Chapter 327: Solomon Proved Innocent [Bonus - PS]

Chapter 327: Solomon Proved Innocent [Bonus Chapter PS]

Balzac turned back to the crowd. "What is the distance between the Six Savers guild headquarters in District Six and The BlueYorker’s Shield building in District Seven?"

"It is roughly fifteen miles," an officer responded from the back. "But since the suspect was operating a motorized electric scooter, it is manageable to drive that distance within half an hour on empty streets at night."

"What about the stamina and fatigue required for such an operation?" Balzac asked.

An interrogator pointed at the screen. "Solomon explicitly stated that his SSS-rank talent is related to healing. It is highly probable that his talent also rapidly heals muscular fatigue, granting him limitless stamina."

Balzac let out a loud, mocking laugh. "Are you seriously implying that my teenage student walked into a heavily fortified corporate building in District Six, slaughtered hundreds of veteran adventurers with his bare hands, hopped onto a cheap electric scooter, drove fifteen miles across the city, completely massacred another corporate guild in District Seven, and then planted enough high-yield explosives to level a skyscraper... all in a single afternoon?

Why would anyone realistically do that? And if he was truly capable of destroying two massive guilds entirely by himself in such an incredibly short timeframe, he surely would have possessed enough brain cells and strength to simply run away and not get caught riding a scooter outside the crime scene. He would also have resisted arrest instead of politely surrendering to your vans."

After a few more heated arguments, Balzac called the lead forensic commanders to the front of the stage.

"What did your teams find at the destruction site in District Seven?" Balzac asked the forensic officers. "How exactly did the building collapse?"

"We found massive traces of chemical explosive residue and detonation markers across the foundational sub-levels," the forensic commander reported. "The skyscraper was intentionally destroyed via controlled, high-yield magical detonations."

"How many explosive charges and how much raw material weight would it take to successfully blow up a reinforced skyscraper of that scale?" Balzac asked.

The forensic commander checked his tablet. "Based on the structural integrity of the BlueYorker’s headquarters, it would require at least a hundred charges, totaling roughly twelve hundred pounds of highly volatile magical explosives, strategically placed across the load-bearing columns."

Balzac smiled lazily. "Is it physically possible for a single teenager to massacre an entire guild, travel fifteen miles on a motorized scooter carrying twelve hundred pounds of magical explosives, slaughter hundreds more veteran adventurers, meticulously plant forty strategic charges across a massive sub-basement, and then detonate the building within that given, incredibly narrow timeframe?"

"No," the forensic commander admitted immediately. "It is logistically and physically impossible."

"Will you ask and answer the same with every terrorist attack that has happened in the world?" Chief Kurt jumped up from his seat, his face red with desperation. "Solomon obviously had a team of accomplices! They are currently on the run, but my units will soon track them down and—"

Balzac scowled fiercely at the Police Chief. "I need concrete evidence, Kurt, not baseless, paranoid accusations. If you baselessly accuse my student of terrorism one more time without providing a single shred of physical proof, I will formally consider that a direct threat against his life."

Balzac turned back to the forensic team. "Did your teams find anything at the blast site that could directly lead to the culprit, or definitively prove who orchestrated the detonation?"

The forensic commanders shook their heads. "The explosion was far too catastrophic. Even if we spend an entire month sifting through the rubble, it is virtually impossible to find any surviving physical evidence or DNA traces that could lead to the actual culprit."

Balzac clapped his hands together loudly, spreading his arms wide. "Then that means my student, Solomon, is entirely innocent. He should be released from your custody without any further ado. Of course, if any of you can provide even a single piece of concrete, physical evidence linking him to the crime right now, I will gladly drop my demand and leave."

The room descended into a deeply unhappy silence.

The detectives and captains were logically convinced that Solomon was legally innocent based on the sheer impossibility of the timeline and the explosive logistics. However, they also knew that someone was undeniably the culprit, and they had no idea who it was.

They did not want to accept that finding the real terrorist was impossible, as the forensic teams claimed. Deep down, their instincts screamed that the silver-haired boy was somehow responsible, but their bruised egos hated the fact that an arrogant outsider had just waltzed into their station and effortlessly dismantled their entire investigation. They felt insulted, intellectually inferior, and completely powerless.

Chief Kurt realized that Solomon was about to be officially released. His desperate dream of keeping the boy locked in Tartarus forever was rapidly shattering. He needed to make one final, desperate play.

Vane was scheduled to retire soon, and Kurt was officially next in line to become the new City Commissioner once Vane stepped down. Kurt had secured that prestigious promotion entirely because of his ’unimaginable contributions’ and ’tireless investigative work’ during the District Seven dungeon tragedy three years ago.

He had been heavily rewarded and overwhelmingly voted into the Commissioner-elect position by the wealthy corporate big shots who had secretly and openly funded and supported The BlueYorker’s Shield guild. It was a blatantly rigged, pathetic political ascension built entirely on the blood of dead adventurers.

Once Kurt officially became the City Commissioner, he would possess absolute, unchecked authority over the precinct. Even if Solomon was legally cleared of the bombing, Kurt knew he could easily fabricate a minor infraction or a parole violation to keep the boy locked in Tartarus indefinitely until he assumed office.

"We cannot just let him walk out of here!" Kurt shouted, stepping into the aisle. "He is a registered SSS-rank threat! He is an inherent danger to the public! Even if we lack the forensic evidence for the bombing, we can still legally detain him under the ’Awakened Threat Containment Act’ for a mandatory psychological evaluation! I am officially invoking my authority as the Commissioner-elect to hold him in maximum security for another thirty days!"

This time, Balzac did not smile. He frowned deeply.

A glowing star suddenly manifested inside the pupils of the professor’s eyes, replacing his normal irises. The ambient temperature in the massive conference hall plummeted instantly.

"I warned you, Kurt," Balzac stated, his lazy drawl completely vanishing. "I told you that if you baselessly accused my student or threatened his freedom without proof again, I would consider it a direct threat. That was not a polite plea, and it was certainly not a legal request. It was an absolute statement of fact."

Balzac stood up, his dark trench coat billowing slightly despite the lack of wind in the sealed room. "My student, Solomon, is currently being held in a cage entirely unjustly. As his professor, it is my sworn, sacred duty to protect my student from any threat or harm that blocks his path. Therefore, I will simply eliminate anyone who stands in my way right now. I will consider your complete eradication an act of educational self-defense."

The sheer, overwhelming pressure of the former High Inquisitor crashed down upon the room.

Every single detective, captain, and forensic officer in the hall had the exact same, horrifying realization simultaneously. Balzac was not joking, and he was absolutely not bluffing.

None of them could move their bodies. It wasn’t just the crushing spiritual pressure or the terrifying killing intent paralyzing their limbs. It wasn’t even standard fear. The moment Balzac spoke his ultimatum, their physical bodies simply ceased to belong to them. Their hearts stopped beating, the blood froze in their veins, and their lungs refused to draw breath. It felt as if they had all already died, their souls suspended in a purgatory dictated entirely by the professor’s whim.

Balzac slowly blinked. The glowing stars vanished from his pupils, and the suffocating, lethal pressure instantly evaporated.

The room collectively gasped, hundreds of hardened police officers desperately sucking air into their burning lungs, collapsing against their desks and chairs in sheer terror.

Balzac turned his attention to Commissioner Vane, offering a polite, lazy smile. "Is there any remaining issue with Solomon’s immediate release, Commissioner?"

Vane swallowed hard, rubbing his chest. He shrugged his shoulders, wanting nothing to do with the professor. "He has been legally proven innocent. The case is closed."

Vane looked at the trembling guards standing near the doors. "Go down to Tartarus right now. Bring Solomon up to the lobby and escort him out."