Chapter 76: The Tribunal Begins!
The hourglass of forty-eight hours had run out, its last grain of sand falling to the bottom.
The wager between Ryan and Andre, filled with tension and the scent of gunpowder, ultimately could not remain completely sealed in the grey-green room of the committee. Like a stone thrown into a still lake, the ripples inevitably spread.
After learning of the matter, the higher-ups at the academy held an urgent and careful internal discussion.
Finally, a decision was made: This dispute, which had originally been a private wager, must now be handled in a more serious and public frawork, as it involved a major safety incident, the reputations of noble students, and potential comrcial liabilities.
Thus, the ti limit of the wager beca the countdown for formal review. The private confrontation was elevated to a public scrutiny and ruling under the academy’s regulations.
Today marked the end of that ti limit, and the day of this newly formalized tribunal.
With the sand in the hourglass gone, ti no longer lingered behind any one side. The scales of fate were about to be tipped by an unseen hand, right before the eyes of all.
Morning light pierced through stained-glass windows, casting dappled shadows on the towering do of the academy's grand hall.
The air was filled with dust, a mix of ancient wood, old books, and a faint scent of incense. The hall, usually reserved for celebrations and grand ceremonies, had today been arranged as a temporary tribunal.
At the front, a number of dark wooden tables were lined up in a row.
Seated at the center was Edgar Morris, the Dean of the Departnt of Elentary Magic, dressed in his formal deep-blue professor’s robe. His expression was solemn, with the lines of his face more pronounced than usual.
To his left and right were several senior advisors of the Discipline Committee — including the bespectacled woman and the balding Wood, as well as the heads of the academy's logistics departnt and the alchemical safety office.
Professor Horne also sat at a corner, with a thick notebook open in front of him, his brow furrowed slightly.
Below the platform, the central area of the hall had been cleared, with two wooden tables set up facing each other.
Behind one table sat Andre Garcia, his half-face still slightly swollen. Although healing magic had erased the worst of the bruises and broken bones, the teeth Ryan had knocked out could not fully regenerate. They had been temporarily replaced with a fixed prosthesis.
This made the right side of his face look stiff and unnatural. When he spoke, he had to consciously control his mouth, his voice carrying a slight hiss from the gaps in his makeshift teeth.
But he sat straight, chin raised, his eyes burning with a mix of pain and humiliation as they fixed on the entrance.
Hanson Wood sat next to him, his face even paler than Andre’s, his eyes occasionally darting nervously toward the high platform.
The other table was empty. That was Ryan’s seat.
Surrounding these two focal tables were several rows of seats in a fan-like arrangent. On the left side sat a dozen or so students, their expressions a mix of unease. They were all either direct witnesses or lightly injured participants in the recent potion explosion in the magic potion class. Among them was Robert Fischer, his right hand wrapped in a thick bandage that emitted a faint holy glow. His face still lacked color, but his eyes were clear.
On the right side, representatives from various student levels and a few teachers sat as onlookers, along with several well-dressed, dignified visitors — mbers of the academy’s influential noble student clubs, or those with ties to the families involved.
At the front of the right side of the hall, there was a seat draped in deep-red velvet.
Princess Cecilia Ishtar of the Empire sat there, her attire today more formal than when she had been in the committee office yesterday. She wore a moon-white court gown embroidered with silver thread, her golden hair styled in an intricate bun, adorned with tiny pearls.
She sat gracefully, hands folded on her lap, her expression serene, as if rely a curious bystander passing through.
But her re presence lent the hall a weight that represented the imperial will. Her gaze occasionally swept over the empty defendant’s seat or lingered on Andre’s taut face, her eyes unreadable.
The atmosphere was heavy, lowering the volu of all conversation. The crowd awaited.
The heavy oak doors creaked open with a long, drawn-out sound. All eyes imdiately turned toward the entrance.
Ryan Velt walked in.
He was dressed in a neat academy uniform, his dark coat fastened properly, brown hair combed neatly to reveal his smooth forehead and those signature pale blue-gray eyes.
His face showed no expression — neither fear nor anger. It was calm, like a deep pool. His steps were steady as he walked through the long aisle between the rows of seats. His boots struck the smooth stone floor with clear, regular sounds that echoed through the silent hall.
He walked straight to the empty defendant’s table, pulled out a chair, and sat down.
Andre’s breathing noticeably grew heavier, his eyes almost shooting flas. Wood, his hands clenched tightly under the table, glared at him.
On the platform, Dean Edgar glanced at the magical tir on the wall, then surveyed the room, confirming that all key individuals were present. He cleared his throat, and his deep, clear voice echoed through the hall via a small amplification magical device:
“Silence.”
The last traces of noise faded.
“According to the academy’s regulations and the petition of the Discipline Committee, we are now convening this public tribunal to review the magic potion accident that occurred in the Seventh Laboratory on the morning of July 24th in the Imperial Calendar, involving the third-year students of the Departnt of Magic at Saint Roland Magic Academy.” Dean Edgar’s voice was devoid of emotion, as though reading a decree. “The purpose of this tribunal is to clarify the facts, establish responsibility, and make decisions in accordance with academy rules. The process will be conducted with fairness and objectivity.”
He paused briefly, then turned his gaze to the left side of the room: “Plaintiff side, Comrade Garcia and Comrade Wood, you have accused student Ryan Velt of gross operational negligence in this incident, and have claid that the materials supplied by his family’s guild, Northern Star, had severe quality issues, indirectly leading to the accident and its serious consequences. Do you confirm?”
Andre took a deep breath, forcing his facial muscles to control his expression. He answered with a clear but slightly off-kilter voice: “Confird! We have sufficient evidence and reason!”
“Defendant side, student Ryan Velt,” Dean Edgar shifted his gaze to the right side, “You deny the plaintiff’s accusations and claim that you will present evidence in this tribunal to prove your innocence. Do you confirm?”
Ryan raised his head, eting Edgar’s gaze with calm eyes: “Confird.”
“Very well.” Dean Edgar nodded slightly. “I will preside over this tribunal. The Discipline Committee advisors and heads of relevant departnts will provide expert opinions. Princess Cecilia Ishtar, as the imperial representative, will attend for supervision. All proceedings will be docunted in detail.”
He looked around the room, then his gaze settled on the two parties involved: “Let us begin the first phase: Fact statents and cross-examinations. Plaintiff side, please state your accusations and present your evidence.”
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