Marriage Scam (3): Trial by Duel
I was screwed. That was the conclusion I'd reached after much deliberation. Screwed.
It had been three days since I'd sent the letter to Morgina, and there was still no reply. Damn it, I thought she'd still be at the main temple or in the Holy Kingdom's capital of Adme. Had she already left?
Argentlam Duchy was a bustling trade hub, so priests from just about every major faith gathered there. Eve Kaha's faith was a bit unconventional, but her followers were at the forefront of the war against the abyss, which was undeniable. They weren't a massive powerhouse, more like a solid mid-tier outfit, but they did have a modest shrine in Argentlam. I'd sent the letter through the head priest there, yet this hot-tempered saintess hadn't lingered long by the Pontiff's side before vanishing—no word back at all.
At this rate, the original plan of getting a priest to commit perjury is toast.
But that's for the best. Lies tarnish a knight's honor, don't they?
Orishin and Tuon chattered away from either side of me like a pair of parrots. It pissed me off, but they were both right.
So, what could I do here...?
"A knight's just a thug with a sword, right?"
I'd have to settle it with brute force.
Master... take that back, right now!Tuon demanded furiously.
Whether on Earth or in Tirnanog, there were real-life knights who were basically highway-robbing thugs. But unlike those gangster knights, there were also model knights who upheld chivalry—so my words weren't entirely accurate. Still, they weren't complete lies either. I couldn't retract them, but I had a surefire way to calm Tuon's rage: add just one word to that sentence.
"A Dark Knight's just a thug with a sword, right?"
Hmm, an accurate assessment.
I probably hated the Dark Knight class more than anyone in this world, yet it left a strangely bitter taste. Shoving the bitterness aside, I thought ahead to the future.
During those three days waiting for Morgina's reply, Armed and I had scoured imperial law for any legal loopholes to escape this mess. The verdict? Damn near impossible to wriggle out through proper channels. Her own family, who should be on her side, was actively pushing to make her an outsider through marriage, leaving few openings to invalidate the proposal.
But as I'd already declared, knights are thugs with swords.
"It means if there's a problem, we solve it with the blade."
"What do you mean by that?"
"It's an archaic law, practically dead letter, but imperial code does have this provision."
I pointed to a section in the legal tome. Armed stared at me like I'd lost my mind, but I was dead serious.
The court date notified by Mazhar Gabi approached.
Considering how deeply intertwined this was with both parties' personal affairs, the trial would be an informal summary proceeding. In Tirnanog, marriage was a sacred rite under divine blessing, so the judge wasn't some ordinary bureaucrat in robes but a religious inquisitor qualified as a cleric.
Armed, Mazhar, and the judge sat around a large table—not the stern courtroom image that came to mind with "trial." The judge in the center, Mazhar to his left, Armed to his right. A closed-door session made possible by the informal nature and the intensely private matter of marriage.
The young inquisitor, qualified as a religious judge, flipped through documents with a weary expression. He'd rushed through clerical training—three years, intensive—for the career boost, but it seemed he'd picked the wrong field. Noble house political marriages clashing with personal wishes always turned messy and sticky.
From the plaintiff's seat, Mazhar Gabi gazed leisurely at Armed. She thought to herself:
Why's this blockhead so obsessed with the family head position?
The Gabi house wasn't some brutal clan where only the strongest survived; failing to become head wouldn't mean death. He wouldn't live in luxury forever, but he'd never starve either.
Ambition for prestige, maybe.
But it felt more desperate than mere ambition. If she knew why he was so fixated on succession, maybe she could resolve this more amicably. After a moment's contemplation, Armed shook her head. No time or reason to probe Mazhar's motives.
The young judge adjusted his glasses. Time to begin.
"Ahem, let's start."
A few questions and answers followed. Confirmation of the proposal date and response.
"Defendant, Armed Ket. The plaintiff claims you rejected the proposal despite the Ket family's reply. Is this correct?"
"Yes."
"And you cited 'already engaged' as the reason for refusal. Correct?"
"Yes."
Mazhar Gabi presented elegant letter paper. Armed recognized the Ket family seal on the envelope.
"This is the Ket family's official statement. The two matriarchs claim no knowledge whatsoever of Armed Ket's engagement."
The judge scrutinized the intricate flow of mana on the envelope. Potent magic indeed. The seal matched the imperial registry's Ket seal exactly. The contents aligned perfectly with Mazhar Gabi's testimony.
"It was a secret engagement."
Before the judge could voice doubts, Armed struck first. But Mazhar had anticipated this much.
"Then where is the cleric who officiated this secret engagement? I, Mazhar Gabi, offered you a few days' grace to summon them or at least exchange letters."
Mazhar's eyebrow twitched.
"And now I see that knight's absent too. Did he go fetch the cleric himself? If you need a continuance, you should've said so earlier. I'd graciously grant it."
Creeeak—the door to the chamber swung open.
Entering was a pale white-haired man: Kriel.
"No need."
Behind Kriel followed an elderly but robust priest. The raven-shaped holy symbol around his neck marked him as an Eve Kaha cleric.
Mazhar's eyes gleamed. That priest had been head of the Eve Kaha diocese in Argentlam Duchy for ages, rarely leaving the territory. Hardly suitable as a false witness for an engagement.
The judge bowed respectfully to the priest. Different orders, but in the Holy Kingdom's clerical hierarchy, he was leagues junior. No sense snubbing a senior and risking a "kids these days are so rude" letter circulating.
He turned to Kriel. Attendance confirmed identity, but procedure mattered in trials.
"Defendant, Kriel."
"Kriel. And your companion?"
"Daukrius, head priest of the Eve Kaha diocese in Argentlam."
"Did he officiate your engagement to Miss Ket? How intriguing. A man who's devoted his life to Argentlam—when did he step out to bless a Ket count's daughter?"
Mazhar Gabi laced his mockery with courtesy.
Kriel calmly shook his head.
"No. Priest Daukrius isn't here to testify to our engagement."
"Hm?"
"Shall we revisit the trial's origin, young master Mazhar Gabi? You questioned our engagement. Why?"
"Isn't it obvious? Over the years I've frequented the Ket estate, I've never seen anyone like you. A supposed fiancé who never visits his betrothed? Most peculiar."
"Are you doubting the sincerity of our love?"
Something felt off. But questioning the engagement didn't require affirming their love with lines like "I believe your love is true," so Mazhar affirmed it.
"Indeed. Can a man who hasn't met his fiancée in years truly claim to love her?"
"Insulting."
He called it an insult, yet Kriel's face remained utterly serene. His tone was so even that everyone present momentarily failed to grasp the words' meaning.
"...Huh?"
Showing emotion in court never helped your case. He clearly knew that. Whether he truly felt insulted was questionable.
Mazhar felt bafflement and doubt. Kriel's next words stripped away the doubt, plunging him into bewilderment.
"To insult my truth is to insult my honor. Hereby, I demand trial by duel."
"What?"
"Nothing beats a duel to judge a man's character."