Read Novel Full Chapter 392: TRIAL
Chapter 392: TRIAL
"Jordan Hayes. Your presence is demanded by the governor," a guard called out.
His voice echoed sharply through the small, austere chamber where Jordan lay on the narrow bed, staring up at the softly glowing ceiling panels that mimicked a star-strewn sky.
He nodded once, rising smoothly.
Without a word, he followed the guards through the winding corridors of the supervision center, boots echoing softly against floors that shimmered like condensed starlight.
They arrived at the trial ground, an open amphitheater carved into the heart of the capital’s grand citadel.
Tiered seats of polished obsidian and crystal rose in wide semicircles around a central platform, open to the violet sky above.
High seats ringed the arena, occupied by stern-faced officials in midnight-blue robes trimmed with silver.
At the very top, in the governor’s elevated throne of dark crystal, sat Nick, reptilian eyes sharp and unyielding, posture radiating unchallenged authority.
But no one drew Jordan’s attention like the lady seated calmly to Nick’s right.
She was breathtaking in a way that felt almost dangerous.
Pale skin glowed like moonlit marble, flawless and luminous, yet radiating quiet, predatory beauty.
A single elegant horn rose from her forehead, majestic, curving gracefully upward, its surface gleaming like polished obsidian threaded with veins of crimson fire.
She wore a tight-fitted dress of deepest shadow-silk that clung to her form, accentuating every line with deliberate, sensual precision.
The fabric drank in the light, shifting subtly between opaque darkness and translucent hints of infernal flame.
Her crimson eyes, molten, ancient, amused, met Jordan’s without flinching. Lilith.
"Jordan Hayes," Nick began, voice cold and formal.
"You said you are a native of the now non-existent galactic cluster?"
"Yes, I am," Jordan answered evenly.
"By a curse rather than luck, I was able to escape annihilation with my people."
"And how did you accomplish that feat?" one of the ministers asked, leaning forward slightly, eyes narrowed in scrutiny.
"Through the teleportation gate we had," Jordan explained.
"It was faulty after being destroyed by an attack from the Celestial Devourer, but it was able to help me get away just in time."
"I see," Nick said.
"Quite lucky of you then." His gaze sharpened.
"Do you not fear that you could have been teleported into the void?"
"Death from being devoured, which was certain," Jordan replied without hesitation, "or death from the void, which wasn’t certain. Which would you pick?"
A murmur rippled through the assembly, quickly silenced.
"Very well," Nick continued. His tone grew colder, more deliberate. "Now the question that matters."
He leaned forward, reptilian eyes locking onto Jordan’s starry gaze with unblinking intensity.
"Can you pledge your allegiance and absolute loyalty to the sovereigns?"
The words hung in the open air like a drawn blade, heavy with implication. Every eye turned to Jordan.
Lilith’s faint smile remained, enigmatic, patient, watching the scene unfold with the quiet amusement of someone who had seen empires rise and fall on moments far less consequential than this.
Within the vast open-air courtroom of the capital citadel, the violet sky of Aiz arched overhead like an endless dome of bruised twilight.
Nebulae drifted lazily above the tiered obsidian seats, their slow swirl casting shifting veils of silver and indigo light across the assembly.
The central platform, polished black crystal veined with faint silver, stood exposed to the elements, surrounded by rows of stern-faced officials in midnight-blue robes.
Hidden in one shadowed corner of the platform, a slender crystalline obelisk hummed with subtle energy: the Truthweaver, an ancient device that bathed the air in invisible fields designed to detect even the faintest tremor of falsehood.
Jordan had seen through its essence the moment he stepped onto the platform.
His starry eyes had mapped its workings in an instant, threads of perception woven into the very space around them, sensitive to intent as much as words.
He had long prepared for it.
Every statement he had made was true, meticulously staged but undeniably real.
Who cared if the truth had been carefully curated? It had happened. The facts stood unassailable.
"You tell me," Jordan said, voice calm and steady, carrying easily across the open amphitheater.
"Why should I pledge my loyalty to the sovereigns that couldn’t protect a galactic cluster from destruction?"
The words struck like a thrown gauntlet.
"What nonsense! How dare you disrespect the sovereigns!"
"You bastard! Kill him!!!"
Outrage erupted from the tiered seats. Ministers and judges surged to their feet, robes billowing, faces flushed with fury.
Shouts overlapped in a furious chorus, demands for execution, for immediate judgment, for the insolent survivor’s head.
The air crackled with righteous indignation, the Truthweaver’s hum growing momentarily louder as it registered no deception in Jordan’s words, only unfiltered contempt.
Jordan stared back at them without flinching.
His posture remained relaxed, hands loose at his sides, the black blade sheathed at his hip utterly still.
He wasn’t worried about his life. No, in fact, his mystic eyes had already confirmed he had made the perfect choice.
Every outraged face, every trembling finger pointed in accusation, every shouted death sentence: they were all exactly what he needed.
"Silence," Nick commanded.
His voice cut through the chaos like a blade.
The reptilian slits of his eyes narrowed, and the weight of his aura pressed briefly downward, forcing the assembly back into their seats.
The shouts died instantly, leaving only the soft whisper of cosmic wind and the distant hum of Aiz’s energy fields.
"And what do you mean by your statement?" Nick asked. His tone was colder now, more controlled, but the anger simmered beneath it.
"All I’m saying," Jordan replied evenly, "is that loyalty cannot be demanded out of nothing. Loyalty and servitude are earned. And I don’t see any reason to offer mine to those who haven’t earned it."
A soft, amused laugh drifted from the high seat to Nick’s right.
"Crazy guy," Lilith commented.
Her voice was low, almost purring, yet it carried effortlessly across the entire amphitheater.
She leaned forward slightly, crimson eyes gleaming with genuine delight.
The single obsidian horn rising from her forehead caught the violet light, and the shadow-silk of her dress shifted like liquid night.
A faint, dangerous smile curved her lips as she studied Jordan with the patient curiosity of a predator who had just discovered unexpectedly entertaining prey.
Nick’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
"Jordan Hayes," he began again, voice flat and final. "For refusing to pledge your loyalty, then you must—"
"Let him go free, son. I like him."
The telepathic message slipped into Nick’s mind like cool silk, Lilith’s mental voice smooth and unyielding.
Nick froze.
His reptilian eyes flicked toward his mother, wide with stunned disbelief.
For a heartbeat, raw frustration flashed across his features, he had waited for this moment, had practically orchestrated the perfect excuse to crush the insolent newcomer beneath his heel.
Jordan had handed him the opportunity on a silver platter.
And now Lilith had snatched it away.
Nick exhaled slowly through his nose, forcing composure back into place.
Regret settled heavily in his chest; he was already beginning to rue the day he had allowed his mother to stay.
"Jordan Hayes," he said at last, voice clipped and formal.
"With pardon granted by Lilith Lust, Princess of Hell, you have been given amnesty."
The words tasted bitter. He forced them out anyway.
"Work hard from now on to not disappoint her kindness."
Jordan smiled, small, calm, satisfied.
He inclined his head in a shallow nod, the gesture polite but carrying no trace of submission.
He had caught the big fish. The hook was set.
With that, the trial concluded.
The assembly rose in uneasy silence as Nick stood, robes rustling sharply. Officials exchanged wary glances, murmurs rippling through the tiers like wind across water.
Lilith remained seated, her crimson eyes following Jordan with quiet, amused interest as he turned and walked away.
The nebulae overhead continued their slow, indifferent dance.
Below, in the heart of Aiz’s grand citadel, a new player had just stepped fully onto the board, free, unbowed, and already weaving the first threads of a far larger game.