87: Chapter 87 In court, we need an actor.

'Corporate Culture Building' and 'Team Cohesion Expansion' were their internal code names. They sounded gentle and harmless, but beneath lay a blade steeped in venom.

Evelyn, on the other side of the crystal, clearly grasped the meaning immediately. A hint of bloodthirsty excitement appeared on her beautiful face in the image, as if she smelled burning gold coins.

"Understood, Boss." Her voice came through the crystal, with a unique husky charm. "The 'Stress Test' plan will be launched immediately. The first batch of 'Non-Performing Assets' will enter the Imperial Central Bill Exchange within half an hour. Duke Dupont is already impatient, and I guess he'll be happy to 'casually' mention at tonight's salon that the Lion Family's mines seem to have encountered a 'small problem' recently."

Levi nodded in satisfaction.

Evelyn was his spear, always knowing where to strike to inflict the most pain.

He cut off the communication, and the ripples on the surface of the black crystal slowly subsided, returning to an ordinary stone.

The atmosphere in the entire room was so oppressive it felt like water could be wrung from it.

Victor, slumped in his chair, was like an empty shell from which the soul had been drawn, staring blankly at the ceiling.

Princess Ella, on the other hand, had her lips tightly pressed together, her chest rising and falling slightly, clearly still recovering from the fallacies of that 'Risk Investment Analysis'.

Only Sylvie maintained her professional composure, but her fingers gripping the list were slightly white, betraying her inner turmoil.

"Lord," she began softly, breaking the silence, "This summons..."

"Just a piece of waste paper." Levi casually pushed the summons to the center of the table, as if it wasn't the will of the Empire's highest authority, but a restaurant menu.

He turned to Sylvie, his gaze sharp as an eagle: "Sylvie, you must understand, this so-called hearing, from the very beginning, was not a legal issue, but a political performance."

He stood up and paced back and forth twice on the thick carpet. His footsteps were completely absorbed, only his voice echoed in the room.

"They want to put me in the dock, in front of all the nobles of the Empire, to brand me as a 'greedy monopolist' and 'destroyer of order,' completely destroying the legitimacy of Blackstone Territory's rise, both morally and legally. This is a trial of public opinion; legal clauses are merely the weapons they use for packaging."

He stopped, turning to face Sylvie, his eyes gleaming with an almost insane calmness.

"So, when facing a performance, merely having the most rigorous lawyers isn't enough. Lawyers can only fight within the rules, but the opponent's goal is precisely to use the rules to kill us."

A cold arc formed at the corner of his mouth.

"We need an actor. A madman who can turn their courtroom into our stage. A bastard who can tear apart their logic with sophistry, ignite the emotions of the audience with ridicule, and deconstruct the solemnity and sacredness they create with the most absurd performance art."

Every word from Levi was like a hammer, striking heavily at Sylvie's heart.

She instantly understood Levi's intention.

This wasn't about winning the lawsuit; it was about disrupting the whole show.

"I need you to use all your intelligence networks to find such a person." Levi gave the order. "Don't go to those opulent law firms; go to the darkest, dirtiest corners of the Royal Capital. Go to taverns, casinos, even the slums. I want the most infamous, most shameless, yet most impeccably eloquent debater in the entire Royal Capital. Money is not an issue; tell him he will have a chance to challenge the entire old noble class of the Empire."

"Understood." A sharp glint flashed in Sylvie's purple eyes. Without a moment's hesitation, she bowed and accepted the command, then turned and quickly departed.

The sound of her high heels clicking on the ground echoed at the doorway, then quickly faded at the end of the corridor, conveying a decisive efficiency.

Royal Capital, Muddy Alley.

This was a festering scar beneath the glittering facade of the Imperial Capital.

The air was perpetually filled with the sour stench of cheap ale, vomit, and damp mold mixed together.

By day, it was a paradise for tramps and drunkards; by night, it was a kingdom for thieves and prostitutes.

Sylvie lifted the hem of her long dress, her exquisite magic-silk boots carefully avoiding suspicious puddles on the ground.

Her stunning beauty and noble demeanor were completely out of place in the surroundings, like a diamond mistakenly dropped into mud, attracting countless greedy, lecherous gazes.

But the cold aura she exuded, warning others to keep their distance, and the elaborately decorated but clearly deadly short sword at her waist, deterred the local thugs from approaching.

Her intelligence network was highly efficient.

In just an hour, the target was pinpointed in a third-rate tavern called "Broken Sword" in the deepest part of Muddy Alley.

Pushing open the creaking wooden door, a stronger smell of alcohol mixed with body odor assaulted her, making her frown slightly.

The tavern was dimly lit and smoky, filled with crude laughter, curses, and the clinking of glasses.

Sylvie's gaze swept over faces swollen from alcohol, finally settling on a man in a corner, dead drunk.

He lay slumped on a greasy wooden table, his messy brown hair tangled, with several flies circling his head.

On the table in front of him, besides an empty wine bottle, was a stack of discarded papers covered in writing.

A shabbily dressed merchant was spitting and roaring something at him, but he only occasionally looked up, retorting with slurred, drunken words that always precisely hit the merchant's sore spots, making the merchant's face flush red, yet powerless to refute.

Sylvie.

Sylvie took long strides and walked straight over.

As she passed, the clamor quieted.

The patrons all turned to look at this stunning beauty who did not belong here.

"Mr. Hamilton?" Sylvie's voice was clear and cool, like a mountain spring, strikingly out of place in the murky air.

The drunken man slowly lifted his head, revealing a scruffy face.

He was about forty years old, with sunken eyes and a pale complexion, but in those gray eyes, there remained a trace of sharp, mocking light, not entirely drowned by alcohol.

He squinted, appraising Sylvie from her expensive fabrics to her delicate makeup, finally pulling his lips into a mocking smile: "Another noblewoman betrayed by her husband, looking for me to write a curse letter that will make him commit suicide? Sorry, we're closed today. My talent refuses to serve for a mere few gold coins."

His voice was hoarse, with a hint of cynical laziness.

Sylvie ignored his flippancy. She took a heavy purse from her handbag and tossed it onto the table.

The gold coins clinked, making a crisp, pleasant sound.

"My employer, Lord Levi Byron of Blackstone Territory, needs a defense lawyer." She stated concisely.

Hearing the names "Blackstone Territory" and "Levi Byron," which had recently become famous in the Imperial Capital, Hamilton's...

"Oh? That country bumpkin who's turned the Imperial Capital upside down?" He sneered, pushing the money bag away. "Go back and tell him that I, Hamilton, would rather starve to death in this Muddy Alley than say a single word for a parvenu like him, reeking of money."

No sooner had he spoken than a gentle, steady voice came from the tavern entrance.

"Then, what if the opponent is the entire Imperial Parliament?"

Everyone in the tavern looked in the direction of the voice.

Levi had appeared at the doorway at some point. He was still wearing his well-tailored black formal attire, with a gentle smile on his face, as if he were attending an elegant court banquet rather than being in a chaotic slum tavern.

Behind him, two guards in Blackstone Territory uniforms stood like iron towers, their eyes vigilantly scanning the surroundings. The invisible pressure instantly silenced the entire tavern.

He walked slowly to Hamilton's table, and the rude patrons in the tavern unconsciously made way for him.

Levi didn't look at the bag of gold coins, but gently pushed a document in front of Hamilton.

It was the summons from the Imperial Parliament, listing serious charges that could ruin any noble's reputation.

Immediately after, he pushed another stack of documents, personally drafted by himself.

"I never expect to buy a genius's talent with gold coins," Levi's voice was calm and magnetic. "I merely provide a stage worthy of that talent."

Hamilton picked up the documents suspiciously, his hazy gaze scanning line by line.

His breathing gradually quickened.

The charges on the parliamentary summons were framed with extreme malice; behind each signature was a prominent family that he had once looked up to, and who had then trampled him into the mud.

And Levi's counter-strategy left him utterly dumbfounded.

There wasn't a single legal rebuttal on it; the entire document was a crazy plan on how to subtly shift concepts, set linguistic traps, incite the emotions of the audience, and turn a serious hearing into an absurd farce.

This wasn't a defense; it was a declaration of war.

The drunkenness in Hamilton's eyes receded at a visible speed, replaced by a morbid, long-suppressed excitement.

His hands began to tremble slightly, not from alcohol withdrawal, but because the long-dormant beast deep within his soul had been awakened.

He remembered years ago how he had been jointly blacklisted by the entire noble class and fallen from the Royal Capital's most brilliant debating genius to his current state, all because he had humiliated a foolish member of the royal family with impeccable logic.

Those faces that had once despised and scorned him now seemed to overlap with the signatures on the summons.

An opportunity.

A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to get revenge on the entire world, to make everyone who had ever looked down on him tremble before his words.

"Hahaha... Hahahahahahaha!"

Hamilton suddenly burst into laughter, hoarse and frantic, echoing through the silent tavern, sending chills down the spines of the surrounding patrons.

He slammed the documents onto the table, lifted his head, and stared intently at Levi with eyes burning with fierce flames.

"I accept!" he said, enunciating each word, his voice filled with uncontrollable fervor. "I don't want a single coin! I have only one condition!"

"Speak." Levi's expression remained calm.

"In court," Hamilton's lips curled into a savage grin, "I will have absolute, unrestricted, free-fire authority!"

"Deal." Levi extended his hand without hesitation.

Hamilton's hand, stained with grime and alcohol, firmly grasped Levi's clean and warm palm.

Just then, Sylvie's magic communication crystal suddenly vibrated urgently.

She walked aside, connected in a low voice, and a moment later, she hurried back to Levi's side, her face more solemn than ever before.

"Lord, urgent intelligence." Her voice was extremely low, yet she couldn't hide a hint of worry. "The Parliament has just announced that to ensure the absolute fairness and authority of this hearing, the Chief Justice of the Imperial Supreme Tribunal, 'Iron-Faced Saintess' Soraka Morningstar, will personally preside over this hearing."

Upon hearing that name, even Hamilton, who had just been full of wild arrogance, had the smile on his face instantly freeze.

Soraka Morningstar.

This name was both a legend and a taboo in the entire Imperial judiciary.

She was known for her impartiality, strictness, rigidity, and an almost obsessive adherence to legal provisions.

It was rumored that in any courtroom she presided over, any trick attempting to incite emotions or subtly shift concepts would be severely punished on the spot.

She was the nemesis of all 'actors'.