"... That is all."
K-Thud!
"Your Honor!"
Before he could fully stand, Gustin Trynell glared down at the utterly disappointed prosecutor's table.
"The trial has ended. Therefore, I'm no longer the acting judge of this courtroom. You will address me properly, now knowing that fact."
"Y-yes, of course. You have our apologies, Count Trynell."
Solemnly nodding, Gustin Trynell maintained his glare on the prosecutors.
"Now tell me, what's wrong? Did you not push for the man's conviction earlier, even hoping for his miserable execution?"
The leading prosecutor humbly bowed his head. "That we did… My Lord."
"Then you should be thanking me with grand enthusiasm," Count Gustin sarcastically bellowed through his unmoving frown. "There could be no death more miserable than that of an eternal crawler, bound to the dungeon for life, never to see daylight again. Only the ripping of limbs and the tearing of flesh from monsters to bring the convicted's worthless life to an end.
"That's everything you could've wanted and more, is it not?
"... Or were you hoping for some other death sentence?"
"W-we're more than ecstatic with your final sentencing, My Lord. It's a truly deplorable end, worthy of that cursed demon orphan."
With that, Count Gustin turned away with a heft shake of his head. "Now that the property is seized by the crown, neither you nor I can touch it. Whether it's the included restaurant of great fame and wealth or the world-famous recipes crafted by the hand of the deceased, even dukes would have to appeal to His Majesty in hopes of negotiating the rights.
"Was that clear enough for you all, you vow-breaking bastards?"
"Y-yes, My Lord! Perfectly clear!"
Every prosecutor was already fleeing the courtroom before they could express their farewells.
Of course, Count Gustin didn't care about that. He was also in a hurry to leave, and more than eager to end his night with a long, hot bath at his estate.
'Thank you.'[1]
The count stopped his footsteps the moment that telepathic message reached him. Flabbergasted, Count Gustin Trynell looked back to the man he just convicted and sentenced to the most miserable end, the agonizing life of a crawler.
And yet… Gart was bowing to the count once more, with a blinding smile warm enough to radiate sunshine.
"... You–"
'Thank you for protecting his legacy. For doing something I've terribly failed to accomplish,' Gart's telepathy cut the count off.
Next, the count replied with his own telepathy, 'You're… a mage?'
'No. Not anymore,' Gart mentally chuckled.
But that only left Count Trynell further baffled. 'There are no records of you using true magic. Reports stated that you struggled with even homestead magic. That you gained your brawn doing everything the hard way, not even capable of igniting a fire with the simplest ember spell… Yet here you are casting intermediate telepathy with ease?'
'If you want to know more,' Gart mentally explained, 'find and protect my sister. If you investigate the truth behind all this and find the real killer, I'm sure she'll happily serve you and your family.'
Physically taken aback, the count readjusted his footing.
'Your sister? As in, Thomas Ramsey's only daughter? Why would I need her services when her blessing isn't related to her father's culinary legacy? I thought hers was an insignificant blessing, not worthy of note?'
Gart gave the confused count one last wave.
'Who said you need a specific job to be good at magic? After all, I'm just a cursed demon orphan, ain't I?'
In that instant, the stars aligned within the count's mind, enough to shatter what Count Gustin thought was common sense and reason of the world.
'How... Just how in the name of Father Earth are you casting intermediate magic as a cursed child? How are you using mana at all?'
But the count got no answer. All he noticed was Gart walking toward the nearest guard to be escorted to his holding cell.
'W-wait!? That's impossible by every metric! You can't expect me to help that girl without a proper explanation–'
'Not every metric.'
Gart mentally chuckled as he followed the guards out of the courtroom.
'If you want to learn more about what modern magic lacks, protect my sister. But convincing her to help you might be difficult. She'd rather die than help the nobleman who sentenced her brother to be a crawler.
'That is, unless you also became the nobleman to find her father's true killer and undo her brother's death sentence. I've already given you enough hints to jumpstart a real investigation.
'Good luck!'
Thoom…
The courtroom's double doors slammed shut, forcing the count to end the telepathic conversation there.
In reality, it wasn't all that loud compared to the chatter of the exiting audience.
For Count Gustin Trynell, however, it was like a trumpet blaring through the battlefield. It felt as if a flash of opportunity had escaped his grasp as quickly as it had appeared. All that was left was a trail of embers that may or may not resolve the barrage of questions now orbiting his brain.
"... Vara Ramsey… Will an eighteen-year-old commoner with no academy experience or remarkable blessing be so capable? … Enough so to warrant me to beg her?"
Count Gustin softly mumbled his thoughts as he exited the courtroom through a side door.
He knew it sounded preposterous by every metric he could imagine. Yet… he'd already failed to fathom how a man with no blessing could effortlessly use intermediate magic. Compared to such a feat, learning of a girl from a wealthy commoner family with a weak blessing do the same isn't so far-fetched.
That's what Count Trynell came to think. At least, until he wondered one more thing.
"... There's no way a cursed child with no blessing could wield advanced magic… right?"
And once that question popped into his mind, it would never leave. Not until he found out the answer and the cause.
While the curious count was on the verge of a mental breakdown, Gart was shoved back into his small holding cell for the night. All that awaited him was the stone floor and an odorous wooden bucket in the corner.
"Thanks for the free lodging! I think you forgot my free meal!"
Before Gart could laugh, a sliding partition opened at the bottom of the cell door, and a wooden tray clattered into the holding cell.
"That's much better! Now I'd bump the rating up to two stars. I'll make it three if you can pass me a blanket!"
"Shut up! Or we'll shut your mouth for you!"
Shrugging and chuckling, Gart waited for the guards to leave. Then he sat up against the cell wall and picked up the battered food tray.
"Guess I they can't spare much for my kind of clientele. I can work with that."
Gart flicked a piece of the leathery, dried meat.
"Hmm… expired donkey jerky… what pairing for my week-old bread brick."
With no eyes or ears nearby, Gart extended his index finger. Less than a second later, a flaming aura gathered and formed a small blade.
One swipe of the finger was all it took to cut the small but hard bread loaf in half. A tinge of steam also rose from the bread's now toasted surface.
"Now, we'll put the two halves back together and warm it from the crust. That should soften the inside at least a little.
"And as for the ass jerky… This might be the best I can do."
While one hand held the bread with a flicker of warm mana, Gart's second hovered over the jerky on the tray as beads of warm water gathered under his fingers. Slowly, the warm water gently embraced the jackass jerky, adding a touch of rehydration to the aggressively dried meat strips.
"Mmmm, what a feast for my great sendoff. I'll have to savor it since not even the gods know if they'll feed me on the road."
KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!
"Aghhh… Who dares to disturb my precious meal time?"
[1] ( ' ' ) will be used instead of ( " " ) when characters are conversing via telepathy.