Below the throne, Lucien draws his sword without a word. At the cold sound of steel, the ministers bow their heads in unison. The last bit of color drains from the captured noble's face. Lucien's gaze briefly turns toward the throne.

There was only one thing he needed to confirm. It was neither the truth of the crime nor the noble's excuses.

It was Guest's will.

Your Majesty.

The tip of the sword slowly rises.

Give the order.