Fallen General's Omega (BL)
Chapter 79: Fall of Robbens

Chapter 79: Fall of Robbens

"Good morning, my beloved star," I whisper, gently brushing a few stray strands of Noelle’s hair aside. His soft, peaceful face stirs slightly, and then he blinks his eyes open, still groggy from sleep. He’s so unbearably cute like this.

"Thorne...?" he murmurs in that sleepy voice that never fails to melt my heart.

A quiet chuckle escapes me as I take in his adorably drowsy expression.

"Why are you all dressed up so early?" Noelle asks, sitting up and rubbing at his eyes. The motion causes the sheets to slip down, revealing his pale skin adorned with red marks—my marks, the undeniable proof of last night. They stand out vividly against his delicate complexion, and for a moment, I can’t help but admire how beautiful he looks.

"I have something to take care of today," I explain softly, my eyes still lingering on him. "I’m not sure when I’ll be back."

"Okay," he replies with a sleepy yawn, stretching slightly before settling back against the pillows. His trust in me, his ease, makes my heart swell.

I lean in, pressing a kiss to each of his cheeks, then his nose. He giggles softly, the sound light and pure, warming something deep inside me. He really is too cute for words.

Unable to resist, I kiss his forehead next, lingering there as if trying to etch the moment into my memory.

"Go back to bed, okay?" I tell him gently. Noelle smiles lazily, already sinking back under the covers, his eyes fluttering shut.

I place one last kiss on his temple, breathing in the familiar scent of him before finally stepping away. As I walk toward the door, I glance back one last time. Noelle is already drifting back into sleep, his soft breathing the only sound in the room.

*

The courtroom buzzed with tension, a low hum of anxious whispers and rustling movements echoing off the marble walls. All eyes were drawn to the center of the room, where Duke Robbens stood, shackled like a common criminal. The once-proud man now appeared utterly diminished, his face pale, his body trembling with an unsettling mixture of fear, shame, and outrage. His hands, bound in heavy chains, shook as his wide eyes darted nervously around the room, searching for salvation.

Above him, the circular seats were filled with the city’s elite, their conversations hushed yet filled with judgment. Nobles leaned in to whisper to one another, masking their own unease behind carefully neutral expressions. They pretended disinterest, but the undercurrent of fear was palpable—if it could happen to Robbens, it could happen to them.

And then, in the crowd, a figure burned with silent fury—the Crown Prince. His jaw was clenched tight, his eyes like fire. There was nothing he could do to stop the trial now. Behind him, his entourage of nobles shifted uncomfortably, their usual arrogance replaced with apprehension. Their carefully crafted masks were slipping as fear clawed at the edges of their composure.

The courtroom doors creaked open, and in walked Judge Malgrave. The atmosphere changed immediately. Silence fell like a heavy shroud as the crowd watched the imposing figure take his place. Known for his ruthlessness, Judge Malgrave was infamous for showing no mercy, whether the accused were noble or common. His face, cold as iron, betrayed nothing as he took his seat, his gavel raised in authority.

Bang. Bang. The sound of the gavel echoed through the hall, commanding absolute silence.

"Duke Robbens," Judge Malgrave’s voice cut through the silence like a blade. His piercing gaze fell on the man standing at the center of the courtroom. Robbens flinched, visibly shaken. "You have been brought to trial by Thorne Alden. Let the prosecutor enter."

The massive double doors at the back of the courtroom creaked open once more, and all heads turned as Thorne Alden stepped inside. His presence was commanding, terrifying in its cold, controlled fury. He walked slowly, each step deliberate, leaning on his cane, his face a mask of steely resolve. To Duke Robbens, it was as though the Grim Reaper himself had come to deliver judgment. Robbens’ breath hitched, his eyes widening in pure terror as Thorne approached.

Behind Thorne, a procession of guards entered, dragging with them several men and one woman, all bound in chains. Their cries and screams for mercy filled the hall, desperate, pitiful pleas that fell on deaf ears. The judge’s gavel came down again, and the noise was silenced. Fear gripped the room like a vice.

Thorne took his place, and began to present his case. His voice was calm, measured, but with every word, the weight of his accusations grew heavier. Tax fraud. Abuse of power. Drug dealing. Illegal gambling. Murder. Arson. It was as if every sin, every dark secret Duke Robbens had tried to bury, was being exhumed and laid bare for the world to see. Each new charge struck like a hammer, shattering what little composure the duke had left.

Robbens’ face twisted in horror as the evidence piled up, undeniable and damning. The commoners in the crowd began to boo and shout, their fury boiling over as the full scope of his crimes was revealed. Even the nobles, who had long danced in the same shadows, exchanged uneasy glances, realizing that their own misdeeds could just as easily be dragged into the light.

"Lies!" Robbens finally screamed, his voice cracking with desperation.

"You can’t do this to me! You think I’m the only one?! You think I’m the only one involved in this!?"

His wild eyes searched the room, hoping to find someone, anyone, willing to step forward and save him. But the other nobles, once his allies, now looked away, their faces blank, their bodies still as if trying to distance themselves from his inevitable ruin.

Judge Malgrave’s gaze remained as cold as ever. He raised his gavel, ready to pass final judgment.

"Duke Robbens," he said, his voice booming across the courtroom.

"I would not normally have the authority to render such a sentence, but due to the gravity of your crimes, I strip you of your nobility. From this moment on, the Robbens bloodline is banished from the capital for three generations. Let this be a reminder to all that no one is above the law."

The words hung in the air like a death sentence. Robbens’ face went pale, the full realization of his downfall sinking in. His legs buckled as he collapsed to his knees, screaming in rage and disbelief.

"You can’t do this to me!" he shrieked. "You—! You think I’m the only one?! You’ll all burn for this! All of you!"

A guard stepped forward and knocked him unconscious with a swift blow to the back of his head. The room was silent, save for the heavy thud of Robbens’ body hitting the ground. All eyes turned to Thorne, who stood tall and unyielding, his blue eyes gleaming with cold satisfaction.

Thorne’s gaze drifted upward, locking with crown Prince’s, mockery in his cold blue eyes.

As Duke Robbens’ unconscious form was dragged from the courtroom, the tension only seemed to thicken. The air was heavy, not with relief but with the oppressive weight of fear. The nobles, still seated in the high arches of the room, exchanged furtive glances. Their carefully constructed world, with its secrets and shadows, felt as though it was crumbling beneath them. One of their own had fallen, and there was no telling who might be next.

Thorne stood motionless, his hands clasped over the head of his cane, as if waiting for something—anything. His cold gaze swept over the crowd, pausing momentarily on a few faces. There was no smile, no expression of triumph—only a calm, calculating expression that unnerved even the most confident of nobles. His silence was more terrifying than any words could have been.

From his vantage point, the Crown Prince could feel the eyes of the court on him, waiting for a reaction, waiting to see what the most powerful man after the Emperor would do. His fury was barely contained behind the mask of calm he wore. His jaw tightened, but his face remained impassive as he leaned back in his seat, his mind racing. He could not openly challenge Thorne here, not in front of the entire court. To do so would be to admit weakness. And weakness, in this game of power, was death.

Behind him, the nobles who had come with him shuffled uncomfortably. They had not expected this—no one had. The trial was meant to be a formality, a spectacle to show the people that justice was being served. But this...this was something else. This was a message, and not just to Duke Robbens. Thorne had dragged every sin the duke had committed into the light, sparing none of the ugly details, and yet, somehow, only the duke’s name was tarnished. The rest of them—his associates, his partners in crime—had remained untouched. Thorne had been careful, meticulous. He had buried the knife deep into Robbens, but left the others trembling, unsure when or if their turn would come.

It was brilliant and terrifying all at once.

As the court began to disperse, whispers filled the air like a swarm of locusts. Nobles hurried from the room, their eyes darting to one another, questioning, accusing. Some of them had ties to Robbens, some were guilty of the same crimes. Now, they wondered how long it would be before they were in his place. They were not fools—they understood the game Thorne was playing. And none of them wanted to be the next piece sacrificed.

In the shadows, hidden from the main crowd, a group of lower nobles murmured amongst themselves. "This can’t be happening," one whispered, his voice trembling with fear. "If they can strip a duke of his title, what chance do we have?"

"Shut up," another hissed. "Keep your head down. Don’t draw attention. That’s how we survive this."

But survival felt far from certain.

Judge Malgrave remained seated, his face as unreadable as ever, though even he could feel the seismic shift that had occurred in the courtroom. He had known Thorne would come with evidence—he had expected a trial. But this... Thorne had come with precision, a ruthlessness that sent chills down the spines of everyone present. He had not just exposed Duke Robbens—he had exposed the fragile nature of the entire noble structure. With one trial, Thorne had shown them that their power, their wealth, and their titles meant nothing if someone decided to tear them down.