The Assassin's Seven Principles of Manipulation

Chapter 191: Chapter 187 — Invoke

On the opposite platform, only the priests wore smiles upon their wrinkled faces. Koran most of all. The High Priest watched his son with open approval.

The crowd was won over. Whatever argument Zephyrion intended to make had already become futile.

After this, Koran would only need to fan the flames and ensure the hatred spread throughout the Empire. With the other dynasties inevitably becoming involved, it would only be a matter of time before pressure mounted to have Zephyrion punished.

Even better was what this would do for his son’s reach. His climb through the church rankings would practically be cemented at this point.

It had turned out perfectly.

Koran gave his son a subtle nod, signaling him to finish. Manias returned it with a faint smile before speaking in a more restrained voice.

”So, my people... I leave this choice to you, knowing you will choose what is right. For the sake of our people. For the sake of our society. Let true justice be done. I bid you well.”

”Yeah!”

”True justice!”

”Hang her!”

Cheers erupted for Manias while jeers and hostile glares were directed toward Lumi and Zephyrion.

The mood on Calderalth’s side was gloomy and heavy. The priests, meanwhile, wore undisguised smiles.

Koran stepped forward amidst it all. He tried to keep the satisfaction off his face, but Zephyrion saw through it.

”We will now hear the defendant speak.”

Zephyrion stepped forward. There were no boos from the crowd. That was more likely due to his status than anything. Though, it did little to change the cold looks directed his way.

The hall fell into a deafening silence as all eyes settled upon him.

Zephyrion could feel Lumi watching him. She was smiling, not a trace of worry on her face. He ignored it. He ignored them all.

In his eyes, the world had become utterly silent. Then, after a long moment of stillness, he began.

”Strength through tempering.” Zephyrion swept his gaze across the crowd. ”These words have endured since the oldest days. Since the days of our ancestors, and those who came before them. They have been etched into the heart of every Ferran. A child born Ferran is raised upon them. These are the words the Iron Father gave us.

”They are our truth.”

Zephyrion let the words settle and silence stretched. He had seldom addressed a crowd, he had never needed to. But he had watched Manias do it. He had watched countless others do it. He had studied them. Understood them.

And now he knew how to reach the heart of a crowd.

”Strength through tempering.” He continued. ”The Iron Father forged mankind within the furnace of hardship. We can only become true Ferrans when we ourselves are forged. Our ancestors understood this better than anyone. That is why their actions reflected it.

”They stood before impossible choices. The Battle of Direwood, where two regions fought for conquest and control. The Battle of Fort, where two brothers pursued the same woman. The Massacre of Orther, where an entire people were forced to make impossible choices.

”And there were countless others. Disputes where neither side would yield. Accusations that could not be proven. Truths hidden beyond mortal sight.

”The church claims authority from the Iron Father. But my fellow Ferrans, at the end of the day, we are still mortal. No man can see the heart. No man can know every truth. No man can judge without flaw. I know this. We all know this.

”And our ancestors knew it too.”

The hall was swallowed by silence. The coldness in many eyes had waned. Somehow, Zephyrion’s calm voice, his choice of words, everything was reaching them.

Koran’s smile had begun to fade. A single glance was enough for Zephyrion to know the man was wondering where all this was leading. Manias as well. They would soon see. They would learn.

”Our ancestors understood the flaws of men. They knew no mortal possessed the right to fully condemn another. No mortal possessed the right to deliver absolute judgment.

”That is why they turned not to judges. Not to kings. Not to priests. They turned to the Iron Father himself.

”Our divine one.”

Zephyrion’s gaze swept across the crowd.

”There were no temples in their time. No priests. No scriptures. Because of this, our ancestors turned to that which came before all of it.

”Iron.”

”They left judgment to the Iron Father. Only he can judge truly. Only he can offer true justice.”

Zephyrion caught Koran’s expression from the corner of his eye. The man’s face had darkened. He had finally realized where this was heading. But it was too late. Nothing could stop this now.

Not anymore.

”So I ask you, my fellow Ferrans. Do you believe the Iron Father to be the absolute one?”

”Yes!” The shouts came from a few across the crowd.

The coldness had vanished completely. Many had clenched their fists.

”Do you believe the Iron Father stands above all? That only he can decide true justice? That only he possesses the right to condemn and punish?”

”YES!” It came louder this time.

”My people...” Zephyrion paused, his eyes grave. ”DO YOU DESIRE TRUE JUSTICE?”

”YESSSSS!” Many roared from their seats.

”Then let the Iron Father decide. I invoke the Trial of Iron.”

Zephyrion raised a hand and pointed toward Manias.

”I challenge you to a duel. Let the Iron Father decide who is right. And who is wrong!”

”YES!”

”Let the Iron Father decide!”

”A fight to determine the victor!”

”TRIAL OF IRON!”

”TRIAL OF IRON!”

The crowd surged to its feet, chanting over and over again.

”TRIAL OF IRON!”

”TRIAL OF IRON!”

In the midst of the chaos, Zephyrion met Manias’ eyes. They were narrowed and cold. Yet Manias did not back down. If anything, there was a trace of contempt within them.

But Koran... Koran’s teeth were clenched so hard they seemed on the verge of cracking. This... they had not expected this.

Trial of Iron?

It was a tradition that had long since been abandoned due to its brutality. Two people upon a stage. A single sword each. No use of elements beyond reinforcing the body or strengthening the blade. A fight to the death. Only one victor would leave standing.

The victor was believed to be favored by the Iron Father himself. It was crude. Barbaric. Ancient. Yet Koran knew he had already lost the initiative.

The tribunal was a court of the people. Whatever the people decided became law. And right now, their decision could not have been clearer. The chants alone made that obvious.

There was no reversing this.

Koran glared at Zephyrion. The latter calmly returned his gaze. The boy had planned this from the very beginning. And they...

They had walked right into it.