Era kept a polite smile.
Raphael placed a hand on his shoulder. “But ultimately, I can say without a shadow of a doubt, that while you haven't earned my mercy...well, you have earned my respe—”
[Era — Voice of the True Savior]
“Touch me again, and you're a dead man.”
In less than half a second, Raphael fell on the floor, quivering. He stood up, with his jaw open wide, trying to form words.
Still, Era smiled.
“W-w-well, then,” said Raphael. “I try to rebuild the bridge between us, and this is the thanks I get?!”
Era nodded.
“Oh, go to Hell, Erasmus!”
He chuckled. “That's fair. You see the hurricane comin' on the horizon, and you wanna step out on your porch and tell it to go to Hell—you have every right to say that, I'll give you that much.”
Raphael stammered. He clutched a soul neutering syringe in his pocket.
“You should go,” said Era.
He did.
But not before he caught Noah, coming down the hall to join Era.
Raphael grabbed Noah by the edge of his robe and slammed him against the wall. “Where is Sarastro?”
Era swore under his breath for not sneaking a weapon past security.
“ANSWER ME, truthseer! Where's she hidi—”
“Sarastro is dead,” said Noah.
After two seconds of dead silence, Raphael dropped Noah. “Thank you very much, Friar Noah,” said the Prince, not thankful in the slightest, as he stomped away.
Noah ran up to Era and hugged him. “You look wonderful in that suit, Era!”
Era mumbled through his hair: “Okay, real talk, did something happen to—”
The healer giggled. “Sarastro is dead, but Titania's doing fine.”
The fencer smirked. Noah, my boy...you learn quickly.
As the minutes went by, Liv joined them. She didn't have any dresses, but her royal mercenary uniform was on hand. Apparently, she had been fired from the Royal Mercenary Corps as soon as she set foot back in Aries—apparently, going off to fight the Dark Lord still qualified as a no-call-no-show, but if the RMC wanted to complain about Liv keeping her uniform, they could direct their messages to the nearest flaming skull headed toward their faces.
1:45. The crowd had grown, and the reporters had mostly scattered. Noah was gone—off to pray for Era’s success at the Royal Cathedral.
A train of armored dwarves carried the Dwarf Queen, Iris Greyrock II, into the courtroom. The taciturn old queen scarcely ever left her litter, only peeking from behind her purple silk curtain to tell people to piss off.
Next was Gregor Koschei and his wife, with their entourage of bodyguards en route to the courtroom, and Era struggled to find a way to give him the finger without being noticed. Sadly, by the time the chance had presented itself, Gregor was already in the courtroom. Era groaned, dropping his ever-ready middle fingers back onto the bench.
Following him was the Koschei appointed provisional governor of Rosencrace—a withered old elvish bureaucrat of strategically little importance. He limped into the courtroom, unguarded and reeking of plum brandy.
Before the Princess’ inevitable dramatic entrance, Era felt a familiar left hand cover his right. Liv.
“You okay?” asked Era.
She sighed through her nose, staring out into the crowd.
That's a no, then.
“Give it to me straight, Slasher,” she said. “I know you're not supposed to have a defense attorney at a tetrabunal. You're gonna have to play a lawyer again. So, what are your chances of actually making it out of this?”
“It'll be fine. I've got a plan.”
She turned to him. “Please tell me it wasn't inspired by Phil Clippenclop. It was hard enough with the Seraph, and—” she paused, taking a deep breath. “Look. I'm gonna be honest. I have faith in you. But the Koscheis probably spent the past month finding a way to rig the trial, and you've had only a few days to get ready! I don't wanna say I'm scared or anything, so I'm just gonna...go ahead and be it.”
Dammit, I hate making her worry...
“Liv, there's not much of the plan I can talk about here. If you want more details, I'd say talk to my dad. But here's what I can tell you...” He motioned for her to come closer, so he could whisper, and she did. “No matter what the verdict is, I'm gonna be at your place tomorrow evening to hate-watch something.”
Her eye fires widened. “You think you can manage that?”
Era tapped the right pocket of his blazer. “Secret weapon, courtesy of our friend, Thoric. It didn’t even set off the metal detectors.”
She grinned. “You cheeky little bastard! There's just one problem.”
“Uh, can it be solved in less than three minutes? Because that's what we're working with.”
Liv laughed a little. “Not like that, ya dumbass. It's my place. I lived at the barracks, but that was when I still had the mercenary gig. Not half an hour after I got fired, they dumped all my stuff in the courtyard.”
“Man, seriously?”
“Yeah, I mean, I broke my C.O.'s nose on the way out, so I'm cool now.”
“So what, you're homeless? Or are you moving back to your aunt's place in Cape Dartley?”
She blushed, looking off to the side a little. “Well, uh, I kinda third-path'd it.”
“Hmm?”
“I was talkin' to your dad. I needed a new job, and he needed what he's calling an 'enforcer.' Kind of a bodyguard; someone to keep quest-grandma, can't say the name here, safe and hidden from the cops. They're apparently dating now.”
“Ugh. Don't remind me.”
“I know, right? Point being...uh...”
“Yeah?”
Silence. Liv's face turned crimson, and not from the eye fires. She grabbed Era's hand a little tighter.
“Anyway, since that's my new job, I'm...kinda moving into the bus with you. I mean, if that's okay, and doesn't creep you out or nothin'...does it?”
[Critical Hit!]
Judging from the vog-eating grin, Era became the least creeped-out person in Luminar's history.
She'll probably want a response to this. Okay. Play it cool. Deep breaths. Don't look too thirsty.
A firm double-tap on his left shoulder interrupted Era's newfound joi de vivre. He turned to meet Pamina—
[Pamina — Red Right Hand]
—'s open palm against his cheek.
Era fell against the floor, holding a hand to his aching cheek. Holy crap, that was way heavier than I thought it would be. Does she secretly bench press dragons in her spare time?
“Pammy, what the hell,” said Liv.
Focus, Era! You were just assaulted, this is not the time or place for—
“You have no idea what you’ve done, Sir Era,” said Pamina.
He raised a finger from the floor. “How perceptive, Your Blessed Imperial Candescence. What, exactly, did I do?”
“We needed that Cycle. It was my trump card against House Koschei. I could have exposed everything they’ve done by Crissmus, but you just had to play anarchist. Now Gregor’s got the upper hand, and I’m going to be stuck doing paperwork until Judgment Day.”
He got up, dusted off his suit, and pointed to the courtroom doors. “With respect, I don't think we're discussing this in the intended environment.”
“You're a dangerous fool, and you will be the death of us all.”
The most powerful politician in the Empire just said that. Now, I can die without regrets.
“I don't know what you're planning at this tetrabunal, but whatever comes of it, I will see justice done, and Argo as my witness, if you cock it up for me any further, you will never see her again.”
Liv scoffed. “Okay Pammy, first off, what the vog do I have to do with—”
“He knows who I mean, Liv.”
Pamina turned to enter the courtroom.
If Gena were weak, I'd be concerned about that. But we’re both outlaws, now. Even if I
haven’t found her yet, I’ll have more luck as an outlaw.
Era turned to Liv, “Is Noah gonna be okay?” He asked. “The last thing I wanna do is ruin his upcoming wedding by making him my accomplice.”
“Pammy's smarter than that,” said Liv. “Even if she doesn't see that you're doing the right thing now, she will in time.”
“And if she doesn't?”
“Then she never deserved a sweet guy like Minion in the first place. Win-win.”
Era smirked. “That’s the most Gualtieri thing I’ve heard all day.”
Just as Era was about to sit back down, a red light and a buzzer sounded from above the courtroom doors.
“It’s time,” said Liv, and after a quick hug—“You got this. Steal the Moon.”—she made her way back down the hall.
Era tried to not stare after her for too long. Having done so anyway, he turned to the doors, and took a deep breath.
YularTube — BREAKING NEWS — Erasmus Gualtieri War Crimes Tetrabunal
Posted 11/16/5211 at 2:00 PM OVST by AriesianEmpire.co.ar
[LIVE — ARCHIVED]
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Graveberry: Good afternoon, and on behalf of the Empire of Aries and the Holy Knights Templar, thank you all for coming. Due to the extreme circumstances surrounding the end of the most recent Dark Lord campaign, it is with a heavy heart that we commence the following tetrabunal for the leader of the Chosen Three. As moderator, I am joined by Her Blessed Imperial Candescence the Crown Princess of the Empire and Queen of Ovinium, Pamina O'Connell Belden the Fourth...
Pamina: Thank you, General.
Graveberry: Her Resplendent Excellency the Dwarf Queen of the Holy Kingdom of Dunngate, Iris Greyrock the Second...
[Note: Queen Iris is still in her palanquin.]
Iris: Get bent, Graveberry.
Graveberry: His Radiant—
Gregor: Aw, come on, General, no need to get all formal—it's just little ol' me!
[Roaring laughter and applause for about ten seconds.]
Graveberry: ...with the help of his wife as legal counsel—
Aurelia: Give me your teeth.
Graveberry: Maybe later. And the Provisional Governor of Occupied Rosencrace, Mr. Alonso Ferri.
Ferri: Where am I?
Graveberry: Erasmus Gualtieri, you stand—
Era: Hi.
Graveberry: Um, yes, hello. You stand accused of murder, high treason, disruption of the Dark Lord Cycle, warmongering, sabotage, sedition, insubordination, the attempted assassination of Prince Raphael Koschei, release of the Dark Lord Sarastro from a life sentence in the Tomb of Platonus, attempted omnicide by proxy, accessory to sale of stolen Koschei Munitions property to the black market, usage of your station for personal gain, trespassing on holy ground, unlicensed flight of a land vehicle, property damage at a value of over five billion G, and finally, riding a train without a ticket. How do you plead?
Era: I'll admit I did all those things, but they were all done under the DLNI act, so, not guilty. Except for the last one about the train. That one's a no-contest.
Graveberry: Very well. We may now begin—
Gregor: Just a moment, General.
[Gregor pulls out a gigantic three-ring binder, labeled “House Koschei Fill-in-the-Buster Playbook”]
Gregor: Before we get this trial into full gear, I've got a little somethin' to say, and it's one dilly of a doozy. Hope ya brought a sack lunch, kiddies—the Greggoman's about to get verbose!
Iris: I need a voggin' drink.
Pamina: Hope you brought enough for two, darling...
[Ten hours, three filibusters, five arrests, one makeshift bathroom in the northwest corner, three pizza deliveries, and five subpoenas later...]
[General Graveberry's power suit begins beeping incessantly. Queen Iris is snoring inside her palanquin. Governor Ferri has died in his sleep of natural causes at the age of 97—this will go unnoticed until after the trial. Aurelia picks at Ferri's corpse for insects.]
Gregor: ...the fat cat sat on the mat. Filibuster over!
Graveberry: I do hope you had fun, sir.
Gregor: Yes, indeedy!
Graveberry: Thankfully, it seems we're reaching the end of this sordid trial.
Pamina: General, we haven't even—
Graveberry: With respect, Your Blessed Imperial Candescence: if I don't leave this room within the next fifteen minutes, my suit will run out of reserve power, and I'll have to go back to Templar Tower on a forklift. Defendant, please rise.
[Due to the tragic accident that occurs three minutes from this mark, the archival footage of the tetrabunal ends here to remove sensitive content, as per the request of House Koschei and the General Henry Graveberry Memorial Foundation.]
[The defendant stands.]
Graveberry: Mr. Gualtieri, have you anything to say in your defense before judgment is pronounced on you?
Era: I just have a question. Why is ending the Dark Lord Cycle a crime?
Pamina: The balance of good and evil must be maintained, and the Cycle ensures this.
Iris: Yeah, ending the cycle would just bring untold chaos 'n' other crap.
Era: But it was a curse. It was Sarastro's way of continuing the Goblin War, keeping the humans suffering in her absence. All the Cycle has to contribute to the “balance” is dead civilians and corrupt celebrities. In short, the Cycle was a problem, so I solved it. That's what a Gualtieri's born to do; that's what my family's been doing since Old Lutero. How is problem-solving a crime?
Gregor: It's a crime because if it ain't broken, don't fix it. This is common sense, kid.
Era: I'm not saying it was broken.
Gregor: Good. Now, wrap it up, the General here needs to refuel.
Era: I'm saying that for you, the curse was working exactly as planned—keeping your “Island” running with all the collateral damage.
Iris: Hold on, hold on. What’s this about a bloody island?
Era: The island that Monty's Death March would apparently “keep running a little longer.” Just ask Raphael, he's the one who thought I'd forget that.
Pamina: Good grief...
Gregor: General, the defendant is clearly grasping for straws with these conspiracy theories. You are advised to ignore the defendant's irrelevant statement about this nonexistent island, and—
Aurelia: Nonexistent? You mean the Island's gone? What happened to it?
Gregor: Oh no, my wife is having a stroke, stop the trial now, please.
Era: Don't you worry, Mrs. Koschei. Tell me what you need from the Island, and maybe I could go get it for you elsewhere?
[Astrid — Hack]
[Gained control of General Graveberry's power suit!]
[In apparent exasperation, General Graveberry rests his forehead against his palm.]
Aurelia: Thank Gods, you are now my favorite Rosie! Okay, first, you need to get a bunch of dead people's souls, extract the—
[Astrid — Crush]
[A completely accidental suit malfunction occurs, and the fingers of the gauntlet close on the General’s head, turning him into a stream of war pixels cascading from his suit and filling the room.]
[Murdered General Graveberry!]
Iris: Never liked him anyways.
[Chaos erupts in the courtroom. Reporters swarm around Graveberry's empty power suit. Bailiffs attempt to keep order. Shouts of “don't panic” and “nobody move” and “order, order” fill the air.]
[Era — Shroudsguise]
[Visual Cloaking Illusion activated!]
[Identity Assumed: Bailiff #19]
[Just before the video feed cuts out, a scream from Pamina can be heard.]
Pamina: Where is the defendant?
A pair of templar elites power-trudged through the hallways of the Palace of Justice, barking orders to security guards. Terrified civilians and staff fled for the exits before a lockdown could be called.
One of the templars stumbled
as it bumped into a familiar man in a yellow suit.
“Watch it, jackass!” barked King Gregor.
“S-sorry, Your Majesty.”
As the King of Celsior walked away, the other templar noticed that His Majesty was walking with a limp in his right leg. The nagging possibility that they just broke the leg of a man who could have him killed with a hand gesture haunted him for all the next year.
Gregor, meanwhile, ran into one of his Greencoats—#17, to be precise.
“Awaiting instructions, sir!” said #17.
The King took a moment to get his bearings. “Right. Yeah. Instructions. Orders. The big to-do, as it were...”
Something was off about His Majesty; almost as if the Greencoat's presence scared him. To be fair, the King was under a lot of stress tonight, and had just gotten off ten straight hours of filibustering.
“Lessee, here,” continued Gregor. “The Rosie couldn't have gotten far. I'd say you oughta head to the exits and try to undo any lockdowns. Lure him into a false sense of security, y'know?”
“Understood,” said #17. “What about the protesters?”
“There are protesters?”
The Greencoat tilted his head. King Gregor had just gotten in a shouting match with one of the protesters this morning.
“Oh, those protesters. Right, no worries. Low blows mean we gotta prove we're better. Ignore 'em and they'll go away.”
“With respect, sir, some of them are armed.”
“What, they want a medal? 'Oh, hey guys, I'm armed!' So's a possum with a laser pointer; doesn't make ‘em special. Ignore.”
“Understood,” said #7. “What should we tell #39?”
“You're saying, Greencoat #39 is here?”
“Affirmative. Your wife sent him to deal with the protesters.”
“The one who was in Nabucco five years ago.”
“Affirmative.” #17 chuckled at the memory. “We call him 'the Rosienator',” he mumbled. “Y'know, cuz...I mean, he really likes killin' Rosies, or...something. I'll shut up now.”
Neverstone: A LitRPG Adventure (The Mad Elf Book 1) Page 49
