The accusation hung heavy in the air, a poisoned arrow aimed straight at Mark's heart. The council chamber was plunged into a stunned silence, broken only by the rustle of Lord Corvus's forged documents. King Leonidas sat on his throne, pale and trembling, caught between the damning "evidence" and the fierce loyalty he now felt for his son. The carefully crafted lies, designed to prey on the lingering distrust from Mark's past ruthlessness, found purchase in the minds of some wavering nobles.
Mark, however, felt a cold clarity descend. This was the Black Hand's masterstroke, a political assassination far more dangerous than any blade. They weren't trying to kill his body; they were trying to kill his name, his vision, and the very hope he represented. He looked at Lord Corvus, no longer just a resentful courtier, but a venomous tool in the hands of a hidden enemy. This was the moment for the decisive strike, a reckoning that would either secure etabsam's future or condemn it to eternal stagnation.
"These are blatant forgeries!" Mark declared, his voice cutting through the stunned silence, ringing with righteous fury. "A desperate, cowardly attempt by those who profit from our kingdom's suffering to undermine its progress! Lord Corvus, you are a traitor to the Crown and a puppet of a greater evil!"
Corvus, emboldened by the whispers of the Weaver and the apparent success of his gambit, scoffed. "Youthful bluster, Your Highness! The evidence speaks for itself! You have secretly conspired against your own father, sold our lands, and funded mercenaries! This is treason of the highest order!"
King Leonidas stirred. "Mark… explain yourself! This… this is a grave accusation!"
"Father," Mark replied, turning to the King, his gaze unwavering. "I ask you to look into my eyes. Have I ever faltered in my commitment to etabsam? Have I not brought prosperity and security where there was only ruin? These documents are lies, woven by a network that seeks to destroy everything we have built." He turned back to Corvus. "You claim a 'loyal informant' from my bureau. Who is this informant, Lord Corvus? Bring them forward!"
Corvus hesitated, a flicker of panic in his eyes. The Weaver had only given him the forgeries, not a fall guy. "They… they fear for their life, Your Highness! The Prince is ruthless!"
"Ruthless, I am, against corruption!" Mark roared, his voice echoing through the chamber. "And if ruthlessness is what it takes to protect etabsam, then a dictator I shall be! For too long, this kingdom has suffered from polite inefficiencies and hidden betrayals. The time for polite requests is over. The time for decisive action is now!"
Mark pointed a finger directly at Lord Corvus. "Guards! Seize Lord Corvus! Imprison him! He is a co-conspirator in the assassination attempts against me, and now he fabricates treasonous lies against the Crown Prince! His ties to Lady Seraphina's network are undeniable!"
The Royal Guards, loyal to Captain Lysandra, moved without hesitation, seizing a sputtering Corvus who raged against his arrest. Other nobles recoiled, some in shock, others in fear. Mark's declaration, his willingness to be a "dictator" for the kingdom's sake, was a chilling promise.
King Leonidas watched, stunned, then heartbroken. He had granted Mark authority, but this was a ruthless display, a shedding of blood in the very halls of justice. He loved his son, but a part of him recoiled from the cold steel in Mark's eyes. "Mark… this is a drastic measure," he murmured, his trust visibly shaken.
"Drastic times, Father, demand drastic measures," Mark retorted, his voice still resonating with absolute conviction. "The serpent cannot be merely contained; its head must be severed. And if I must be the one to wield the blade, then so be it. Ben, Alfred, Ellaine, Anya – I need you now more than ever. Find the true source of these forgeries. Find the hand that pulls Corvus's strings. Leave no stone unturned. The purge must deepen."
The kingdom held its breath. Mark had chosen a path of iron, a path of absolute conviction, consequences be damned. The people, while fearful, remembered the prosperity and peace he had brought. But the nobility, those who had secretly benefited from the old ways, whispered in dread. Mark von Faust had declared war, not just on the Black Hand, but on the very concept of unchecked privilege.