Naofumi's POV:~
The sound of my laughter, sharp and cold, echoed through the silent hall.
The court stirred, a wave of confused whispers washing through the nobles and knights. They looked between the King, me, and the trembling figure beside me, uncertainty clouding their faces.
"Hey King," I said, my voice cutting through the murmurs, still holding that edge of mockery. "Sorry, but I'm not in the mood for jokes, so can you be a bit serious?" Their method of 'trial' was laughable in its flawed premise.
Beside me, her hand still clutching mine, Naofumi spoke, her voice quiet but clear. "Don't worry, Mr. No-name," she said, addressing me but intended for the court. "I have no problem with this."
My internal monologue recoiled. Oh really? After everything she'd been through, the public shaming, the terror, the attempted violation, the sheer degradation of it all... she was willing to stand here and expose herself to that final indignity, in front of the world? Just to prove her innocence to them? It was a horrifying kind of courage, born of a world that had broken her spirit but not her will to survive.
And the underlying idiocy of it all – even bigger than her willingness to endure this was the fact that a slave mark cannot be placed on a Hero. Not without their explicit consent, freely given, and not without significant modifications to their very System interface, modifications this world's System was clearly not set up for with its summoned heroes. They didn't own us, not like that. We weren't chattel to be marked and controlled by their petty magic.
But of course, these people wouldn't know this. They lived by their world's rules, their understanding of magic. They saw the Shield Hero as a tool, a problem, something to be controlled. And the slave mark was their tool of control, their method of extracting 'truth' from those they deemed beneath them.
"Alright, put the slave mark on the shield hero," the King said, his voice calm, ignoring my mockery, giving the order. A group of knights, grim-faced, started coming towards us, their movements precise, professional. Towards Naofumi.
"Stop King!" I roared, my voice exploding across the hall, filled with a sudden, intense rage that had nothing to do with my own suffering and everything to do with the sheer injustice and ignorance of these people. "Don't you even know that slave marks cannot be placed on heroes?"
The knights froze. The courtroom fell silent again, a stunned quietness descending. Everyone started whispering to each other, their eyes darting between me, the King, and the advancing knights. A fundamental rule, openly challenged.
The King's composure wavered slightly. He looked at me, his expression questioning. "No," he said, his voice steady, but with a hint of disbelief, "I really don't know that. I don't even know if what you said is true or not." He wanted proof. He wouldn't take my word for it. A pragmatic King.
"Absolutely," I said, stepping slightly forward, my gaze sweeping across the other three heroes and their parties. Their faces held confusion, disbelief, maybe a flicker of fear. They didn't know this either. "You can try putting a slave mark on any of the three heroes." I gestured towards them. "Right now. Pick one."
I let a smile spread across my face. Not mocking this time, but utterly confident. Daring him. "If I am proven wrong," I said, letting the challenge hang in the air, "I'll gladly offer my head to you." My life, for the truth of this System rule. A bargain I knew I couldn't lose.
The King looked at the other heroes, then back at me. His political mind was clearly weighing the implications. Disproving my claim publicly would discredit me. Proving it would shake the fundamental understanding of his world's magic and the heroes' status.
"We don't want your head," the King said, dismissing my offer, his voice regaining its authority. "Also, whatever is happening today is because of the shield hero, that's why-" he was saying, trying to steer the narrative back, to place blame on Naofumi, to justify their actions, but I cut him off. His attempt to minimize her suffering, to frame her as the cause of this scene... the rage I held for Myne and the Queen, for the System that allowed this, boiled over.
"What you said is wrong King Mirella!" I screamed, my voice booming across the hall, projecting all the fury I felt for the injustices inflicted on Shield Heroes, on people like Naomi, on people like myself. My focus wasn't just on the King anymore; it was on the entire system that allowed this. "Whatever is happening today is because of your son! And not only that, your son tried to rape a hero and then deceived the entire country!"
The court erupted in a fresh wave of gasps and murmurs. Rape? Deceived the country? These were not the public accusations Myne had made. These were the real ones.
"Have you even thought," I continued, my voice raw with outrage, "about how much trouble... how much pain... the shield hero must have gone through because of you people?" Not just the King. The Queen, who was clearly complicit. Myne, the architect. The system that enabled it.
Beside me, a small hand grabbed my arm. Naofumi. She held me tightly, trembling, trying to quiet me, her face a picture of fear mixed with desperate resolve. She was afraid of my outburst, afraid of the consequences, but she was trying to stop me. Trying to shield me, in her own way, from the backlash. A strange, twisted moment of protection from the person I was protecting.
The King watched my outburst, his expression unreadable for a moment. The Queen, however, was white with fury, her eyes blazing.
"How can you say that Myne did that?" the King asked calmly, cutting through my rage. He wasn't denying it outright. He was asking for proof. My accusation was based on Naofumi's word.
"Because I trust the shield hero," I said, my voice firm, looking at Naofumi, who still held my arm. Her word against Myne's, against the Queen's. My trust in her, against his duty to his family.
The King looked between me and Naofumi, then back at the stunned court. He was weighing his options. My power was unknown. My claims were outrageous, but delivered with absolute conviction and backed by demonstrated abilities (teleportation, easily dispatching Myne, knowing System rules). His son was incapacitated, his wife was furious, and the public might just believe the spectacle they were witnessing.
"Very well," he said, his voice regaining a chilling authority. He looked at me, then turned to his knights. "Then we will find out right now what the truth is."
His gaze swept across the kneeling knights who had attempted to advance on Naomi. "Bring Myne here."
A different group of knights, those less directly involved in the previous scene, hesitated for a fraction of a second, glancing towards the the queen.
"But he's-" the Queen tried to protest, her voice sharp with alarm. Myne was her son. Her heir.
"So what if he's scared of what happened yesterday?" the King's voice rose, cutting off the Queen's protest, filled with a sudden, surprising anger directed at her. "Someone who behaves like that," he gestured towards where Myne had been beaten, "should be treated like this." He wasn't just being pragmatic. He was angry at Myne, angry at the situation Myne had created.
"Don't say that you trust a stranger more than your own son!" Queen Aultcray shrieked, her fury now encompassing me, the King, everyone who dared question her family.
The King didn't say anything to her. He just looked at the knights, his gaze cold and absolute. "Bring him."
Soon, knights forcefully brought Myne. He was awake, conscious, trembling, his eyes wide with terror, fixed on me.
"Leave me!" He screamed, struggling against the knights holding him.
"Shut up Myne," the King shouted at him, his voice cracking like a whip.
The knights forced Myne to his knees before the platform. His struggles were pathetic. And then, grim-faced, they produced the tool. The slave mark crest. The magical ink.
Myne's eyes widened further, focusing on the crest. Terror. Real terror. Not the feigned terror he'd shown earlier.
And then, they put the slave mark on him. On Myne. On the charming Prince, the Golden Hero candidate. On his chest. The symbol appeared, glowing faintly, a mark of ownership, of control, of truth extraction. The irony was thicker than dragon hide.
The court was silent again, but the tension was electric. This wasn't the plan. The Shield Hero was supposed to be marked. Not the Prince.
The King looked from Myne, now kneeling, marked, and trembling, to me, standing beside Naomi, who still clutched my arm.
"Alright," the King said, his voice calm, his decision made. He wasn't going to use this tool on Naofumi. He wasn't going to trust his son over a stranger... not without proof. And he clearly wasn't going to trust his wife's judgment.
"I'm leaving the interrogation to you" he stated, looking directly at me. Myne, the accuser, the villain, was now the accused, the tool. And I, the Shield Hero, the one he had tried to destroy, was now his interrogator.
"You can ask whichever question you want from him."
The power had shifted completely. The tool of oppression was now turned upon its wielder. The trial wasn't about proving Naofumi's innocence anymore. It was about exposing Myne's guilt. And I held the leash.
A grim satisfaction spread through me. My rage had a purpose. My power had a target. And Myne... Myne was finally going to pay. I tightened my grip on Naomi's hand, feeling her trembling stop, replaced by a quiet, trusting stillness.