Do not correct a fool,or he will hate you.
Correct a wise man and he will appreciate you.
....
My initial plan was to just get over with whatever random bullshit they threw at me and get the hell out of here.
Smile, nod, say a few vague things and vanish before anyone got clever.
But now, from the looks of it... yeah, that plan's already sinking faster than my confidence.
Elda escorted me back to the Judgment Chamber the same cold, echoey hall where I met my brand-new father figure yesterday. The scene had changed, though. I expected a couple of new faces. Two or three at most. What I walked into instead felt more like... an exhibition.
The chamber was filled. Twenty people? Thirty? Maybe more.
All dressed like they were going to a royal wedding or a public execution. Judging by their faces, probably the latter.
Both sides of the hall were lined with people in expensive outfits, eyeing me like some misplaced piece of furniture.
Who the hell is this guy? That was the unspoken chorus written across every expression.
Some stared with solemn, calculating eyes. Others wrinkled their noses like I carried a stench. And a few... oh, a few were enjoying this.
Smiling. Whispering.
Watching me like I was about to trip
and fall on my face.
Yeah, they were way too excited.
This was going to be fun for them, at least.
Elda and I walked straight down the center aisle, like it was some twisted wedding march. As we moved, the crowd parted to the sides.
Members of my "new family" stepped aside, creating a path. Like they were giving me the stage.
I could feel every step echoing off the walls, all eyes stuck on me.
Great. I'm the star of this show.
And this? This had the exact setup of someone being staged for a grand, public downfall.
A classic noble spectacle.
Or maybe I was just being paranoid.
Still... the air in this room felt heavy. Suspiciously ceremonial.
I forced myself to look around, trying to get familiar with the setting. Not that it helped. Still weird. Still unnerving.
"Elda," I muttered, low enough for just her to hear. "Who are these people?
I mean, isn't this a bit much of a crowd for my trial?"
Without even glancing at me, she answered calmly,
"These are all respectable heads and members of nearby noble houses. Since it's considered a relevant event, your father requested their presence."
"Ah. Of course he did," I muttered.
"Father of the year."
I didn't say it loud, but my tone was bitter enough.
Then, out of nowhere, Elda stopped. Without warning, she let go of my arm and stepped away from my side. Just like that, I was standing alone at the center of the hall, under a high archway like a spotlight had been dropped on me.
"Elda—" I turned, but she was already moving to the sidelines with the others.
"Oh... right. Sure. Leave me here. No problem."
Insecurity crept in, slow and sharp. I held it down. Didn't let it show. My instincts screamed to follow her like a lost dog, but instead, I stood my ground.
I glanced around again, trying to compose myself, scanning the audience properly now.
Elda hadn't lied. The people gathered here weren't randoms. Some were old men with creased foreheads and sharp eyes. Some were elderly women with layered jewelry and expressions carved from marble.
And then there were the younger ones probably their children or protégés some bearing similar facial features.
All of them watching.
Inspecting me.
Like I was an animal on trial.
Like I was the entertainment. Or the sacrifice.
"Mm... let's get this over with"
I muttered under my breath.
"Oh, sure, young master" a voice answered smoothly beside me. I turned
It was the priest I saw yesterday. Fredrick, I think.
"Everything is ready," he said with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"But you'll have to wait. Your father is the main attraction today."
"Ah, Mr. Fredrick," I forced a thin smile. "How's your day?"
I had no idea what else to say to this guy.
"Oh, it's fine," he said pleasantly.
"But it's about to get entertaining soon. Your relatives here " he gestured subtly to the crowd "they're all here to be a part of it."
"Ohhh. Entertainment" I repeated.
Yeah. That sinking feeling in my gut?
It got heavier.
Honestly, I was surprised no one had started badmouthing me already. That's usually how these noble types begin, right? Whisper campaigns, smug little jabs, exaggerated sighs. That's the cliché.
But here...
They were just staring. As if someone had put a muzzle spell on the entire room.
Then finally something shifted.
The silence cracked, barely, as murmurs stirred like a breeze through dead trees.
A sound echoed from the rear entrance. Heels clicking. Steps with weight.
That's when I felt it everyone's attention suddenly snapping like wires pulled taut.
The atmosphere thickened.
The boss has arrived.
The head of the house.
That so-called father figure.
No... the name was more fitting.
Dawn was here.
The heavy doors creaked open, their groan echoing through the chamber like a warning.
The crowd turned, almost in unison, as if a signal had passed through them.
There he was.
Dawn.
The head of this grand, mysterious house. The man they all whispered about in hushed tones.
And right beside him, walking in graceful step, was his daughter the same sharp-eyed girl from yesterday.
On his other side: someone new.
A man I didn't recognize. Tall, brown hair,clean-cut, with the kind of quiet authority that didn't need to announce itself.
He carried no weapon, wore no extravagant cloak just simple, well-fitted clothes with a dignified air.
A deep blue shirt with subtle embroidery, pants that matched the room's seriousness. And in his hand...
A ball?
No,on closer look, it was a crystal, faintly glowing, swirling softly like mist trapped inside.
Some sort of artifact? Or maybe just a stress toy for nobles. Who knows.
He didn't speak. He didn't need to.
His presence alone earned him space.
Dawn himself was dressed plainly too. No golden robes or jeweled rings.
Just a crisp grey shirt and black-textured coat with faint silver lining understated, yet calculated
The daughter mirrored his style. Same colors. Same poised expression. Same aura of quiet sharpness.
The kind of coordination that screamed: We belong together.
We dominate this room.
I stood there, trying not to let the weight of it all crush me. The tension that had been gradually wrapping around my chest was now practically a noose.
So I did what any slightly panicking person would do,I put on a smile.
Small. Half-fake. Thin as paper.
Whatever this guy says, just ignore it and leave. Smile. Nod. Walk. Breathe. Repeat.
Simple plan. Nice and clean.
While I was busy mentally listing escape routes,Dawn ascended a small raised platform at the front of the hall. No grand throne or gleaming structure just a mild podium with a sturdy chair. He moved like someone used to being watched.
His daughter flanked his left. The stranger, right.
Still silent. Still unreadable.
I couldn't tell if this was some symbolic arrangement or just casual intimidation. Either way, I didn't like being the only one still on the floor, standing like left alone.
Trying to break the suffocating air, I blurted out the first thing that came to mind:
"Good morning, Dad..."
Yeah. That just came out.
The moment it hit the air, I cringed.
Oh crap. Really? That's what I opened with?
Dawn's gaze met mine. Not cold. Not cruel. But something worse,disappointed.
A weary sigh under his breath, and then he answered with a bitter curve of his mouth.
"Sorry, son. It's not that good for me."
Ouch.
Silence followed. Heavy. Lingering. His daughter didn't even blink.
And the unknown man? Still unreadable, standing like a statue with that crystal calmly rotating in his palm.
Then finally, someone decided to breathe life back into the room.
"Since Lord Dawn is here"
Fredrick spoke up with his usual too-pleasant tone "shall we begin?"
His voice was the first spark of normalcy in the room. Everyone shifted slightly, like they'd been holding their breath.
And just like that, the stage was set. The audience ready.
I stood dead center alone, watched, and unknowingly cast in a play I hadn't read the script for.
"Before we proceed with the trial" the priest said, his voice echoing lightly across the stone hall, "does anyone have questions? Or suggestions?"
His eyes landed on me briefly before scanning the room. The silence that followed was thick. A few nobles shifted in their seats. Most just stared.
The priest drew a quiet breath, then continued.
"Since it's rare to have a case like this, I'll explain the situation clearly, while all noble houses are present."
He turned slightly, gesturing toward me.
"This is Lynn Blake. As many of you know, he's lost all memory of the events that led him here. He cannot confirm or deny the crimes, nor recall anything about his role or standing among the noble circles."
He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in.
"Not long ago, he was sentenced by divine law for the slaughter of multiple children within the church grounds. No motive, no defense. Whether it was madness, possession, or something darker is still uncertain. But the punishment was carried out."
A ripple of discomfort moved through the crowd.
"And that punishment," he continued, "was the complete nullification of his mana. Every drop. Stripped clean.
As far as the Church was concerned, a man without mana should not survive. Yet he did."
"Excuse me, Mr. Fredrick" a smooth voice cut in.
"Could you elaborate on that a bit more?"
I turned my head slightly toward the interruption.
Didn't even need to look to know this guy was trouble.
There he was. Draped in dark green finery like he was attending a banquet, not a trial. Pale blond hair, the kind that screamed nobility well-groomed, maybe a little too perfect. His face looked like it was carved from marble. Too polished. Too smooth.
Probably magic. Or makeup. Or both.
He didn't even glance in my direction. Just kept his eyes forward like I wasn't even here.
What a noble bastard. Can't even acknowledge the man you're asking about?
The priest gave him a tight smile.
"In simple terms," he said,
"the mana purge should have killed him. When a mage loses all mana, the body destabilizes. The system collapses. That's what we've always believed. But Lynn Blake... survived. He's walking proof that our understanding is incomplete or wrong."
A low murmur spread through the crowd. Some curious. Some skeptical.
And then I heard it. Soft laughter. Suppressed, but unmistakable.
Mocking.
God, I could feel the heat rising in my chest. No idea why it bothered me this much but it did. Something about being talked over. Laughed at. Labeled.
I clenched my jaw.
"Now" the priest added, his tone harder now, "the question before us isn't just about what happened. It's about what happens next."
He looked at me again.
And this time, he didn't look away.
Like everyone else, I was curious about what was going to happen to me.
This whole "trial" thing didn't feel unfamiliar it reminded me of those quality assessments at the hospital.
You know, the ones where our so-called superiors, convinced they're the smartest people in the room (they're not), try to rattle us with pointless questions or scream at us just to soothe their own frustrations.
Getting yelled at by higher-ups isn't new to me. I've always known that's about the worst they can do. But this… this feels different. These fantasy setups always hide something under the surface like there's a script being followed, and someone, or something, is turning the pages.
Right now, the one holding the script is Dawn.
And the narrator was this priest guy.
I raised my hand slowly, deliberately like a student asking a question in a class that might just decide their life.
"May I, Mr. Fredrick?" I said, my voice steady despite the knot tightening in my chest. "Can you just tell me exactly what I need to do to prove myself innocent here?"
"Innocent?"
The priest spoke the word first, but it didn't stop there. It rolled off the lips of others like a cold wind sweeping through a graveyard. Innocent.
They said it like it was a curse. Like I had no right to speak it.
A beat of silence followed, heavy and pointed.
Then came her voice,calm, commanding, and sharp enough to cut glass.
"Lynn, stop."
All eyes shifted to her. The sister figure. The only one who didn't flinch when I met her gaze.
"You are not innocent. You already are a murderer whether you remember it or not."
She took a step forward, her tone as final as a judge's gavel.
"Consider this your last chance to prove you're worth anything at all… unless, of course, you're planning to get buried here."
She didn't raise her voice. She didn't need to. The way she said it, like she knew how this would end, pulled the entire room in.
She was impressive with her words
I'll give her that.
But I wasn't here to be impressed.
"I thought the whole point of this trial"
I said, taking a step of my own
"Was to reconfirm the truth. Not rehearse a public execution. Maybe I'm guilty. Maybe I'm not. But maybe…"
I paused, letting the weight of it hang in the air "maybe it's you people who made the wrong call. Tried to erase me without even real proof."
"Proof?" Lore hissed the word like I'd insulted his god. "You dare ask for proof?"
I shrugged. "Just quoting your priest, really. A few minutes ago, he said something interesting."
I turned back to the man in white. "Didn't you say the fact I'm still alive is unusual? Suspicious, even?"
Fredrick shifted in his seat. "Well… yes, but—"
"Well, then." I tilted my head. "If I was really guilty… really dead inside like your evidence claims… why am I standing here, talking to all of you?
The room stirred.
"Don't you agree, Mr. Fredrick?"
He looked at me like he wanted to. Like part of him wasn't sure anymore.
"Sure... ah... but there are witnesses. Don't take your situation too lightly. You're not off the hook just because you talk well."
"Is that so?" I said, my voice dropping to a near whisper.
I took one step forward, and then another, until I could feel the edge of their judgment pressing against me.
"You see, I think a little differently about that."
My eyes swept across the hall, meeting faces that wouldn't meet mine in return.
"Because sometimes... truth isn't sacred. Sometimes, it's bought. Bargained for. Twisted."
I looked back at Fredrick.
"Especially when it's still warm, still alive… still stuck inside people's mouths."
"Quite an interesting claim, young master," Fredrick said, cutting through the silence like a rusted blade.
"But claims aren't going to work here."
Of course he would say that.
This priest bastard always so calm, always so above it all. Smiling like he's seen the end of my story and can't wait to say I told you so when I fall.
I folded my arms, leaned a little to the side. "Okay then. I hereby request that you, Mr. Honorable Priest representative of the sacred Church of…" I trailed off, raising an eyebrow. "Ah… who was it again? I forgot."
The priest stiffened, his robes rustling like brittle paper. "Divinity," he said, jaw clenched, tone forced.
"Church of Divini—"
"Right, right," I interrupted, waving him off like a buzzing insect.
"The Church of Divinity. Sounds grand. Holy. Important."
I let my voice drift into mock reverence.
Then I dropped it cold.
"But really who cares? Because I don't. All I care about is the truth."
I stepped forward again, now speaking loud enough to fill the hall.
"So, Father—Priest—Fredrick whatever title makes you feel powerful can any of you do something real about this trial?"
I gestured to the pillars, the watchers, the judgmental silence thick in the air.
"Can you make this more than just another performance in a courtroom built on tradition, not truth?
Another false show of justice dressed in ceremonial robes and outdated professions I can't even pronounce?"
I could see it,Fredrick's fingers tightening around the arm of his chair. The priest's lips twitching in restraint.
Good. Let them squirm.
"If this is about me or someone else's life" I said, gaze locking with the priest, "then stop staging a play and start a real trial. One I can believe in.
One even you wouldn't be ashamed to answer for when your own judgment day comes."
"Even if you prove yourself, son…
what difference is it going to make?"
The words dropped like a stone into water,calm but heavy enough to ripple through every corner of the hall.
And just like that, the tone shifted.
From courtroom drama to something colder… darker.
A horror vibe crept in, quiet and suffocating. The kind that doesn't scream, but waits.
I blinked slowly.
"Oh gosh," I muttered under my breath, lips curling into a dry smile.
"Looks like it's going to be a tough talk with the villain's dad."
Dawn just stared at me like he was witnessing a worm throw a tantrum. Cold. Detached. Almost amused.
"You speak well, my son" he said finally, his voice low and unshakenlike someone delivering wisdom at a funeral, not advice in a trial.
"But that's not what I or any of us here expects from you."
He leaned forward just slightly, enough to make the space between us feel smaller, heavier.
"If you feel you're not getting what you want, perhaps it's time you think again. Adjust your approach. Words alone won't shift the weight of this room."
His gaze didn't flicker.
"We all know why we're here. We understand what's at stake and for what purpose this trial exists. Right now… the only person who doesn't seem to grasp the situation fully....is you."
he paused, just long enough to let the silence twist....
I let his words hang there for a moment, soaking in the silence he left behind like it was supposed to humble me.
But it didn't.
It pissed me off.
I tilted my head, giving him the kind of smile people usually reserve for awkward dinner guests or used car salesmen.
"Thanks for the wisdom, Dad.
Really inspiring. A bit late for parenting, but hey...points for effort."
Dawn didn't blink. Of course he didn't.
"You say I don't understand the situation"
I continued, pacing just slightly, letting my voice carry without shouting.
"But from where I'm standing, the situation is pretty clear. I'm chained to a verdict I don't remember earning, surrounded by people who already made up their minds, and now I'm supposed to play nice and adjust my approach?"
I stopped, facing him fully.
"Let me ask you something, Dawn.
If I stood here and begged on my knees, arms out, full submission would that change a single damn thing?"
I shook my head before he could answer.
"No. Because this isn't about truth. It's about performance. About whether I can dance the way you all want me to before the executioner swings."
I stepped closer now, my voice a little lower.
"But here's the thing if I'm going to die anyway, I'll die on my words.
Not yours."
Dawn stood slowly, like the decision had already been made long ago and this moment was just the formality of letting go.
He didn't look angry.
He looked tired.
"I raised you with patience," he said, his voice low not cold, but distant.
"With the kind of care a man gives when he believes in something he can't quite explain."
He met my eyes, and for a second I saw… sorrow. Not rage. Not disappointment. Just something quietly breaking beneath the surface.
"But the boy I raised… he would've understood by now."
His gaze lingered,not searching, not accusing. Just… letting go.
"And whoever you are now...
you're not him."
He stepped back, his shoulders straight but his eyes no longer on me.
"I won't mourn twice."
Then he turned his back to me slowly, like it cost him something.
And I stood there, stunned.
Not because I felt guilt.
But because something deep in this body ached.
A memory I didn't own clenched in my chest.
A loss I hadn't earned pressed against my ribs like it belonged to me.
And in that moment, I didn't know if the silence was mine…or was it Lynn's.