Chapter 89. Counting the Sins
The third file concerned Herman’s only son, Jefferson.
This young wastrel’s thods were even more “ingenious.”
He never used violence. What he played with were human hearts and the law.
He targeted girls from moderately well-off families who also possessed a certain vanity. Using his handso appearance and sweet words, he deceived them, promising that he would marry them and turn them into nobles.
Once the girl fell deeply in love, he would fabricate an “investnt opportunity,” tricking her into handing over all of her family’s savings, and even persuading her parents to mortgage their property.
The mont he obtained the money, he would imdiately turn hostile.
He would even reverse the situation, using forged IOUs and contracts to accuse the girl’s family of “fraud,” and with his father’s authority, he would drive the victims into ruin.
The file recorded the nas of three girls whose families were destroyed by this sche and who eventually threw themselves into rivers or hanged themselves.
Behind every na was a long chain of litigation records stained with blood.
Every procedure had been perfectly legal.
Reynard closed all the files without saying a word.
He picked up the final piece of intelligence, which concerned the guards of Herman’s manor.
There were more than thirty nas on the list.
Behind each na was their identity before they had been “recruited.”
—“Blood Axe” Buck, forr second-in-command of the Blackwind Mountain Bandit Group, responsible for at least twenty deaths.
—“Ghost Hand” Jimmy, forr slum assassin who specialized in poison.
—“Butcher” Royce, who had once brutally murdered three civilians during a border conflict.
Every one of them had been a fugitive criminal, a desperate outlaw.
Yet now they had all transford into legitimate guards of the Chief Judicial Officer’s manor, receiving high salaries and living respectable lives.
All of their cris had been washed clean by a thin piece of paper called a “pardon order.”
Reynard finally understood why Sylvia had co to him.
To deal with a bastard who understood the law and manipulated it, using the law itself would not work.
Because he himself was the embodint of the rules.
Reynard stood up and burned all the dossiers.
The flas rose, illuminating his expressionless face.
He walked out of the tavern, and night had already fallen over Winter City.
Snow began to fall from the gloomy sky, growing heavier with every mont.
He walked toward the noble district where Herman’s manor was located. By now he had already changed back into his black armor.
That manor was one of the most luxurious buildings in all of Winter City. Its lights blazed brightly, completely different from the nearby slums buried under wind and snow.
In the shadow of a clock tower five hundred ters away from the manor, Reynard stopped.
He took out an ancient-looking brooch from his coat.
This was standard equipnt of the Court of Equivalence — a Sin Detection Brooch.
It could sense intense, unresolved sins.
The needle of the brooch had originally been pointing quietly toward the north.
But once it was taken out, the needle began trembling violently before suddenly turning toward Herman’s manor.
Then the white crystal embedded in the center of the brooch slowly began to change color.
First, it turned a faint gray.
Then a deep dark red.
Finally, it beca a glaring crimson, like coagulated blood.
The surface of the brooch even began to heat up, warming the gauntlet covering Reynard’s hand.
Enough.
The evidence was conclusive.
The sins were grievous.
Reynard put the brooch away, and the final trace of hesitation in his eyes disappeared.
His gaze swept across the brilliantly lit manor.
Two guards stood at the entrance. They appeared relaxed, but their steps were steady, and the weapons at their waists were positioned so they could be drawn at any mont.
On top of the walls, there was a hidden sentry every thirty paces.
Patrol teams made a full round every fifteen minutes, covering all the main routes.
Inside the manor, the largest window on the second floor was brightly lit. That should be young Herman’s room. According to the intelligence, he brought a different woman there every night.
Inside Reynard’s mind, a three-dinsional structural map of the manor and a full deploynt chart of its personnel quickly ford.
Like the calst hunter, he began planning the hunt.
The wind and snow grew stronger until they turned into a howling blizzard.
The entire Winter City seed to be swallowed by the white curtain, leaving the streets completely empty.
This storm was the perfect cover.
Under the night sky, Reynard’s figure flashed once and completely rged into the shadow of the clock tower.
He remained motionless, blending into the wind and snow as he waited for the perfect mont.
…
Feather-like snowflakes dyed the entire world white as the raging wind rushed through the streets with a ghostly howl.
Inside the manor of Chief Judicial Officer Herman, however, it felt like spring.
A Floor Heating Spell sealed the cold outside, while the magitech lamps embedded in the walls emitted a soft and bright glow that illuminated the luxurious hall as if it were dayti.
Yet Herman felt no warmth at all.
He paced irritably across the expensive long-pile carpet. His costly leather shoes made no sound against it, which only irritated him further.
He had failed.
His plan to impeach Sylvia had completely failed.
He had joined forces with more than a dozen council mbers in the royal capital, listing Sylvia’s “Ten Great Cris” in the Northern Territory. He had thought it would force that yellow-haired girl back to the royal capital where they could control her.
But who could have expected that a perfectly tid war would turn all of Sylvia’s “overreaches of authority” into “special warti provisions.”
Instead, he, the Chief Judicial Officer, had beco a laughingstock.
“Damn it! Damn it all!”
Herman cursed under his breath and kicked the nearby oak cabinet.
Sothing felt wrong to him.
Recently, he had constantly felt as though soone were watching him.
It was an invisible and cold gaze that coiled around him like a venomous snake, sending chills down his spine.
Was it just his imagination?
Or could it be Sylvia’s Shadow Guard?
Impossible.
Herman imdiately dismissed the thought.
His manor was heavily guarded. There were sentries every few steps and watchers every few more. All of them were desperate criminals he had recruited from the black market for enormous sums of money.
Not even a fly could get in, let alone a person.
It must simply be the stress of recent events.
That was how he reassured himself.
“Master, your hot tea.”
A young maid walked over carefully with a tray. She looked only fifteen or sixteen years old, her face still carrying youthful innocence, while her eyes were filled with fear.
Perhaps because she was too nervous, her foot slipped on the carpet and she lost her balance.
“Ah!”
With a short cry, the maid fell to the ground along with the tray.
The scalding red tea spilled across the floor, staining a patch of the white carpet with an ugly brown mark.
The air in the hall instantly froze.
Herman’s face darkened like storm clouds.
The irritation and anger in his heart finally found an outlet at that mont.
He walked over to the fallen maid. Without even glancing at the back of her hand that had been reddened by the burn, he lifted his foot and kicked her hard in her fragile waist.
“Useless trash! You cannot even manage sothing as simple as serving tea! What good are you!”
The maid let out a muffled cry of pain and curled up on the floor, her body trembling nonstop, yet she did not dare to cry out loud.
“Dear, why bother getting angry over such a lowly commoner?”
A lazy and sharp female voice ca from not far away.
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