Surviving A Novel I Don't Remember: A Tutor's Guide To Staying Alive Chapter 111: Accident or not

Despite all that the Marquis said, the Duke did not respond to the jab. Instead, he kept his gaze fixed on the Emperor, who watched with a delighted grin, as if this were the finest theater in the Capital.

"Well, Lucien," the Emperor purred, leaning his cheek on his hand. "Your witness is now a corpse, and the Marquis has a point. It happened in your sight, under your ’protection,’ and within your own walls. It seems you have a lot to defend now."

The court went noisy again with the speculating murmuring and whispers.

Alaric’s hand gripped the hilt of his sword so hard his knuckles turned white. He was alone in a room full of enemies, his only proof dead on the floor, and Julian was trapped in a sleep no one could explain.

The Head Judge beat his mallet against the wood, the sharp crack calling the hall to order.

"Grand Duke Alaric," the Judge began, his voice echoing. "Do you acknowledge that you have done sothing to the fourth son of Marquis Astrea, as well as accept the charges of breaking the Marquis’s first son’s arm?" he asked first, leaving the charges of rebellion aside first since there was no concrete evidence... yet.

A heavy silence fell over the hall. Every noble held their breath, waiting for a denial or an apology.

"I have done nothing to Julian Von Astrea," he began. "And I rely repaid the Marquis’s first son with what he did to mine," Alaric said, his voice steady and cold.

The Emperor’s brow tilted up. "To your son?" He sounded as if he were hearing this for the first ti, his eyes that were just dancing with amusent, falling into a little displeased frown. "You hurt Lucius?"

"It... It was an accident!" the Marquis quickly shouted to defend himself, his face reddening. "A simple accident that happened when I went to take my son ho! It has nothing to do with this!"

"Accident or not," Alaric cut him off, his voice dropping into a lethal register, "...you left my son’s shoulder broken. For hurting my son—the Emperor’s nephew—an arm in return was appropriate. Though I think I showed more rcy than I should have, given that you did not appreciate it."

The tides of the court began to shift. The whispers that had been branding Alaric a butcher now turned into sharp stabs at the Marquis.

"He hurt the little North heir first?" a duchess whispered behind her fan.

"He hurt the Emperor’s nephew?" another noble lady added. "He hurt royal blood?"

"Doesn’t that usually warrant an execution?" a nobleman asked, gripping the railing.

"How shaless to bring your son’s arm as evidence when you struck a child..."

More and more whispers echoed, each sharper than the other, and all aid at the Marquis.

The Head Judge beat his mallet again, his face stern.

"Order!" he beat his mallet a couple more tis before silence finally fell on the hall. "Since it was an arm for an arm, that matter is settled. However," he turned his sharp gaze back to the Duke, "regarding your one‑sided detention of the royal tutor, Julian Von Astrea—if you cannot prove that he remains unhard within your household, the charges of kidnapping and potential harm will stand. Furthermore, suspicions of a secret rebellion will compel the royal inquisitors to investigate your estates in both the Capital and the North."

A visit from the royal inquisitors was always disastrous. The Duke would have to be detained to prevent the manipulation of evidence. If he tried to flee or resist, all charges would stand regardless of the investigation’s outco, for restlessness and struggle were always taken as proof of guilt.

The Duke could not allow that.

Then, the second judge spoke, "All of this can be negated, however, only if Julian Von Astrea arrives to bear witness before the trial ends."

The Marquis’s lips twitched into a small, hidden smile. He knew Julian wasn’t coming. Even if he were alive, he definitely couldn’t move, so there was no way.

"Julian cannot be moved because of the severity of his condition," Alaric stated, though he could feel the trap closing.

The Judge leaned forward. "If he were in such a serious situation, Your Grace, then why did you chase out the healers from the Royal Sanctum that the Emperor had so graciously provided? To refuse the Emperor’s rcy and hide the boy away... it suggests you have sothing to conceal."

Alaric frowned at the word gracious. He looked up at the Emperor, who was shalessly watching with a grin from above, enjoying the sight of his brother being backed into a corner by his own ’kindness’.

"I have my own physicians," Alaric said through gritted teeth.

"Then, do you suggest your physicians are better than the healers from the Royal Sanctum? If so, why is the tutor still incapacitated?"

That was a question the Duke could not answer. Julian was fine, his leg was healed, but for so reason, he couldn’t wake up.

Alaric remained silent, his jaw locked so tight the muscle in his cheek jumped.

"The Duke has no answer!" the Marquis shouted, turning to the gathered nobles. "He speaks of excellence while his victim withers in the dark! Your Majesty, how much longer must we wait? Every second we delay is another second my son’s life hangs by a thread—if he has any life left at all!"

"He is alive," Alaric growled, the vibration of his voice making the nearby guards shift their feet.

"Then prove it!" a Councilor called out. "Provide a witness that is not a mber of your own household! Give us a na, a rchant, a visitor—anyone who has seen the boy breathing in the last twelve hours!"

The Duke’s silence was deafening. He had cleared the estate of everyone but his most trusted knights and a priest whose existence was a death warrant. He had no one.

"It seems the Grand Duke has run out of stories," the Marquis sneered, looking up at the Emperor. "The evidence of his deceit is there in that dead assassin. And the evidence of his cri is the empty chair where Julian should be sitting."