4: Commence the trial

As Alistair delved into the footage, he selected the clip from the developing sector, timestamped at 10:32 AM.

To his dismay, the quality was abysmal. The footage was grainy, some parts devoid of color and others swallowed by darkness. He had seen the footage from Central, timestamped at 10:17 AM, which was already quite unsavory to the eye. Alistair thought nothing could get worse. Oh, was he wrong... This—this was borderline outrageous!

A near-inaudible sigh of frustration escaped his lips. His grip tightened ever so slightly onto the console as he caressed Mist, maintaining his cool. "Tsk, they tampered again." He smiled in amusement, glancing at the soldier who had brought him the console. "I now understand why there are only four videos available," he said with a soft chuckle, shaking his head to calm himself.

The soldier bowed, reverence evident in his movements. "Indeed, my Lord. It's quite unpleasant," he sighed, the sound of frustration and annoyance muffled by the heavy air filters of his armored helmet. "Any footage beyond what you're seeing is nothing but static," he added, his voice shrinking back ever so slightly as he bowed again.

"Understood." Alistair raised his hand, signaling the soldier to stop. He swiped his hand dismissively. "Return to your post," he said, his eyes already back on the console screen. He resumed the footage.

Through static and glitches, he could make out the shapes of two figures—the same bikers who had flanked the truck in the previous footage. The very same truck was also visible, though most of it was out of frame. A large hole gaped in the base of one of the many halfway-built buildings in the developing sector. Next to the hole were large cubic plates of concrete, designed to fit perfectly and cover it seamlessly. The two figures carried a large metallic crate. Just then, the footage glitched, and the hole was covered.

He smirked, the expression one of absolute triumph. "Oh, they can't escape." A predatory chuckle escaped his lips. He stood up and looked at the soldiers, precisely there were ten. "I want five of you to head over to the developing sector, get me that crate." He commanded in a calm voice, his eyes gracefully moving over each of the masked faces.

All the designated soldiers nodded in unison before they ran to the designated location, even such an action as running belied with the grace of a swan in water.

Alistair moved from the edge of the fountain to the steps of the now ruined and broken town hall, its once-pristine white marble now marred with black smudges. There was a statue right in front of the steps on the elevated platform, a copper plate bearing the name of the first Vassal of Winstet: Lord Eisen Winstet. The statue was flanked by two busts with copper plates at their base, each one of his sons; Kertz Winstet and Isnez Winstet.

Alistair's predatory and sharp gaze moved to the prisoners—I.E. survivors of the massacre; seven boys, two men, five girls, and three women. Seventeen in total. A smirk, one of sadistic and cold nature, adorned his lips now.

"Call over the Standard Bearer," Alistair said, looking at the remaining five soldiers with a sharp and clear gaze. "There'll be a test of faith." He added as he stood up and walked towards the prisoners. He waved dismissively at one of the soldiers, signaling that specific soldier to carry out his order. The soldier bowed and obediently walked away, movements radiating reverence and obedience.

Alistair stopped moving towards the prisoners when he heard a familiar voice. "Alistair, anything new?" It was Voxxe, his voice soothing and low as usual.

"Yes. We've found something. Something we don't know yet, for it is buried, concealed within a crate." Alistair intentionally used more sophisticated words, smirking playfully all the while.

A small giggle was heard on the opposite side of the comms. "I see," Voxxe hummed approvingly, giggling again. "Ensure your safety when you reveal the contents of the crate to you and your soldiers. Your life is quite valuable, bearing the rank of Lord Enforcer."

Alistair hummed, "Your words are heeded, meaning understood and respected by my conscience. I shall see to it that I and my men follow through every word of yours." Alistair's voice was playful yet graceful and smooth like velvet.

"Oh, another thing," Voxxe changed the topic. Alistair gave no resistance. Alistair hummed, "Go on."

"Your Elysian, Lucian Hrist, has arrived at your location," Voxxe said in a voice that belied the calmness of a monk in meditation.

Alistair hummed questioningly, "Pardon?" he said with a raised eyebrow.

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In Wythria's noble system, all nobles are expected to have at least a handful of personal servants. The highest title a servant can bear is Elysian. Elysians are the servants who tend to their masters or mistresses in terms of entertainment, be it music, arts, or even intimate entertainment. An Elysian enjoys the privilege of being the closest to their master or mistress and thus, enjoys benefits due to connections or relations.

Lucian Hrist is one such Elysian, he's been with Alistair for around two decades. His body is augmented to age slowly, just like Alistair's. His presence doesn't distract Alistair's soldiers anymore due to him being with Alistair for so long. He's a skilled musician, comedian, actor and even paints well.

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The sound of helicopter rotors was faint and quiet, unlike the approaching sound of a Lis-32. A Listret Lis-19 came into view, its sleek black body with gilded gold glinting elegantly in the rays of the high sun. It descended gracefully into the ruined and destroyed garden of the battle-torn town hall, and out came a figure dressed in elegant clothing. His elegance matched that of Alistair, yet his presence was welcoming and flamboyant with its rich colors. His clothing perfectly fit his lithe, acrobatic, and beautiful body.

Lucian wore a suit which had a purple left half and a red right half; the right side of the suit ended at his upper abdomen, revealing his black-trimmed, golden waistband. His feet were kept untouched by the filth of the ground he walked on, courtesy of the knee-high black boots with somewhat high heels he wore, bound to his body by silver clasps. His suit pants followed the same shape and color pattern as his suit, but with both at equal lengths for obvious reasons. A red cloak draped over his left shoulder to his lower abdomen, shielding him from harsh elements to some extent.

He bowed low when he entered Alistair's vicinity, his medium-length thick blond hair falling over his head.

"Hm, rise, Lucian." Alistair turned his head, smiling. "Didn't expect you here," he added, chuckling at Lucian's courage to be in a place that was recently bombarded with toxic gases.

Lucian did as told, his hair parted to reveal his delicate, soft, and beautiful features, as expected of an Elysian. Elegant golden eyeliner adorned his blue eyes, like tendrils.

"Oh, you wound me, My Lord. How can you not expect your Elysian to follow?" Lucian said with a smirk, walking towards him. Mist hissed at Lucian, the hissing friendly and inviting. Lucian grinned softly, extending his hand and allowing Mist to slither onto him. Mist did as he hoped, moving down Alistair's neck, along Lucian's arm, and finally settling around Lucian's own neck.

Alistair smiled, "Ah, good. Keep him on you," He reached out and caressed Mist.

He glanced at the prisoners, "Ah, Lucian, I'll be a little busy now. You surely understand. Take Mist with you."

Lucian nodded, backing away with another bow. Mist tightened ever so slightly around his neck. His movements were graceful like gently whistling wind, he spinned 180° on his heel moments after he took two steps back and then, strode back towards his Lis-19 luxury helicopter.

Then, a deep and ghostly voice reached Alistair's ears, "Lord Alistair, it's time for the trial to begin."