Chapter: The Trial Meant to Break Him

"Are you trying to ruin your reputation by willingly taking on a difficult trial?"

The jab came out of nowhere. It wasn't shocking because it was new—just frustratingly predictable.

It was such an outdated tactic, something even the Empire had long stopped bothering with.

Still, it had to be said—they were persistent.

So far, no matter what the Sierra and Giovanni nobles threw at Abel, he had taken it all on without flinching.

'But the people here don't know that.'

Sure, maybe they had heard rumors. But could they have truly imagined that he'd be able to keep a clear head even in the most complex and emotionally charged situations?

Either way, it didn't matter.

"Fine," Abel said calmly. "I'll take the trial."

There was a stir in the room. Smiles, smug nods, and thinly veiled satisfaction spread like a slow wave across the faces in the conference hall.

Clearly, they believed this trial would chip away at his credibility. That they could exploit it to launch an all-out offensive, thinking he'd retreat on his own.

'That's their plan. Predictable.'

In the end, political maneuvering and power plays didn't differ much—whether in the Empire or in this provincial duchy.

Abel had tried to be a gentleman. To stay above the mudslinging. But when they dragged him into it, he had no choice but to respond.

Returning to his office, he immediately reviewed the indictment and the evidence.

Just as he expected, the documents were flimsy and hastily put together.

"Typical," he muttered under his breath.

The so-called investigators didn't care about the truth. They weren't looking for justice—they wanted him gone. The entire investigation was half-baked.

That left Abel with no choice but to do everything himself, from the investigation to the verdict.

It was a daunting task, sure—but not impossible.

'Once I start digging, everything will come to light.'

The most pressing priority was securing witnesses and evidence.

He immediately summoned everyone involved—workers at the construction site, anyone present during the incident.

At the same time, Peltron mobilized every bit of its intelligence network to look into the matter. It wasn't difficult to guess what the nobles were trying to do.

"We can't waste our precious crows and bats on something like this," one of the field agents complained.

—Is it really that precious?

"Of course. You guys are my eyes and ears. How could I not value you?"

—Captain, you looked really cool just now!

"It's not me who's cool. It's the ones flying and crawling through the dirt."

—Wow!

Peltron's agents looked up at Abel with genuine admiration in their eyes. He hadn't meant to flatter them, but the response was sincere.

'Hmph. At this rate, I might make a habit out of sweet-talking.'

It worked well enough, but overuse could backfire. Praise, when given too freely, starts to lose its weight.

Still, it felt appropriate for now.

There was a knock at the door.

Dripping water from his coat, a man stepped in.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Latrell, sir. Foreman in charge of the Spirit Tree Factory construction."

"Come in."

Latrell removed his yellow hard hat and bowed politely. He looked like he had come straight from the site—mud still clinging to his boots.

Abel called up his personnel file, then cut straight to the point.

"Where were you and what were you doing when the accident occurred?"

"Just past three in the afternoon, sir. I was checking the flooring. I'd been on-site since lunch."

"How far from the logging camp?"

"It's near the lake. The accident happened during tree-felling operations."

"Any word on what the situation was like?"

"I heard someone lost focus and didn't hear the warning shouts. Yannick tried to push Devante out of the way—"

"Did Devante fall off a cliff?"

"The slope was steep, but not a cliff. About three meters high."

"Then why did he die?"

"A branch... a sharp one... pierced straight through his chest. Bad luck, sir."

So it was a freak accident.

Devante hadn't heard the warning, and just happened to fall where sharp branches jutted out. His internal organs were torn, and he died before help could arrive.

It was all a tragic coincidence.

But could that be enough to deliver a not-guilty verdict?

"I heard something else, on my way here. Mind if I share it?"

"Go ahead."

"I heard the victim's family is furious. Said he was their only son—one they struggled for years to have."

"Inferility issues?"

"That's what I heard."

Abel exhaled slowly.

This made things more complicated. Even if the verdict was fair, the family wouldn't accept it. They'd stir public anger. Parents who lost their only child didn't care about fairness. They wanted retribution.

And the bureaucrats—normally apathetic—would seize this opportunity to strike at him.

'Still, I can't punish Yannick unfairly.'

He had never once bent the law for political gain. That was his principle.

He couldn't throw away his convictions just to save face. That's exactly what Bazix Saltry hoped for.

"Is there anything else?"

"Hmm… not much, sir. Except… I did notice people sneaking into the logging camp at night."

"Why?"

"Probably to collect firewood from the fallen trees. It's not that unusual, but… thought I'd mention it."

"Noted. Thank you. Please send in the next person."

"Yes, Chairman."

Latrell left, and a young man walked in.

His clothes were shabby, his eyes red and puffy. His face was pale, haggard.

He looked like he hadn't slept in days.

It was Yannick—the accused.

"Nice to meet you," Abel said, his voice calm and even.

The trial was only beginning, but Abel knew this was about more than just guilt or innocence.

This was about proving he couldn't be broken.

"...Yes, Your Excellency."

He must have been suffering a lot emotionally, because his expression was extremely gloomy.

That makes sense.

A person died because of him, how could he be okay?

Able wanted to console Yannick first.

---

Thank you for reading the chapters.