Hanne
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Chapter 243 Hall of Justice
🕑 Added 2025-04-22 09:04:38 +0000 UTCLansius
The events unfolding at the courthouse had swelled into something far larger than expected. Thousands had come, proof that the public craved justice. The building was surrounded. The crowd spilled into the adjoining streets, packed shoulder to shoulder, climbing onto wagons and rooftops to catch a glimpse of the proceedings. Not much had happened yet, and people had begun to speculate. Most weren’t expecting much. Many spoke pessimistically, convinced that nothing would come of it, especially against well-connected nobles like the Ebensteins.
But now, they were in for a shock. Lansius had arrived under heavy escort. His guardsmen marched ahead, forcing a path through the crowd, while his cavalry formed a protective ring around him. Behind them, his retinue scanned the surroundings with cold focus, alert for any threat.
Slowly, they advanced down the narrow stretch of road, just wide enough for two carts to pass side by side.
As they drew closer to their destination, the crowd greeted them with cheers filled with disbelief and excitement.
Lansius hadn’t expected such a welcome, but his time as a leader had trained him not to show surprise or unease. He kept his composure and even allowed a faint trace of amusement to show as the crowd's reaction bordered on mad jubilation.
Lansius had presided over many cases during his time as Lord of Korelia, as being a lord also meant serving as the region’s highest judge. Yet nothing he had seen before compared to this. This was his first major case that would certainly draw intense public scrutiny.
His group finally reached the courthouse's courtyard, where his guardsmen had already formed a perimeter.
"My Lord," the courthouse bailiff, officer, and guardsmen greeted in unison from beyond the front gate.
Lansius dismounted with Sterling’s help and glanced around, seeing the crowd now from eye level. The gathering was truly immense, packed along the streets, clustered at windows, leaning from balconies, and even perched on rooftops. They shifted to catch a glimpse of him, their voices rising and falling in scattered cheers and murmurs.
Some called his name. Others tiptoed to glimpse past his mounted guardsmen. A few clapped. Most simply watched in silence, their faces lit with expectation. Overhead, the banners of his house moved with the wind, their golden and bronze embroidery catching the light.
Taking it all in, Lansius couldn’t help but smile faintly, even as the full weight of expectation settled on his shoulders.
Part of him was tempted to give the people what they wanted, to ride the wave of popularity and deliver swift justice. But Lansius knew better than to let a crowd decide a verdict. He would consider their sentiment, yes, but judgment had to be grounded in fairness.
He turned toward the courthouse, but the noise and movement around him pulled his attention back. The area was tightly packed, congested to the point where the risk of suffocation was real. Lansius ordered his captain to clear a corridor through the crowd so people could evacuate if needed. The last thing he wanted was for his presence to lead to harm.
The captain understood and began directing his men to form the evacuation route.
Lansius turned to the bailiff and said, "This isn’t necessary. You are the bailiff, in charge of this courthouse. Next time, you should wait inside."
The bailiff bowed even lower and politely motioned for Lansius to enter.
Without another word, Lansius stepped through the gate with his entourage.
Inside, a court official promptly announced, "Behold! The Lord Shogun of Lowlandia and Lord of Midlandia has agreed to preside over this court."
The official bowed and stepped aside, allowing Lansius and his entourage to approach the long table at the far end of the hall.
As Lansius strode across the uncarpeted gray stone floor, his eyes passed over the petitioner, a woman who stood with her head bowed, not daring to meet his gaze.
He walked past her and the assembled officials, then took his seat at the central chair behind a long table of old mahogany. The wood had been lacquered dark, giving the setting a grim and decisive presence. From this position, Lansius oversaw all within the chamber.
He noted that the hall was neither spacious nor cramped. The ceiling rose only to a modest height, just enough to let natural light filter through the narrow windows above. The light was dim, but sufficient. The room felt built for judgment. It was stern, restrained, and without ornament. Its austerity served a purpose, reminding every witness that a single lie could cost them their freedom. For the condemned, the message was even clearer. Along the right wall, the tools of punishment were on display: a leather whip, darkened and oiled from use, a punishment rod scarred by years of service, and a broad executioner’s axe, its edge gleaming faintly in the cold light.
Lansius wasn’t sure where they had acquired them, though most likely from the castle’s dungeon. Here, they served a clear purpose. Their presence alone whispered of the fate that awaited liars and lawbreakers.
Whoever had overseen the building’s selection and renovation had done well. Lansius took quiet satisfaction in the talent within Midlandia’s Office of Works.
To his right sat the bailiff, while the assistant on his left quietly prepared the court records. Behind Lansius stood Sir Harold and Sterling. In front, on either side of the long table, the Chief Bailiff, Francisca, and the court officer had taken their positions. Lastly, guardsmen were arrayed along both sides of the hall, flanking the chamber in quiet discipline.
There had been some stiffness at first as they adjusted to the formal arrangement, but so far they had performed well, setting a promising precedent.
Claire, the mage, stood nearby. Her cloak was drawn close to hide her blond hair, helping her blend in with the rest of the entourage. She was there to guard against magic. Without being asked, she had also cooled the air, allowing a breeze to drift in from outside and lower the temperature of the hall.
The courtroom had gone quiet. Even the crowd outside had grown quieter, waiting with bated breath.
Lansius turned first to the bailiff and asked in a firm, authoritative voice, "Bailiff, can you confirm that I’m not here to intervene?"
"You’re here at my request, to preside over a case, My Lord," the bailiff formally reassured everyone at the court.
"Then, let the court begin," Lansius declared, and the guards struck the butts of their spears against the floor.
It was an unexpected gesture in a courtroom, but many of the guards were his veterans. Some bore old injuries, others had recently married or returned to farming, and a few were simply too old for another campaign. Only they dared to do it as a show of respect. Their instinctive act gave power to the proceedings.
Lansius gave them a brief, grateful nod, then set his attention to the frail woman seated near the center-left of his view. She bowed so deeply that she didn’t realize he was watching her, and failed to address him.
A court official looked ready to warn her, but Lansius waved a hand to stop him. Instead, he turned to one of the guards and said, "Fetch her a chair. Also, bring her something to drink."
They obeyed at once. While the court officials moved around him, Lansius read the records offered to him. He could have questioned the woman directly, but he saw no point in asking her to repeat what had already been recorded. It would only add more strain to the petitioner.
The woman trembled as she sat quietly, while men in armor stood nearby, one of them offering her a goblet of water.
"I take it you need my authority to summon Sir Ebenstein?" Lansius asked the bailiff.
"Indeed, My Lord," the bailiff confirmed.
"Give the order, and I’ll send riders to bring him here," Sir Harold offered.
Lansius stroked his chin. "We can, but it’ll end in a his-word-against-her-word situation. We need something more."
"We have a letter," the bailiff said, as his assistant stepped forward and presented it on a wooden tray.
Lansius read the letter and gestured for Sir Harold to take a look. "What do you think?"
Sir Harold leaned in, examined the letter, and said, "We need to find the person who wrote this."
Lansius turned his gaze to the woman, now seated with a goblet of water in her hands. "Who wrote this letter?" he asked.
"I-it was one of Sir Ebenstein’s men," she replied. "His most trusted."
"Most trusted? What did he do?" Lansius asked in a calm, warm tone.
"He handled purchases for the Ebensteins. He would order ale from the village brewery, leather goods, or fresh meat from the butcher if the manor was having a feast."
"So he’s known to many in the village?"
"Indeed, My Lord."
Lansius drew a slow breath before pressing further. "What about Sir Ebenstein? Did the knight know about your son?"
The woman hesitated but finally replied. “I’m not sure, My Lord.”
Lansius turned to the bailiff. “Do we have a case?”
“To some extent, My Lord. But I wish this were a weregild so the solution would be simple,” the bailiff replied.
Lansius nodded. A weregild was compensation for a life. Imperial law set a value on every man, graded according to his rank or occupation. It covered fines or payments for murder, disablement, injury, or other serious crimes. Yet for nobles it was entirely at their discretion, and in Midlandia they seldom enforced it.
“Then our best chance is to secure the man who wrote the letter. He’s the key to proving whether House Ebenstein is innocent or guilty,” Lansius said.
"I'm afraid that by the time our summons reaches him, Sir Ebenstein may have hidden the man somewhere remote," the bailiff replied.
"If we can’t catch someone like him, then our investigators need far more training," Lansius said, glancing toward Sterling, who remained stoic. The Orange Skald had lent their men to assist in training a new cadre of investigators for the courthouse, and Sterling seemed confident in their work.
From his left, the assistant spoke up. "My greater concern is that Sir Ebenstein might simply disown the man who wrote the letter."
"He's been consistent in denying that he ever authorized him," the bailiff added. "He told the petitioner that the man switched sides of his own will."
Lansius gave a small nod in acknowledgment. "Still, if the man is still in his employ, and we have witnesses to support it, we can move forward from there."
"Pardon me, My Lord, but it won’t be easy," said the bailiff, a Midlandian official who had served under the previous administration, offering his professional assessment. "Sir Ebenstein could claim he forgave the man, and that would block our approach entirely."
Lansius stroked his chin again before replying. "We’ll think of something. We hold the initiative, and I intend to press that advantage to get to the bottom of this."
At his words, the bailiff motioned to one of his officials and whispered a few instructions.
The official stepped to the center of the hall and announced clearly, "The court has heard the petitioner’s plea. Officers will be dispatched to investigate and to bring the named man before this court. The session is adjourned until tomorrow."
...
The People of Canardia
Outside, the crowd watched in silence as the court official made his announcement: “All rise.”
The courthouse hall stirred with movement as the Lord of Midlandia and his retinue withdrew into the inner chamber to deliberate. The petitioner, the woman who had lost her son, was guided to a different area by an official and offered rest and protection at the Lord’s expense.
Murmurs rose among the townspeople. The hearing had ended abruptly, with no verdict, and many grumbled at the lack of resolution. But cooler heads prevailed. Even the most skeptical understood that a proper investigation would take time, and that the defendant still had to be summoned from his manor.
At the very least, justice seemed to be in motion, as a group of riders on fresh horses departed the city, escorting an empty carriage sent to bring the knight in.
For the rest of the day, the situation in the courthouse became the talk of Canardia. People whispered and speculated, fully aware that the Ebensteins were no ordinary family. They were powerful and well‑connected. The previous generation had owned vast estates and built their reputation as wealthy patrons. They funded promising talents, paid for their education, and secured them posts in the old administration. Many of those appointees still held office and would no doubt defend the House now.
The sun finally set, and night fell over Canardia, offering rest and a brief peace to all.
Several months after being named administrative capital, Canardia’s population had swelled to nearly thirty thousand. It remained far from the largest city, but the growth was remarkable. Such rapid expansion brought inevitable slums, where displaced families from earlier conflicts found temporary shelter as they searched for opportunity.
In the aftermath of the war, there was no shortage of work. Jobs could be found in the surrounding farms, orchards, and workshops, as well as throughout the city in construction projects, the markets, warehouses, or guild halls. The new administration also recruited, especially those who could read and write. Strong men aimed for the coveted guard posts, though most of those were already held by the lord's seasoned veterans.
Yet for the boldest, there was work to be found with the duck breeders. Duck eggs, whether large or small, were always in demand. Thus, helping in that trade paid well, though it came with its share of risk.
In a city full of displaced people and a population still recovering from civil war, the events at the courthouse struck a nerve. People saw themselves in the woman who had dared to seek justice from the nobles. To many, she represented the best of them. Few had the courage to challenge a noble, and fewer still had proof. She had both.
Now, time would tell whether the Lord’s courthouse would grant the justice the people sought or refuse their plea.
***
Canardia
Another morning dawned in the city that served as the seat of power for Southern Midlandia, and shops and market stalls resumed their usual bustle. But it did not take a keen eye to see that something had changed among the people. Quiet discussions and speculation passed from street to street, and many were already anticipating what might unfold at the courthouse.
Noon was still far off when word spread that Sir Ebenstein had arrived under escort, riding in a carriage. But he was not alone. Two knights and seven esquires from allied Houses accompanied him, lending weight to his presence.
People began to doubt. Though these allies were barred from entering the courtroom, they made themselves felt by setting up chairs, erecting umbrellas, and camping just outside the proceedings.
It was the end of summer, and many could afford to pause their work. Like the day before, those who could made their way to the courthouse, eager to see whether justice could prevail against the noble’s might.
Before long, a growing crowd gathered. It was not as packed or frenzied as the day before; hope had begun to wane.
Inside, the bailiff led the proceedings without delay, and people began to wonder why the Lord of Midlandia had not come to preside. It was another blow to those who had hoped he would oversee the court and deliver justice to the nobles who had long ruined the lives of commoners.
Still, there were no signs of the lord.
Within the hall, questions were asked and answers recorded. Sir Ebenstein, seated with his squire at his side, calmly denied accusation after accusation.
It soon became clear that the bailiff could not make his case. The man who had drafted the muster letter and led the men into battle was absent. The court official had failed to produce him. Without that witness, it was Sir Ebenstein’s word against that of the petitioner. Imperial law was clear that a noble’s testimony carried greater weight.
As time passed, the proceedings grew increasingly hopeless.
“Good Master,” the squire answered on his master’s behalf. The situation had been so favorable that Sir Ebenstein had largely delegated replies to him. “The man who caused this trouble has been a rogue since the start of Sir Reginald’s administration. We do not know on whose orders he acted, but my master’s House bears no responsibility for his deeds.”
“But he is part of your retinue. Is he not, Sir Ebenstein?” the bailiff pressed, though he was running out of ways to ask the same question.
Sir Ebenstein kept his composure and answered himself. “You could say he is a former retainer.”
“Will that still be true when we capture him?” the bailiff demanded.
Sir Ebenstein’s lips curved into a hard smile. “By all means, I would welcome it. He owes me a small fortune and deserves punishment for dragging my name through the mud. Now tell me, when do you plan to bring him in?”
The bailiff met the accused’s unblinking stare and looked away.
“I have heard no word of him since the war,” Ebenstein continued, voice low. “He could well be dead. And the dead do not speak.”
After enduring this for so long, the petitioner could bear it no more. “But what about my son? You promised us—”
“I never met you, woman. How could I promise you anything?” Sir Ebenstein said, cutting her off.
“Order!” the court officer shouted as two guards stepped forward to restrain her.
“I know you!” she bellowed while they forced her down.
Sir Ebenstein sniffed. “I doubt that. You may be the village’s wenches, but I do not sleep with your kind.” His allies outside burst into laughter.
“Order,” the officer repeated, sending guards forward to deter Sir Ebenstein. His squire, however, stepped out vigilantly and took position before his master.
Seizing the moment, the bailiff announced, “The court will be adjourned for two hours to calm tempers and allow a midday rest.”
Outside, knights and squires grumbled in protest. “Two hours for what? Nothing will change!”
“This is unlawful detention of a noble. This is an abuse of power! All the nobles will hear of this!”
“Let him out! You have no proof. This is a stain on the face of the law!”
Despite these harsh words, they were powerless to intervene as dozens of guards, many of them the lord’s veterans, stood watch over the proceedings.
Sir Ebenstein exhaled sharply but did not resist. He chose to wait in the hall. For him and his allies, it was nothing more than victory delayed.
...
The hours dragged on. People’s interest waned as hope dwindled. For those who stayed, their faces were grim, knowing they would witness the death of hope rather than the dawn of victory. Many whispered mockeries of House Lansius. Yesterday’s grand parade had proved nothing but a sham. They felt fooled and betrayed.
Those who stood closest to the courthouse retreated, giving witness that the questioning was weak, while Sir Ebenstein revealed nothing. In a sense, there had been no progress at all.
Frustration simmered, and dejection settled over the crowd.
“Where is he?” they asked, clinging to the hope that the Lord of Midlandia might arrive and turn the tide.
But there were no sightings of him, who likely stayed in his castle.
Rumors spread that the lord had struck a deal with Sir Ebenstein and had chosen to forgive him. Others claimed his men had failed to seize the culprit and, fearing disgrace, the lord stayed away to protect his own reputation.
Rumors ran wild, and the mood turned sour. Discontent spread as people dispersed. They felt abandoned. Their expectations had been high and were now dashed. Many realized that Sir Ebenstein might return home unpunished.
As tension reached a fever pitch, the clear blast of a brass cornu shattered the silence. It rang out from the western gate, bold and unmistakable.
The commoners exchanged glances, their eyes wide with shock and anticipation.
More cornu blasts echoed through the midday air, and the veteran guards at the courthouse shared knowing smiles. They understood what it meant.
As if to confirm their expectations, the cornu sounded one final time, and buccina and trumpets rang out in unison. A commotion quickly rose from the western gate as word spread that an army had entered Canardia, and blue and bronze banners fluttered among the ranks. Against every expectation, the entire Canardia garrison had been mobilized.
Without waiting for the main force, hundreds of battle‑garbed men had already spread through the streets, maintaining open corridors for the crowd and setting up a makeshift infirmary for the wounded. These vanguard scouts had reconnoitered the city since dawn.
From there, word spread that an officer had confirmed the Lord of Midlandia was indeed coming.
All eyes were on the west gate as a grander procession than the previous day marched through the now orderly streets. Those closest to it saw a carriage roll by, flanked by heavy cavalry bearing the blue and bronze banners overhead. And most strikingly, Francisca sat beside the coachman, a sure sign that the Lord of Midlandia was there in person.
At the sight, a thunderous roar rose from the crowd. Their faces brimmed with expectation. Now the pressure was on. No one in Canardia could forgive the Black Lord if his decision proved weak or unsatisfactory. Many cared less about justice; they craved punishment.
While everyone’s attention was on the parade, the battle of wits had already begun.
Inside the courthouse, gossip of the Lord’s coming unnerved the accused as the bailiff returned ahead of schedule and quietly approached Sir Ebenstein, who remained seated with his squire beside him.
“It would be bad if the Lord presided over this. His wrath is known to many,” the bailiff warned.
Sir Ebenstein remained seated and met his gaze. “And what do you want me to do?”
The bailiff moved closer and leaned in. “You know, if you admit you recruited the woman’s son and settle what you owe, I can grant you leniency.”
Sir Ebenstein and his squire shot their gazes toward the bailiff, who calmly straightened his posture, patiently waiting for their answer. He could say that without fear since everyone was watching what happened outside, and the sound of the crowd reached inside, echoing with intensity. Moreover, the petitioner was still resting in a different building.
“Is this one of your ploys?” Sir Ebenstein muttered sharply.
The bailiff smiled, his expression almost condescending. “Sir, I assure you, admitting your guilt and asking for leniency isn’t a trick.”
“Save your breath,” Sir Ebenstein said, suspicion filled his tone. “I fear nobody but the law.”
“What I did is according to the law,” the bailiff explained calmly. “Admitting allows me the power to give a lesser punishment. And we might end this cleanly without having to involve the circus.”
Sir Ebenstein met his gaze, trying to measure whether this was a jest or a true offer. Unlike their previous battle of stares, this time the bailiff held his gaze.
As if enjoying his doubt, the bailiff offered, “Should I fetch you the great book of law?”
The knight shook his head. “I don’t buy into your schemes.”
The bailiff chuckled. “Suit yourself. I’m merely extending a friendly courtesy. You know I don’t want to get on your allies' bad side.” He then casually walked to the door to watch the spectacle as the crowd reacted favorably to the news of the Lord’s coming.
Suddenly, the thousands who had besieged the courthouse cheered, their voices booming against the walls and drawing his attention to the situation beyond the door. His anxiety deepened when he saw how insignificant his allies were against the sea of people.
“Master, perhaps a deal isn’t so bad,” his squire whispered, feeling the same pressure.
The knight remained silent. He was born to the prestigious House Ebenstein and would not submit to any indignity unbefitting his status; otherwise he would become a laughingstock for the rest of his life. While the estate no longer teetered on ruin, his coffers remained low after a string of poor investments and reckless spending by his father’s generation. Ebenstein did not have it easy.
Growing up, food was plentiful, though the estate’s treasury told a different story. His father never spoke of the family’s financial struggles until his death, treating money as a taboo subject.
Ebenstein sighed. Compared to nobles like himself, whose lives were complicated from the start by heavy expectations, responsibilities and the weight of lineage, a peasant’s existence appeared harsh but simple. They grew up, worked the fields, married, and raised children. They did not need to climb ladder in armor, fight in enclosed helms, hold a steady lance while mounted, or train day and night until their bodies broke to maintain their names in local tournaments.
Physical trial was only half the challenge. A nobleman was also expected to dance, recite poetry and keep ledger accounts for the estate’s administration. Ebenstein fulfilled all these duties without complaint. He had married late to secure his family’s wealth and introduce new sources of income.
Then civil war erupted, and he was expected to join. Nobody wanted to die for Sir Reginald or Lord Bengrieve, so he devised a plan that would not cost him much, and it worked. He escaped the conflict almost unscathed, save for one small problem.
One stubborn mother demanded justice over a single piece of paper signed by his right‑hand man.
He would not squander his meager resources to compensate a peasant for his son’s careless death in battle. If he did, more peasants would swarm him and his allies, and it would set him back for years.
“Her son died, so what?” he whispered so quietly that not even his squire could hear over the roar outside.
Everyone carried a burden: he with his estate and his men, peasants with their land and their duty to serve in war. If a peasant died in battle, that was his fate. There was no legal reason to compensate for deaths, especially when they lost the war.
It was not even a weregild matter; he had not slain the son. Even if he had, it was his prerogative alone to decide whether to pay the compensation or not.
“Peasants should just breed to replace their numbers,” he muttered, a smirk curling his lips. Confidence flooded back.
Sir Ebenstein took a deep breath, knowing that nothing had really changed. As long as his right‑hand man remained free, there would be no case. Not even the Black Lord could touch him.
***
PS: Another big chapter. I hope you enjoy reading it!
So, what do you think about Sir Ebenstein? 🤔
The chapter image features Lansius and Francisca in the parade from the last chapter. It was hard to make it presentable, but I managed with basic editing tools. I did many edits and still want to do more, but the chapter needs to move forward.
A few details: Francisca is tall, but she is not as towering as the picture suggests. Take it as the painter glorifying her height to make it grander. 😅
While Francisca leans more toward her beast side, Lord Beatrix is more human-like. You can say that there are plenty of differences in half‑breed physiques.
A reminder: for Apple users, you can save 30% on your membership by paying Patreon through your browser (Safari) instead of the iOS app. This prevents Apple from overcharging you. After that you can use the app like usual. 🍏
As always, gratitude for your awesome support! 💖🦆
Comments
Lol its levi
Franciscas not that bad if you look over old medieval depictions of dogmen i think its basically a man with a dogs head not too far off on how artist would depict them in that time period
Ryan
RIP Sir Evenstien’s gold.
Hanne
Yes, it's much to be desired. even with it able to take reference picture, it's still unable to create things with good accuracy. I'm just happy it doesn't generate extra limbs or flying 3 pronged swords XD
Hanne
I was thinking to put his background next chapter since it's already 4,300, but yes, at this point he's too cartoonish. I'll do some edit and report back!
CapptainT3ddy
I'll be a duck farmer for sure
ThoMiCroN
The beastmen in the future might become essential assets of the judiciary forces in charge of seizing witnesses. They can track them better than any human.
Duke of Coffee
Impalement please. 😜 Anyway, tall, happy wolf is a happy wolf.
ThoMiCroN
The AI image is a bit inconsistent with the rest of the illustrations. It’s been my understanding that Lansius had a normal Bronze chevron for heraldic shield, but now it’s an Or chevron renversé et alésé, which is blazoned distinctly. Also the beastman seems more lupine and less anthropomorphic than usual.
Nyroe
Y'know I'd say that characters such as Ebenstien would be cartoonishly evil and heavy handed, but given the direction history is currently turning, I guess he's pretty realistic.
