Chapter 49: The Stage of Judgment
A few days later.
The audience chamber of the royal castle was once again filled with an atmosphere of palpable tension.
An emergency summons had been issued by King Edward IV himself.
Gathered there were the kingdom’s top officials, led by the Chancellor, as well as Prince Alphonse and the nobles of his faction.
Their faces shone with barely concealed excitement and the certainty of victory—
for they had already received word from Viscount Mardoc.
“The trap has been perfectly sprung.”
In one corner of the chamber stood Saint Liliana, who had been granted special permission to attend.
Zenon had urged her in grave tones to witness the meeting, saying only:
A grave crisis is about to shake the future of this kingdom.
With unease tightening her chest, she watched events unfold.
At last, the great doors of the audience hall slowly opened.
Surrounded by armed guards, a young man stepped forward in silence.
Zenon von Arkwright.
His expression was as calm and unreadable as ever.
Yet that composure, so unshaken even now, grated faintly on the nerves of Alphonse and his allies.
(…How can he look so composed when he’s about to be condemned?)
Zenon advanced before the throne and quietly knelt on one knee.
As if waiting for that very moment, Alphonse rose to his feet.
“Father! Allow me to explain the reason for this emergency assembly!”
His voice trembled with the fury of righteous indignation.
“This man—Zenon von Arkwright—has dared to lay hands on the royal treasury! He has embezzled public funds!”
A murmur of shock rippled through the hall.
Liliana gasped, her hands clutched to her chest.
(Th-that can’t be… Zenon-sama would never do such a thing…!)
Alphonse, drunk on the thrill of accusation, pressed on.
“Minister of Finance, Marquis Barclay! Step forward!”
The marquis, pale and trembling, shuffled ahead.
“…It is true,”
He stammered.
“Five thousand gold coins were withdrawn from the treasury under the pretext of repairs to the border fortress. And behind that order… was Zenon-sama’s overwhelming pressure. I so testify before His Majesty…”
The frail words rang through the hall—yet they carried the weight of a fatal confession.
“You hear that, Zenon!?”
Alphonse thrust out a finger at him.
“Undeniable proof! You used your devilish cunning to rob this kingdom! You can no longer deny it!”
Nobles of his faction joined in, voices rising like a storm.
“This is treason against the crown!”
“Throw him into the dungeon at once!”
The cries of condemnation echoed through the chamber.
It was the perfect stage—crafted by Alphonse and his men for Zenon’s downfall.
All the evidence pointed to his guilt.
Everyone waited, eager to see the despair twist across Zenon’s face.
But—
Zenon did not lift his head.
Kneeling still, he spoke in a calm, steady voice that carried through the hall.
“…Is this farce finally over?”
“…What?”
Alphonse’s brows knit in irritation.
Slowly, Zenon raised his face.
There was not a trace of fear or hopelessness in his ice-blue eyes—only a cold, glinting amusement, as if he were the one about to enjoy the show.
“I’ve grown quite tired of your childish playacting.”
Zenon stood.
Guards tensed, leveling their spears—standing before the throne without leave was an act of grave disrespect.
But Zenon paid them no mind.
“Your Majesty,”
He said evenly, gazing straight at the king upon the throne.
“I will now speak the truth. But before that, may I question this pitiful puppet for a moment?”
His finger pointed to the trembling Marquis Barclay.
Intrigued by Zenon’s audacious confidence, King Edward gave a silent nod.
Zenon walked slowly up to the marquis.
Then, in a quiet but unmistakably clear voice that reached everyone present, he asked:
“Marquis Barclay. Three nights ago, at the hour of the Rat, you visited an abandoned warehouse on the southern edge of the capital, did you not?”
“W–what!?”
The color drained from Barclay’s face.
“In the basement of that warehouse—the third wine barrel from the left. That’s where you hid the five thousand gold coins you stole from the treasury. Am I mistaken?”
The precision of the accusation was chilling.
Barclay’s legs gave way, and he collapsed to the floor.
“Th-that’s absurd! You… you have no proof!”
He managed to gasp out the denial.
“Proof?”
A faint, icy smile crossed Zenon’s lips.
“Then allow me to show you. …Gray.”
At his signal, the doors to the audience chamber opened once more.
In marched several of Arkwright’s men, dragging along bound and gagged information brokers—and carrying one enormous wine barrel.
With a heavy thud, the barrel was set down in the center of the hall.
Zenon casually pulled out the stopper.
The next instant—
A flood of dazzling golden light poured out.
Clink, clink, clink…
The melodic sound of countless coins spilling across the floor filled the silent chamber.
Each and every coin bore the royal crest.
Everyone present drew a sharp breath.
Irrefutable proof.
Perfect physical evidence.
It was the stage prop that Zenon himself had prepared—for their performance.
“Well then.”
Zenon’s cold gaze swept over Alphonse and his stunned followers.
“Let us begin the true judgment.”
The stage of condemnation he had prepared—had, in the end, been set for Alphonse and his own conspirators.
And they realized it only now—when it was already far too late.
For the curtain had already risen.