Chapter 96: The Art of Persuasion

Words : 1501 Updated : Sep 12th, 2025

Chapter 96: The Art of PersuasionThe courtroom was silent, waiting. I could feel every eye on me—waiting for my justification, waiting for me to stumble. An objection like this was risky. I could have simply said, "The defendant is not required to speak." That would have been the legally sound move. But legal correctness wasn't the goal here. Convincing the jury was. And calling an objection like this, at the wrong time, in the wrong way? That would make us look guilty. There was also the possibility that someone on the jury had been bought off. If that were the case, then simply throwing legal precedent at them wouldn't be enough. I needed to frame this carefully. I needed to make it seem like forcing my defendant to speak would be an unjust act. I straightened my posture, my voice calm but firm. "Your Honor," I began, carefully choosing my words. "While it is true that a defendant can be called to the stand, it is a long-standing principle of the judicial system that no one should be forced to testify against themselves." I let my gaze sweep across the jury, making sure they were following my words. "To compel my client to speak in a way that could be self-incriminating would go against the very foundation of our legal system. It is not only improper—it is unjust." The judge considered my words. The silence stretched. Then— "Sustained." A breath of relief passed through the girls. Sienna remained perfectly still, but I could tell from the way her shoulders loosened that she had been holding back tension. Camille barely moved, but her fingers had stilled against the fabric of her coat. Alexis, ever the wildcard, let out the smallest of smirks before forcing her expression neutral. Damian, however, was completely unfazed. He exhaled sharply, as if he had been expecting this. "Very well," he said smoothly, shifting gears without hesitation. "If Mr. Dust cannot be questioned..." He turned, leveling his gaze at me. "Then I will question you." I stayed perfectly still. Damian gestured toward the stand. "Mr. Leviathan is not the defendant, yet he is a member of the Masked Syndicate. If anyone can provide insight into their operations, it would be him." The judge nodded. "Allowed. Mr. Leviathan, please take the stand." I let out a slow breath. This was fine. I stood, stepping toward the witness stand, my movements controlled. A bailiff approached, and I raised my hand as I was sworn in. Then, I sat down. Damian approached the stand with a slow, deliberate pace, his polished shoes clicking against the floor with an air of absolute certainty. His presence was suffocating, the weight of his confidence pressing down on the courtroom like an impending storm. I stayed perfectly still, watching as he adjusted his cuffs before placing both hands on the podium, leaning forward slightly. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes held the sharp gleam of a predator about to pounce. Then— "Tell me, Mr. Leviathan," he said, his voice smooth yet cutting. "Why is it that Mr. Fox, Mr. Dust, and Mr. Angel possess skills far beyond their rank?" The words rang through the courtroom, each syllable weighted with intent. I felt my stomach tighten. This was no simple question. This was a trap. A test to see if I would stumble. And judging by the way he was watching me, the smug curve of his lips barely hidden behind his professional façade—he expected me to stumble. I swallowed, forcing my voice to remain steady. "Would you... would you care to clarify?" I hated that slight pause. That momentary hesitation. But I needed time—needed to figure out how to play this. Damian adjusted his stance, exuding nothing but control. "Very well," he continued, his voice slow and deliberate, "Mr. Fox and Mr. Dust went from C and B-Rank to A and S-Rank respectively in the span of a single week of active work." I kept my expression neutral, but internally, I was screaming. He let the statement linger, waiting for the weight of it to truly settle before delivering his next strike. "How," he asked, tilting his head, "is that possible?" I exhaled sharply, trying to ground myself. "They—" I paused, briefly cursing the way my throat had tightened. "They do their job well," I said finally. "Most individuals... rank up during event quests. That is exactly what happened to them." Damian scoffed, his smirk widening ever so slightly. "Event quests?" he repeated, his tone making it sound ridiculous. I nodded stiffly, grasping onto the explanation like a lifeline. "As you know," I began, forcing a sense of confidence into my tone, "large-scale disasters often trigger event quests. In extreme circumstances, when individuals demonstrate skills beyond their rank, rapid promotions can occur." Damian hummed, considering my words. Then— He crossed his arms, shaking his head slightly, almost disappointed. "And yet," he mused, "that level of rapid growth is unheard of. Most individuals go through their event quest without ranking up in the slightest and yet, your companions shot up by not one, but two whole ranks." I hesitated. Then forced myself to respond. "Unheard of... does not mean impossible." I cringed internally. That wasn't a strong defense. It was barely an argument. I could feel it slipping—the control over the conversation. Damian knew it too. He was setting up for something bigger. "Then let's talk about you, Mr. Leviathan," he continued, his tone now dripping with false politeness. "You, who claim to be a D-Rank lawyer, yet you seem to be... fairly competent at what you do." I tensed. That phrasing. It wasn't a compliment. It was an accusation. "If ranks can shift so quickly," Damian continued smoothly, "then why have you not ranked up?" I swallowed. My thoughts were moving too fast, too scattered. I needed an answer—any answer— "Because..." I started, then cursed myself. Too slow. Too unconvincing. I forced myself to sit straighter. "Because... ranks, while helpful," I said, "are... in the end... superficial. A C-Rank with... with massive experience and knowledge could outperform an A-Rank in the right conditions." I could hear it. The slight shakiness in my voice. Damian heard it too. He narrowed his eyes, taking a small step forward. "Are you saying ranks mean nothing?" "No—" I cut myself off, breathing in sharply. "I'm saying... that the premise of your argument is flawed." Damian let out a sharp laugh. "Don't make up tales, Mr. Leviathan." His voice was almost mocking now. "It is common knowledge that your rank dictates your skill." I inhaled slowly. For the briefest of moments— I glanced toward the back of the courtroom. And I saw her. Evelyn. seaʀᴄh thё NôᴠeFire.ηet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Sitting there, cold and unreadable. But her eyes— Her gaze— It irritated me. I exhaled, my fingers curling slightly against the stand. Then— I met Damian's gaze again. And in a voice that was calm, unwavering, and completely unlike the nervous stammering I had just been doing— I asked, "Can an event truly be called a lie, if you are perceiving it before your very eyes?" The shift was instant. Damian blinked. The jury sat a little straighter. Even the judge looked mildly intrigued. Because my voice had changed. Before this, my answers had been uncertain—forced, hesitant. But this? This was conviction. Now, my voice carried weight. For the first time since this trial began, I saw Damian genuinely unsure of how to respond. A moment later, the judge cleared his throat. "We will now take a thirty-minute recess for lunch." The tension slowly bled from the room. I stood, stepping down from the stand. The trial had been going for four hours now. We needed this break. As I regrouped with the girls, we moved toward the exit— Only for him to approach. Damian. His expression was darker than before. "This isn't over," he said, voice low. I gave him a look. "Obviously." He clenched his jaw. "No matter what ridiculous defenses you pull, I won't forgive you for one thing." I raised a brow. "You," he said, his voice practically seething, "stole Camille's designs." I went still. The girls barely reacted—because they already knew. But I could feel Camille's irritation spike under the mask. Mr. Dust scoffed. And without a word— She walked off. She didn't storm off. Didn't stomp or make a show of it. She just turned and walked in the general direction of the restrooms. Sienna and Alexis followed. No one paid them any mind. I turned back to Damian. He was fuming. So I decided to make it worse. I stepped slightly closer. And with the faintest smirk under my mask, I said— "Camille was a great help to us." Then, before he could react— I walked off. And I went to find something to eat.

Chapter 96: The Art of Persuasion

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