The statements lined up almost perfectly, yet something felt off.
It left a strangely bitter aftertaste, if that made any sense.
I tried to pinpoint the cause, but nothing came to mind.
It couldn’t be because of that man, could it?
My gaze settled on the black-suited figure leaning on a cane and clenching a fist toward the defendant.
It was Marquis Wesley Malone, the very picture of a refined elderly gentleman.
Why would the president of the Imperial Lawyers Association personally take on such a disadvantageous case?
I immediately pulled up his status window.
<Character Information>
Name: Wesley Malone
Status: Marquis
Position: President of the Imperial Lawyers Association
Relationship: Worsened
Condition: Extreme fury from damaged honor, outrage at his grandson’s trial outcome, intense resentment and hostility toward Duke Carius.
Overall Ability: B
The man was angry enough to suggest anger-management issues.
I remembered him being nowhere near this volatile before.
Was it the public humiliation at the debate plus both grandsons receiving heavy sentences?
Right now, two of Wesley Malone’s grandsons were already behind bars.
He had mobilized every ounce of his influence, but it had been useless.
His maternal grandson Norman Hewitt had been sentenced to fifty years, and his paternal grandson Bilber Malone had received one year for mutual assault.
But why is all that rage aimed at me?
His grandsons were the ones who had committed the crimes.
Was he seriously blaming me because power plays failed to cover them up?
What a petty man.
Still, there isn’t enough evidence to link him to this case.
The motive was certainly there.
He would love nothing more than to see me humiliated.
Just then, a quiet voice spoke beside me.
It was Judge Colrund Emir, seated at my side.
“Your Honor?”
“Hm? What is it?”
“You’ve been silent for quite a while. It is time for sentencing.”
“Ah, right.”
Suspicion alone would not yield new information right now.
The witnesses and evidence had already been presented.
The defendant’s aggrieved expression bothered me, but what could I do?
Every piece of evidence pointed straight at him.
But at that exact moment, a question flashed through my mind.
Why hasn’t Marquis Wesley Malone said a single word yet?
He was here as the defense attorney for Jalen, the woodworking shop owner.
Yet he had not offered a single argument.
Even while the prosecutor tore into the case, the marquis kept his mouth tightly shut, only gesturing encouragement toward the defendant.
That’s it. Everything feels wrong—Marquis Wesley Malone, the defendant, the witnesses.
As soon as I started tracing the source of my unease, something elusive began to take shape.
A defense attorney who left everything to a speech-impaired defendant.
A defendant who simply accepted that.
Witness testimonies that matched one another with unnatural precision.
When I considered them together, the flaw became obvious.
“Your Honor?”
“One moment.”
I raised my right hand slightly toward Judge Emir, who had called me again.
Then I summoned the court knights.
“Separate the witnesses into different rooms so they cannot contact one another, then bring them in one at a time.”
“Pardon? Yes, sir.”
Everyone looked puzzled, but the trial proceeded according to my orders.
The first witness, Grayson, entered.
“Witness.”
“Yes.”
“Where exactly were you when the defendant swung the wooden club?”
“I was carrying lumber, so at the workshop entrance.”
“Alone?”
“It was a long, heavy piece, so two of us were carrying it together.”
“How wide is the workshop entrance? Could two people pass through at once while carrying lumber?”
“Uh… No.”
“Then who was in front?”
“I was.”
“Describe the defendant’s and victim’s actions at the moment you witnessed them.”
“Gordon already looked terrible, as if he had been hit several times. The owner was holding the club high, about to bring it down on his head.”
“And then?”
“Mook, who was coming out of the office on the opposite side, rushed over to stop him.”
Once the statement ended, the court knights escorted Grayson out.
Next came Semaz, the laborer who had carried the lumber with him.
I asked the exact same questions.
His answers were nearly identical.
The final witness was Mook, the man who had intervened at the critical moment.
The content was essentially the same as the previous testimonies.
Murmurs began to ripple through the gallery.
“Wait, why is he making them repeat things everyone already knows?”
“The trial is unfolding completely differently this time. Does he lack confidence?”
“Unbelievable. His Highness Duke Carius is hesitating on a verdict?”
“Anyone can see the defendant is guilty. Unless there was some kind of backroom deal…”
“Hey! The man already has more wealth than anyone could want. What could he possibly gain?”
“It might not be money.”
“Careful with your tongue. You’ll get yourself beaten.”
A few negative voices surfaced, but they were quickly drowned out.
It seemed most people still trusted me.
An unavoidable reaction. The doubt is reasonable.
Yet the latest statements had been a necessary step to expose the falsehood.
I called all the witnesses back in and asked,
“Mr. Semaz?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“You just stated that you saw the woodworking shop owner Jalen about to strike Gordon’s head with the club and that Mr. Mook stopped him, correct?”
“Yes, that is correct.”
“That is strange. Mr. Grayson gave the exact same testimony. Given the layout of the workshop entrance, it is impossible for two people to have seen the assault scene at the same time.”
Grayson had entered first, and Semaz had followed later.
With a long piece of lumber balanced on their shoulders, the person in back would have had difficulty seeing clearly past the one in front.
The fact that their testimonies matched perfectly could only mean one thing.
They had coordinated their stories in advance.
Semaz’s eyes shook violently, as if struck at his weakest point.
Pupil earthquake was the perfect description.
I swiftly opened the status windows of the key figures.
All three witnesses displayed the word “Flustered.”
Just as I thought!
I cheered inwardly.
The suspicious elements were finally surfacing.
If I dug deeper into the witnesses, the real truth would come out.
But then an odd sight caught my eye.
Wait. Why is Marquis Wesley Malone reacting like that?
It was not strange for him to be surprised.
The entire courtroom was in shock at the unexpected turn.
Yet his status window now showed both “Flustered” and “Restless.”
He knew the testimonies were fabricated too?
What happened next was even more absurd.
The defendant himself had begun sweating profusely.
I casually pulled up his information.
Sure enough, the defendant was in extreme agitation as well.
I reached one clear conclusion.
They colluded to rig the trial outcome.
Why would they do something so ridiculous?
The reason was easy to guess.
There was only one person in this room who resented me.
Marquis Wesley Malone.
I stared at the defense bench with cold eyes and announced,
“Since the testimonies are inconsistent, I will postpone the trial and order a reinvestigation.”
I rose from my seat, gave a brief bow toward the gallery, and left.
The courtroom immediately erupted.
“What just happened? The testimonies contradict each other!”
“It means they were fabricated.”
“All of it was a setup?”
“Those rotten bastards tried to scam the presiding judge!”
“They’ve completely lost their minds.”
“They should be locked away for a hundred years so their corpses never see the light of day!”
The court knights broke into a cold sweat trying to hold back the furious spectators.
I left the chaos behind and returned to my office.
Then I called out to Cordell McNeil, who was hidden in the shadows.
“I have a favor to ask.”
“You want me to keep watch on Marquis Wesley Malone, right? He will definitely make some kind of move to cover this up.”
“Exactly.”
“Leave it to me.”
Cordell’s eyes gleamed dangerously.
He vanished as silently as he had appeared.
I shrugged, puzzled.
“He’s not usually the type to accept requests so willingly. What’s gotten into him?”
Whenever I asked him to do something, he would come up with every excuse under the sun to avoid it.
It could not be because he had been caught sneaking off to a party at night.
No matter what I said, he was the kind of man who only listened in the moment.
While I was still tilting my head, Feltron—who had been using the trial documents as a blanket—cleared up the mystery.
You know that Malone or Malong guy.
“Marquis Wesley Malone?”
—Yeah.
“Why him?”
—Apparently he was flirting with the girls at the Midias beauty salon.
“Ah……”
Cordell McNeil’s lady worked there, didn’t she?
Now his sudden enthusiasm made perfect sense.
Still, one question remained.
“He goes to parties every night chasing women, yet acts like some pure-hearted romantic.”
That guy said it himself earlier.
“What did he say?”
—He’s sincere with everyone.
***
I could already picture Cordell’s future.
He would probably tell the beauty-salon lady something like,
‘Falling in love isn’t a crime, is it?’
The Jalen Woodshop case took an unexpected turn.
The witnesses’ testimonies had been fabricated.
From the very beginning, the defendant had never committed any assault.
Even more shocking was the fact that the mastermind behind it all was Marquis Wesley Malone.
Duke Planger Sierre and Duke Diandre Giovanni met again after only a few days.
Both men wore grim expressions.
“I planned to appeal, have His Majesty personally preside over the retrial, and then release the new evidence.”
“If it had gone according to plan, it would have been a decisive blow. What a shame.”
“Tsk! The attempt itself was excellent.”
“Moving Marquis Wesley Malone was a good choice. Thanks to that, we remained completely hidden.”
“What will happen to him?”
“He is stepping down from the association presidency. Vice President Sean Malone will go with him.”
“Hmm. I am sorry about that.”
Duke Sierre spoke with a bitter face.
After all, Wesley Malone belonged to the Giovanni noble faction.
They had borrowed someone else’s talent, only for the result to be disastrous.
No matter how thick Duke Sierre’s skin was, he could not dodge responsibility here.
Yet Duke Giovanni responded as if it were no big deal.
“It is fine. To crush Abel, we must be willing to accept sacrifices of this scale.”
“Thank you for your generous understanding. I will definitely repay this debt.”
“I will look forward to it.”
“By the way, should we not lie low for a while?”
“Given how big this incident became, it would be wise to stay out of sight for now. Let us do that.”
The two dukes nodded heavily and rose from their seats.
They shook hands lightly.
To any outside observer, they were the picture of perfect allies.
Their inner thoughts, however, were anything but.
Heh heh! I was going to get rid of Wesley Malone anyway. Lately he had been getting too ambitious.
Debt? Please. Using him from the start was all part of the calculation. Even if things went wrong, I could slip away cleanly.
Hiding their cunning intentions, the two quickly left the hideout.