THE ZOMBIE SYSTEM-Chapter 57 - 56: Breach Warning

"Execute him and be done with it."

Director Voskar’s fist crashed against polished mahogany. The deliberation chamber’s crystal goblets rattled. Twelve jurors sat around the circular table.

Afternoon sunlight streamed through stained glass windows. Each panel depicted scenes from Association history of wars. The First Dimensional War. The Great Purge. The Continental Accords. Light cast colored shadows across faces locked in heated debate.

"The precedent matters more than sentiment," Voskar continued. His scarred hands gripped the table edge until knuckles went white. "Hunters need to understand that killing guild leaders brings immediate death. No exceptions. No mercy."

Callen Etros leaned forward across the table. Rage burned behind his eyes like forge fires. Veins bulged in his neck as family honor warred with political necessity.

"Leon Graves spat on everything the Virell bloodline built. Five generations of service to the Association. Distinguished combat records. Political alliances spanning three continents." His voice cracked with raw emotion. "Reduced to ash by one F-rank pretender who thinks personal grievance justifies destroying institutions."

ARES Guild representation demanded blood. Nothing less than execution would satisfy family pride or organizational integrity.

Vaela Murne straightened in her chair. White robes rustled with the authority of someone who’d dedicated forty years to healing arts. Her voice carried the weight of absolute moral conviction.

"Necromancy violates the fundamental laws of existence. Death should remain death. Life should stay life." She gestured toward the chamber door. "That boy’s abominations mock the sacred boundary between worlds. His very presence defiles nature itself." frёeωebɳovel.com

Sanctuary Guild philosophy rejected undead magic on theological grounds. Leon’s abilities challenged everything their doctrine taught about proper order.

Lady Thelyra smiled behind jeweled fingers. Aristocratic amusement colored her voice. Political calculations danced behind intelligent eyes.

"Perhaps we’re examining this situation from the wrong angle entirely." Her words carried the careful precision of court intrigue. "What if Leon Graves isn’t the disease but the cure for institutional rot?"

Several jurors turned toward her. Concern and disgust replaced hostility in their expressions.

"The Virell corruption festered for years under Association protection. Civilian casualties ignored. Atrocities covered up. Official reports buried in bureaucratic archives." She paused for effect. "Maybe we needed someone willing to cut out the infected tissue."

Vice-Chairman Eltyos straightened in his military posture. Old soldier recognizing battlefield necessity when others saw only political complications. Combat experience valued results over legal technicalities.

"The boy acted when official channels failed. Justified response to systematic institutional failure." His weathered face showed no emotion. "Military doctrine recognizes necessary action when command structure becomes compromised."

Decades of combat taught him that survival sometimes required breaking regulations to preserve the mission.

Archivist Solde adjusted thick glasses with trembling fingers. Historical precedent mattered more than emotional reactions to the elderly scholar. Books contained wisdom that outlasted generations.

"Caution serves us better than hasty decisions driven by fear or anger. Public reaction to summary execution could destabilize multiple regions. Historical precedent from the Mage Trials suggests..."

"Politics," Bran Dekker interrupted. Iron-fang director calculated odds like a merchant weighing gold against silver. Personal profit motivated every decision. "The question isn’t moral righteousness or legal technicalities. It’s practical usefulness to our organizations."

His guild thrived through pragmatic alliances. Emotion was luxury they couldn’t afford.

Thorne Quen nodded silent agreement. Black-fang philosophy evaluated everything through pure survival calculations. Sentiment got hunters killed in the field.

"A necromancer capable of killing S-ranks possesses significant strategic value. The Association could redirect that power toward external threats instead of wasting it through execution."

Both men saw opportunity where others perceived crisis. Leon represented a weapon that could be aimed at enemies rather than destroyed through fear.

Saria Dullin tapped her staff against marble flooring. Electrical energy crackled around the Tempest Veil representative like miniature lightning. Her voice carried professional respect earned through combat experience.

"The boy demonstrated adaptability that most hunters lack completely. Survival instincts matter more than traditional rank classifications in real situations." She paused. "Combat effectiveness speaks louder than bureaucratic categories."

Tempest Veil valued results over methodology. Innovation earned respect when it produced victory.

Kohr Raiven spoke with the quiet authority of someone who’d survived countless battles. Crimson Dawn warriors chose words carefully. Wasted speech meant wasted breath in combat.

"Strength proves itself through survival against overwhelming odds. Leon demonstrated abilities that demand acknowledgment regardless whether it of origin or methodology."

Simple warrior logic cut through political complexity. Power earned respect when it preserved life.

Elim Voth sat in contemplative silence. Ancient eyes glowed with faint inner light that suggested perception beyond normal human limits. Celestial Path wisdom observed patterns others missed completely.

The old man’s thoughts remained hidden behind patient expressions that had witnessed centuries of political theater. His vote might swing either direction.

Arguments circled the table like predators seeking weakness in opposing positions. Political factions clashed over legal interpretations shaped by personal bias. Guild interests competed with Association authority.

The mahogany table bore scars from previous deliberations. Knife marks where frustrated jurors had vented anger. Burn marks from magical accidents during heated debates. Wine stains from celebrations and sorrows.

Each mark told stories of decisions that changed the world.

A subtle tremor ran through the chamber floor.

Crystal goblets clinked against each other and wine rippled. Several jurors glanced around with professional alertness born from years in dangerous situations.

The tremor intensified. Became a full earthquake.

Walls hummed with suppressed magical energy that made the air taste of copper and ozone. Arcane wards flared throughout the courthouse as warning beacons announcing catastrophic danger.

Emergency protocols activated without human command or conscious decision.

Every juror’s interface materialized forcefully in their vision. Personal privacy settings ignored by continental defense systems operating under crisis parameters. Blue light blazed in each pair of eyes as information flooded their consciousness through direct neural connection.

Magic scrolls unfurled across the table surface like spring flowers blooming in fast motion. Communication crystals burst to life with urgent messages from guild headquarters across three continents. Alert signals screamed through mental connections that bypassed normal authorization channels.

The chamber erupted in coordinated chaos. Professional training overrode political deliberation as survival instincts took command.

Voskar leaped to his feet. Military reflexes activated by threat recognition patterns. His scarred hands moved toward weapons that weren’t present in formal deliberation.

"This timing isn’t coincidence. Someone knew this trial would concentrate our attention while external threats prepared coordinated assault." His voice carried command authority that demanded immediate attention.

Association leadership gathered in one location. Maximum strategic value for enemies seeking to decapitate hunter command structure.

Vice-Chairman Eltyos nodded grimly. Combat experience recognized coordinated enemy action when patterns emerged from chaos. Timing suggested deliberate planning rather than random disaster.

"The courthouse itself might be the primary target. Eliminate decision-makers while they’re focused on internal politics instead of external defense."

Tactical assessment cut through emotional reactions. Survival required clear thinking under pressure.

Callen Etros pointed an accusing finger toward the chamber door. Family grief demanded someone to blame for cascading disasters.

"Leon’s the perfect distraction. Focus our attention on his trial while enemies position for maximum damage. He’s probably working with whoever orchestrated this attack."

Paranoia mixed with legitimate tactical concern. ARES Guild training emphasized identifying threats before they manifested.

Other jurors activated emergency communication spells with practiced efficiency. Urgent conversations with guild headquarters. Regional defense coordination. Continental threat assessment protocols.

Information flowed through magical networks that connected every major power center across known civilization.

Elim Voth remained seated amid the escalating chaos. His glowing eyes focused on information streams invisible to normal perception. Ancient wisdom processed data through channels beyond standard hunter interfaces.

"No," he whispered. Voice barely audible above the commotion of overlapping conversations and emergency alerts. "This isn’t about him at all."

System interfaces blazed brighter as continental monitoring networks shared critical intelligence through emergency broadcast protocols. Data flooded every registered hunter’s consciousness simultaneously.

Dungeon breach alerts cascaded across their vision like falling stars. Not random monsters escaping inadequate containment. Something far worse than individual facility failures.

Multiple simultaneous breaches. Coordinated timing across thousands of miles. Impossible coincidence even by statistical analysis.

The room fell silent as understanding dawned like sunrise revealing a battlefield.

Only S-rank and A-rank dungeons showed breach signatures. The most dangerous containment sites across three continents. All failing at precisely the same moment.

Someone had orchestrated a continental-scale disaster that dwarfed their political deliberations.

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