One million two hundred thousand.
This was an astronomical figure.
King slowly opened his eyes, his heart calm and unperturbed.
The increase in Emotion Points was reassuring.
But compared to the new abilities he could draw at any time, the current situation was more important.
He turned his head and looked at the figure curled up in the corner.
Marcel.
Overnight, he seemed to have aged thirty years.
His hair had turned completely white, his face was bloodless, his eyes were hollow, and he was muttering love poems that no one could understand.
"Lord King,"
Lynette's voice broke the silence: "Time's up."
King opened his eyes, nodded, and without a word, turned and pushed open the door to the prop room.
Outside the door, Clorinde was already waiting, her gaze sharp and cold, like a drawn sword.
Seeing King, she nodded slightly, then strode into the prop room.
A moment later, the heavy clanking of shackles sounded.
Clorinde grabbed the chain around Marcel's neck with one hand and dragged him out of the prop room like a dead dog.
Marcel stumbled; his Achilles tendons had long been completely severed, making him unable to stand. He was entirely dragged by Clorinde, sliding on his knees across the floor.
He hung his head, his disheveled white hair covering his face. Only his blood-stained prison uniform silently spoke of his torment last night.
"Clang!"
The side door by the stage was violently pushed open.
Clorinde swung her arm, and Marcel, like a rag doll, was thrown heavily onto the defendant's stand in the center of the stage.
"Bang!"
Marcel was flung to the ground. He struggled, trying to prop himself up with his broken arms, but only managed a futile, painful twitch.
The eyes of the entire audience, like countless scorching searchlights, focused on Marcel.
"Ah—!!"
"Demon!!"
"Kill him!!"
"Beast!!"
After a brief silence, there was a roar of anger and curses like a mountain collapsing and a tsunami surging!
People waved their fists, spittle flying. If not for the Equitable Judgment blocking them, some would have already rushed down to tear him apart.
Marcel lay sprawled on the cold floor of the defendant's stand, gasping for breath.
The roar of the crowd almost tore off the opera house's dome.
It was in this boiling sea of hatred that King emerged.
King walked to the empty plaintiff's stand and stood firm.
His hands hung naturally, his posture tall and straight.
Sunlight streamed through the skylight, falling on the side of his face, outlining a resolute and cold profile.
He said nothing.
But his mere presence spoke volumes.
He stood on the side of the "victims."
He stood here representing the Damselettes who could no longer speak.
"..."
"Lord King!!"
Someone shouted first, their voice distorted by excitement.
Immediately after, thousands of voices converged into a torrent of praise:
"Partner of justice!!"
"fontaines strongest!!"
"Lord Guardian!!"
The cheers of the Fontaine public filled every corner of the opera house!
Marcel slowly raised his head.
Beneath his disheveled white hair, the eyes that once held madness now only contained a desolate, dead ash.
He painstakingly turned his neck, his gaze piercing through the angry crowd, landing on King.
In that instant, too many extremely complex emotions flashed in his eyes—
There was relief, liberation, and even a hint of... gratitude.
It was him.
If the plaintiff was that man.
I plead guilty.
Consider it... thanking him for freeing Vigneire.
Marcel tugged at the corner of his mouth, seemingly wanting to smile, but only caused his cracked, bleeding lips to twitch.
He gave up all struggle, slumping onto the cold floor of the defendant's stand, like a skin stripped of all its bones, awaiting the final verdict.
The trial process was brief, almost cold.
Neuvillette did not elaborate on the charges—
Those details had already been disseminated to every corner of Fontaine through The Steambird.
He merely recited the legal provisions one by one in a cold, flat voice, and finally, with the authority of the Iudex, delivered the verdict:
"Criminal, Vacher, also known as Marcel."
"Based on the highest punitive clauses of Fontaine law, and the special regulations for crimes endangering human safety, with multiple offenses combined, sentenced to—"
"Permanent 'special confinement.'"
"Deprivation of all rights, to be imprisoned indefinitely, without possibility of parole, in the deepest part of Meropide Hold, the 'Eternal Dark Chamber.'"
"Given the special nature of his crimes, to ensure the effective execution of the sentence—"
"Marcel shall be provided with the most complete medical resources by Meropide Hold to ensure the maintenance of his vital signs."
"And in accordance with the 'Temporary Supplementary Regulations for Extreme Malicious Crime Punishment.'"
"Marcel shall undergo all forms of punishment from the continent of Teyvat daily until the natural end of his life."
"All his property shall be confiscated and used to compensate the victims' families and for Fontaine's public welfare."
"His names—'Vacher' and 'Marcel'—shall be permanently recorded in Fontaine's roster of evil, inscribed on monuments of shame, to warn future generations."
"This judgment takes immediate effect."
There was no "death penalty."
But every word foreshadowed Marcel's end, which would be colder, longer, and more desperate than death.
Permanent confinement, daily punishment, medical maintenance.
Until the natural end of his life.
Marcel listened quietly.
The moment the verdict was delivered, the last faint glimmer of light in his eyes completely extinguished.
This is good.
This is also good.
He deserved it.
Marcel slowly closed his eyes.
"Take him away."
Neuvillette's cold voice brought an end to the trial.
Clorinde stepped forward and grabbed the chain again.
This time, Marcel made no sound.
Like a true corpse, he was dragged from the defendant's stand, dragged away from this stage that gathered all of Fontaine's anger and attention, dragged towards the bottomless future named "Eternal Dark."
Inside the Tribunal, silence reigned.
justice was served, and the demon was punished.
But the lost Damselettes could never return... Backstage of the opera house.
Wriothesley leaned against the wall, watching Marcel being dragged over by Clorinde, his grey-blue eyes devoid of Warmth.
"He's yours, Duke."
Clorinde handed over the chain, her voice cold and hard.
"You know what to do."
"Don't worry, Clorinde."
Wriothesley took the chain and casually wrapped it twice around his wrist:
"Meropide Hold will give this new guest a proper 'welcome.'"
Just then, a small figure peered out from behind Wriothesley.
Sigewinne looked up, her large eyes now chillingly hollow.
She looked at the dying Marcel on the ground, her small hands tightly clutching the hem of her nurse's uniform, her voice clear yet incredibly cold:
"Wriothesley."
"Hmm?"
"This person must be severely punished."
Wriothesley looked down at the little Head Nurse, who rarely showed such a "fierce" side, and a knowing smile curved his lips.
For a being as inherently kind as Sigewinne to say such words... Marcel, you truly deserve your fate.
He reached out and ruffled Sigewinne's hair—
This action usually made Sigewinne puff out her cheeks, but today she didn't pull away.
"I know, I know, don't be sad, Miss Head Nurse."
Wriothesley smiled, his gaze shifting to Marcel on the ground, but there was no longer any Warmth in that smile.
"I will 'properly' arrange him."
"I'll make sure he... feels at home."
He tugged the chain, and Marcel's body scraped across the ground, making a rustling sound.
"Let's go, esteemed guest."
"Your 'new home' has a long 'welcome ceremony' prepared for you."
The heavy gate of the passage slowly opened, then slowly closed.
It isolated the outside world's clamor, sunlight, and all anger and sorrow.
Inside the gate was the prison leading to the Eternal Dark Chamber.
From then on, Marcel's consciousness would only contain boundless pain and bottomless darkness.
This was the deserved end for "Vacher."
With this filthy body, he would slowly savor the bitter fruit that "Marcel" had sown.
Until... the end of time.
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