"Burn him!"
"To the gallows!"
"You murdering orphan–"
"AT EASE!!"
A booming order demanded silence throughout the rowdy and unusually packed courtroom.
Stomping with authority, a man in polished full-plate armor gripped the polished hilt of his sheathed blade. His chiseled beard and harsh gaze loomed over the anxious crowd.
"I present his honor, Lord Gustin Trynell, who will preside over this case and cast the final verdict. All stand!"
In time with a second commanding stomp, another guard opened a side door with a bowed head.
Out stepped a man in a black overcoat with deep blue lapels and golden embroideries; a traditional attire fit for nobles summoned for judicial duties. He adjusted a few golden rings whilst striding up to his raised seat at the judge's bench. His fair skin shone brilliantly under the lavishly large chandelier.
At the same time, the assigned noble stole glances about the room.
Though the present audience was larger than expected, it wasn't Lord Trynell's first time witnessing such a gathering.
The prosecutor's table was far more eye-catching, especially since each of the four legal representatives was someone Lord Trynell knew by name.
But it was impossible to take his eyes off the lone man at the defendant's table.
While the entire room sucked in all thoughts and words upon Lord Trynell's entrance, that lone defendant stood wontonly and stretched his back from side to side. The heavy shackles on his wrists and ankles seemed like nothing more than cufflinks to that two-meter bundle of toned, flexible muscles hidden under commoner clothing.
Lord Trynell failed to recount the face of the supposedly infamous man. A stark juxtaposition to the prosecutor's table of only long-established lawyers.
Yet, more than anything else, it was the defendant's spotless apron that somehow stood out in the judge's mind.
Before Lord Gustin Trynell could finish taking in the peculiar hints within the courtroom, he was already sitting in his appointed seat.
"Vice Captain Diobor," Gustin stated, "swear them in."
The Vice Captain, now standing beside the seated lord, kept his stern scowl. "Prosecutors, Defendant, stand and recite your sacred vows in turn!"
Two guards stepped forward and held up a necklace bearing separate sacred emblems. Once the crowd sat down, the guards led the team of prosecutors and the lone defendant in a shared pledge.
"Under the protection of Father Earth and the care of Mother Heaven, I shall tell no lies, nor share false witness before thee. Else my soul be forfeit to Death Eternal as an irredeemable sinner."
Again, the appointed lord sat in silent judgment as he oversaw the sacred vow of truth.
Lord Gustin Trynell already knew how the prosecutors would act. After all, he'd met with each of them during various past cases.
The defendant, however, spoke in monotone as his empty eyes rolled around the courtroom in… boredom?
Gustin would've loved to ask the younger man what he was thinking, but it wasn't the right time for that. First, he had to cede the prosecutors in accordance with the courtroom procedures, and to better grasp the meaning behind this urgent trial assigned to Lord Trynell less than an hour ago.
"Now," Lord Trynell raised a hand with noble authority, "I'll allow the prosecution to present their opening statements."
The leading lawyer firmly stepped forward with no script or papers in hand.
"My fellow citizens, we all hold righteousness deeply within our hearts. Such is the purpose of living god's banner in the Tierrala Holyland. It's the teachings of Father Earth and Mother Heaven that guide our lives, even in the smallest of matters.
"And yet this man before you has committed a grave sin. A sin so outrageous that even the demonic followers of Death Eternal would shiver after learning it…"
"Patricide! To murder one's own father!"
The dramatic words and finger-pointing left the public audience aghast. But it was the jury box that was hit the hardest, under the disgusted gaze of the leading prosecutor.
"No less," continued the prosecutor, "this man murdered his long-caring father just one day after being adopted and named the sole heir to the deceased's great legacy. After nurturing the orphan for an entire decade, even saving him from the desolate slums of Filthaim and making the boy a first-class citizen, all his father was given in return was a knife to the back.
"Today, you'll hear from multiple eyewitnesses, who were either present at the scene of the crime or at their family restaurant when they overheard this repugnant orphan's scheme the night before the incident."
Those well-scripted words left an impact on Lord Trynell's thoughts.
But it apparently couldn't shake the defendant whatsoever. At least, that's how it seemed to Gustin at the judge's bench.
No matter what was said, the two-meter twenty-year-old let his empty eyes wander about. At times, the defendant raised a shackled hand to mimic the blabbering prosecutor with hand puppets.
"There!" shouted the leading prosecutor, pointing at the mocking defendant.
"See his disrespect for yourself! He's truly a man of Filthaim, showing no decorum or manners towards a sacred trial upheld by vow under the gods."
The prosecutor extended an open hand to the jury box, slowly closing his fingers into an anguished fist.
"I beseech you, listen carefully to the truth. With words of witnesses and a clear motive, you will come to understand just how deplorable this criminal orphan frauded his way into first-class citizenship, and schemed to steal one of the greatest culinary legacies our great Holyland has to offer! All with a single stab of the knife, through his father's heart."
With a brisk bow of his head, the prosecutor turned away from the jury. He cast a final snort to the defendant on his way back to the prosecutor's table.
Lord Trynell was about to cede the room to the defendant, but was overtaken by a tsunami of shouts.
"How dare he!?"
"Death is the only justice!"
"Execute him!"
K-thud! K-thud!
"Order in the court!"
The gavel resounded through the courtroom as the visceral slanders were forcibly silenced.
"Now, I shall grant the defendant the chance to present his opening statement."
"Why, thank you, Your Honor."
Chains rattled as the unfazed man folded his arm in a respectful bow.
The entire room, though silent, felt like a burning wick just moments away from a thunderous explosion.
Meanwhile, the lone defendant strode forward, his barefoot steps and dragging chains echoed unapologetically over the cold tile floor. And, to the surprise of everyone, the twenty-year-old man didn't approach the jury box, let alone face it.
Instead, he offered another warm bow to the judge's bench with an unwavering grin on his face.
"Your Honor, Lord Trynell, my name is Gartin Ramsey, so just call me Gart.
"Right now, I'm not in the mood to mince words with these bullshitters. So let's save both of us some time and skip to the part where the jury finds me guilty. How about it?"