Chapter 846: A Mighty Force Is Taking Shape!

Chapter 846: A Vast Power Is Taking Shape!

The Port District Court of West Sail Port.

Marble walls bore carvings of the scales of justice, and beneath the towering dome, rows upon rows of seats were arranged.

On the bench sat five judges, all around fifty or sixty years old, their wrinkled faces etched with solemnity, exuding an air of venerable authority.

The spacious jury box was also packed to capacity.

A small portion of the attendees were officers of the Southern Legion, while the majority were local Vallant citizens of West Sail Port, or Vallant merchants passing through the area.

The public held immense enthusiasm for this trial; some had even traveled specially from Eternal Night Port or other colonies, not for the "impending business opportunities brought by the thirty-thousand-strong army," but merely to witness the courtroom proceedings firsthand.

The reason for such keen interest lay not only in the identity of the defendant but also in the charges leveled against him, which involved three counts of betrayal—betrayal of the Vallant people, betrayal of the Legion, and betrayal of the Marshal.

So many grave accusations pinned on one man were exceedingly rare even in the Legion's history.

Especially since this fellow was an "Honorary Vallant" promoted through military merit.

The crowd in the jury box grew even more curious!

It was said the court had raked in a tidy sum just from selling tickets to the jury seats!

Watching the man being led into the courtroom, Penny, seated in the jury box, clenched her fists involuntarily, her palms damp with sweat.

In another corner of the jury box, a man in an officer's cap also took a seat in the audience.

He looked young, with a prominent bridge to his nose, his gaze resolute and cold, observing the pangolin being brought to the defendant's stand with keen interest, like an eagle surveying its prey.

This man was Gurion, the overall commander of the Bahr Province combat zone, a three-star myriarch of the Southern Legion!

Before arriving at West Sail Port, he had heard many tales of the heroic deeds of this man called Pangolin.

For instance, how he had single-handedly stalled the Alliance's offensive for an entire month, inflicting over a thousand casualties.

Or how he had hunted and killed the Mother of Deathclaws alone in the River Valley Province, severing her head.

And his exploits in the Coastal Province, among others.

Now this fellow had turned up in Bahr Province, and before Gurion could even get there, he had pulled off another earth-shattering feat.

Gurion couldn't help but feel curious.

How would this man, who dared to block a chariot with his arms, try to extricate himself this time?

Just as he was watching the man called Pangolin with interest, someone approached and sat down beside him.

The newcomer pulled out a chair, sat next to him, and casually placed his officer's cap on the table.

Gurion glanced sideways, recognized the rather infamous face, and a wry smile curled at the corner of his mouth.

"General McLenn? What a rare guest. What wind blows the 'Chief Instructor' of Bahr Province here?"

Due to the West Siren Empire's laughable performance in military, economic, diplomatic, and other fields, the reputation of McLenn, who served as an instructor in Bahr Province, had also suffered somewhat.

After all, those Bahrans doing butterfly strokes at the mouth of the Eternal River were nominally McLenn's students.

Even if their swimming skills had little to do with McLenn—being mostly taught by the civilian officials of Triumph City—they could not shake off the mark of McLenn's influence.

Unfazed by General Gurion's jibe, McLenn merely smiled faintly.

"You remind me of a... friend of mine. You share his brilliance, his charm, his capability and charisma... I see many of his shadows in you. I always argued with him, yet never once won."

A bit embarrassed by the praise, Gurion let out a hearty laugh, feigning modesty.

"Thank you for the compliment."

Crossing one leg over the other, McLenn smiled gently.

"You're welcome... But aren't you curious who he is?"

Gurion replied mildly.

"Then I'll ask for your friend's name, and perhaps you could introduce me next time you return to Triumph City."

McLenn's tone was equally mild.

"His name is Griffin. As it happens, he was also a three-star myriarch, just like you."

At the name Griffin, Gurion's face visibly chilled, his eyes narrowing dangerously.

"What do you mean? Comparing me to a dead man?"

"A dead man?" McLenn glanced sideways, slightly taken aback. "General Griffin was a hero who received a state funeral. Are you showing disdain for him?"

Gurion's expression froze instantly, a thousand words stuck in his throat, finally squeezing out a half-hearted, cold laugh.

"...Heh. So the Eastern Legion fights with its mouth. I must be ignorant."

He knew about Griffin—reportedly, he had suddenly died of a stroke while the Eastern Legion's expeditionary force held the advantage.

Without their commander, the expeditionary force was forced to accept the ceasefire proposed by the Alliance and Enterprise, regrettably halting before the war could escalate.

The Triumph Gazette declared victory for the Eastern Legion's expedition, and Griffin was eventually honored with a state funeral as a general.

No matter how he judged Griffin personally, that honor was not something he could mock.

If word got out, only he would look foolish.

Watching Gurion's discomfiture, McLenn smiled faintly.

"...Please don't misunderstand, General Gurion. I have no intention of quarreling with you."

Gurion gave a dry laugh and turned his gaze to the distant defendant's stand.

"I heard that Pangolin was personally promoted by you?"

McLenn nodded slightly.

"Correct. During the Sunset War, his direct superior was Corway, and both were under my command."

Hearing this, Gurion seized on it as if catching an opportunity, clicking his tongue softly.

"Tsk, tsk. What a pity... But I'm not surprised. Like superior, like subordinate, I suppose. It seems the civilian officials didn't teach him well."

The mockery in his words was plain.

Yet McLenn, instead of taking offense, laughed heartily and magnanimously.

"I agree—those civilian officials couldn't teach him much. It was a waste of his talent to keep him with them... That said, I'm still quite proud of myself for bringing out such an excellent subordinate. He hasn't disappointed my expectations."

Excellent?

Gurion raised an eyebrow in slight surprise, glancing sideways at McLenn with interest.

"You think he still has a chance to turn things around?"

"Turn things around?" McLenn looked back at him, smiling. "General Gurion, at least wait until you've won before saying that."

Gurion shrugged dismissively, shifting his gaze away from this stubborn man.

Wait until he'd won to say that?

Ridiculous!

The entire courtroom was filled with his people. How could that man, who wasn't even a Vallant, possibly win?

Seeing Gurion fall silent, McLenn said no more, merely watching the courtroom with a faint smile.

All eyes converged at the center of the courtroom, awaiting the solemn commencement of the trial.

The brief opening ceremony concluded, and with a soft tap of the wooden gavel, the plaintiff's representative standing at the prosecution table shuffled the documents before him and declared in a fervent, impassioned tone.

"Pangolin, Chiliarch! On behalf of the Southern Legion and all Valyrians, I bring charges against you!"

"The West Sails Port Massacre is still vivid before our eyes—even on the very stone bricks beneath my feet, Valyrian blood was spilled... Three thousand! Over three thousand people were butchered by those criminals! Yet the murderers still roam free! Worse still, they have shamelessly usurped the throne that rightfully belongs to our allies!"

"And you—you, who were granted the honor of the Valyrians—what have you done?"

The prosecutor glanced at the judge, then at the packed jury seats behind him, and finally fixed his gaze on the Pangolin standing in the defendant's dock, speaking with righteous indignation.

"While we fought for the fate of the Valyrians, you, on your own authority, represented the Valyrians of Triumph City and recognized the legitimacy of a brutal, filthy, illegal regime that had slaughtered Valyrians!"

"This is not only a betrayal of Triumph City, but also a betrayal of the Legion, of all Valyrians, and even of the Marshal himself!"

"This is an unforgivable sin! Thank the mercy of the law—we have spared you the death penalty! But in return, we will strip you of your honors, your honorary status, and your military rank, and sentence you to indefinite imprisonment."

"You will repent in a windowless cell, watching the evil fruits of your appeasement turn to ashes in the flames of justice, and spend the rest of your life in darkness and regret... This will be the best punishment for you."

After finishing, the prosecutor raised his eyebrows at the "honorary Valyrian" in a provocative manner.

However, the battlefield atmosphere group did not look at him; instead, he stared at the judge standing on the bench, waiting for his turn.

The judge did not look at him, nor at the plaintiff. He simply tapped the gavel lightly.

"Order! Determining the sentence is my responsibility. The plaintiff need only state the defendant's criminal facts."

Seeming to realize his own misstep, the prosecutor standing at the plaintiff's table smiled and explained.

"Apologies, my emotions got the better of me... Please understand my anger as a Valyrian toward a traitor."

"Then please also understand the dignity of this court."

Though the verdict was already a foregone conclusion, the presiding judge still said this, then turned to look at the man called Pangolin and proceeded with the formalities.

"...So, as per the prosecution's statement, do you have anything to say?"

The battlefield atmosphere group had not intended to make much of a defense.

First, because he knew it would be useless.

The judge and the plaintiff were both General Gurion's men—they could decide whatever they wanted, just a matter of moving their lips.

Second, he was not particularly skilled at verbal sparring and knew little about Legion law; saying too much would only invite mistakes.

The best approach was to say "not guilty" and then shut his mouth.

If he couldn't even get to the court in Triumph City, saying more would only waste time and invite humiliation.

For instance, at this very moment, the court had not even arranged a defense lawyer for him.

But just as he was about to brush through this scene and "skip" it, he caught a glimpse of a worried face in the jury seats...

Forget it.

It had been three days since his resurrection, and it wasn't his style to let others decide his fate.

The battlefield atmosphere group fell silent for a moment, then finally decided to give it a try. After a brief pause to gather his thoughts, he looked up at the judge and spoke calmly.

"Your Honor, I have nothing to say."

The presiding judge was taken aback.

The other four judges on the bench exchanged surprised glances as well.

Murmurs rippled through the distant jury seats, as if no one had expected him to not even bother with a defense.

Penny stared wide-eyed in shock, almost wanting to leap over the railing and shake him awake.

Chiliarch Ross narrowed his eyes slightly, suddenly finding the man unfathomable.

General Gurion shot General MacLennan a victorious look, his eyes conveying everything he wanted to say.

As for MacLennan, he remained impassive, merely smiling as he watched the calm figure.

A man who could single-handedly venture into danger and convince Abusek to switch sides was no ordinary person.

The real show was just beginning.

He had worn the same expression when he returned with the head of the Deathclaw Mother.

The prosecutor at the plaintiff's table, like General Gurion, already wore a victorious smile.

"It seems the defendant has nothing to say. I believe we can proceed to the verdict."

The presiding judge steadied himself, staring at the battlefield atmosphere group in the defendant's dock.

"Does this mean you are pleading guilty?"

The battlefield veteran replied without arrogance or servility.

"That is not my intention."

He paused, then continued.

"It's just that I don't see any obligation to explain myself to a bunch of people who 'use their own kin's lives as bargaining chips for their selfish desires.'"

"The ones who should be standing here are not me, but them!"

He did not name names, but his implication was clear—those sitting in the jury seats, waiting for his explanation.

At least some of them!

The moment his words fell, the jury seats erupted in uproar.

The officers of the Southern Legion bristled like startled cats, rising from their chairs one after another.

Most were decurions or centurions, with some non-commissioned officers and soldiers.

They were young and hot-blooded.

Faced with the blatant provocation, they did not hesitate to hurl insults back—a tradition among the Valyrians.

"What do you mean by that?!"

"How dare you say we use our kin's lives as bargaining chips?!"

"Wasn't it you civil officials who abandoned your kin's lives?!"

"Lackey of the civil officials! Bah!"

"Spineless, useless trash!"

"Death sentence!"

"Order! Order!"

The presiding judge pounded his gavel forcefully, signaling the jury to quiet down.

The battlefield veteran stood in the defendant's dock as if nothing had happened, basking in the prosecutor's astonished gaze, deaf to the fury behind him.

When the court finally fell silent, the presiding judge glared angrily at the Pangolin.

"Chiliarch Pangolin, mind your words! This court will consider the jury's opinions during sentencing. All irrelevant accusations you raise here will only aggravate your crimes."

"Irrelevant accusations!"

The battlefield veteran fixed his eyes on the presiding judge, repeating his words. Then he turned to face the jury, his usually calm expression now strangely furious.

"When I ventured alone deep into the heart of the Celestial Army's territory to seek the truth, what were you standing men doing? Exchanging fire with unarmed civilians?"

His voice echoed through the empty hall, momentarily drowning out the clamor.

The crowd fell silent, eyes fixed on him like daggers.

"Two hundred people!"

The battlefield atmosphere man raised two fingers—an index and a middle finger.

In that moment, he seemed like a true Velantian, proudly lifting his head and nose.

"Two hundred civilians... trembling in fear on rebel soil, afraid to make a sound, right under your noses! And what did you do? Avenge the three thousand dead? You know exactly where their true killers are, yet you sit idle!"

The prosecutor standing nearby couldn't bear it, coughed, and tried to interject.

"I must interject—it's not that the Southern Legion did nothing, but the survivors of that catastrophe concealed part of the truth; we didn't know anyone was still alive—"

"Shut your mouth!"

The battlefield veteran suddenly roared, his savage glare freezing the prosecutor, whose feet seemed rooted to the ground, his calves trembling faintly.

That look was like a ferocious beast, its bloodthirsty aura leaving him speechless.

He swallowed involuntarily, a flicker of fear in his wavering eyes.

Unlike this man, who merely played with words in court.

This one was a true soldier, a demon crawling out of mountains of corpses and seas of blood!

"...I didn't ask you to speak, nor did the judge. So keep your mouth shut—it's my turn to speak now." The battlefield veteran suddenly softened his voice, uttering those words.

The pressure on his shoulders abruptly lifted; the prosecutor nodded nervously, then quickly realized he'd been led by the nose, glaring back in irritation.

But the veteran no longer looked at him. He turned once more to the packed jury box.

This time, however, his gaze wasn't on the standing soldiers and officers.

He looked at Yarman, at his wife Margrit, and at many others like that couple, and their children.

"See? Just like this prosecutor beside me—a civilian who's never set foot on a battlefield. I only need to glare at him once, and his calves shake like a pendulum, nearly forcing him to kneel before me."

"I tell you, this is power! Even someone as insignificant as I can wield it with ease. And I'm merely a chiliarch, at most an Awakener on top of that."

"Before this uncontrollable power, even the most dazzling truth can only fall silent. And I don't think forced silence is a sin... It's more like a disgrace!"

"And it's your disgrace!" The battlefield atmosphere man pointed at the standing officers.

Some had already sat down moments ago, but many still remained standing.

"You prattle on about eternal loyalty to the Marshal, eternal loyalty to the Legion, eternal loyalty to the Velantians, yet you make your own kin fear you, and then make even more people fear your kin, exploiting their fear to seize your own gains... Am I wrong? This is the truest version of you!"

"Two fires blazed in Westwind Harbor—one lit by a mob claiming to be leaderless, the other by an organized mob. Why did the first fire give birth to the Celestial Army?"

"Where did the Celestial Army's weapons come from? How did so much equipment fall into their hands? Who's been supplying them?"

"And why! Why, when those two hundred people were right under your noses, did you prefer to massacre civilians locally rather than take a single step forward?"

"Yes, you didn't know they were in Count Sharma's manor, as the prosecutor said. But what are your legs, eyes, and hands for? Ornaments?"

"Why could I find them, but you couldn't? Besides shipping more gunpowder to Westwind Harbor, did you actually do anything about it?"

"What are you here for? Answer me! Look me in the eye and answer!"

The furious voice surged like a tsunami, spreading in rings, fearlessly crashing into the officers glaring at him.

Though the officers on the jury remained expressionless, the eyes of those sitting beside them shifted noticeably.

Margrit couldn't help covering her mouth, tears of emotion glistening in her eyes, pressing her forehead against her husband's shoulder.

Finally, someone had voiced the fear she'd felt that night.

Finally, someone had spoken of the terror her child had faced.

Before they were certain they no longer mattered, they hadn't dared step out of that manor to tell their children they were still alive.

That was precisely because of fear.

She didn't want to die for some obscure reason, taking all the truth to the grave.

Even if what she'd seen was only a vague shadow, hardly evidence...

Yarman placed his hand on her shoulder, holding his wife tightly, supporting the man on the defendant's stand with a steadfast gaze, urging him to continue.

Eyes converged into streams, and streams eventually merged into rivers.

A vast power was taking shape!

It was the same power that once sustained the Velantians, enabling them to break their chains!

Penny's eyes sparkled with tears of excitement; she almost cheered for him.

The Velantians had their backbone.

They weren't spineless creatures without principles.

The sword of truth now blazed with dazzling light!

She could feel the boiling emotions and atmosphere in the room, forcing the maggots hiding in the gutters to shamefully lower their heads and avert their eyes.

Those filthy things dared not answer these questions.

They couldn't even admit the problems existed, only muttering fragmented words after the storm passed, or changing the subject.

The prosecutor at the plaintiff's table was drenched in sweat, trying to distract himself by shuffling papers.

What could he say?

The evidence this man held was probably far more explosive than the few sheets in his hands!

He no longer dared face the sea of people in the jury box, nor even look at his teammates on the bench—the judges who had already prepared their verdicts.

More and more eyes turned to the Southern Legion officers, making those still standing struggle to maintain their composure, until finally they couldn't hold out and sat down.

What they couldn't accept was that not only the citizens, but even their own subordinates were looking at them hesitantly...

Why not attack the Celestial Army, but instead vent fury on those defenseless civilians?

Pete, chewing on a toothpick, also wanted to know. He stared intently at his centurion.

After the centurion sat down, he looked at his superior's superior, Ross—the chiliarch who had been silenced at the northern checkpoint.

Why?

He clenched his fists so hard he wanted to slam the table.

Say something, damn it!

Say anything!

Seeing the courtroom's atmosphere completely reversed, MacLenn smiled and clapped lightly.

"Heh, brilliant."

Truly a subordinate he had personally promoted.

He had grown a lot too.

MacLenn could tell that, for a moment, the man had almost given up, but in the end, he changed his mind.

This is the right choice.

If he himself has given up on himself, then no matter how hard those who protect him try, it will be meaningless.

At least at this moment, he has proven his worth to live—and he earned it himself.

Unlike McAllen, who was applauding with a smile, Gurion, who had earlier looked at him with smug triumph, was now panicking.

He did not know what conspiracies the high command of the Southern Legion was brewing, but he could guess that the "Revolt of the Celestial Kings" was no mere accident.

Or rather, behind that accident, there was an invisible hand fanning the flames.

It might be his superior, or his superior's superior, or even the very legion commander who had granted him "supreme command authority over the Bharata Province theater of operations"!

And yet now, this fool had thrown such a secret into the open court of a public trial!

Was he insane?!

Had the civilian official faction not been pulling strings behind the scenes?!

Watching this "suicide bomber" charge straight at him, a bead of cold sweat trickled down Gurion's brow.

His original intention had been to use this trial to thoroughly humiliate those obstructive civilian officials, but instead, he had been outmaneuvered, left to lift a rock only to drop it on his own foot.

With a trembling index finger, he removed his hat and tossed it onto the table in disgrace.

This was the signal he had agreed upon with the judge.

He had to stop this trial!

Prevent that fool from speaking any further!

The battlefield veteran, however, had no intention of continuing. He merely stood quietly, watching the courtroom seethe with fervor.

It hardly resembled a solemn court; the chaotic clamor was more like a vegetable market.

Still, he had achieved his goal.

The court could not completely ignore the opinions of the jury. What had been an uncontested verdict now, at least at this moment, carried enough controversy.

He actually lacked solid evidence for many things—the Southern Legion would not leave too many loose ends—but being the one to cast the first stone and point out the doubts was enough.

As long as the voice of questioning existed, what he had done held meaning.

Next, as he had said, he would appeal step by step all the way to Triumph City, carrying the hopes placed upon him and pressing forward!

"Well said!!" Arman was the first to stand, joining the other officers who had risen in defiance of courtroom discipline, shouting at the prosecutor in the plaintiff's seat, "Answer his question!"

Voices of agreement rose one after another, deafening in their intensity!

"That's right! Answer his question!"

"What are you here for? To save us, or to prepare for invasion?!"

"Where were you when we needed you?"

"Why didn't you save my mother? And why were so many weapons stored at the port?"

Little Ruby, gripping the railing with both hands, felt the fire within her ignite as well. With bright eyes, she cried out.

Though her slender voice raised not a single ripple, easily drowned in the overwhelming tide of sound, she still made her own voice heard.

She would not forget the terror of that day.

Otherwise, all courage would lose its meaning.

The officers who had risen had all sat back down—partly due to the warning in their superiors' eyes, and partly because they truly lacked the courage to continue standing and facing the interrogation.

Pete's eyes were filled with utter disappointment. He spat out the toothpick he had been chewing, cursed "fucking cowards" under his breath, and clenched his fists, enduring the humiliation.

He was not afraid to fight the Alliance in an open battle.

But this disgrace made it impossible for him to hold his head high.

"Order! Order!"

Beholding the chaotic scene, the presiding judge, drenched in sweat, raised his gavel. He was about to bring it down but stopped.

He noticed the hat before General Gurion, and he also caught the urging look in the general's eyes.

Yet it was precisely because of this that the gavel in his hand hung in the air, reluctant to fall.

He understood well what General Gurion was hinting at.

But he also understood clearly what it would mean if he did so.

This would not merely be a controversial verdict; it would be a complete betrayal of public sentiment. He could not even imagine how to justify it.

Could he tell the people, "Though there are doubts in this case, this judge still finds the defendant guilty"?

A bullet fired at a hero cannot erase the hero's halo; instead, it immortalizes him, and the one who pulls the trigger will be nailed to the pillar of shame, forever a disgrace and a clown.

The true clown dared not fire, so he handed the trigger to the judge, hoping he would play the villain.

"That coward..."

You're at least a three-star commander of ten thousand!

The judge gritted his teeth, his eyes struggling for a long time. In the end, he slammed down the gavel with force.

But his ruling did not follow General Gurion's wishes; in fact, it caused obvious disappointment to flicker in the general's eyes.

"This court hereby declares that, due to insufficient evidence submitted by the prosecutor, the defendant cannot be pronounced guilty..."

"Since the prosecution claims that the Pangolin Chiliarch betrayed the Marshal, betrayed the Legion, and betrayed the Wilant people... then let the Marshal, the court of Triumph City, and all the Wilant people judge him together."

He paused, then added,

"The court of West Sailport is too small to try such a big case."

"Adjourned!"

As his words fell, thunderous applause erupted instantly from the jury seats!

Arman's eyes gleamed with excitement, his hands clapping until they were red.

He was not alone.

Beside him stood Marguerite, all the other survivors, and those who had traveled from distant colonies to be here... except for the officers of the Southern Legion, almost everyone present rose to applaud!

Including General McAllen.

This was not only a victory for Pangolin alone, but a victory for all of them—even if the final victory was still far away!

But at least at this moment, they had not chosen silence, allowing the unbridled power to do evil. Instead, they had bravely stood up and defended the power in their own hands!

The power to know the truth!

"Ohhh!"

Like the adults around her, little Ruby cheered in excitement, her whole body hanging over the railing, her little legs dangling and swinging in the air.

She did not understand many complicated principles; she only thought that the big brother called Pangolin was incredibly cool, leaving those people speechless.

Of course—

Compared to her own parents, he still had a long way to go!

Basking in the fervent applause, the presiding judge nodded slightly, accepting the cheers with a sense of shame, then left the bench along with the other four judges.

General Gurion silently clenched his fists, his teeth grinding audibly.

Just then, an annoying voice suddenly came from beside him.

“I think you’d better consider the bigger picture. Let the big shots worry about their own troubles… don’t you think? Getting too involved might land you with a stroke, just like my friend.”

General MacLaren, who had stopped applauding, looked at him with a victorious smile.

General Gurion glanced at him, rose coldly from his seat, picked up his hat from the table, and put it on.

“I won’t stoop to argue with a mere chiliarch.”

“Well, I didn’t think you were that classless… Also, well played.”

MacLaren also picked up his hat, put it on, and extended his right hand with a smile.

General Gurion did not take his hand, did not even glance at him, and walked away without looking back.

Meanwhile, the battlefield atmosphere group, standing amid the cheers, finally let go of their clenched fists and the hearts that had been in their throats.

He had never done anything so awesome in his life.

This was even harder than facing the Mother Deathclaw!

His chest rose and fell gently as he looked at the survivors applauding him, and a smile like melting ice suddenly broke across his tense face.

But to be fair, the experience was quite interesting.

If this game didn’t sell for at least ten thousand bucks, it would be a total loss!