Chapter 98. The Intensity of Reform
The interview lasted a full two hours.
From tax law to comrcial law, from civil disputes to military control regulations, Cicero answered every question fluently.
He even cited Valeria Empire law to support his argunts.
He felt that he was in exceptional form today and had perfectly demonstrated the value of a top-tier legal advisor.
He had already begun drafting the contract in his mind.
An annual salary? At the very least, three thousand Golden Lion Coins.
There also had to be project bonuses.
Ideally, it would solve his daughter’s tuition problem in one stroke.
At last, the interview ended.
Logaris rose to his feet.
The irritation and exhaustion on his face had vanished completely, replaced by a sense of relief so great that it seed as if a thousand-pound burden had been lifted from his shoulders.
He walked up to Cicero, extended his hand, and wore the most sincere smile Cicero had seen from him so far.
Cicero also stood up confidently, straightened his suit, which did not even have a wrinkle, and prepared to shake hands with his future wealthy patron.
Then he heard Logaris say sothing that sounded like heavenly music, yet turned him to stone in an instant.
“Mr. Cicero, congratulations on passing the interview.”
“On behalf of the Northern Territory Governor’s Office, I hereby formally appoint you as the Chief Judicial Officer of the Northern Territory, effective imdiately.”
“You will take full responsibility for the reconstruction and reform of the Northern Territory’s judicial system.”
With decisive force, Logaris shoved several mountain-like stacks of case files in front of Cicero with a heavy thump, grinning like a mischievous student who had finally dumped his howork onto a classmate.
“These are all yours now.”
Cicero: ????!
The air in the study fell into a terrifying silence.
Only the occasional crackle from the firewood in the fireplace could be heard.
Cicero looked at the mountain of files piled before him, then looked at the young scholar across from him whose face was written with finally I am free, and felt that his brain was no longer working properly.
Chief Judicial Officer?
Effective imdiately?
For a mont, Cicero even suspected that he had not fully woken up yet, or that he had drunk counterfeit liquor on the train to Winter City.
“Um… pardon , but let interrupt for a mont.”
Cicero raised a hand and pressed his forehead with so difficulty, trying to sort out this absurd situation.
“Mr. Logaris, if I heard correctly, what you just said was… that you want to beco the Chief Judicial Officer of the Northern Territory?”
“Your hearing is fine.”
Logaris could not even be bothered to repeat himself.
At that mont, he was busy tossing the last docunt in his hand onto that “mountain” with the urgency of soone desperate to get rid of a burning hot potato.
“Congratulations. From this very second onward, all the things that will make you go bald are now yours.”
Cicero twitched at the corners of his mouth.
This was not a matter of going bald.
This was a matter of losing his life.
As a seasoned legal professional, he understood better than anyone what the position of Chief Judicial Officer ant.
It was the center of a vortex of power.
It was where every conflicting interest converged.
Especially in a cursed place like the Northern Territory, which was in the middle of violent transformation, anyone who sat in that position would either beco a puppet of the various factions or turn into an unidentified corpse floating in so foul-slling ditch.
The blood on that position had not even dried yet after Herman’s entire family had just been wiped out.
“Mr. Logaris, I believe there may be a slight misunderstanding between us.”
Cicero took a deep breath and forced himself to maintain a polite smile.
“I am rely a legal consultant who works for money. I am good at handling comrcial disputes or helping wealthy rchants legally avoid taxes. But governing the judicial system of an entire region? That is outside the scope of my services.”
As he spoke, he rose to take his coat.
“This job is too big. My shoulders are too small to carry it. Farewell.”
What a joke.
He earned money to support his wife and child.
If he lost his life in the process, what would be the point of earning more money?
Just as Cicero’s fingers touched the edge of his coat, the mysterious woman who had remained silent on the single sofa finally moved.
She slowly rose to her feet with the elegance of a woman accepting an invitation at a royal ball.
Then she raised a hand, removed the sunglasses that had covered most of her face, and loosened the heavy wool shawl.
A cascade of silver hair, flowing like moonlight, spilled down instantly and shimred with a cold luster in the dim firelight.
It was a face so beautiful that it stole one’s breath, yet so majestic that no one dared look at it directly.
Most of all, those silver-gray eyes were like two unsheathed blades, piercing straight into the heart.
Cicero’s hand froze in midair.
As a well-inford forr civil mber of the Homomorphic Court, even if he had spent years in the Eastern Territory, there was no way he could fail to recognize that face.
The true ruler of the Northern Territory.
The kingdom’s third heir in line.
The embodint of iron and roses.
Sylvia Van Astrelia.
“What if the invitation is made formally in the na of the Governor of the Northern Territory?”
Sylvia’s voice was no longer deliberately lowered.
It was cool and noble.
“Mr. Cicero, we learned of you through Mr. Reynard’s channel, and you have just demonstrated your abilities as well.”
The smile on Cicero’s face gradually disappeared, replaced by extre seriousness.
He slowly withdrew his hand and sat back down in his chair.
At that very mont, his mind was undergoing a violent storm.
To be fair, the “big contract” Reynard had ntioned in his letter was without question the largest commission he had ever seen in his life.
“Your Highness.”
Cicero inclined his head slightly, his etiquette impeccable, but his tone had grown even more cautious.
“It is my honor to serve you. But I am a straightforward man, and there are certain things I must ask in advance.”
He lifted his head and let his gaze move back and forth between Sylvia and Logaris.
“The two of you should understand very well that the Northern Territory’s current legal system is a complete… pardon , a complete tangled ss.”
“The old nobles treat the law like toilet paper. The erging rchants treat the law like a business tool. The commoners treat the law like a joke.”
At this point, all traces of Cicero’s carefree manner vanished.
What replaced it was the sharpness that belonged to a true top professional.
“Rebuilding the judicial system is not as simple as drafting a few statutes. It ans declaring war on the old order. It ans touching everyone’s share of the cake.”
“I need to know just how far the upper limit of this reform’s intensity goes.”
“If you only want to patch things up and put on a show, then forgive my bluntness, but you have found the wrong person. Any graduate from the Royal Capital Law Academy could handle that sort of work.”
It was an extrely dangerous probe.
If the answer he received was “moderate reform” or “stability first,” Cicero would imdiately find an excuse to slip away.
Because that would an certain death, with neither side pleased.
Logaris and Sylvia exchanged a glance.
That tacit understanding between them was like two veteran hunters confirming that their prey had already entered the net.
“Intensity?”
Logaris pushed up the rimless glasses on his nose, and a chillingly mad curve slowly ford at the corner of his lips.
He casually lifted a slender finger and pointed through the air toward the thick volu of the Old Kingdom Code resting at the corner of the desk.
In the next instant, a burst of violent magical fire exploded out of nowhere.
That legal code, the symbol of the decayed old order, was annihilated in an instant under the terrifying heat.
Not even a trace of ash remained, as though it had never existed at all.
The dispersing fire elent left behind a distorted wave of heat in the air.
Logaris withdrew his finger, and his voice was so calm that it made one’s heart pound in fear.
“There is no upper limit.”
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