"Whew!"

Eyes immediately turned toward Garrick. The man had begun fanning the air in front of his face, his expression twisted in disgust.

"The hell is that smell? Did someone drag a wagon full of shit in here? Ah, damn, I can barely breathe."

Koran’s face darkened. This rotten fool...

"I am sick and tired of your blasphemous antics! Who do you think you are!?"

"Oh, you’re sick and tired?" Garrick grinned. "Perfect. Then let’s knock heads. One punch. Right here. If that doesn’t fix your mood, I’ll give you a second."

Koran’s jaw tightened.

"You...!"

"That’s enough."

Garaxe interrupted, throwing a disapproving glance toward Garrick, who merely chuckled, and another toward Koran, who released a sharp huff.

"We’ve yet to hear from Zephyrion himself." His gaze settled on Zephyrion. It was difficult to tell what the Grand Marshal thought of the situation. Was he for him? Was he against him?

"You brought her in. What do you think?"

Koran clicked his tongue, clearly displeased that Zephyrion’s opinion was being entertained at all, but remained silent. Zephyrion didn’t miss the pretense.

He allowed a brief silence to linger, ensuring every eye in the room was on him before he finally spoke.

"I grew up in Calderalth. Since childhood, the importance of blood and the weight of the Calderalth name have been ingrained into me. We rule the South not merely because of our name, but because of the foundation laid by those who came before us. Every generation since has upheld that legacy and added to it."

He allowed the silence to stretch, then spoke;

"The Calderalth name is heavy."

The room listened in silence, several eyes narrowed. Garrick’s grin only widened.

"Lumi might have been a Sarakhel in the past. I wouldn’t know. She might have done something. She might have sinned. However, she now bears the Calderalth name. She has fought for Calderalth. She is Calderalth."

"And I will not abandon her."

Bloodlust seeped from Zephyrion’s body, washing over the hall and momentarily freezing every soul.

Zephyrion stood like a mountain, unmovable.

For a brief moment, silence reigned. Then Garrick burst into laughter.

"Oh heavens, I love this boy so fucking much!"

Ingrid remained silent, her expression hardening slightly. Garaxe wore a distant look, as though Zephyrion’s words had stirred something buried deep within him.

High Forgemaster Tenius merely watched with a faintly cold gaze. Zephyrion silently took note of it.

But Koran... a sharp scoff cut through Garrick’s laughter.

"So what?" he asked. "Are you saying the Calderalth name stands above the Iron Father? Above our divine god?"

Such words were enough to turn the entire Ferran Empire against Calderalth. It would mean war. Not against one house. Not against one dynasty. Against all of them.

Zephyrion knew that.

"No."

"Then what exactly is all this?" Koran sneered. "Her sin is against the Iron Father. The Calderalth name doesn’t place her above judgment."

"I realize that."

It was unfortunate. But it was the world they lived in. Zephyrion hated the system, but hatred changed nothing. He was still too weak, still powerless. For now, he could only play within the rules of the game.

"But as Calderalth, I cannot abandon her."

Zephyrion met Koran’s gaze directly, and the tension in the hall seemed to sharpen.

"I will represent her in the Iron Tribunal."

Koran’s eyes widened, but Zephyrion could see the look of delight hidden within them.

He wanted this.

This had been their objective from the beginning. The destination they had been steering him toward from the moment Koran arrived at the banquet.

Zephyrion’s gaze shifted toward the others. Ingrid was staring at him in open shock. Garaxe’s eyes had narrowed. Even Garrick now wore a deep frown.

Zephyrion focused on Lumi’s tight grip, his face indifferent. They think they have him cornered. They think they’ve already won.

He would prove them wrong.

...

The meeting ended not long after that.

Koran had pretended to contemplate the matter before eventually deciding it was "fair" and accepting.

The tribunal was set for dawn the next day.

The Iron Tribunal was church-sanctioned, typically reserved for matters concerning the church. Its purpose was to give perpetrators or victims an opportunity to present their case before the church’s higher-ups and the people. After that, a verdict would be delivered. Officially, it was meant to be fair.

The reason for Garrick’s, Ingrid’s, and Garaxe’s shock stemmed from one simple fact. The people were slaves to the Sarakhels. They owned the tribunal. Turning public opinion against a seventeen-year-old child would be as easy as breathing.

Zephyrion left immediately after the meeting concluded, ignoring the trio’s attempts to stop him. He returned to his mansion, where Lumi promptly buried herself beneath her blanket once more.

Then he simply stood by the window. Watching. Thinking. This was what the Sarakhels wanted.

For him, Zephyrion Calderalth, to publicly stand beside a criminal before the entire South. They wanted to discredit him. To tarnish his reputation. To make him hated.

The Iron Father was not merely a god to the Ferrans. He was divine. Anyone who stood against the Iron Father stood against the empire itself. 𝚏𝕣𝐞𝗲𝐰𝕖𝐛𝐧𝕠𝕧𝚎𝚕.𝐜𝚘𝗺

’Tomorrow...’

The blazing sun slowly sank beyond the horizon while the silver moon rose to claim its place. Still, Zephyrion remained by the window.

Whoosh.

His eyes sharpened. A barrier spread outward, sealing the room and preventing even the faintest sound from escaping.

"Enter."

A figure slipped through the window before immediately dropping to one knee.

"Y-young lord... I apologize, but your ward has been sitting by the door all day, and I couldn’t really..."

The last time she had peeked through his window had become an experience she never wished to repeat.

"What did you find?"

"I-I found this."

Kilo quickly nodded and produced several items. A miniature statue of the Iron Father. A strip of cloth embroidered with the symbol of the Ferran faith.

The Sarakhel sigil.

Zephyrion’s eyes narrowed slightly.

"I discovered all of this in a hidden compartment belonging to one of the maids, young lord."

"Whose?"

Kilo hesitated for a moment, then she answered;

"The Head Maid, young lord... Betty."