Chapter 88 : Chapter 88
Chapter 88. The Corrector of the Law
“Let him in,” Sylvia said.
Very soon, Reynard walked in wearing a set of black casual clothes.
He still looked as aloof as ever, and he gave Sylvia a slight bow.
“Your Highness, the trail of the Corruption Cult has gone cold. I am preparing to leave the Northern Territory and continue the investigation.”
After a pause, he added, “Although this trip yielded no results, it did allow me to witness a qualified governor. Under your rule, the Northern Territory has a promising future.”
He meant those words sincerely.
Over the past few days, he had walked through the streets and alleys of Winter City, and what he had heard most often was the people’s praise for Sylvia and Logaris.
Tax reductions for farmers, the construction of schools, and the opening of affordable pharmacies.
These tangible benefits were far more useful than the Holy Church’s vague and ethereal prayers.
Reynard turned his gaze toward Sylvia, and his tone carried a trace more approval.
“Especially your method of executing those seven traitorous nobles. It was decisive and just. In that regard, it bears some resemblance to the philosophy of the Court of Equivalence.”
The moment he heard that, a flash of insight struck Logaris’s mind like lightning.
It was as though he had grasped something.
He looked at Reynard and suddenly asked, “Sir Reynard, I have a question.”
“The Court of Equivalence values ‘equivalent retribution,’ where every crime receives its due punishment. Then how does the court regard those powerful people who abuse the rules and oppress the weak?”
Staring at him, Logaris asked word by word, “From a legal standpoint, they are flawless and have committed no crime at all. Yet their actions have destroyed countless families. For such people, how would the Court of Equivalence render judgment?”
All eyes in the Council Chamber turned toward Reynard.
Without the slightest hesitation, he gave his answer in that completely steady voice of his.
“When the law can no longer restrain the powerful and instead becomes a tool for oppressing the weak, then the law itself loses its reason to exist.”
His gaze was as sharp as a blade.
“At that point, the Court of Equivalence becomes the corrector of the law.”
The moment those words fell, the entire Council Chamber went silent.
Sylvia’s eyes lit up instantly.
She exchanged a look with Logaris, and in that instant, both of them understood exactly what the other was thinking.
Sylvia did not say another word.
She merely extended her slender fingers and gently pushed the thick dossier on the table, the one recording all of Herman’s “legal” atrocities, in front of Reynard.
Reynard’s gaze swept over the dossier, and he instantly understood Sylvia’s intent.
He neither refused nor asked any further questions.
He simply reached out and picked up that heavy dossier.
“As a Judicator, I will verify it.”
Leaving behind those words, Reynard turned and strode out of the Council Chamber.
Reynard stepped out of the Governor’s Residence, and the cold wind of Winter City whipped against his black clothes, making the fabric snap loudly.
He held that heavy dossier in his hand, the sharp edges of the papers pressing into his palm.
Princess Sylvia was a qualified governor.
But a politician’s words could only ever be trusted halfway.
The other half had to be verified personally.
That was the iron rule of the Court of Equivalence. Its judgments were never delegated to others, nor would it ever allow itself to be wielded as a weapon by power.
He did not return to the lodging Sylvia had arranged for him, but instead turned into a secluded alley.
After winding through the twisting paths of the slums, he finally stopped in front of a tavern called the Broken Axe.
The tavern was a chaotic place filled with all kinds of people. Drunken mercenaries and weary laborers with sorrowful faces were packed together, and the air was thick with the foul stench of cheap ale, sweat, and low-quality tobacco.
Reynard walked straight to the counter.
The barkeep was a one-eyed man, wiping a chipped wooden cup.
He lifted his single eye and glanced at Reynard, his gaze murky.
“Sir Knight, you have come to the wrong place. We do not have the mead you like here.”
Reynard said nothing.
He merely placed seven ancient-looking copper coins on the counter, arranging them into a specific pattern.
The one-eyed barkeep paused in the middle of wiping the cup.
He looked at Reynard again with that one eye, and the murkiness in his gaze cleared at once.
“Come with me.”
The barkeep set down the wooden cup and led Reynard through the noisy main hall into the back kitchen. A greasy fishy smell rushed at them. He pushed open a hidden door disguised as a storage cabinet, revealing a cold staircase leading downward.
“What do you need?” the barkeep asked in a low voice.
“Herman, Chief Judicial Officer of the Northern Territory,” Reynard said concisely. “All original records. The more detailed, the better. Within one hour.”
“The usual rule. Deposit first.”
Reynard tossed over a small bag of gold coins.
The barkeep weighed it in his hand, nodded, and disappeared into the shadows of the kitchen.
Reynard nodded and descended the staircase.
This was one of the Court of Equivalence’s intelligence nodes in the Northern Territory. It was hidden in the city’s shadows like an invisible net, gathering every kind of information, whether it could bear the light or not.
There was only a single table and an ever-burning magitech lamp in the basement.
Reynard sat down, placed the dossier on the table, and closed his eyes to rest.
He did not need to trust Sylvia completely, but neither would he dismiss her completely.
Even if the princess wanted to borrow his blade to kill someone, it still depended on whether that person deserved to die.
One hour later, the hidden door was knocked upon.
The one-eyed barkeep delivered an even thicker stack of materials, still carrying the damp smell of fresh ink.
“This is what you asked for. All original records regarding the Herman family, including court archives, copies of business contracts, and some… rumors from the black market.”
Reynard paid another small bag of gold coins, and the barkeep silently withdrew.
The only sound left in the basement was the soft rustling of turning pages.
Reynard read quickly. His gaze was like a scanner, rapidly locking onto key information.
The first file.
Old John’s Bakery in the southern part of the city. The owner, John, was an honest craftsman, and his rye bread was famous throughout Winter City. Chief Judicial Officer Herman had offered a high price to buy his recipe, but John refused.
Three days later, one of Herman’s trusted subordinates shut down the bakery on the grounds that it “failed to meet hygiene standards.”
Then Herman used legal procedures to liquidate Old John’s assets under the charge of “overdue municipal fines.” In the end, he “legally” bought the shop for less than one-tenth of its market price.
The final page of the file read: Half a month later, Old John hanged himself inside the sealed bakery. Attached beside it was a sketch from the scene investigation.
Reynard’s expression did not change as he opened the second file.
Herman’s wife, Lady Eileen. A noblewoman famous for her charity.
The file recorded that over the past five years, she had at least seven incidents of slashing the faces of civilian girls with the dagger she carried on her person.
The reasons varied wildly.
Sometimes it was because a maid’s footsteps were too loud.
Sometimes it was because a flower-selling girl had a brighter smile than hers.
The most recent victim was the fourteen-year-old daughter of a textile worker, whose face had been cut thirteen times.
But every single time, Lady Eileen only had to pay a negligible fine and walked away unharmed. That was because the Northern Territory Legal Code stipulated that “any injury a noble inflicts upon a commoner may be redeemed with money.”
That law had been one Herman personally pushed to amend ten years ago.
Reynard’s breathing did not change, but the temperature in the basement seemed to drop even further.