Chapter 48: The Tables Turn
The corridor echoed with heavy footsteps.
Arthur walked at the front with his chin raised, in such high spirits that he could barely keep the smugness off his face. In his mind, the rest had already been arranged.
First, Ryan would be thrown into a sealed room and cut off from the outside world.
Then came the floodlights, the repeated questioning, the endless hours of forced wakefulness. If that did not work, there were always the restraint arrays, the kind that left no scars but could lock a body into a twisted posture until every muscle screamed. Add heat, cold, hunger, noise, a little false sympathy, a forged report or two claiming the General Administration had already reached its conclusion, and even the strongest will would eventually break.
Perfect.
Arthur slowed his pace and glanced back at the silent figure behind him. Ryan walked between four Executors in magic sealing cuffs, expression steady, almost detached.
Arthur could not help smiling.
"Ryan, do you know something?" he said lightly, adjusting his cuffs. "I actually admire your talent. Unfortunately, in this system, talent is the cheapest thing of all. Picking the right side matters far more than ability. When you were running your mouth in that soundproof room, did you ever think it would come to this?"
No answer.
Arthur did not care. He was enjoying himself too much.
"Take him to the third basement level," he said to the Executors. "Special interrogation room. It is a private cell for high security prisoners. I think our dear Specialist will appreciate the privacy."
The corridor remained deathly quiet. Clerks and messengers hurried aside the moment they saw the group coming. Arthur's boots struck the floor with crisp, satisfied clicks.
Once they entered the private elevator, it would be over.
Then the elevator doors opened.
And no one moved.
Because someone was already standing there.
Kyle leaned against the inner wall of the elevator with his arms crossed. His combat uniform was immaculate, but the look in his eyes was colder than any blade Arthur had ever seen.
Arthur frowned.
"Excuse me," he said impatiently. "We need this elevator."
Kyle did not move.
Not even a blink.
"Specialist Arthur," he said at last, his voice low and heavy in the confined space. "Organizationally, Ryan still belongs to my Third Squad. If you want to drag my man away, shouldn't you at least inform me first?"
Arthur paused, then let out a dry laugh.
"So it is you. Captain Kyle."
He stepped forward, disgust plain on his face.
"What is this? Baron is crippled, and instead of staying at the medical ward, you have time to interfere with my work?" He took out the document and waved it. "Special Isolation Review Order, signed and sealed. Straight from the Committee. I know you have some old reputation from your Judgment Department days, but that was ancient history."
His eyes turned malicious.
"Now you are just a stray dog shoved into the Rapid Response Department. Do you really want to make another mistake and land yourself in a cell too?"
"Are you finished?"
Kyle finally lifted his head.
There was something terrifying about how calm he sounded.
"Yes," he said. "I have let my brothers get hurt."
His hand moved slowly to his chest, almost carefully, as though touching something far more precious than the order Arthur held.
"And because of that, I swore something."
He drew out a dark silver badge.
It was old, the edges worn by time, but polished so thoroughly it almost glowed. Two crossed swords were engraved on the back, and above them sat a dim but unbroken ruby.
Arthur's face froze.
So did the four Executors.
They did not even think before stepping back and straightening instinctively.
First Class Medal of Honor.
In the General Administration, that badge did not merely symbolize prestige. It represented lifelong command authority within specific internal oversight matters. It was stained with blood, with real campaigns, with old battles most young officers only heard about in training halls.
Arthur's voice caught in his throat.
"You... you still have that?"
Kyle held the badge up, letting everyone see it clearly.
"I believe you have read the Internal Inspection Regulations." His gaze was sharp enough to cut flesh. "Article Nineteen. Any holder of a First Class Medal of Honor may, upon doubting the legality of a Special Review, invoke sacred veto authority and force the review into open arbitration."
Arthur's expression twisted.
Kyle stepped forward.
"You want to take him to the third basement level? You want to make him disappear into a private interrogation room?"
He snatched the order out of Arthur's hand.
Then, without even glancing at it, he tore it cleanly in half and slapped the pieces into Arthur's chest.
"Lead the way," Kyle said. "Arbitration Court Number One."
His voice rose like thunder.
"I want to see whether that headquarters face of yours still holds up under the eyes of the entire General Administration."
The hallway fell silent.
The four Executors lowered their heads and stepped aside.
Under the regulations, the badge outranked them all.
Hodell met Kyle's gaze for a single moment. That was enough. Nothing more needed to be said.
Arthur's face had gone the color of spoiled liver. The torn paper slid down his uniform.
But he did not dare resist. Not here. Not in front of witnesses.
He clenched his jaw so hard the muscles trembled.
"Fine. Very fine, Kyle."
He adjusted his collar with shaking fingers, trying to recover his dignity.
"You will regret this. You are spending the last honor of your life to be buried beside a spy."
Kyle did not even look at him.
"That assumes you win first."
Then he stepped to Hodell, reached out, and straightened the collar Arthur's men had yanked crooked. His rough hands were steady.
He did not know what evidence Ryan held.
He did not know how far the case had already gone.
He only knew one thing with absolute certainty.
Ryan was his teammate.
That was enough.
...
Arbitration Court Number One.
Above the circular hall floated the Eye of Truth, a giant construct of deep blue light that revolved slowly beneath the dome. It cast a vertical beam onto the defendant's stand below, a beam that would record every fluctuation of energy, every tremor, every falsehood.
The seats were nearly full.
Some held physical occupants, high ranking officers who had rushed over as soon as they heard what Kyle had invoked.
The rest were filled by holographic projections, layered row after row, blue and cold as ghosts.
Department heads. Senior mages in crimson robes. Old officers who had long since retired from the front line but still cast long shadows over the institution.
On the left high platform, Elanis sat as special observer for the Ministry of Magic. Her silver trimmed robes were flawless. Her posture was elegant, unreadable.
On the central dais sat the Chief Justice, a white haired old man with a face carved from stone. In his hand rested a black gold scepter, symbol of the General Administration's absolute rules.
On the right sat Wayne.
He looked awful.
Sweat beaded constantly on his forehead. His fat body trembled beneath his robes, and his eyes were restless, clouded with fear as they locked onto Hodell.
He had expected a quiet cleanup.
Not this.
Not a public arena.
Not judgment under the Eye of Truth.
The scepter struck once.
The sound carried through the entire chamber.
"Bring in the accused."
The great doors opened.
Hodell walked in wearing anti magic restraints, but his back was straight. Under the gaze of the Eye and the pressure of the packed hall, he should have looked diminished.
He did not.
He even seemed to have spare attention to study the room.
Kyle stood in the first row of the public gallery, that dark silver badge pinned to his chest like a blade.
The Chief Justice struck his scepter again.
"Quiet."
Instantly, invisible pressure swept through the court.
"Concerning the case of former Third Squad Specialist Ryan, suspected of serious misconduct and abnormal psychological evaluation, the hearing now begins. Prosecution representative, Specialist Arthur, state your accusations."
Arthur stepped forward.
By then, he had regained most of his composure. He arranged the papers on his desk with deliberate care, then looked out over the crowd instead of at Hodell.
"Honored Chief Justice. Esteemed colleagues."
A holographic timeline lit up in the air behind him, lines of red text unfolding one by one.
"Let us begin with the facts."
"Day one. Black Bone mine riot. Specialist Ryan arrives at a critical moment and stabilizes the situation."
"Day two. Black Bone Family conspiracy. Survival odds estimated below eight percent. The accused survives and returns with strategic intelligence."
"Day nineteen. Snake Fang Gang annihilation. The accused acts alone, seizes the soul stone, and captures the gang leader."
"Day twenty six. Blingshee Society case. The accused exposes the conspiracy."
"Day twenty seven. Surrounded by four highly trained Psions, the accused still manages to transmit a distress signal, survive the siege, and preserve critical clues related to the Obsidian Group case."
"Day twenty nine. During the component recovery mission, the accused leads his team into a major incident, survives a citywide pursuit, and returns with the evidence."
Arthur let the final line hang there.
Then he looked straight at Hodell.
"This creates a classic intelligence paradox. The perfect survivor."
His voice sharpened.
"We all know luck exists on the battlefield. But luck has limits. When one person repeatedly stands at the center of lethal events, survives each time, and always happens to step precisely on the enemy's weak point, then we are no longer discussing chance. We are discussing design."
A murmur ran through the gallery.
Arthur pressed on.
"I do not deny his talent. But even genius cannot compel terrorists, monsters, and criminal networks to arrange themselves into a ladder for his ascent."
He leaned over the desk.
"Unless this was never a battle at all."
A deliberate pause.
"Unless it was a handoff."
The atmosphere tightened.
Arthur saw it and pushed harder.
"I submit that the accused may be the product of a reverse delivery operation. A foreign power willing to sacrifice expendable assets, even high value assets, in order to manufacture a hero within the General Administration. A seed. A nail. A carefully cultivated infiltrator whose rise has been engineered from the beginning."
He pointed directly at Hodell.
"Specialist Ryan, can you explain why every time you meet danger, the enemy somehow gives you precisely what you need? Valuable intelligence. Strategic items. critical witnesses. Is that destiny..."
His mouth curled.
"...or was that always the script?"
For a heartbeat, the court remained silent.
Then Hodell smiled.
He even clapped twice, slowly.
The sound echoed with almost insulting clarity.
"Wonderful," he said. "Specialist Arthur, headquarters truly did not waste its budget on you. Reverse delivery. Manufactured hero. God making plan. Very imaginative."
He took a step forward, shackles clinking.
"But your theory has one fatal problem."
Arthur's eyes narrowed.
"Cost."
Hodell turned slightly, his gaze landing not on Arthur, but on Elanis.
"If the Black Bone incident was staged for my benefit, then I nearly died for the privilege. I was rescued by Lady Elanis, who happened to be patrolling nearby. So tell me, Arthur. In your theory, was that part staged too?"
The court went still.
Hodell's voice stayed clear and level.
"Or are you suggesting that Elanis herself is part of this foreign infiltration?"
A current of tension swept through the hall.
Elanis's expression changed by the slightest fraction. For one fleeting instant, amusement flickered in her purple eyes. Then it vanished, leaving only cold indifference.
Arthur's back dampened instantly with sweat.
Hodell did not give him time to recover.
"You say the Snake Fang Gang incident was another performance. Then what about the soul stone? What about the component built with top grade soul anchor technology? What about the fact that people were willing to tear apart half a district to retrieve it?"
He took another step.
"If I were their spy, what sort of organization would donate that level of strategic technology to the General Administration just to boost a rookie?"
He laughed softly.
"At that point, Arthur, they deserve the Oluson Charity Gold Award."
A few people in the gallery failed to suppress their laughter.
It was brief, but it broke the tension and shifted the room.
Arthur's jaw tightened.
Hodell drove on.
"And the component. Let us talk about that. It was transported through official channels. Special approval. Priority routing. Who signed that transport authorization?"
He turned sharply toward Wayne.
"Arthur, since you claim to have investigated this so thoroughly, why not show everyone the approval form? Let us all see whose seal is on it."
The laughter died.
This time, the silence was much heavier.
On the right platform, one elderly logistics official slowly closed his eyes in what looked very much like despair.
Wayne could bear no more.
He lurched to his feet.
"Preposterous!" he barked, though his voice shook. "Oluson is under emergency strain. Green channel approvals are routine procedure. Young man, do not think you can use minor administrative irregularities to conceal your own espionage."
He wiped sweat from his upper lip.
"And slandering a Committee member in open court adds to your crimes."
Hodell turned to look at him fully.
His face remained calm.
"What if I have evidence?" he asked.
.....
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