The Council Chamber pulsed with a silent, suffocating pressure that seemed to vibrate through the black marble floor, coiling up Martin's legs like ghostly serpents. His shadow pooled beneath him, flickering faintly with stray embers of reddish-black mana as he stood before the seven veiled Councilors.
The chamber itself was vast, circular, carved from rune-reinforced black marble veined with silvery threads that glowed dimly under floating glyph-lamps. Seven colossal stone thrones loomed in a half-ring around the raised obsidian dais at its heart. Above them all, on his elevated seat, sat Headmaster Woldamort, robes draped around him like a cocoon of midnight fog, his ancient face impassive.
Martin stood with his hands folded behind his back, eyes half-lidded as if bored by the grandeur.
Fifteen minutes had passed since he arrived, filled with silent scrutiny as the council whispered among themselves.
Finally, the lead Councilor raised a wrinkled hand, draped in violet ceremonial sleeves.
"Interrogator, come forward."
Belisarius stepped onto the dais. His usual combat robes had been replaced by a formal ceremonial set: black plated sleeves etched with the crest of House Varncrest, steel greaves, and over his hands, Compliance – the lie-detecting gauntlets forged from true silver and bound truth-spirits. Glyphs pulsed softly across their surfaces as he flexed his fingers once before folding them neatly at his waist.
"Martin Kaiser," the lead Councilor intoned, voice echoing through the rune-amplified space. "You stand accused of multiple violations: transgressions against Imperial Educational Conduct, unsanctioned usage of lethal force, excessive psychological warfare upon noble heirs, and destabilization of an Empire-sanctioned training event. Do you understand the nature of these charges?"
Martin blinked once, languidly. "No."
A silence thicker than blood settled in the room.
"Clarify your response," the Councilor snapped.
"I don't understand them," Martin said flatly, tilting his head just slightly, as if observing a curious insect. "You asked if I understand the nature of these charges. I don't. They're meaningless."
At those words, Belisarius's eyes narrowed fractionally, a muscle twitching in his jaw. 'What the hell are you doing?' he thought, as Compliance's glyph arrays flickered in agitation.
Belisarius spoke, voice calm but resonating across the silent chamber. "Martin Kaiser, do you deny deploying lethal-level magic against your fellow students during the Wargames?"
"Yes," Martin replied without hesitation. "The battle grounds are supposed to be equipped enough to stop spells or artifacts above a certain threshold. If they weren't, that is a failure of the Academy, not mine."
The Councilor of House Varncrest leaned forward slightly, his illusion veil distorting to reveal glimpses of deep blue robes beneath. "You claim that the usage of a Destruction Mortar—death-magic enhanced—was within acceptable training parameters?"
"It was within the parameters of the field's protective systems," Martin said, voice calm, empty red eyes staring into the council's blurred visages without a flicker of fear. "If those systems were deemed inadequate for students participating, that is a failure of whoever approved them."
Gasps echoed softly among the hidden attendants and scribes positioned behind protective glyph barriers.
The Councilor of House Mistral, her voice colder than glacier ice, spoke next. "Do you acknowledge that the psychological trauma inflicted upon the students was intentional?"
"Yes," Martin said, tilting his head again. "Mental magic is a part of war. Fear is a weapon like any other. What I did was within parameters."
A third Councilor, robed in scarlet veils of House Aurelius, snapped, "And you think that justifies having 230 students crying and writhing in fear, screaming for twelve nights after the event? Some remain sedated to this moment."
"Yes," Martin replied simply, a faint smile twitching across his lips, though it never reached his eyes. "If someone is foolish enough to underestimate a war, they deserve it. Whether it be having their children mauled or having their hearts gouged out."
'You nihilistic idiot,' Belisarius thought, feeling his stomach twist painfully, but his face remained impassive as Compliance flickered a pale green along his wrists, registering Martin's unwavering honesty.
Belisarius exhaled and asked, voice softer than before but heavy with layered sadness, "Do you feel no remorse for what you inflicted on them, Martin?"
"Remorse?" Martin turned his gaze to him, empty crimson eyes meeting Belisarius's deep grey ones without a flicker. "For teaching them reality?"
He gestured outward with a small flick of his fingers, as if indicating an invisible battlefield beyond the walls. "Independents like me were supposed to raise Varncrest's standards, standards that have been drowning in mud for decades. So, let every bloated idiot know: these are the standards."
His voice cut through the chamber like rusted wire through flesh, leaving a ringing silence in its wake.
From his throne, Woldamort stirred slightly, his dark eyes half-shut beneath heavy lids, watching Martin with the expression of a man observing both a firestorm and its solitary ember.
The Councilor of House Fargus spoke next, his tone carrying the regal arrogance of generations. "You speak of war, but this is a school, not a battlefield."
"No," Martin corrected softly, his smile sharpening to something predatory. "This is Varncrest. And Varncrest is a forge. If they cannot endure heat, they were impurities from the start."
At that, murmurs broke out among the veiled councilors. One slammed a rune-carved gavel against her seat, sending shockwaves of vibrating glyph-light down the dais.
"Silence," she snapped. "Enough philosophy. Interrogator Belisarius, submit your analysis."
Belisarius inhaled deeply, his gaze lingering on Martin for a moment that felt almost like mourning. Then he spoke, his voice echoing across the chamber with finality.
"Compliance registers no falsehood. Martin Kaiser's responses are consistent with his internal logic and perception of reality. He feels no remorse. He believes fully in his actions. He speaks truth."
The Council fell silent.
Above them, Headmaster Woldamort finally opened his eyes fully. The ancient man regarded Martin with an inscrutable calm that belied the swirling currents of mana coiling around his throne.
"Martin Kaiser," Woldamort said quietly, his voice carrying even without amplification, "Your fate will be decided after recess. The Council will deliberate. Until then, you are confined to the North Tower."
Martin inclined his head in a shallow, almost mocking bow.
"Understood."
As guards approached, Fenice watched from the gallery above, fingers clenched white around the stone rail. Beside him, Diemo's eyes gleamed with a dark, amused pity.
"Don't look so worried, golden boy," she said under her breath. "They can't kill a monster like him. They'll just keep feeding it until it eats something they hate more."
And below, as Martin turned to follow the guards out, his smile returned—small, cold, and echoing with secrets no tribunal could ever read.