Chapter Three: The Gravely Injured Defendant

But Li Xiu soon realized that riding in the carriage under his current condition was anything but easy. The jolting of the dirt road nearly sent him into oblivion. Yet, throughout the journey, he suppressed his cries of pain. For one, he had already endured for so long and refused to falter now; for another, he knew the road from the military camp to the city was rough, and the carriage offered no comfort—complaining would make no difference.

Li Xiu kept conversing with the warrant officer, partly to distract himself from the pain, but also to understand the details of the accusations against him. He maintained a calm and grave demeanor throughout.

The nurse and doctor accompanied him, observing the young lieutenant with care. Though they did not join the conversation, their sympathies naturally inclined toward their patient.

Not only the medical staff, but even the military police and the warrant officer had shifted in their attitude toward Lieutenant Mulan Jonst. They answered his questions openly and, inevitably, their doubts about the charges against him grew.

This Jonst was undoubtedly a true soldier; though not adorned with exaggerated muscles, his will was ironclad. Even as the carriage jolted violently, he only furrowed his brow, never uttering a sound. It was hard to imagine he had only recently returned from the brink of death.

Such an officer, even if guilty, could not possibly be charged with such disgraceful crimes. The wounds on his body could hardly all be the result of friendly fire. Yet the warrant officer had no power to interfere and could only answer Jonst’s questions and try to make the journey less arduous.

This was precisely what Li Xiu intended, and it was working. Lacking power or influence, all he and the Third Battalion could do was rely on the courage and unyielding spirit they had shown in battle—to move those whose opinions would decide the trial.

A proper defense was indispensable, but perhaps not as persuasive as the force of character.

After half an hour, the carriage entered the paved roads of Dia and the journey became less jarring. Li Xiu felt much better, and after another quarter hour, the carriage finally came to a halt.

When Li Xiu was carefully lifted from the carriage, his pain finally eased. His clothes were already soaked with sweat.

...

News of Mulan Jonst’s arrival in Dia astonished many who had believed he was so gravely wounded as to be insensible.

At midday, in a city restaurant, several officers were dining together. Inevitably, the conversation turned to the afternoon’s trial. One officer, chewing a mouthful of steak, finally set aside small talk to address the core topic.

“Mulan Jonst has come to the city, but I recall some saying he wouldn’t last three days?”

“Indeed. A dying man certainly won’t be able to protest anything. But what now? Colonel Bill, what do you think?”

A bearded man, who had been silently eating, finally looked up at the others.

“At most, I’ll keep silent,” he said through clenched teeth, veins standing out on the hand holding his fork and knife.

“That’s fine. He is, after all, an officer of your Second Corps. If you can remain silent, that’s enough. Even if he’s here, the outcome of the trial won’t change much.”

The bespectacled officer wiped his mouth and smiled.

“Lieutenant Jonst is conservative and slow-witted—not skilled at defending himself. Still, he has noble blood. Given the current circumstances, best not to go too far.” He glanced at Colonel Bill and added, “At least do your best to save his life.”

Bill said nothing, though his frown eased slightly. Someone else, however, could not suppress a laugh.

“Hey, a fallen baronet’s son counts as nobility?”

“A hundred years ago, he would have.”

Soft laughter spread around the restaurant.

...

That afternoon, in the temporary military tribunal established at the Dia courthouse, a judge had just concluded a trial and now called the room to order before opening a new file.

“We will now hear the case of dereliction of duty in the Battle of Mo Gorge. First, I wish to confirm—has Lieutenant Mulan Jonst arrived?”

A military policeman immediately turned to the judge. “Lieutenant Jonst is present and awaiting the court’s summons.”

The elderly judge nodded and looked around. Besides members of the various corps, the tribunal included local court officials and two members from the prior ceasefire negotiation teams. Most of those seated below were also military men.

“Bring Lieutenant Mulan Jonst to the court.”

Shortly afterward, a stretcher borne by two military police arrived at the doors, accompanied by the doctor and nurse, with Mulan lying atop it.

Though the distance varied, most present could see the blood-soaked bandages testifying to the lieutenant’s grave wounds.

As the military police prepared to carry the stretcher inside, the man atop it spoke.

“Set me down.”

The two police paused in surprise and stopped. Li Xiu took several deep breaths and, bracing himself, slowly sat up.

“...hiss...huff...”

A moment later, Li Xiu stood from the stretcher and, waving away the nurse, doctor, and warrant officer who instinctively moved to help him, declared in a hoarse yet ringing voice, “This is my battlefield!”

Li Xiu surveyed the courtroom. The judge on the high bench wore military uniform, as did most of the tribunal members and those seated below.

In this moment, Li Xiu knew he must fully inhabit Mulan’s persona, or he would never radiate the aura he needed.

A faint fury welled within him.

This was an unjust trial; he, Mulan Jonst, was to become a scapegoat for others, and the honor of his men would be smeared.

For his life, for his honor, for the family name, and for the dignity of his soldiers, Mulan Jonst would fight!

Thump, thump, thump...

His heartbeat thundered in his chest—a powerful resonance rising within him, as if he could still hear the gunfire, smell the smoke and iron of battle.

This was the last stand at Mo Gorge.

“Thank you all, but I wish to walk in myself.”

Mulan gently pushed away the nurse, lifted his head, and walked with slow but unshakable steps toward the bench. The bandages at his shoulder, chest, and thigh became ever more stained with red from the journey and the exertion.

In that moment, the will of the officer seemed almost tangible; all prior whispers about Mulan fell silent. The entire courtroom was hushed.

Step by step...

The nurse and doctor behind him repeatedly wished to help.

All eyes were fixed on this young officer, watching as he advanced—slow, determined—until he stood before the tribunal. Many saw the beads of sweat on his face, but the pain was hidden; his gaze was fearless.

In the gallery, a tall man opened his eyes wide at Mulan. He wore a tall top hat, a tailored Western suit and trousers, a white shirt with a black cravat, and white gloves—a gentleman’s attire that set him apart from those around him.

Expecting an ordinary trial, he found himself witnessing something extraordinary.

The great doors of the courtroom closed. The judge, seeing Mulan standing, broke the silence.

“Lieutenant Mulan Jonst, you are charged with severe defeatism, incompetence in command, abandoning your position prematurely and exposing the flank—making you the primary cause of our defeat at Mo Gorge. What have you to say?”

Mulan looked at the judge and the few in civilian attire. He knew his hopes rested largely with them, at least one representing the Crown. He also glanced toward his left, where a bearded colonel quietly avoided his gaze.

“I refuse to acknowledge these accusations!” Mulan faced the judge again. Though his voice was hoarse, it was firm and resonant. “I reject the charges against myself and my men. Under our corps commander, the Third Battalion and the entire Second Corps fought bravely and achieved the results expected!”

One of the accusing officers immediately stood. “Lieutenant, we have multiple witnesses attesting that your unit broke ranks and fled, causing the line to collapse! Your honor, we request the witnesses be admitted.”

“Granted.”

One by one, the “witnesses” entered: ordinary soldiers, officers, and even two prisoners from the Bach army. All gave testimony supporting the accusations.

Through it all, Mulan watched in icy silence. None of the witnesses, nor even the accusers, dared meet his gaze for long.

In the right corner of the gallery, a man had watched Mulan since his entrance.

Anger, composure, pride!

This young officer, only a lieutenant, looked at every accuser and so-called witness as though they were but jesters. He stood tall and unyielding.

“Lieutenant, have you anything further to say?” The judge addressed him again. Throughout, the lieutenant had not spoken, offering no rebuttal during the witnesses’ statements, as if he had surrendered his defense. Yet his eyes and bearing said otherwise.

Indeed, merely seeing Lieutenant Jonst standing there, many in the courtroom now felt subtle doubts about the fairness of the trial.

“Your honor, may I have my men brought in?” Before the prosecutor could object, Mulan continued. “Not to testify—simply to show their wounds.”

One of the prosecution officers interjected at once, “Lieutenant Jonst, may I remind you—the soldiers of the Third Battalion cannot serve as witnesses, as they too are accused.”

Mulan glanced at him, then swept his gaze around the room, finally settling on the nurse a short distance away.

“Nurse, would you come here and help me—remove my bandages!”

“Lieutenant Jonst, please do not waste the court’s time with meaningless gestures!” The officer tried to continue, but a single look from Mulan silenced him. It was a look that spoke of battle to the death, of blood and fire, of icy resolve. The officer, who had never known the front, felt as if he stared down the barrel of a loaded gun—his body stiffened involuntarily.

“Your honor, what I am doing is not without purpose.”

The judge frowned, but finally nodded to the nurse. She hurried over, the doctor assisting with utmost care.

As the bandages were unwound, the blood grew thicker, and a foul smell of decay rose. When the blood-soaked dressings were removed, hideous wounds on Mulan’s shoulder, chest, and thigh drew every eye; both were through-and-through injuries, the exit wounds visible from behind.

Gasps filled the courtroom. “So severe!” “Good God, how can he even stand?”

Mulan ignored the murmurs. His face was pale, sweat streaming, even his half-cut shirt damp, but no one thought him pitiful. He pointed to his right thigh.

“Your honor, ladies and gentlemen—here. I was struck by a Bach rifle bullet. The bullet entered here and exited behind—just a small hole in front, but a gaping wound at the back.”

He slowly raised his right hand, indicating the wound near his heart at his shoulder and chest, his hoarse voice rising. “Here—a Bach bayonet, a foot-long blade, entered from my left chest and exited from the back, not far from my heart. The cut on my left arm—received in hand-to-hand combat for the position...”

As the young lieutenant described his wounds and the brutal fighting, everyone present felt it—a miracle he was alive at all.

Having said so much, and still standing, Mulan’s breath grew heavy, but his gaze remained unchanged as he fixed the judge and the tribunal members, then clenched his fist and stared at the two accusing officers.

“When I suffered these wounds, I, Mulan Jonst, and my men of the Third Battalion, Second Corps, were locked in mortal combat with the enemy!”

The two prosecutors were speechless, unable to form words, stunned by Mulan’s wounds and his presence.

“Your honor, I request my men be brought forth, not to defend me, but simply to show their wounds—so that, even if we are found guilty, we may retain a soldier’s dignity! I, Mulan Jonst, in the name of a soldier’s honor, and the honor of the Jonst family, swear that the wounds my men bear are proof enough—they are all warriors who met the enemy head-on!”