Chapter 1: Tumult in the Court

BANG BANG BANG! THUD! BANG!

Was someone falling down?

No — that was the sound of my thoughts careening around like a mad thing.

My heartbeats soared in response.

Hundreds of people were all staring at me.

So what am I supposed to do about that?

I had studied law pretty hard in my own way.

Multiple-choice from end to end, sure, but still.

Even so, what good was that in this situation?

Even a veteran judge would be baffled here.

Because nothing about this is familiar!

You could tell from the robes the people on the dais were wearing.

They’re so sparkly they’d put trot singers to shame.

Worse, the usual court marshals had been replaced by knights with grim looks.

Armored and bearing real swords.

No one would stay composed after seeing that.

“Ugh!”

I stared into the air and a sudden, sharp headache hit.

When I groaned, the judges beside me rushed to support me.

“Your Honor!”

“A-are you all right, Your Honor?”

“If you’re unwell, go rest inside for a while. No one would dare defy Lord Abel’s decision.”

They acted as if some terrible accident had occurred.

Finding the fuss ridiculous, I waved an arm vaguely.

Immediately everyone snapped to attention.

What the—?

At my casual gesture, people strained and watched for cues.

I glanced right without thinking and locked eyes with a sly-looking judge.

He nodded as if he understood.

Huh? What exactly did he understand?

He rose and spoke in a clear, ringing voice.

“First we will confirm the defendant’s identity. You are Paul, a wage laborer of the Parbiant Farm. Is that correct?”

The man who had been kneeling in the center of the court answered.

“Yes….”

His voice had no strength.

It sounded like someone resigned to bad fate.

I watched and my mind raced.

So my name is apparently Abel. My role: presiding judge. That man is the defendant. OK, that’s something.

Meanwhile, the trial pressed on.

A man in dark, sparkly attire explained the charges.

He was probably the prosecutor.

“The defendant assaulted the farm owner and broke his arm. We call the witness and the victim to testify.”

All eyes swung back to me.

I nodded, assuming it was a routine procedure.

“I accept. Bring them forward.”

Said with the solemnity of any courtroom drama.

Good. Not awkward at all.

Why this was happening didn’t matter right then.

Despite my mixed feelings, the trial proceeded briskly.

“Yes.”

The prosecutor bowed his head, and two men were escorted into the court.

One was a shabby-looking man in his twenties — a wage laborer.

The other was a middle-aged man in plain green clothing.

He’s got a bandage on his arm.

My gaze landed on the farm owner’s appearance and gait.

He limped; the injury looked serious.

The outline of the case was roughly this: a worker, angry at unpaid wages, swung a blunt weapon.

The prosecutor asked the witnesses a few questions.

“We hadn’t even sold the wheat yet. Where would the money come from? I asked him to wait a bit, but he was relentless.”

The farm owner answered, choking up.

He wore the expression of someone crying foul.

But the judge to my right leaned in and whispered in my ear.

“Baron William Parbiant is famous for being well-liked. His farms are known for treating workers well.”

I stared at him.

Why suddenly say that?

I hadn’t meant to ask anything — letters of information simply floated beside the judge’s face, so I looked.

After blinking a few times without speaking, Joseph’s expression softened.

“I did not mean it with any other intent. I thought it might aid Your Honor’s judgment…”

“Noted.”

When I looked away, Joseph wiped the cold sweat from his brow.

He was flushed and flustered from just one glance.

Am I really that intimidating?

I thought it odd, but I didn’t care much — everything felt unreal, so I was still dazed.

What the hell kind of damned situation is this?

Fine, becoming a judge suddenly was one thing.

But nothing about this made sense.

It can’t be a dream — my thigh hurts like hell.

I pinched my leg countless times hoping to wake up.

But only pain remained.

Reality didn’t change.

Floating tags of personal information hovered beside some faces.

It seems only people I know get labeled.

For example, Baron William Parbiant.

The farm owner had been a blank of question marks before, but now simple details surfaced.

Was this some reward for falling into a strange world?

My head crowded with such thoughts, and then the defendant began to speak in his defense.

“I was the one who was struck. Besides, wages were always months late. If I’m guilty, it’s only for grabbing at his pant leg!”

Paul, the laborer, sobbed.

But his expression was ugly.

Hollowed eye sockets and harsh cheeks made him look fierce.

His tears even seemed like crocodile tears — performance.

Perhaps because of that, the atmosphere in the court turned cold.

The nobles across the room hurled scathing words.

“Lies! Do you know how sterling Baron Parbiant’s reputation is?”

“He looks like a criminal. Tears won’t change that.”

“Ha! The judges won’t be fooled.”

I, too, found my thoughts leaning that way for a moment.

His face was downright rough.

He resembled a sexual offender I had once arrested.

No — drop that prejudice. I’m the judge now, aren’t I?

Though I’d never been a judge, one thing was clear: impartiality.

Wasn’t that the first principle inscribed at the head of the Imperial Code before me?

Principle one of law enforcement: be fair and just.

It wasn’t an idle line — it really was written there.

Better to examine the facts, then.

Naturally, the laws I knew from Korea were useless here.

The content would be completely different.

I skimmed the table of contents.

Fortunately, there was a section on bodily injury.

That’s something!

I flipped hurriedly to the page and was shocked.

Normally a statute lists offense elements, penalties, and ancillary rules.

Here the provisions were extremely brief.

Criminal Law (Bodily Injury)

Anyone who injures another’s body may be punished by flogging, imprisonment, or death.

Flogging meant beating with a club; imprisonment meant being locked up and made to work.

Death meant, of course, the guillotine… or so it implied.

Good grief, the range is massive. Is this basically carte blanche?

There were no sentencing guidelines to be found.

Worse, most of the statutes were this curt.

The judge’s discretion reached almost to the heavens.

And Joseph — what did he say?

He had said no one could oppose my judgment.

A monster who could wield omnipotent power with abandon.

That was me.

Even as my thoughts tangled, the trial continued.

The prosecutor in black sparkly attire stepped forward.

“Sentence the defendant, who injured the farm owner, to ten years’ imprisonment.”

We’d barely reached that point, and they were already into sentencing recommendations.

I looked at the defendant.

When the court quieted, I finally spoke slowly.

“Make your final plea.”

All eyes snapped back to me.

The judges on either side looked bewildered.

Joseph hurriedly whispered.

“All evidence and witnesses have already been presented. Is it necessary?”

That man was a yes-man through and through.

He kept muttering things that muddied judgment.

I nodded once.

“I will. Any objection?”

“…No. Your comment is appropriate.”

A strange warmth swelled in my chest.

Oh! So it works?

Actually, I’d just blurted it out to see how far my authority reached.

Yet Joseph immediately bowed.

This place was clearly medieval.

Here the presiding judge was as good as a god.

The defendant kept wailing, but I barely heard him — my mind drifted.

“Please relieve me of this injustice!”

Paul flung himself on the floor and sobbed loudly.

Looking around, pitying gazes poured in.

They must be other farm laborers in similar straits.

But they could not speak; the nobles were glaring fiercely.

Hmm? Now I get how this will go.

This trial was a conflict of classes.

The nobles sided with the farm owner; the commoners pitied Paul.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

Although I’d received a corporal’s rank, I was still a rookie cop at the district unit.

Still, as someone at the front lines of law enforcement, I prided myself on some sense of justice.

To find the substantive truth.

That was what needed doing now.

I opened my eyes and flicked a finger.

“Victim.”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“Please come up to the dais.”

“Huh?”

Baron Parbiant’s eyes widened.

He seemed taken aback by the sudden request.

Still, he had no choice but to obey.

Who would defy a command?

Staggering up, the farm owner stopped courteously.

I inspected him closely and grabbed his arm.

Then I probed here and there.

“Ugh!”

A stifled groan burst out.

I’d poked where a broken bone would hurt; of course it was painful.

Yet my brow creased more.

This guy? He’s fine.

From childhood foolishness I’d broken an arm before, and this reaction wasn’t normal.

A real break would make someone howl in agony.

There was no swelling around the wound, no jagged bone.

His arm was perfectly normal.

I stared at the farm owner with a cold gaze.

Sensing something wrong, his face went pale blue.

What to do?

I was angry, but my head buzzed with complication.

It felt awkward to assert authority out of the blue.

How dare you lie to me? That would make me look terrible.

I still didn’t know exactly who I was.

So I decided to borrow someone’s authority.

The perfect target was right there.

Wasn’t the Imperial Code stamped big on the book cover before me?

If so, this place was ruled by an emperor.

I blurted out at once.

“How dare you profane the sacred court of His Imperial Majesty!”