Chapter 847 - This Game Is Too Realistic

### Chapter 847: Hoisted by One's Own Petard After leaving McClain, Gurion briskly stepped outside and quickly caught up with the presiding judge who had just adjourned the court session. Noticing Gurion's fierce and intimidating expression, the other four judges wisely quickened their pace and departed. They could vaguely guess some of the underlying reasons but preferred to stay out of it. Once the four were some distance away, Gurion locked eyes with the presiding judge and, with clenched teeth, forced out a question. "What do you mean by this!" The aged judge raised his murky eyes. Perhaps due to his advanced age, they showed little trace of fear. He glanced at Gurion briefly before responding slowly and firmly. "General Gurion, I am merely a colonial judge, not one of your soldiers. I have no reason to explain my actions to you. If you are dissatisfied with my ruling, feel free to lodge a complaint with Triumph City. Let them assign a more specialized judge." Within the legion, the judiciary maintains a degree of independence. It does not belong to the officer or civil service systems but to the "Guard" oversight structure. That is to say, it answers directly to the Marshal. Due to the fact that the Marshal and the Guard do not engage in the specific matters of the legion, only exercising supervisory rights, and prioritize loyalty as a primary evaluation factor, the Guard has not developed into a factional interest group. The rationale for such a design is somewhat rooted in the formation of the legion system. Initially, the legion was composed solely of soldiers and their families, without other professions. Once a court completed a trial, it was up to the Guard to arrest individuals, whom would be soldiers. This mirrors the early alliance security forces, initially a base security, which evolved into a police institution as the population grew, carving out various departments and splitting away the guards. While the legion's Guard did not evolve into groups akin to the "Southern Legion" or "Civil Servant Faction," people inherently have personal interests. Not everyone embodies the honor and loyalty of the Guards. Moreover, as the legion grew and more settlements and colonies were developed, the judiciary's "operational scope" expanded beyond Triumph City and other core centers, leading to new positions emerging as territories expanded. Some judges, seeking to advance their careers, often aligned themselves with other interest groups, opting to leave the narrow path of Triumph City to develop their prospects in the colonies. Local legions did not monopolize judicial power in their regions and were eager to cooperate with these judges from Triumph City for exchanging interests. In some sense, this contributed to the phenomenon of “deviation of the law once it leaves Triumph City.” The most glaring example is the protection of slave rights legislation. This law has never been effectively enforced outside Triumph City, and enforcement diminishes the farther one gets from it. This time is no different. Gurion had promised him that compliance would earn the position of Chief Justice over all the colonies in the Borlo Province. Frankly, the offer was tempting, despite the Southern Legion only controlling half of Westfanport. However, all transactions require equal exchange. Compared to a chief justice's title, the price for it was simply too high. Gazing at the unyielding judge, Gurion's eyes narrowed slightly. “That’s not what you said before.” The presiding judge retorted without hesitation. "Neither did you mention the depths involved in this case!" Gurion seemed to be at a loss for words. Seeing him silent, the presiding judge realized he had guessed correctly and chuckled softly. “General Gurion, I am indifferent to the internal or external conflicts you face and do not mind offering some minor judicial assistance.” “However, expecting me to become a historical villain for your sake, to have my son scorn me, my wife look down upon me, my neighbors ridicule me, and sacrifice my career and everything for your schemes... I’m afraid you’ve overestimated your influence.” Furious, Gurion's face turned crimson, glaring intensely at the old man. Yet, the elder merely nodded slightly before departing down the corridor. At that moment, an officer approached General Gurion and whispered. “General, Crown Prince Akbar of the Siran Empire has arrived. He’s currently in the military camp… Should we bring him here or let him wait there?” “Leave him be, let him stew for a couple of days.” Gurion glared at the judge's retreating figure and cursed, “Old useless fool,” before turning away. ... On the other side, the courtroom erupted with cheers and applause. Officers and soldiers of the Southern Legion quickly left their seats, not wanting to linger a moment longer. Despite their firm stances, including that of Officer Ross, this did not mean they were entirely free from feeling any shame. The enthusiastic and passionate citizens, however, surged forward after the ovation, embracing the armadillo who was stepping down from the defendant’s stand, excitedly patting his shoulder. “Well done, brother!” “Thank you for saving my wife and children.” “I salute you, General! We need soldiers like you!” “Those bastards… secretly involved in such filthy deeds!” “They won’t be able to keep the lid on this!” Battlefield elder responded to the people's enthusiasm while also calming their emotions. “Regrettably, the evidence we possess is too thin; suspicion alone is insufficient to convict a person or group. However, I assure you I will not abandon the appeal. Neither will those backing me… The three thousand lives demand justice, and those who set the fire or incited it, as well as those who handed over the torches, will face righteous judgment!” Though he knew the words might sound like a mere perfumed pie, he also held the belief that truth would inevitably surface, provided that the pursuit of it is relentless. And ultimately, justice would matter. Moving through the crowded throng, he spotted Penny watching him through glistening eyes. Those were tears of excitement. He could imagine just how worried she had been earlier. Not leaving her waiting for too long, the battlefield elder emerged from the throng and enveloped her in a grand embrace. Feeling as if her intentions had been preemptively uncovered, a blush spread across Penny’s cheeks as if realizing her innermost thoughts had been discerned. Especially with numerous eyes focused on them, conveying blessings through their gazes, leaving her speechless out of embarrassment. Nevertheless. Her open and direct personality soon led her to raise her head and meet those eyes. “You had previously said that my battleground was in Triumph City, but I need to correct you.” Extending her soft index finger, she gently adjusted his collar. The clarity in her eyes wrote with such conviction that the battlefield support couldn't help but hold his breath. “…This is our war.” “Whether in Triumph City or Westfanport, we’ll stand together.” “Don’t think of leaving me alone, much less bearing all burdens on your shoulders!” ... The noisy courtroom finally emptied as people contently exited from the jury seats, leaving only a few local laborers with trash bags and brooms, ready to clean up. They had waited for a long time, and now the tedious trial had finally concluded. Truth be told, these Verlanders certainly had an array of customs—courtrooms, post offices—that opened the eyes of those from rural backgrounds. The only downside was their narrow-mindedness; they couldn’t get things done efficiently. In their eyes, the judge was indeed amateurish, lacking the authority of Siran nobles, and falling far short of the decisive bravado of even a baron. The old man not only required the defendant to stand for trial but also allowed him to chat with others—unbelievable! "Verlanders might be great in battles, but they’re not much for judgement!" "Honestly, I’d be better! No matter how eloquent you are, if I say you're guilty, what can be done?" “That’s too extreme, no one would be convinced by force! It should be subtle, such as whipping him twenty times, pouring hot sand down his throat, clipping his eyelids to keep him awake for days, until he can’t speak. I guarantee no amount of innocence would hold up!” "Extreme? I think you're the one who's extreme! Just kill them, who cares about reasons! Why go to all that trouble just to chop a head off?" "Well, in any case, it looks like that judge's career is over." "Not just his career! If I were a Verlander, I'd make sure he didn’t survive. Without setting an example with his death, how could they control things in the future?" Their voices were hushed, careful not to let the Verlanders outside hear them. After all, the Verlanders would never make them judges; they might instead bury them. An old lion man sweeping nearby, seemingly somewhat educated, couldn't stand listening any longer and let out a few dismissive grumbles. "… It’s a pity you're not one. You’re a Boronian, only able to imagine a high-nosed Boronian lord pronouncing decrees while simultaneously bending over for an even bigger lord behind the scenes, thinking all of this wasteland is just like that." It’s not about how crude those tactics are; the bottom lines of different peoples vary, dictated by culture and ethnicity among other reasons. Verlanders inherently look down upon sycophants; a deferential person is despised from above and unable to win respect from below, eventually marginalized by the system. Though these big-nosed people's rules certainly have their insidious parts, finding a judge both esteemed and servilely pleasing is indeed rare. What truly pained him was seeing his compatriots devising so-called clever schemes—this was precisely why Boronians were treated contemptuously. It wasn’t just the Verlanders who ignored their humanity. The aloof overlords, the flowery-tongued kin, even themselves… who didn’t share the same view? Perhaps he was too pessimistic. Having witnessed storms, his years led him to believe neither Lassie nor Abu Saic would accomplish anything. This zoo felt more like a circus. The clown animals needed a skilled "lead dancer," someone who needn’t know much science nor be an expert. He just needed the capability to choreograph a dance for the clowns. Only then could they live with some dignity amidst their vain cleverness and capriciousness. Yet, whether it could be called hope was questionable. True, the sun would rise as it always did, yet here they’d call daylight night without a second thought. The loyal would perish first, followed by the brave, leaving the cunning to be last. When all idealists left the stage, it would end with hypocrites and true villains clashing. Regardless of the victor, disaster would ensue. Just different kinds of disasters. He loved this land more than anyone and desperately hoped he was wrong. Ultimately, something was missing here. Perhaps an unparalleled hero capable of turning the tides. Or civilization itself. But something was lacking. The offended man turned red but missed the point, eventually offering a weak retort after a long pause. "I’m a snake person! What’s a Boronian to me?" Others chimed in as well. "What’s your problem? Think you’re some sort of noble?" "You old fool, why didn’t the ‘sky bandits’ wipe your family out?" "If I were a Verlander, I’d bury you!" Barbs flew about wildly. The old man shook his head, unbothered by the insults, merely feeling pity, and retreated with his broom to a corner. Not far away, a handsome boy of about fifteen or sixteen entered, nervously glancing around as if searching for someone. Two elderly men trailed him, their demeanor suggesting they were his servants. Passing staff quickly noticed them, approaching impatiently. "This is a sacred court. No unauthorized persons allowed." Seeing someone trying to dismiss him, the boy flushed red and glared at the staff member. “I am Akbar Siran, the Crown Prince of the Siran Empire… I'm here to see General Gurion, I heard he’s here!” The staff member hesitated for a moment, scrutinizing the boy with visible skepticism. Just as he was about to ask for identification, a sudden stir arose. A crowd of low-caste servants wielding brooms dropped to their knees in shock, kowtowing. “Your Highness?!” “Hail to the Prince!” “Aren’t you supposed to be up north?! What brings you here?!” Seeing his kneeling subjects, Akbar donned a modest expression befitting a benevolent prince, gesturing for them to rise. “Please, rise. I’m here for important talks with friends of Siran. Keep up your work and don’t neglect our friends.” The people on the ground meekly rose to their feet. Finishing, the boy named Akbar turned back to the staff member, a trace of smugness curling at his lips. “Can you take me to see General Gurion now?” Meeting the boastful glance, the staff member gave him an odd look before nodding. “Alright… wait here. I’ll go ask for you.” The empire might be in chaos, but this guy was still smiling; the staff member couldn’t understand what he found so amusing—or worth bragging about. Perhaps he just had a good attitude. Watching the departing staff, Akbar cheerfully said, "Yes, off you go!" ... Elsewhere, General Gurion was in a court lounge, truthfully reporting what transpired in the courtroom to the Southern Legion's Chief of Staff. However, after listening, the Southern Legion’s second-in-command remained indifferent, merely replying flatly. “I’ve got the gist of it, just continue with your duties.” Without any direct orders, General Gurion anxiously pressed. “…Shouldn’t I do something?” He felt letting that armadillo return alive was not wise, though removing him now proved difficult. The Chief of Staff chuckled softly. “I found something particularly interesting that the armadillo said.” Gurion was momentarily puzzled, cautiously asking. “…Which part, sir?” Softly, the Chief asked, “What are you here to do?” Hearing this, Gurion paused for a few seconds before cold sweat formed on his forehead, and he bowed his head. “I understand now… sorry for overreaching.” Higher-ups did not want him involved in this issue. “Solving the envoy of the civil servant faction legally” was entirely his hubristic interpretation. Like his subordinate’s blunder of pouring sewage into the dungeon, it was unnecessary and foolish, offering no positive impact but potentially causing significant losses. In that instant, clarity returned, and he comprehended General McClain’s meaningful words. In seeming satisfaction with his contrition, an approving voice came through the comms channel. “You’re a smart individual; Captain Teal and I have high hopes for you, but cleverness isn’t always wise, especially when it risks putting us on the defensive.” “A Centurion doesn’t sway the big picture; you needn’t concern yourself with Triumph City’s matters. We have our defenses against the civil servant faction’s accusations. As for you, complete Captain Teal’s given tasks—your battlefield performance matters more than miscues elsewhere.” General Gurion's Adam’s apple bobbed, bowing reverently. “Yes…” The communication cut off. Gurion exhaled deeply, tossing the silent phone onto the table, oblivious to how sweat had soaked his back. Upon reflection, indeed, whether a Centurion lived or died mattered little. Even if he returned to Triumph City, what difference would it make? Triumph City’s civil servants weren’t mute or deaf; if they had substantial evidence, they wouldn’t wait for the armadillo to bring it back. The accusations against the Southern Legion’s scheming in Westfanport couldn’t stand on sheer speculation or skepticism, nor would Abu Saic’s testimony carry weight. Throughout the conspiracy, the Southern Legion acted cautiously, leaving barely any traces leading to the command. The remaining suspicions could all be dismissed as accidents, the reason the civil servant faction hadn’t launched charges against them. Insufficient accusations could lead to allegations of slander, which is a serious issue within the legion. Caught up in the heat of the moment, he had done something foolish—initiating this trial in the name of the Southern Legion without solid evidence. And now, they had no choice but to produce additional evidence to substantiate their grave accusations of "Three Betrayals." How a hero who saved over two hundred Verlander survivors became a traitor in their eyes. What exactly did he betray? And what was the Southern Legion planning? If this fiasco escalated, it could potentially attract the Marshal's attention... By this stage, it was too late to retract the lawsuit. Were they to withdraw, the civil servant faction in Triumph City wouldn’t relent; they would immediately counter-sue, bringing the Southern Legion to the dock and demanding explanations… making things more disadvantageous than they already were. Gurion finally realized the magnitude of his foolishness, a mistake even beyond the blunder of secretly assassinating the man in jail. Yet, lamenting this now was futile. He should never have presumed to ease the burdens of those grand figures. He even found himself cursing McClain, that cunning old fox, for not warning him sooner. Lost in his anxiety, Gurion was suddenly interrupted by a soft knock at the door of the lounge. He took a deep breath, masking his anxious demeanor, and coughed towards the door. “Come in.” The door creaked open, and one of his trusted confidants entered. Approaching his desk, the officer spoke with a grave tone. “Sir, the Siran prince has found his way from the camp to the courthouse, and it seems he is adamant about meeting you.” With little patience for such matters, Gurion responded irritably. “I said let him stew for a couple of days. Tell him to leave.” “Yes, sir…” The officer paused momentarily but saluted crisply before turning to exit. Just as he reached the door, Gurion suddenly called out. “Wait.” The officer stopped and turned back, respectfully inquiring. “Is there anything else, sir?” Gurion stayed silent for a moment, walked to the wall, and studied the map hanging there. After a brief pause, he spoke up. “Let him in.” Unsure why his superior had suddenly changed his mind, the officer didn't question and offered a respectful salute. “Yes, sir.” Without sparing a glance towards his confidant, Gurion fixed his eyes on the map. Initially, he planned to steadily execute the strategy he outlined in the operational meeting, slowly annexing Borlo Province through vassalage. Yet now, it seemed his plans needed to be accelerated… As the imperial prince awaited with apprehension to meet the empire's "old friend," far north in the Mammoth State of Borlo Province, a decisive battle determining the empire's fate was concluding... The reconstruction noise from upstairs was giving me a headache, so I’ll continue writing the latter part tomorrow...