Damn, I recarneted As A Judge in Fantasy World

During her stay in the Empire, Princess Justia had agreed to help Abel.

Because Vargas' laboratory was so remote, she had no choice but to stay at the mansion. Perhaps that was why strange rumors began circulating for a while.

"Why is there such a pretty young lady staying in the mansion?"

"Is that true?"

"That's right. Her skin is as white as snow, and her nose is so high that it looks like a statue."

"Oh my! Oh my! Is His Highness the Duke finally getting married?"

The maids chattered and gossiped, excitement filling the air. But when the highest-ranking female employee, the housekeeper, appeared, the room fell into silence.

"She is the princess of the Duchy of Crawford. She is a distant relative of His Highness the Duke, and she is here to help with research. So, don't talk nonsense," the housekeeper said firmly.

"Ah… I-I see," one maid stammered.

The housekeeper's position was prestigious. She had the power to appoint the maids and manage the storeroom of the mansion. Because Abel didn't interfere much, the housekeeper wielded significant authority.

This control extended primarily to the maids, but it was clear that Marian, the housekeeper, was excellent at her job.n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

"She is also a person who thoroughly upholds decency," Abel thought. Marian never overstepped her authority, and she maintained a firm yet tolerant attitude. She was flexible enough to overlook minor mistakes but never let major problems arise. One could say she was the perfect housekeeper.

"He's really lucky," Abel smiled, thinking about the past. Your journey continues on empire

Despite his life falling apart, the house had remained intact, thanks to loyal employees who had served the previous Duke. Abel's heart had slowly begun to warm, even as he still harbored distrust.

That was the end of the maids' gossip, something Abel had overheard.

"Ugh, let's rest a bit before moving," he muttered as he stretched out in a rocking chair on the second-floor balcony.

The epidemic was being managed relatively well. With time, it seemed they might not have to wear masks anymore. Those who had been isolated were returning home as their symptoms improved.

In that sense, paper overcoats had long been discontinued.

"Princess Justia must be busy with her experiments. I wish she would just pick one that works," Abel mused, watching the day unfold peacefully.

Everything was going smoothly, though there were still a few things on his mind.

The Emperor had recently vowed to reform the religious order, which could stir up a terrible storm soon.

"Not my problem. Let's have a drink," Abel decided, though he had no real intention of drinking alcohol in the morning.

The popular drink in this world was wine, but Abel found it too weak. He preferred something stronger, as befitted a man, and wine wasn't enough to get him drunk anymore—not with the powerful body he had now.

Rather than reek of alcohol with no benefit, he thought, it was better not to drink at all.

'Maybe I should introduce distilled liquor,' he mused. Whiskey, brandy, vodka, gin—something along those lines might become very popular. Knights and mercenaries, the ultimate macho men of this era, would surely seek it out.

The thought brought a smile to his face as he considered the idea. "Oh, right. Have I forgotten anything recently?" Abel asked, speaking more to himself than anyone else.

He had achieved quite a few things recently, though there wasn't anything groundbreaking.

His level had risen after mastering the Greatsword, and results had come even after his visit to the Marquisate of Yeats. They had dismantled corrupt officials and controlled the epidemic.

A criminal priest, guilty of murder and extortion, had been imprisoned.

But there was no new message from the system.

"Hey, that's a bit disappointing."

The system seemed to be giving rewards less frequently now, as if it expected more significant accomplishments for a payoff. Abel figured that he needed to create more positive social change.

"Well, let's get to work," he decided. If he remained faithful to his duties, something good would come in time.

He went to his dressing room and opened the wardrobe. The suits that Martin had tailored hung neatly, but today, Abel wasn't in the mood for formal wear.

"Can't I wear something lighter?"

Though the court was a solemn place, shouldn't there be some freedom in choosing work attire? Once inside, he would change into his robes anyway, and no one would criticize his casual clothes before that.

He chose a baggy white sweatshirt and black jogger pants, perfect for a day that felt like light exercise.

He opted for sneakers, though most shoes here were leather. Unfortunately, materials as light and durable as modern sneakers were scarce in this world.

His final choice was a coat resembling an aviator jacket, just right for the season—cold at night but warm during the day. It was practical too, with many pockets.

"People here might find this unfamiliar," Abel thought, recalling that this style had never been introduced before. But, just like the suits he had popularized, he had no doubt it would catch on.

As Abel left the mansion, he caught the attention of those around him.

"His Highness the Duke of Carriers is wearing a unique outfit!" someone exclaimed.

"Is this a new product you're releasing?" another asked.

"It looks comfortable and sturdy," said a third.

"First of all, it's stylish. If I were you, I'd definitely buy that outfit."

"That's because he's the Duke. We can't afford that," someone countered.

"But you wouldn't buy something practical?"

"…I suppose I would."

Fashion completed the face, they believed, but the reaction to Abel's outfit was undeniably enthusiastic.

With the reputation of the Midias clothing store behind him, Abel felt confident about its success.

"Maybe we should change our advertising methods as the business grows," Abel thought.

A billboard or fashion show would be more efficient than his current method of promoting clothes by wearing them to work.

Arriving at the court, Abel was greeted by Judge Colund Emir, who seemed to have been waiting for him.

"Hello, Your Honor," Emir greeted him.

"What brings you here so early?" Abel asked.

Judge Emir, looking serious, replied, "A request for advice has come in."

"Advice? Shouldn't they consult a lawyer?"

"They didn't ask the court. They asked for you directly."

"Me?"

Judge Emir quickly explained.

"This is a case that has been under investigation for several weeks. The entire prosecution office has been rushing to investigate, but they can't find an answer."

"So they want my advice?"

"Your insight is well-known, Your Honor, starting with your prophecy that Mount Mesqueta would collapse."

There had been several instances where Abel had uncovered hidden truths, including during his very first trial when he exposed a farm owner's lies.

"Alright," Abel said, deciding not to waste time. "I'll take over the case."

"Thank you, Your Honor. We're always grateful when you step up."

"It's my duty as the highest judge," Abel replied, though a part of him genuinely meant it. Leadership required action.

As Abel examined the details, an ominous word jumped out at him.

"This… The suspect accused of murder is seven years old?"

"Yes."

"Furthermore, he's the third-generation only son of the Earl Hewitt family."

Abel suddenly understood why the investigation hadn't progressed properly.

Abel frowned, a sense of unease settling in the pit of his stomach as he skimmed through the report.

A seven-year-old child being accused of murder was no ordinary case, especially when that child belonged to a noble family like the Hewitts. It wasn't just the weight of the accusation, but also the political and social implications that would follow.

"He's only seven...," Abel muttered under his breath, unable to shake the absurdity of the situation. His gaze returned to the document. "How could a child commit such a crime?"

Judge Colund Emir nodded, his expression serious.

"That's what has everyone perplexed. There's no clear evidence to suggest how he did it, but all signs point to the boy. The Earl Hewitt family is in turmoil, and the pressure on the court to resolve this is mounting."

Abel leaned back in his chair, tapping the papers against the armrest. "What about the investigation? Surely the prosecution has found something substantial if they've been at it for weeks."

"That's the problem," Emir said, rubbing the back of his neck. "They haven't. The only witness is a servant who claims the boy was in the room when it happened, but they didn't actually see the act. The victim was the Earl's brother—stabbed in his own chambers."

Abel's brow furrowed deeper. "A seven-year-old boy is being blamed for stabbing a grown man? With what kind of weapon?"

"A dagger. It was found beside the body with the boy's fingerprints on it."

"Yet no one saw him wield it?"

"No one saw it happen," Emir confirmed.

Abel put the report down, folding his hands together as he considered the situation.

The pieces didn't fit. There was no doubt that something much more complicated was at play here. He had seen his share of fabricated accusations and strange cases, but this one felt particularly off.