Spark

As Mr. Dutch Van der Linde, a figure of unsettling calm, strode out, his presence alone caused an immediate, visceral uproar in the hallowed halls of the Supreme Court. A collective gasp, then a cacophony of whispers and shouts erupted.

"Sh*t! Dutch Van der Linde? I thought he'd be some grizzled old man, or at least have the gravitas of those bloated mafia bosses! I didn't expect him to be so damn thin and so young, like a viper in a suit!" A portly senator gasped, clutching his chest.

"He's certainly no ordinary person; his eyes, by God, they're full of aggression! Like a caged beast!" another whispered, a shiver running down his spine.

"Pah! He's just a desperado, a common criminal, pushed out to be a scapegoat; you're overestimating him, you fools!" a cynical old judge scoffed, though his own gaze lingered on Dutch.

"Hmph, I didn't expect America to produce such a figure in this era. It truly lives up to its name as a wild, untamed land!" a European diplomat muttered, a mixture of disdain and grudging respect in his voice.

Some, their faces pale, couldn't believe that this Dutch Van der Linde was so young, so vibrant, and looked so much like a refined gentleman, utterly defying their expectations of a Western outlaw.

Others, however, felt a chilling certainty that Dutch Van der Linde was indeed profoundly charismatic, a magnetic force.

At the very least, he was far more charismatic than the current crop of flabby, corrupt American high-ranking officials.

Especially his highly aggressive gaze; even a single, piercing glance from him made people feel startled, their breath catching, as if they would be utterly dominated by him the next moment, their wills subsumed.

In reality, their thoughts weren't far off the mark. Dutch's original combat strength was already incredibly strong, a force of nature, and now with his mysteriously enhanced physical fitness, he completely negated any age-related issues. He moved with the predatory grace of a much younger man.

If he were fully loaded with ammunition right now, with just two small revolvers, he could, like Arthur, slaughter every single soul in this Supreme Court, leaving a bloody trail of carnage.

That's why his eyes were so full of aggression; it was an aggression that could kill the opponent at any moment, a silent, deadly promise.

Meanwhile, most of the personnel from other European countries adopted a detached, wait-and-see attitude, their faces impassive.

Although this matter was, subtly, at their request, they didn't have to do anything; they could just sit back and watch the entire show unfold, a grand, American spectacle. As for the internal squabbles and desperate thoughts of the various American internal factions, not only did they not care, but they were also secretly delighted to see it, a nation tearing itself apart.

Seeing that the hall was about to descend into clamor again, a chaotic din, the twelve judges, perched like stern, black-robed vultures on the high platform, simultaneously brought down their gavels with a resounding THUD.

"Silence! Defendant Dutch Van der Linde, please take your seat!" the chief justice boomed, his voice echoing.

"Now, the trial officially begins!"

"Thud!"

As the gavel struck the table again, a sharp, decisive sound, the entire hall quickly fell silent, a sudden, unnerving hush.

The magnesium flash cameras in the back, held by frantic reporters, continuously emitted bright, blinding flashes, like miniature lightning storms, and the resulting photos would be used in conjunction with this sensational trial, spreading throughout the world, a global scandal.

"The United States Federal Government accuses Dutch Van der Linde of committing 183 charges," the prosecutor began, his voice cold and formal, listing each crime with meticulous precision, "including illegal mining, illegal military assembly, illegal business operations, murder, illegal… market disruption, and the evidence has already been submitted to the United States Federal Court."

He paused, a dramatic flourish. "Furthermore, in our further investigation during this period, we found that you are suspected of forcibly seizing others' property, persecuting the Saint Denis Lemieux Family and the merchant Cornwall, and all persecuted individuals have gone missing, vanished without a trace."

His voice rose, accusatory. "You groundlessly raised workers' wages and salaries to incite social disputes. You increased labor costs for other enterprises, illegally manipulated public opinion to mislead the American people, making them hostile towards the United States Government, and violated the United States Government's constitution by forcefully occupying the four major western states. In response, after an initial trial, the Supreme Court has determined that all evidence from the United States Federal Government is conclusive and reliable, and has rendered the following first-instance judgment against you."

The prosecutor's voice hardened, becoming a chilling pronouncement. "Dutch Van der Linde, for 183 charges including murder and illegal occupation of land, is ultimately sentenced to death, stripped of American citizenship, and all his property is confiscated. You may appeal this judgment in court." He finished, a triumphant sneer on his face.

The Supreme Court's procedures are different from the lower courts; its trial itself is merely a formality, a theatrical performance, and the true outcome was already determined before this trial even began, a predetermined execution.

Even his defense lawyer, a grim-faced man, was provided by the United States Federal Government, a puppet in their show.

Therefore, Dutch had already received his sentence, a death warrant, even before he had uttered a single word.

But now, with a profound shift in the atmosphere, it was his turn to speak.

Dutch sat steadily in the defendant's seat, his back straight, his gaze sweeping over the faces below, each with a different expression, a kaleidoscope of human emotion.

Some were gloating, their eyes gleaming with malicious satisfaction. Others were smug, their lips curled in self-congratulation. The faces of members of American political families were mostly filled with shock and dawning concern, a flicker of unease.

It was clear that they still didn't know about Dutch Van der Linde's impending death sentence, the true gravity of the situation.

Meanwhile, the American capitalist families, their eyes wide with avarice, were all overjoyed, practically salivating, eager to take over the immense wealth Dutch had accumulated in the West.

This was their insidious method: using the very rules they set to destroy their opponents, to eliminate any threat. This method was foolproof, utterly inescapable; in America, apart from a few highly respected figures from political families who couldn't be targeted by this method, everyone else had no way to escape, no path to salvation.

Of course, just like the open-minded Kennedy, when the rules couldn't outplay their opponents, when legal means failed, they would dispatch assassins to employ extra-legal means, a bullet in the dark.

To be honest, if anyone else from America, any other man, were sitting here now, they wouldn't be able to escape this rigged trial, and even if they did, they wouldn't escape a certain death, a swift, brutal end.

But unfortunately for them, Dutch was a warlord, a force of nature, and a cheat-enabled warlord at that. Not only was the United States Federal Court's trial utterly useless against him, a mere inconvenience, but assassins were also ineffective against him, their blades dulled by his power.

In fact, conversely, these arrogant capitalists should fear a great leader like Dutch, a man who truly understood their game and played it better.

Because he truly had his own army! A loyal, fanatical army!

"Ladies and gentlemen! Hello everyone, I am Dutch Van der Linde."

Dutch rose slowly from his seat, his movements fluid, deliberate. On his face, there was no fear of being judged, no hint of apprehension; instead, he was calm and composed, serious and dignified, radiating an unsettling power.

"I believe many of you have not heard of me before. I know your understanding of me is limited to the Federal Government's biased investigation and its conveniently published results during this period." He gestured dismissively at the prosecutor.

"Therefore, many of you will misunderstand me, and you will be deceived, blinded by lies! But that doesn't matter, because I don't care about your judgment, I don't care about your thoughts. I came here simply to tell all American capitalist families that your doom is coming! Your reign of terror is at an end!" His voice, calm at first, swelled into a chilling roar.

"!!!…" As Dutch spoke these words, a direct, audacious threat, the entire Supreme Court erupted in an uproar, a chaotic din of shouts and gasps.

"Sh*t! He's simply too arrogant! How dare he be so arrogant, so defiant, in our very presence?!" a judge shrieked, pounding his gavel uselessly.

"Kill him! We must kill him! He still dares to threaten us like this, it's simply outrageous! An affront to justice!" a capitalist roared, his face purpling.

"Damn it, he's offended everyone. Now those capitalists will surely stop at nothing! He's signed his own death warrant!" another whispered, his eyes wide with fear and a strange awe.

No one expected Dutch Van der Linde to still dare to act so aggressively and maliciously while present here, in the very heart of their power. No one expected this Dutch Van der Linde to be so arrogant and overbearing, showing no regard for American capital, for their immense power.

One must know that most of the people sitting below, strictly speaking, were people of capital, their fortunes built on exploitation!

After all, the fundamental reason for America's rise was the brutal, relentless rise of American capital.

However, Mr. Dutch Van der Linde's speech did not stop. He merely paused, a dramatic beat, and then continued, his voice gaining momentum.

"I once told the people of the West that the highest masters and the lowest bandits in America are of no use to society at all; they are all bandits, one who makes rules to rob, and the other who breaks rules to rob!" He pointed a finger at the judges, then at the capitalists in the gallery.

"In this era where industrialization is extremely developed, where wealth overflows, it is simply ridiculous that some people still go without food, some cannot afford housing, and some even sell their children for survival! A blight on humanity!" His voice was laced with a profound, righteous anger.

"Countless people at the bottom starve, sicken, and freeze to death, and disabled veterans who cannot get their pensions and beg on the streets are everywhere, a shameful spectacle. Yet, you, the upper-class powerful and wealthy, ride in luxurious high-end carriages, frequent upscale restaurants, and have lived a life of extreme luxury since birth without producing anything of value. If you are not bandits, then who is?! Who are the true criminals?!"

He leaned forward, his voice dripping with contempt. "You condemn me for disturbing market order, but in reality, when I opened factories in the West, I only shared less than fifty percent of the profits with the workers, and that already gave them a prosperous life! So, it's easy to imagine how much profit you have taken, you greedy bastards! How much you have stolen!"

"You are all damned bandits, thieves! You take 99% of the profits produced by the American people, give them the remaining 1%, and still expect them to be grateful to you. So, who is truly disturbing market order?! Who is the real criminal?!"

Dutch's words were astonishing, a brutal, undeniable truth, and his continuous, scathing speech almost incited a riot throughout the entire venue, the tension palpable.

Everyone was shocked by his sheer boldness, his audacious defiance.

The faces of the capitalist families sitting below were ashen, a sickly grey, and the killing intent in their eyes could no longer be concealed, blazing with murderous fury.

While the political families felt a sense of grim satisfaction inwardly, seeing their rivals attacked, their expressions were extremely grim outwardly, because Dutch's accusations included them. Who among them, having reached such high positions, hadn't done something regrettable, something corrupt?

Even if they hadn't had the chance to do so yet, they wanted to, or their ancestors made their fortunes through such nefarious means.

Besides, although everyone knew this uncomfortable fact, no one would truly speak it out, nor was anyone allowed to. It was the unspoken truth that held their society together.

Because the American people do not know, and the American people are easily influenced by these words, because they are truly suffering oppression, their lives a daily struggle.

At this moment, the reporters standing at the very back of the venue were completely different. Their faces were alight with a mixture of shock and fervent excitement.

These new-era reporters already possessed a broader range of knowledge and insights, had more advanced receptive abilities, and due to their higher cultural level, they found it easier to understand Dutch's words, to grasp the profound truth in his accusations.

And at this moment, hearing Dutch's scathing analysis, they actually felt it was very correct, undeniably true, and many even looked excited, their hands trembling as they scribbled notes.

If this hadn't been the Federal Court, a place of supposed sanctity, they might have already been waving their arms along with Dutch, cheering him on.

Before this trial, they had thought that this Mr. Dutch Van der Linde was truly some heinous criminal, a monster.

But now, after hearing his impassioned speech, they realized that the sh*t! people sitting below, the self-proclaimed pillars of society, were the real heinous criminals! The true villains!

However, Dutch's speech was not over yet. He was building to a crescendo.

He stood tall, radiating power, even leaving the defendant's stand, and had reached the very bottom, the center of the judge's table, taking in the expressions of everyone in the room, his gaze sweeping over them like a predator.

This also made his speaking voice clearer, more resonant, filling every corner of the hall.

"I know you are very angry now, I know you wish you could kill me on the spot, to silence me forever. You might be able to kill me, but you will never extinguish the faith of the American people! Never!" His voice was a thunderous roar.

"The reason I am here today is because I represent the will of all American people, delivering the final ultimatum to you! Your time is up!"

He pounded his fist on the table, a resounding thud. "From now on, I will lead the American people to resist your oppression, I will lead the American people to break your rules, I will lead the American people to fight to the end! To the bitter, bloody end!"

His eyes blazed with a terrifying conviction. "If I fall, I will rise again! But I will not fall, because behind me stand countless American people!!! A legion of the righteous!"

"Sh*t! Sh*t! Sh*t!"

Angry shouts mixed with sounds of sheer panic echoed in the Supreme Court of America, and with Mr. Van der Linde's impassioned, incendiary speech, the scene instantly devolved into utter chaos, like a bustling, overturned market.

The people from the capitalist families on the jury seats below looked terrified, their faces ashen, and many even had expressions of madness, their eyes wide with fear.

The magnesium flash lamps in the hands of the reporters standing at the very back popped and exploded, sounding like continuous thunder, their flashes illuminating the pandemonium.

Mr. Dutch Van der Linde's speech today was destined to go down in history, etched in the annals of time, and be remembered for ages, a turning point.

The capitalist families panicked, their faces contorted with fear. The political families panicked, their carefully constructed world crumbling. And even the national representatives from Europe, those cynical observers, became fearful, a cold dread gripping them.

No one expected Dutch Van der Linde to utter these words, these declarations of war, during a trial facing the world, which made it impossible for the trial to continue, forcing it to stop midway without even a formal notification. The entire legal charade collapsed.

The twelve Supreme Court justices fled in a panic, their black robes flapping, through the small back door, abandoning the venue, their dignity shattered.

The marshals who were supposed to handcuff Dutch Van der Linde dared not make any move; let alone handcuffing him and escorting him back, they didn't even dare to get too close. Five of them, their faces pale and submissive, followed behind Dutch, like loyal subordinates, as he calmly left the venue.

They would even have to redecorate his cell if he stayed in prison, to make it more comfortable for their new, terrifying overlord.

Dutch Van der Linde's thunderous speech was like spring rain, carried by the spring breeze into Washington, nourishing the seeds of rebellion.

Major newspapers, sensing a seismic shift, vied to report it, their headlines screaming. And countless poor people, their hopes ignited, almost immediately regarded Mr. Dutch Van der Linde as a guiding light in their lives, a messiah.

The New York Small Newspaper had already been subtly shaping their views on Dutch, and now, coupled with Dutch's own powerful, undeniable speech, it completely elevated him to the moral high ground, a righteous prophet.

It also elevated him to a divine status, a living saint.

"Kill him, kill him in prison! Whether by poison or by prison guards, just kill him immediately, right now! Before he destroys us all!" The capitalist families in Washington went mad, their voices shrill with panic.

Their years of carefully cultivated public opinion and status, their very foundations, were now precarious, crumbling, due to Dutch Van der Linde's speech, a single, devastating blow.

The public opinion in Washington regarding Dutch had reached an uncontrollable point, with people even organizing demonstrations on the streets daily, storming prison outposts, trying to rescue Mr. Dutch Van der Linde or have him acquitted, their fervor unstoppable.

This level of public sentiment had deeply frightened them, chilling them to the bone.

Therefore, killing Dutch had become their last, desperate resort, their only hope.

However, at this moment, it was too late.

Because the war machine of the West had already departed, its gears grinding, its engines roaring.

At this moment, in New Hanover, at the Valentine Train Station.

Three armed trains, bristling with guns and men, had arrived at Valentine Train Station, their engines idling, ready for war.

Three thousand grim-faced gunmen, their rifles gleaming, had lined up and were methodically boarding the trains, their movements precise.

They would use the assault capability of the armed trains to quickly reach Washington, blast open the prison, and rescue Mr. Dutch Van der Linde, their leader.

Of course, this alone was not enough.

During this time, Hosea had already conscripted an army of thirty thousand soldiers, hardened and loyal, along with two hundred Tanks, thousands of Maxim machine guns and artillery, and various new military inventions from the Van der Linde Research Institute, which had already arrived at the Ambarino snow mountains, poised for invasion.

As soon as the armed trains departed, they would completely advance into the East, a relentless, unstoppable force!

A major war, a bloody, world-changing conflict, was on the very verge of breaking out.

Of course, the production of airplanes was too low at the moment, a minor inconvenience. Besides, they strategically planned to wait until the East developed Tanks before their aircraft fleet would enter the fray, ensuring air superiority.

This was to create a concentrated firepower suppression from the aircraft fleet, a devastating aerial assault, once the enemy had committed their own armored forces.