Location: Bashurian EmpireCity: FloranDate: Year 931 — Month 2 — Day 7
For a long moment, the hall was filled only with the low hum of magic and the faint rustle of parchment. Otto's words still hung in the air like smoke from a gun barrel.
Then Serathiel stepped forward, his composure cracking but not shattering. His voice rose, smooth but laced with strain.
"You speak of assassins, Reichman," he said sharply. "But your evidence is assumption draped in confidence. A fragment of silk and a whiff of magic residue? You cannot name the killer, cannot identify a spellcaster, cannot—"
He raised his hand, and several scrolls floated higher. "Our scouts saw the human fleeing! They heard his shouts, they saw the fire—this is not fabrication! And your so-called magical readings?" His eyes narrowed. "They could be interference from your own border devices! The Reich pollutes the very air with metal and steam. How can any mage trust readings from a land soaked in—"
"OBJECTION!"
The shout cracked through the Grand Hall like a thunderclap.
Otto's palm slammed against the marble table, the sound echoing into the vaulted ceiling. "You dare blame our instruments because your magic can't tell friend from murderer? You accuse without proof, and when cornered, you point to smoke and machinery!"
He pulled a document from his case and raised it high. "This—this is the log from the Bashurian rune surveyor who examined the scene before your forensics arrived! It confirms the traces of teleportation magic were purely elven in pattern! No Reich technology. No interference. And yet—" he turned, voice climbing—"you ignored it. You filed it away and called it unreliable!"
Serathiel's mouth tightened, but he stood his ground. "It was inconclusive."
"Inconclusive because it didn't fit your story!" Otto shot back. He began pacing, the sound of his boots carrying through the chamber. "You bring us tales of noble heirs, burned silk, and fleeing humans—but your case falls apart the moment we test it! The witnesses disagree on direction! The spell traces vanish half a minute before the human even arrives! And your own report—" he snatched one of the floating scrolls from midair, the magic sputtering as he held it—"admits the child's ward amulet was already inactive before the attack! So tell me, Advocate—what was your noble heir doing unguarded, unwarded, and surrounded by the exact same spellcraft used by your covert operatives?"
The crowd above began murmuring. Judges leaned toward one another, pens scratching furiously.
Serathiel's tone turned defensive, his words clipped. "Our nobles do not consort with assassins! You fabricate fantasies from scattered embers!"
"Scattered embers?" Otto's voice rose again, sharp as a whip. "No—these embers burn through your entire argument!"
He tossed the scroll back into the air, and it re-lit in glowing blue script. "You've cornered an innocent man because it was convenient! Because the truth leads somewhere you can't afford to look!"
The tension cracked into a storm of voices—envoys whispering, a few gasps from the balconies, a judge clearing his throat.
Judge Maren struck the gavel once. "Enough!"
But before he could continue, a voice from the far side of the bench—a smaller, wiry judge with a skeptical grin—leaned forward. "Should we stop him?"
The judge beside him chuckled under his breath. "No," he said, pen still moving. "We're getting more evidence from this ranting than from half the scrolls they've read."
He leaned back, smirking slightly. "Besides," he murmured just loud enough for the court recorders to catch, "what one hell of a show."
Laughter rippled faintly through the galleries before being swallowed by the echoing chamber.
Otto turned back to Serathiel, eyes burning, voice steady again.
"Now then," he said, lowering his tone to a dangerous calm. "Let's continue.You were saying—something about your perfect, airtight case?"
The elf's jaw flexed, but no answer came.The silence that followed was worth more than any document.
And the judges… kept writing.
The silence lingered too long.
Serathiel's lips parted, then closed again. His aides behind him were whispering frantically, adjusting scrolls, flipping open glowing rune tablets with anxious fingers.
Then, at last, Serathiel raised his hand. "We request a temporary recess to reorganize our presentation."
Otto said nothing. He simply folded his arms. Waiting.
Judge Maren blinked once. Then turned his head. "Very well. We will put it to vote."
He looked across the semi-circle of the Tribunal. "All in favor of recess?"
There was a pause.
Three elven hands rose — smooth, long-fingered, almost in unison. The Elven Justices, robed in sea green and moonlight silver.
Two human judges — stone-faced — kept their hands firmly planted on their parchments, pens unmoving.
Then came the dwarves — three of them, seated on thick stone-backed chairs carved with runes. Not one raised a hand. One even scratched his beard and kept writing.
The chamber tensed.
Then the last to vote — a massive orc judge seated at the far right end, hunched with elbows on knees and tusks like iron hooks — gave a slow, rumbling chuckle.
"Hhhnhnhh. Recess…?"
He grinned wide, tusks gleaming.
"Recess will not oblige," he said in a gravel-deep voice. "This is gettin' good. Please... continue."
A ripple of restrained laughter passed through the upper balconies. One of the dwarves snorted under his breath.
Serathiel's face tightened.
Behind him, the scribes and aides began muttering — fast, frantic Elvish, fingers flipping through sealed scrolls and rune-plates. Their polished grace cracked into visible anxiety.
Otto didn't interrupt. He simply leaned forward and tapped the table with a single knuckle.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Finally, one of Serathiel's aides leaned in and whispered something. The elf's eyes darted, calculating. Then he straightened again.
"We wish to submit additional context," he announced sharply. "During the Reich's initial inspection of the accused's home, fire runes were found — installed along the wall of the hearth, and across the corners of the kitchen floor."
He raised a hand. A new scroll floated forward and snapped open midair.
"These fire runes," Serathiel continued, "were of elven design. Not Reich standard. The pattern matches a spell class permitted for export only to certified buyers within Elenor's merchant guild. It is possible — likely, in fact — that these same runes are linked to the magical imprint left on the child's corpse."
He turned toward the judges again, voice regaining edge.
"This suggests not just panic or accident — but possible familiarity with elven firecraft. The accused may have had more knowledge than initially disclosed."
Otto raised an eyebrow — slowly.
The judges leaned back. Maren glanced toward the dwarves, who looked unimpressed. The orc only grinned again.
Otto cracked his neck once. Then smiled.
"Well then," he said, "I suppose it's time we talk about how those fire runes got there… and who put them in."
He opened his briefcase again.
The elves' eyes narrowed.
The second act was just beginning.
The scroll still hovered midair, the blue rune-script slowly fading as Serathiel's claim echoed across the marble chamber.
Otto didn't move right away. He took his time adjusting the silver-rimmed glasses resting low on his nose, then tapped the center of the table twice with his index finger.
Tick. Tick.
Then he looked up.
"Before I present any evidence," he said calmly, "I must ask — for the record — where exactly was this alleged fire rune located in the accused's home?"
Serathiel hesitated. He turned his head slightly, whispering to one of his aides. The aide shrugged. Another leaned in, lips tight with nerves.
Then finally, Serathiel straightened and answered.
"…beneath the bed," he said. "Under the frame. Where the father slept."
A quiet fell over the chamber.
Otto blinked once. Then slowly—grinned.
"Lies."
The word cut through the air like a blade.
He reached into his briefcase and pulled out a thin, leather-backed folder. From it, he withdrew a flat black tablet engraved with a gold seal. He placed it gently on the marble table, then tapped it once.
The embedded crystal flickered to life. Above it, a holographic image shimmered into view — a clear, well-lit photograph of the accused family's home, taken at ground level.
It showed a simple wooden bedframe, lifted slightly by stones. Beneath it: dust, some straw, and a dented iron pot — but no rune.
Otto didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to.
"This image," he said, "was taken by the Empire's neutral documentation team. Representatives from both the Bashurian media ministry and the Office of Investigations were present. Three journalists, two military engineers, and one neutral court recorder. All of them took records—before this Tribunal even convened."
He paused, letting the still image slowly rotate in the air.
"There was no rune."
He tapped the tablet again. Another image appeared — the opposite angle. Same bed. Clean floor.
He looked at the judges."And if Your Honors would like, we can summon all six witnesses. They are here in Floran. We've already arranged their housing."
Then Otto turned — slowly — toward the Elenor delegation.
"The Reich took nothing from that home. We sealed it. Photographed it. Recorded every step of the investigation. And your side… just invented a rune that wasn't there."
Serathiel's face had gone pale.
One of his aides whispered something in his ear. Another began flipping through a scroll with trembling fingers.
Otto stepped back slightly, voice dipping lower.
"If you're going to accuse a man of murder, Advocate Serathiel, you'd best do better than make up new furniture."
A murmur rippled through the upper gallery — soft gasps, a few stifled laughs, and the sound of pens scratching faster.
Judge Veyra leaned to her side and muttered, "Are they panicking already?"
The orc judge let out a full-bodied laugh, tusks gleaming in the light. "He just pulled their whole bed out from under 'em."
Otto folded his arms.
Three days Later.
Three long days of silence, sealed rooms, guarded chambers, and whispers that clung to every corridor of the Floran court district. Rumors spread. Papers printed. The whole continent held its breath.
And now, the Grand Hall of Judgement was full again.
All nine judges had returned to their seats, robes crisp, expressions unreadable. The flags overhead stood still. No one spoke. Not a whisper from the gallery, not a scrape of a boot. Only the soft hum of the heating runes beneath the floor.
Then, one of the dwarven judges, short but square-shouldered, cleared his throat and looked toward the Elenor delegation.
"Does the Kingdom of Elenor wish to present any further evidence before we give our ruling?"
There was a pause. A long one.
Serathiel stepped forward… and shook his head."…No, Your Honors."
The dwarven judge nodded.
"Then it is decided."
All nine judges rose in perfect sync.
Judge Maren stepped forward, voice steady.
"After thorough review of the evidence submitted by both parties, the Tribunal has reached a verdict."
He paused. Then spoke the words the chamber had waited days to hear.
"The Reich is not guilty of obstruction. The accused family will not be extradited. They are hereby granted asylum and full protective status within the Germanic Reich."
The sound of nine gavels slamming down at once echoed like thunder in a canyon. It shook the banners, shook the bones of every diplomat, and shook whatever composure the elves had left.
Silence. Then—
Otto Weiss took a single step forward. Calm, composed.
"Your Honors. One more thing—"
Judge Veyra rolled her eyes. "The court is adjourned, Advocate."
But before Otto could speak again—
The orc judge leaned back in his seat, groaning.
"Uuuugh, you all shut up," he muttered, waving a massive hand. "I need to see the end of this chapter. You think I get free time often? Sit down or get out."
The chamber chuckled softly — even a few of the human and dwarf judges cracked tired smiles.
Otto smirked.
Then he turned — not to the bench, but to the entire room.
"To all nations present," he said, his voice sharp, loud, and unwavering,"While the accused humans have been found innocent… we have since received a radio transmission from our national media department."
The room shifted.
Otto's eyes swept across the hall — pausing ever so briefly on the Elenor delegation.
"The contents of that transmission are… illuminating. It includes testimony and intercepted correspondence suggesting that certain noble families within Elenor may be pursuing an internal purge — not of enemies, but of heirs."
Gasps. One of the dwarves blinked. The orc let out a low whistle.
Otto's voice dropped, just enough to make everyone lean in. "You may wish to take a closer look at your own bloodlines. Because this incident — this death — might not have been a border dispute."He smiled faintly."It might've been a cleaning."
The elves didn't respond. Not one word.
Serathiel's face was stone. His aides said nothing. No spells hovered. No scrolls moved.
They turned — and walked out of the Grand Hall in complete silence. Robes trailing. Eyes low. Rage buried beneath layers of shame.
And just like that—the case was over.
The Reich delegation stood still. Otto straightened his coat. The judges began to rise.
And from the gallery above, a quiet murmur started… the kind that would echo far beyond these walls.