The Reverse Scale (4)
"I shall pass judgment."
The dry voice cut across the courtroom.
At those words, every eye in the room turned to Leo Castor.
It was the first time in nearly fifteen years that the King had voiced an opinion in an official capacity. That fact alone froze everyone where they stood.
The Minister clasped his fists tight, his face alight with emotion.
"At last..."
He gazed up at the King, eyes brimming with tension and hope. But a moment later, his expression faltered into bewilderment.
"Y-Your Majesty?"
Something was wrong. Following his lead, I turned my gaze as well — and I, too, found myself swallowing hard.
Leo Castor's face was no longer blank. Green eyes bore straight down at me, and his forehead was creased with a deep, twisting furrow. Only a single emotion showed upon the King's face.
Rage.
For the first time in fifteen years, a furious king was glaring at me.
Pathetic.
That was the very first thought that came to him.
Leo Castor looked out over the faces of everyone staring at him. They were all wearing the same expression — desperate, faintly hopeful, full of faith and expectation. The Foreign Minister seated far off on the defendant's side, the Queen pressed so close beside him that she was practically clinging to his arm — all of them wore the same look: the expression of people entrusting everything to their King. The sight stirred in Leo a disgust that had long since curdled into nausea.
What is the point of any of it?
This trial was meaningless from the start. A single word from him would sweep aside thousands of pieces of evidence and testimony alike. And so the heart of King Leo held no agitation, no wavering — not even a flicker of interest. Whatever was said, whatever proof was offered, in the end it would all come down to one word from the throne. A struggle to save one young man. Pressure to destroy him. He had regarded both as nothing more than water flowing past.
That was what he had thought.
But now — now that he had watched every moment of this spectacle unfold — something inside him was twisting.
An emotion he had forgotten. A heart sunk in grief was beginning to boil over. His fingers wrenched the armrest of his chair so hard they threatened to snap.
Why?
He asked himself the question. Why was he angry right now? At what — at whom — was this feeling directed? Gripped by this sudden emotion he could not explain, King Leo clenched his jaw, and his green eyes swept the courtroom in search of its cause.
And then he understood. This was anger directed at the Central Officer.
No. Not at him.
It was aimed at the being standing behind him — at the saint bathed in that pillar of light, and at the master of the light itself.
God...
Only then did the King grasp why he was so furious. This trial had been a historic one — the first occasion on which the god of the Holy Church had stepped forward directly, shielding the saint while lending weight to the Central Officer's position. At the same moment it had shattered the Pope's authority — a miracle in the truest sense, unprecedented in all recorded memory. Even a man who had neglected the affairs of state for so long could piece together the present situation from the gazes in the room and the words exchanged over them, and glimpse as well the course the tide would take from here.
The Pope has fallen, and God has intervened to choose the saint.
The meaning could not have been clearer. The Pope who had whipped the faithful into cries of holy war would fade away, and the saint who had excommunicated herself would lead in a new era. The Holy Church would greet a new age — a golden age of glory and revival.
It was at precisely that point that he felt his gut twist. The fact was igniting a fury within King Leo.
If God truly intervened — if a being called God truly exists —
He glared at the beam of light shining down on Erzena, and hurled the most fundamental question of all.
Then why was my son not protected?
The saint's words rose in his memory. No innocent soul should die.
She was right. Then what crime had my young son committed, that he had to die? And at the hands of his own sister, no less. What was that detestable Manifestation, that it mattered so much? Because he defied the Church? Because I did not believe in God? Then why is the Central Officer being spared now? Fifteen years ago, when I first stood against the Pope and blocked his will — why did no such miracle come for me then?
He was angry. Angry enough for his teeth to chatter, as every feeling that had lain dead within him for all these years roared back to life as flame.
"One beloved of God, is it..."
The words came out ground between his teeth. If this world held those who received God's love and those who did not — then how unjust was it? How cruel a world was this?
Was Rasen, then, a soul God had cast aside? While this insignificant young man was worth God stepping down personally to protect? While He had stolen my beloved son from me — yet reaches out to guard the one He favors?
Then I shall trample that love into the dirt.
Pathetic. The thread holding the Central Officer's life together right now lay in my hand. All I need do is render judgment. One sentence — Do as the Queen desires — and everything they have built would collapse into foam. Let God make His appearance; strike off their heads before He can, and it is finished.
A hollow, quiet laugh slipped from his lips. Nothing held any meaning for him anymore. Nothing at all. Even if a new age dawned, even if the generations to come flourished — what could anyone hope for in a world without his son?
And only now, of all times, God chooses to intervene?
Absurd. His gut twisted. He poured his rage onto the dead ashes of his heart. A dragon whose reverse scale has been touched will always, inevitably, run mad.
And so King Leo made up his mind.
"This trial shall..."
It would go as the Queen willed. The instant he opened his mouth to say so, his eyes met those of the Central Officer, who had raised his head.
"..."
Whether it was foresight of what was coming, or simple alarm at the expression on the King's face just now, the man did not look away — even frightened as he plainly was.
Unbidden, the Central Officer's final words surfaced in his mind. There are no exceptions at the border. Honor the treaty. Remember the duty of a neutral nation.
Those words left King Leo with yet another question. With God's endorsement already secured, the man had no reason whatsoever to step forward. Had he simply stood by and done nothing, no one on earth would have dared raise a hand against the saint who backed him.
Then why did he withdraw God's proxy and insist on closing the argument himself?
He had not leaned on God. Quite the opposite — he had sent the saint back, then invoked nothing but his duties as an Immigration Officer and the treaty itself.
King Leo turned the fact over in his mind. Why?
It made no sense. A man beloved of God, doing everything in his power to exclude God's intervention and resolve the crisis by his own strength alone. Before that contradiction, King Leo fell deep into thought.
What justifies my rage? What deserves to pay the price?
The temptation — do as the Queen desires — slowly died down. The emotion that had blazed like wildfire gradually settled amid the confusion. And in its place, a single thought rose instead: a way to deal with this contradictory man.
The King reached his decision.
"This trial..."
He delivered the final judgment.
"I declare it void."
A verdict no one had anticipated.
"!!!!!"
"!!!"
At the bolt from the blue, stunned cries erupted not only from the prosecution's side but from the defense as well.
"Y-Your Majesty, what — what does Your Majesty mean?"
"Void? Not guilty or innocent — void?"
I myself was so shocked that I could only crane my head up, mouth hanging open. Void? As if the whole thing never happened at all?
The most stunned of all was the Queen.
"Y-Your Majesty — no, darling. What is the meaning of this!?"
Having forgotten entirely that this was an official occasion, she clutched at the King's sleeve. "You always do as I ask, you promised me that—"
"Silence."
It was not a dry voice this time, but a thunderous, majestic cry that split the courtroom in two. In an instant, every mouth in the room sealed shut. The voice was unmistakably that of the King of old.
Leo rose slowly from his seat. Through his unkempt hair, wide-open green eyes bore down and crushed the entire assembly into stillness.
"This trial was convened on account of the arbitrary judgment of the defendant, Central Officer Nathan Kell, and the diplomatic discourtesy said to have followed from it."
"However, it has now been revealed that the prosecution brought this accusation against the defendant on false grounds. I therefore find that there was never any grounds for this trial to be held at all."
"Accordingly, I declare this trial void. At the same time, in accordance with the treaty, I order the immediate expulsion of every last member of the pilgrimage from our borders."
"By royal command, this shall be carried out at once."
A bombshell declaration. Each word fell upon them like blows from a hammer.
"Answer."
At the low, heavy voice, they barely managed to respond.
"W-We shall obey the royal command!"
Last of all, he ground the words out at his own Queen, low and bitten-off.
"Never drag me into a farce like this again, Queen. Not ever again. Those are the last words I will say on the matter."
With that, the King strode out of the courtroom.
— SLAM!
The door crashed shut behind him with a resounding boom. When the thunder had passed, all that remained was a silence so dense it choked the air.
At those cold words — words none of them had ever heard from him before — the Queen's face drained white.
"Ah... aaaaah..."
Crushed by terror, she sank to the floor where she stood. And it was not only the Queen — everyone in the courtroom stood petrified.
"Wh-What on earth..."
Even the Minister's legs gave out beneath him, and he staggered. This was not what any of us had hoped for. It was not even a reaction we could have predicted.
The King had awakened. But he had not reclaimed his weapon, nor recovered any will to take up the governance of his realm once more.
He was in a fury. Like a dragon whose reverse scale had been pierced — unstable, precarious, and violent. All the emotions that had lain pressed down within him for fifteen years were now blazing inside him like a roaring fire.
Walking briskly down the corridor, the King murmured quietly to himself.
"I shall be watching you, Central Officer."
You, whom God seeks to protect. I will not touch you — not for now. You who press onward alone, refusing every compromise: I will be your shield. You who reject God and stand against the tide with nothing but a single small stone — I will watch over you.
But the day you show even the slightest reliance on God — the day I see you craving His love, begging that revolting existence for aid — on that day, I will kill you by whatever means it takes.
That is my rage. It will be my revenge upon God, my penance for a dead son, and the price you pay for making use of my decree.
So thinking, Leo Castor closed the door to the room where his son's portrait hung.
The door to his heart closed with it.