On the morning three days later, in the square outside the Salem Tribunal.
The square was now a dense sea of people. From well-dressed wealthy merchants and arrogant nobles to dust-covered workers and sallow-faced paupers, nearly all of Salem's residents had gathered here.
Amidst the crowd, Serafina and Taylor the blacksmith stood together.
Serafina wore an inconspicuous gray cloak, the hood pulled down low, revealing only the curve of her fair chin.
Her eyes were closed as she used her Originium Arts to sense the surrounding electrical signals.
"So many people," Taylor the blacksmith said in his booming voice.
"Don't be nervous, Taylor," Serafina's voice was soft. "Remember what Mr. Lacey said. Today, we are merely spectators."
"But I..." Taylor gritted his teeth.
"I'm afraid I won't be able to hold back."
"Then watch me," Serafina opened her eyes. "If you feel like doing something, just look at me. As long as I don't move, you can't move either."
Taylor nodded heavily.
On the other side of the square, on a second-floor balcony with an excellent view, Count Leinia was holding a glass of red wine, looking down with great interest at the scene below.
A butler with a solemn expression stood beside her.
"Quite a spectacular sight, isn't it?" Leinia swirled the wine glass, the scarlet liquid tracing an arc on its side.
"To think a country bumpkin could stir up such a storm."
"My lady, are we truly going to do nothing?" the butler asked in a low voice.
"If... and I mean if, that Lacey is sentenced to death, the slums will likely riot immediately."
"And so what?" Leinia chuckled lightly.
"They'll riot, then be suppressed by the City Guard, and blood will flow like a river."
"Those great lords above won't care if Salem is severely weakened afterward. They only care about their own prestige."
"I, for one, would like to see just what this Lacey plans to do..."
Her gaze was profound; no one knew what the Count was planning.
...
"Clang—"
"Clang—"
"Clang—"
The bell of the Tribunal rang out, and the square instantly fell silent. Everyone's gaze focused on the slowly opening main gate.
Two columns of fully armed guards marched out first, lining the sides of the steps. Immediately after, Lacey emerged, escorted by four guards.
He was still dressed in the same coarse, faded clothes, with heavy shackles on his wrists and ankles.
With every step, the chains dragged on the ground, making a 'clank' sound.
But his face showed not a trace of a prisoner's despair. His back was ramrod straight, his steps steady, and his gaze swept calmly over the thousands of faces in the square.
In the crowd, the eyes of many Workers' Party members instantly reddened at the sight.
Their leader, the man who had taught them to stand tall, was now in chains.
Lacey was escorted onto a temporarily constructed high platform for the trial. Behind a long table on the platform sat three people.
In the center was the chief judge, a stern-faced, white-haired old man named Alistair, known in Salem for his strictness and impartiality.
To the left was the prosecutor, a greasy-haired, foppish middle-aged man who was a loyal lapdog of the Elector.
To the right was the scribe, who was busy preparing to take notes.
The prosecutor, Valerius, shot Lacey a disdainful glance, stood up, cleared his throat, and began to read his prepared indictment in an exaggerated tone.
"Silence! The Salem Tribunal is now in session! The trial of the traitor—Lacey!"
His voice, amplified by a crude Originium-powered loudspeaker, spread throughout the entire square.
"The defendant, Lacey, a mere commoner, has failed to consider serving the nation and has disregarded the benevolence of the Empresses. He harbors treacherous intentions and wolf-like ambitions!"
"First, he has openly incited the populace, spread seditious remarks, slandered our nation's noble class, and provoked class conflict, intending to subvert the sacred order of Leithanien that has lasted for a millennium! This is the crime of inciting rebellion!"
"Second, he has illegally formed an armed organization called the 'Workers' Party,' hoarded weapons, seized factories, and openly defied the City Guard, showing no regard for the laws of the nation! This is the crime of organizing an insurrection!"
"Third, his words and deeds have severely endangered the national security of Leithanien, shaking the very foundations of the state!"
"Considering all the above, the defendant, Lacey, is guilty of treason! His crimes are monstrous and too numerous to count!"
"I request that the Tribunal sentence him to the ultimate penalty, to be carried out publicly, to serve as a warning to others, and to uphold the laws of Leithanien!"
Valerius finished his tirade in one breath and sat down with a smug look, watching Lacey provocatively as if he could already see him on the gallows.
From the area where the nobles were gathered in the square, a wave of supportive applause and cheers erupted.
Meanwhile, the people from the slums clenched their fists tightly, a flame of anger burning in their chests, yet suppressed by a heavy sense of powerlessness.
There was nothing they could do.
It had always been this way.
The chief judge, Alistair, remained expressionless. He glanced at the impassioned prosecutor, then at the placid Lacey, and rapped his gavel.
"Defendant Lacey, how do you plead to the prosecutor's charges?"
In an instant, all eyes in the square focused on the young man in shackles.
Lacey slowly raised his head, his gaze passing over the judge and prosecutor to the thousands of people below.
He could feel countless gazes—mixed with worry, anger, and hope—fixed upon him.
He smiled calmly and spoke: "Your Honor, before I answer your question, I would like to ask the prosecutor a question of my own."
Everyone was stunned.
The defendant questioning the prosecutor? This was unheard of in the Tribunal.
Prosecutor Valerius frowned. "You are not entitled to ask questions!"
"And why not?" Lacey's voice suddenly rose.
"Or is it that on this Leithanien tribunal, a man about to be sentenced to death doesn't even have the right to speak a few last words? Or perhaps, Mr. Prosecutor, you are afraid?"
"Nonsense! What do I have to be afraid of?" Valerius was incensed.
"If you're not afraid, then why won't you let me ask?" Lacey pressed.
Judge Alistair was silent for a moment before rapping his gavel again. "Permission granted. But you may only ask one question."
Lacey gave the judge a slight nod of acknowledgment, then turned his gaze to Valerius and asked with piercing eyes, "Mr. Prosecutor, you just accused me of treason. So I would like to ask, what exactly is treason?"
"What is treason?"
Prosecutor Valerius looked as though he had just heard the greatest joke in the world. He began to laugh exaggeratedly, his corpulent body trembling with the motion.
"You ask me what treason is? You organize thugs, defy the state, and divide the people—that is treason! Do I really need to teach you such a simple concept?"
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