"Extra! Extra! The shocking trial of the traitor Lacey! Judge Alistair delivers a historic verdict!"
"Exclusive report! Hero or traitor? A soldier's final statement in court!"
Within days, the news of the trial in Salem spread rapidly to the surrounding areas, and then throughout all of Leithanien.
Newspapers in almost every city dedicated their largest headlines to the trial.
Even some conservative papers had to admit that Lacey's speech was incredibly inflammatory and struck a deep chord with the populace's pain points.
Lacey's name, along with his declaration, "If defending the people's rights is a crime, then I plead guilty," spread through every street and alley.
The story was constantly embellished as it circulated, becoming more and more legendary.
Some said Lacey had summoned the spirits of fallen heroes in court, scaring the prosecutor into wetting his pants.
Others claimed Judge Alistair's gavel was an ancient artifact capable of distinguishing loyalty from treachery and good from evil, which was why he didn't sentence Lacey to death.
In taverns, in factories, and in the fields, people passionately discussed this traitor who had been sentenced to three months in prison.
Overnight, he had become a national political star, a symbol of defiance against authority.
The reputation of the Workers' Party reached its zenith.
...
In the industrial city of Casto, hundreds of miles from Salem.
"The Rusty Wrench" was the most popular beer hall for miners and smelters, because its beer was the cheapest and the strongest.
As the night shift ended, grease-stained workers flooded in, trading a day's blood and sweat for a moment of numbness.
The beer hall was a cacophony of curses, boasts, and the clatter of dice on tabletops.
"Hey, you hear about that fella Lacey in Salem?" a burly man with a thick beard asked, downing a large gulp of cheap beer and wiping his mouth with his sleeve.
"Who hasn't? The papers are going crazy over it! Heard he's a tough one, gave the noble lords a piece of his mind right in front of the judge!"
"More than just a piece of his mind!" Another man, tall and thin, jumped onto a table. He was clearly drunk, his cheeks flushed red.
He puffed out his chest and cleared his throat, mimicking the descriptions in the newspapers.
"...I ask you!" he roared, pointing at the crowd in the beer hall. "Is what I say not the truth!"
The hall fell silent in an instant, all eyes on him.
"IT IS—!"
After a brief silence, someone led the cheer, and the entire beer hall erupted in a chorus of agreement.
Mugs slammed onto tables, sending beer splashing everywhere.
"He said, if defending the people's rights is a crime..."
The tall, thin man took a deep breath and, with all his might, shouted the words that made his blood boil.
"—THEN I PLEAD GUILTY!"
"Well said!"
"Another round! To that man, Lacey!"
"To Lacey!"
The beer hall's owner, a bald, fat man, peeked nervously from behind the bar, wanting to tell everyone to quiet down. But seeing their ignited faces, he wisely swallowed his words and silently brought out another barrel of beer.
Similar scenes were playing out simultaneously in countless cities across Leithanien.
Lacey's name, carried by the tale of his trial, was like a spark blown by the wind in all directions, planting a seed of expectation in the hearts of the common people.
...
As the storm raged on in the outside world.
At the apex of the Twin Towers in Trullinczentyr, the capital of Leithanien.
This was the center of Leithanien's power, the residence of the Twin Empresses.
Herlinmarte Hildegard, known as the Black Empress, stood before a window. Her impeccably tailored black military uniform made her look like an unsheathed sword.
Her face was devoid of expression.
On a sofa not far behind her sat her twin sister, Lizelotte Iwegnade, the White Empress.
She wore a pure white gown, her posture elegant, a cup of black tea in her hand. The rising steam blurred her features.
"A joke," Herlinmarte finally spoke.
"A trial turned into a farce."
"The dogs raised by the Electors not only failed to kill the rat, but they turned it into a hero for all of Leithanien! This is the report card they hand us!"
"Calm down, Herlinmarte," Lizelotte said softly, setting down her teacup.
"Anger solves nothing. Besides, isn't this an interesting outcome?"
"Interesting?" Herlinmarte spun around, fury blazing in her crimson eyes.
"A commoner, publicly questioning the Treaty of the Three Emperors in court, questioning our rule!"
"And our judge sentences him to a mere three months in prison! This is a provocation! A naked contempt for authority!"
"He must die! Immediately! Now!"
"And after we kill him? Let him become the martyr he wishes to be?" Lizelotte looked up, calmly meeting her furious sister's gaze.
"Then what do you suggest we do?" Herlinmarte strode over to her, looming over her sister. "Watch as he saunters out of prison in three months, becoming a god to all rebels?"
Lizelotte picked up her teacup and took a light sip. "To live is to have weaknesses, to have desires. It can be exploited, be controlled."
"Control? Exploit?" Herlinmarte sounded as if she had heard something unbelievable.
"Are you mad, Lizelotte? You want to use someone who openly opposes us?"
"Does he oppose us?" Lizelotte set down her cup, a playful smile on her lips.
Herlinmarte froze.
"He condemns the nobles, the factory owners, the local officials."
Lizelotte's fingers tapped lightly on the tabletop. "He's clever, Herlinmarte. He knows who the real enemies are, and he knows who his potential allies might be."
Herlinmarte fell silent.
She was tempestuous, but she was not stupid.
She recalled the reports and realized Lizelotte was right.
That man Lacey's speech sounded more like an airing of grievances on behalf of them, the powerless Empresses.
"We were placed in this position to end the era of the Witch King," Lizelotte's voice grew somber.
"But after the Witch King's death, what did we get? An empty throne, constrained at every turn by the Electors."
"We want to enact reforms, they say the time is not right. We want to centralize power, they say it goes against tradition."
"We're like pretty birds in a cage, put on display for all to see, but never truly able to fly."
Her gaze drifted out the window, as if it could pierce the clouds and see that distant prison in Salem.
"And now, outside the cage, someone has appeared. He uses methods we dare not use to attack the enemies we wish to attack."
"He has shouted out all the things we could not say. He is like an unowned, sharp blade that has suddenly appeared before us."
"You mean..." The fire in Herlinmarte's eyes began to fade.
"Why can't we be the ones to wield this blade?" Lizelotte rose and stood beside Herlinmarte, shoulder to shoulder, gazing at the sea of clouds outside the window.
"A war hero, a leader of the commoners, a gifted orator."
"If a man like this could be of use to us, he could do so many things for us that we cannot. He could be the dagger we plunge into their hearts."
"But he's a commoner. What he wants are rights for the people," Herlinmarte said, still hesitant.
"Then give them to him," Lizelotte said nonchalantly. "Give him some bread, give him some dignity, and he will become our most loyal supporter."
"Because only we can give him everything he desires."
At this, a smile touched Lizelotte's lips.
The room at the apex of the Twin Towers fell into a long silence once more.
The twin sisters, created by that old lich as 'weapons against the Witch King,' had their first disagreement after ascending to the pinnacle of Leithanien's power.
Herlinmarte represented absolute order and suppression; she believed any element of instability should be eradicated.
But Lizelotte, the seemingly gentle White Ram, displayed a colder and more pragmatic political cunning.
Finally, Herlinmarte spoke slowly, "I still believe the risks outweigh the rewards. This might put us in an even more dangerous position."
"All games of power are dangerous, my dear Herlinmarte." Lizelotte turned, her gentle and warm smile returning. "We have no other choice, do we?"
She walked to a desk and picked up a pen.
"Relay my orders," she said to an adjutant standing in the shadows. "Keep a close watch on the prisoner named Lacey in the Salem prison."
"I need to know everything about him: his preferences, his weaknesses, his every word and action in prison."
"Also..." she paused, the tip of her pen gliding across the paper, "send a letter of consolation to the presiding judge of Salem, Lord Alistair, in my name."
"Tell him his verdict... was very wise. And I appreciate it very much."
________________________________________
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