. If you are deemed a threat...The Imperium will act accordingly.

  Shinjiro clenches his fists. A trial was one thing. But a spell that unraveled all truths—would they twist it against him? Would they use it to justify his execution?

  ***

  The dim torchlight flickered against the stone walls, casting long shadows across the empty hall. Saber sat on the bench, his sword resting across his lap as he ran a whetstone along its edge. Ryuma stood nearby, arms folded, his brow slightly furrowed.

  Ryuma: This whole trial… it doesn’t sit right with me.

  Saber: It’s a necessary step. If he’s innocent, Judicium Veritas will prove it.

  Ryuma: You’re putting a lot of faith in a system we don’t fully understand.

  Saber: The system is simple. Truth or lie, nothing in between.

  Ryuma: That’s exactly what bothers me. If it’s that absolute, then what happens when the truth isn’t enough?

  Saber: You think Shinjiro’s guilty?

  Ryuma: No. But I know how people twist things. They don’t want the truth. They want someone to blame.

  Saber: Then let them try. If Shinjiro stands strong, he’ll walk out of this as something more than just another fighter. Why do you care so much?

  Ryuma sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

  Ryuma: He looks like an old friend and I just don’t want to see him fall before he even gets a chance to rise.

  Saber: Then let’s make sure that doesn’t happen.

  Ryuma wasn’t the type to trust people easily, and Shinjiro was no exception. A guy accused of arson and mass murder? Not exactly someone you casually spar with. The rumors had been everywhere—Daimyojin’s pawn, a killer, a traitor. But something about it didn’t sit right with him.

  If Shinjiro was really some cold-blooded criminal, why would he even be here? Why would he walk into a trial he had no chance of winning?

  Ryuma wasn’t one to speak on emotions, but his gut had never lied to him before. And right now? His gut told him that Shinjiro was no murderer.

  Still, instinct wasn’t proof. And if the trial proved the guy guilty, then that was that.

  Saber, on the other hand, didn’t care about rumors. He cared about results.

  It didn’t matter what Shinjiro had done before—what mattered was whether or not he deserved to stand beside them. And if the royals had already marked him? That meant he was weak.

  Weak people made excuses. Weak people begged for mercy. Weak people didn’t survive.

  So Saber watched. Observed. Measured Shinjiro’s every move. Was he just another fool caught in a game bigger than himself? Or was there something else beneath all that silence?

  The trial would answer everything.

  And if Shinjiro failed to prove himself?

  Then Saber wouldn’t waste another thought on him.

  ***

  The study was dimly lit, a single candle casting flickering light over the vast collection of books stacked in uneven piles. Dust motes drifted in the air as Iris sat at his desk, fingers tapping against the wooden surface in thought. Across from him, Gin leaned against a bookshelf, arms crossed, watching him with a knowing smirk.

  Iris: Fetch me the book on Judicium Veritas. The one that was banned.

  The butler, standing by the door, hesitated for a moment before bowing.

  Butler: That text was destroyed by royal decree.

  Iris: Then get me whatever’s left. Someone always keeps a copy when something is forbidden.

  The butler nodded and left without another word. Gin chuckled softly, pushing himself off the shelf.

  Gin: You’ve got a dangerous curiosity, Iris.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Iris: I don’t like unknown variables. And right now, Shinjiro is the biggest one.

  Gin: Or maybe you just don’t like the royals having the upper hand.

  Iris: That too.

  Gin’s smirk widened as he pulled out a rolled parchment, tossing it onto the desk.

  Gin: I did some digging. You were right—the royals aren’t just persistent. They’re desperate.

  Iris unrolled the parchment, his eyes narrowing as he read.

  Iris: What is this?

  Gin: Proof that Shinjiro isn’t from here.

  Iris looked up, his expression unreadable.

  Gin: He’s from a place that doesn’t exist. A place that—if you ask anyone—never existed at all.

  Iris: An illusion?

  Gin: Not quite. More like something erased. And the most interesting part? Shinjiro escaped from there.

  The candle flickered, casting shadows across Iris’s face.

  Iris: Then the trial isn’t about proving his innocence.

  Gin: No. It’s about making sure he doesn’t survive it.

  A heavy silence filled the room. The butler returned, carrying a tattered book in gloved hands. The truth was buried in its pages—if it hadn’t already been rewritten.

  Iris ran his fingers over the old, tattered book, eyes dark with something deeper than curiosity—resentment. He exhaled sharply, shaking his head as he looked up at Gin.

  Iris: The royals… always playing their games, always twisting the truth to fit their narrative.

  Gin: You sound angrier than usual.

  Iris: Because I know what they are. Liars wrapped in gold and silk, pretending to be divine. They hide behind their titles, claim to rule by fate, but it’s just fear.

  Gin: And what exactly are they afraid of?

  Iris: The past. The real one.

  Gin raised an eyebrow, stepping closer.

  Gin: You think this is about more than Shinjiro?

  Iris: I know it is. The royals erased entire histories before. What if Shinjiro is the proof of something they tried to destroy?

  Gin: And now he’s standing in front of them, alive.

  Iris: Exactly.

  Iris opened the book, flipping through brittle pages, scanning the faded ink. His jaw tightened.

  Iris: Judicium Veritas… why would they ban something meant to reveal the truth?

  Gin: Maybe because the truth would tear them apart.

  Iris’s grip on the book tightened.

  Iris: I hate them, Gin. Not just for their lies, but for the things they buried beneath them.

  Gin: And yet here we are, playing their game.

  Iris: Not for long.

  The candlelight flickered, as if the air itself had grown heavier with his words.

  Gin leaned against the table, watching Iris flip through the old pages, his fingers almost trembling with restrained fury. The silence between them stretched, thick with something unsaid. Then Gin spoke, his voice quieter than before.

  Gin: You hate the royals because of what happened in the past, don’t you?

  Iris’s hands stilled. For a moment, he didn’t respond. His breath was steady, but his knuckles whitened against the paper.

  Iris: …I don’t even want to remember it.

  Gin: But you do.

  Iris exhaled sharply, closing the book with a quiet thud.

  Iris: Some wounds don’t heal, Gin. Some things are better left buried.

  Gin didn’t push further. He had known Iris long enough to recognize when a door was locked, and this one had been sealed shut for years.

  Iris: I found it.

  Gin: What?

  Iris: The Judicium Veritas can be rigged by the one operating it. I have an idea. We have to find out if Damian met with Priest Patrick.

  ***

  At the royal quarters, Damian was meeting Patrick in his room.

  Patrick: Why are you here?

  Damian: I represent the Nobles.

  Patrick: Come inside.

  Both of them sat on the coffee table and Patrick prepared some coffee for him .

  Patrick: Enlighten me on your purpose here.

  Damian tossed a pouch of gold on the table. Patrick looked at it with greed.

  Patrick: What is this?

  Damian: A donation… for the temple. I mean the trials are important and It must cost a lot.

  Patrick: (smirking) Generous. But money won’t change the outcome of the spell.

  Damian: I don’t need the spell to change. Just the way you present the results.

  Patrick: You want the illusion of fairness. Clever.

  Damian: The Royals want blood, but I want the right blood to be spilled.

  Patrick: (pocketing the gold) Then let the trial begin.

  ***

  It was a public trial. The crowd was in favor of Shinjiro as he had shown bravery and will and cleared the first trial. The Masters were present there with the Imperial Judge, Aethus , Priest Patrick and The royal messenger Damian.

  The 1st Master was Joao Felix , He has grey hair, He is around 40 years old but looks young.

  The 2nd Master Kentaro Rin , He had black hair, He was around 32. He was a swordsman.

  The 3rd Master was Leo Raksha , He had red hair, He was around 36 years old. He was also Iris’s Mentor.

  The 4th Master was Zayden Alathor, He had white hair, He was around 30 years old. He was a royal.

  The 5th Master was Reyna Ishizaki, She had black hair. She was around 30 years old.

  The 6th Master was Gin Naoko, He has black hair. He was around 26 years old.

  The 7th Master was Iris Rose, He has black hair. He was around 26 years old.

  Aethus: Bring out the suspect.

  Two guards bring Shinjiro to the stage. Priest Patrick was there preparing the spell.

  Leo comes up to Shinjiro.

  Leo Raksha was a man carved from war itself, his presence commanding yet never boastful. His very stance—shoulders squared, arms crossed, head held high—radiated the authority of someone who had fought, bled, and survived more battles than he cared to count. His title among the Aetherblades was not given lightly; it was earned, through years of discipline, through victories that came at great cost.

  He was tall, broad-shouldered, built like a warrior honed for war. His dark auburn hair, streaked with strands of silver, was often tied back, though loose strands framed his strong, chiseled face. His amber eyes, sharp as a predator’s, held a piercing intensity—always watching, always judging, as if measuring the worth of those who stood before him.

  Leo: I have heard from Iris. Just tell them the truth. Where are you from?

  Shinjiro: Kieon.

  Leo: I see. Just tell them the truth. Don’t worry.

  He tried to calm Shinjiro down and it may have worked.

  Rakk and Shun were there in the crowd watching.

  Shinjiro stood alone, his wrists bound in iron restraints. Though no shackles held his feet, the air itself felt like a chain, keeping him in place. The room was grand, lined with gold-trimmed banners bearing the insignia of the royals, but beneath its beauty was something rotten.

  A room built not for justice—but for sentencing.

  The gallery was filled with nobles, warriors, and officials, their voices hushed in eager anticipation. Some whispered in excitement, others in disgust.

  "The murderer…"

  "They should execute him immediately."

  "How did he even make it to the trial?"

  "Daimyojin’s pawn, no doubt."

  Shinjiro kept his face unreadable, but his heartbeat betrayed him, pounding like war drums against his ribs.

  Aethus finally raised a hand, silencing the murmurs. His voice was measured, absolute, without a shred of doubt.

  Aethus Donadus was overlooking the public trial. He was the embodiment of law, order, and absolute authority. He did not command armies, nor did he wield a blade, yet his words alone could decide the fate of men. Where the king sat on his throne, Aethus stood behind it, a man who ruled not with steel, but with doctrine, fear, and unwavering belief in the royal will.

  His presence was severe, his frame tall and lean, dressed in ornate black and crimson robes, embroidered with golden sigils that represented his rank as an Imperial Judge. A high collar framed his gaunt face, its sharp features carved from decades of passing judgment on those beneath him. Pale gray eyes, cold and emotionless, studied everything before him with disdain and calculation.

  Aethus: Shinjiro , you stand before this court accused of arson, mass murder, and affiliation with Daimyojin.

  His tone was calm, as if he had already delivered the verdict. Because he had.

  Aethus: The Judicium Veritas spell shall reveal your truth. If you are guilty, the sentence is death.

  The nobles nodded in approval. No one doubted the outcome. The spell had never failed before.

  Shinjiro said nothing. He felt the weight of Aethus' gaze, the certainty in his expression. This wasn’t a trial. It was an execution disguised as one.

  Across the room, Priest Patrick adjusted his ceremonial robe, stepping forward with the sacred tome in hand. But even as he prepared the spell, something in his eyes flickered—hesitation.

  He hadn’t expected Shinjiro to look so calm.

  Patrick raised his hand, ancient runes glowing along his wrist.

  Patrick: (softly, almost to himself) Poor kid…

  Then, he spoke.

  Patrick: State your name.

  Shinjiro lifted his head. His voice was clear, unwavering.

  Shinjiro: My name is Shinjiro.

  A faint glow radiated from the tome. The spell had been cast. The truth had been revealed.

  The spell confirmed he was telling the truth.

  Aethus' face didn’t change. He leaned forward slightly, his eyes sharp as daggers.

  Aethus: Where have you come from?

  Shinjiro hesitated for just a breath. A silence too small for most to notice—but not Patrick.

  Shinjiro: Alcrad.

  The spell glowed once more.

  True.

  Patrick felt a bead of sweat roll down his temple. The hesitation had been slight—but it was there.

  Shinjiro was playing a game.

  Aethus, however, wasn’t concerned. He had only one question left.

  He leaned back, speaking louder this time.

  Aethus: Are you a part of Daimyojin? Did you set the fire?

  The room held its breath. This was it. The moment everyone had been waiting for.

  Shinjiro smirked.

  And then, in a voice laced with mockery, arrogance, and something close to amusement, he spoke.

  Shinjiro: That’s right. I am the one who killed them all. I am Daimyojin itself!

  (Leo jumps over to the stage in a rush to attack Shinjiro)

  (The spells shows he is telling a lie)