Surviving A Novel I Don't Remember: A Tutor's Guide To Staying Alive Chapter 114: Take Responsibility

The Marquis was shaking now, his eyes darting toward Maxwell, who still stood with his arm in a sling. He was panicked, feeling everything was about to fall into ruin because Julian would definitely speak against him.

Seeing his father losing ground, Maxwell stepped forward, his voice trembling.

"You speak so well for a patient who is apparently recovering."

Julian looked at him, his eyes falling on the cast he was wearing. That must be his eldest brother, whom he hardly ever saw while he was still in the Marquis’s manor.

"But all you have said does not cover up the fact that you allowed the Duke to humiliate father until the point where father actually believed sothing had happened to you. This is all happening because of that so-called ’wish’ of yours. How will you take responsibility for this ss?

He looks mature, but he still thinks like a child. Julian thought.

Julian leaned back into the velvet of the chair, his posture relaxed despite the Emperor’s sharp gaze looming above. He looked at Maxwell, his eldest brother, with a pity that was almost louder than any insult.

"Responsibility?" Julian repeated the word rolling off his tongue with a dry, lodic irony. "You speak as if the Duke created this ’ss’ out of thin air. Let us be clear, Eldest. This ’ss’ began the mont our father decided that his son’s shattered thigh was less important than his political gas."

Julian suddenly felt a fiery fury in his chest. He was angry and disappointed, but this disappointnt didn’t seem to be his.

"It began when he failed to send even a single knight to search for when I was lost in the woods in the middle of the hunt, and only rembered I was his son when he realised I held the Duke’s favor and was given the privilege of becoming the royal tutor, the one I rejected. You have no right to speak about taking responsibility here."

Julian’s eyes swept the room, eting the gazes of the whispering nobles who were now leaning in, enthralled.

"If the Marquis felt humiliated, it is because he brought his own sha into this light. He claid I was a prisoner, but I am here. He claid I was dead, yet I am breathing. He claid the Duke was a rebel; yet here he stands with a clean slate to his na. It was the sa Duke who saved from a notorious assassin. So, who’s the guilty one here?"

Maxwell’s face twisted, his good hand tightening into a white-knuckled fist.

"You ungrateful—! You are an Astrea! You should be standing with your blood, not defending the man who maid !"

"Blood?" Julian tilted his head, his mismatched eyes flashing a cold gaze. "Blood is what I left on the forest floor while the Marquis manor remained silent. The Duke may have taken your arm, Maxwell, but he gave back my life. If you want to talk about taking responsibility, perhaps you should start with the fact that you are more upset about a broken bone than the attempted murder of your own brother."

He said, but then scoffed.

"But how could you? After all, you might’ve been among the people who ordered my death." His voice ca out lower than before, but it was loud enough for all to hear.

The Hall went deathly silent. Even the Marquis had stopped shaking; he simply stood there, looking like a man who had watched his last bridge burn.

The high judge leaned so far over his bench that the light from the chandeliers reflected off his bald head. He ignored Maxwell’s fuming and the Marquis’s stunned silence, his eyes fixed solely on Julian.

"Master Astrea," the Judge said, his voice dropping into a professional, heavy register. "This court deals in facts, not poetic grievances. You have just stated, in the presence of the Emperor and the Great Houses, that your own kin may have ordered your death."

The Judge paused, the scratching of the scribes’ quills the only sound in the room.

"I must ask you directly: Are you formally accusing Marquis Astrea and his heir of conspiring to assassinate a mber of the Grand Duke’s household? On his own son? Or are these rely the ’delirious’ ramblings your father claims them to be?"

Julian felt Alaric’s presence behind him—a solid, unmoving wall of support. He could feel the Duke’s gaze on the back of his head, waiting. Across the floor, the Marquis was pale, his mouth slightly open, looking like a man standing on the edge of a scaffold.

Julian tilted his head back, looking the Judge in the eye.

"If I were delirious, Your Honor, I would have imagined a father who loved . I would have imagined a brother who rushed to save . Instead," Julian’s voice grew cold, gripping his arms over his thigh. "Instead, I rember the silence. I rember the assassin walking towards and saying sothing along the lines of... ’It would be better if I stayed a tragic mory. It would benefit them.’ That couldn’t have been an imagination."

"Your words now do not hold ground to your accusation," one of the judges said. "So to bla it on your family is just..."

"I did not specifically claim they did it," Julian said. "I simply asked a man who would likely go to that extent depending on his mood. The assassin did ntion a na,"

The Marquis suddenly tensed up, and Julian rolled his eyes towards him, assessing and watching every reaction of his. Now, the prey had beco the hunter.

"And what was the na?" The high judge asked, and Julian looked at him. "The court needs a target for its investigation."

An investigation, huh?

Julian didn’t flinch. He let a slow, chillingly calm smile spread across his face, one that didn’t reach his eyes. He turned his gaze away from the Judge and let it settle heavily on the Marquis again.

"Of course, it could’ve been anyone," Julian said, his voice smooth, almost conversational as he shrugged.

"What do you an?" They were all eager to hear the na directly from the victim, but Julian wasn’t ready to play along. He had his own plans.

"I was scared and in pain; there was no way I could hear the mumbling of the assassin. But maybe the Duke here heard it. He heard him, and he fought the assassin." he looked over his shoulder at the Duke.

"The Duke claims Marquis Astrea sent the assassin." The head judge said.

"Did he? Then he must be right."