Damn, I recarneted As A Judge in Fantasy World Chapter 97: "The Fall of Count Coughlin" [1]

"Well, if he keeps his mouth shut, he'll be locked up for 60 years or die before then."

Swish.

At that mont, Bassett raised his head. It seed like he had figured out sothing from the conversation between and Baron Relbrandt.

As the man finally spoke in a hoarse voice, he said, "If I confess sothing, will you let go?"

I couldn't believe the audacity.

"He must be crazy, talking nonsense so shalessly."

"Did you think that ant I wanted you to open your mouth?" I asked sarcastically.

The man, showing a rare bit of sharpness, responded, "You're smart at tis like this. But don't get your hopes up about getting out. I'm not one to talk nonsense."

"So... is this a plea bargain?" he inquired, his voice laced with a mixture of desperation and curiosity.

"You're quick-witted," I acknowledged. "If you're agreeable, I could shorten it to 30 years. What do you think?"

The offer was clearly tempting; after all, it ant cutting his sentence in half. When faced with such a realistic proposition, Bassett's eyes lit up as though he had already tasted freedom.

'I asked.'

Had I rely said I'd let him go, he might have dismissed it as absurd. But the idea of reducing his sentence to 30 years seed plausible, so he was eager to cooperate.

"What do you want?" he asked cautiously.

"It's simple. The truth."

"Yes?" he hesitated.

"You didn't just steal the flour because you were hungry, did you?"

Bassett, who had been playing along, suddenly hardened his expression.

It was clear he interpreted my words as a demand to fra soone else. But what I really wanted was the truth behind the flour theft.

"So what?" he asked, still unsure.

"How can I trust that you'll keep your promise?" he countered.

"You're already being punished. You have nothing to lose anyway. Isn't it better to take a risk and gain sothing?"

After a mont's thought, he finally nodded with a determined look on his face. "Great."

What he revealed next was shocking. Bassett had been involved in an affair with an unidentified person whose task was to intercept all orders from the Carriers Duchy.

The flour was intended for Midias, where it was used to make paper, specifically to bond fibers with flour paste.

'So, they were planning to sabotage my business. But who was behind it?'

There were only two people in the capital who might have done sothing like this: the Duke of Planger-Sières, who recently had to send his successor to prison, and Duke DeAndre Giovanni, who was secretly suffering losses due to the release of paper.

The forr had an obvious motive, but sohow, I felt it wasn't him.

Skyler counterattacking right after getting hit by a dium didn't fit his style. The Duke of Sierre was too calculating to make such a reckless move.

"So, the latter is more likely," I mused.

Duke DeAndre Giovanni and I were re acquaintances.

The only incident between us was when he moved the forr head of the corrections office to release Skyler, a request from Sierra's side, so it was hard to see it as an act of rejection.

'That makes him even more suspicious.'

In situations like this, the original culprit often erges unexpectedly. If soone intended to sabotage the production of hanji, suspicion would naturally fall on Duke Giovanni.

Of course, I had no solid evidence yet; it was just a feeling.

"Wait a minute, wouldn't this cause problems with hanji production?"

Given Bassett's theft of the flour, it seed inevitable that such an outco would occur. But there hadn't been any reports from the paper mill.

The reason was simple: the glue used in making hanji didn't require high-quality wheat or large quantities.

Any flour from the market would suffice.

'So, they figured out that wheat flour is used in making papers?'

This incident was likely just a test to see how I would react if there were supply problems with the flour. Explore more stories with m,v l'e-

"Then, can I use this to my advantage?"

* * *

The Duchy of Carriers had been bustling lately. They were sending people out to acquire high-quality flour.

Similar movents were observed in the Midias shopping district, where notices were posted offering to pay for goods with flour instead of gold.

Additionally, the supply of hanji, which had been gradually increasing, had suddenly stopped.

"It's clear there's a major problem at the paper mill," the butler reported.

A large, heavily built man wearing a bracelet adorned with jewels—Count Coughlin—smiled sinisterly at the news.

His parchnt sales had dropped by more than half due to the popularity of paper, and even his Giovanni noble colleagues looked at him with concern.

He couldn't even throw a party because of his financial troubles.

"Those rat bastards are really good at turning things around," Coughlin remarked.

Despite his dull exterior, Count Coughlin was quick-witted. After years in the Imperial Diet, he knew how to recognize subtle sarcasm.

If parchnt didn't sell, he could always turn to other leather products, but the losses were still significant.

The money he'd invested so far would never return.

"We can't continue like this. It's ti to try sothing different."

When Bassett was captured, they should have dealt with the situation properly.

Stealing flour alone wasn't enough to halt paper production; the Duke of Carriers would surely find a solution.

Suddenly, the butler spoke up again.

"I've heard they're recently getting yellow dye from Midias. Like flour, they're accepting it in exchange for gold."

"Really? Isn't the South famous for dyes?" Coughlin asked.

"Yes, Count Schultz often deals with them," the butler replied.

"Hehehe! I guess I can hit them again this ti," Coughlin mused.

Count Schultz, a fellow Giovanni noble, would gladly provide all the yellow dye if asked. It didn't matter if this caused problems in paper production.

"After all, I can offer Schultz so other benefit," Coughlin thought.

Would Count Schultz, who dealt in a variety of goods, really go bankrupt over one type of paper? Coughlin nodded with satisfaction.

"Go quickly. Tell them I'll buy everything for the ti being."

"Yes, sir," the butler answered.

It felt like a toothache that had suddenly vanished. Soon, parchnt would sell as well as before.

Additionally, if he could eliminate the unemployed craftsn, he could open his own paper mill.

"It's thrilling just to imagine," Coughlin thought, sipping wine as he reclined on the sofa.

The talent of the Carriers Duke in creating new things was undeniable, but if he couldn't protect his interests, he'd end up being beaten and fed to the dogs.

"It's not like the right path is the only one, but you're naive. Consider this a lesson in life," Coughlin sneered.

But as he waited, the butler never returned with any results. It was already late afternoon. Sensing sothing was amiss, Count Coughlin struggled to rise from his chair, ready to instruct a servant to investigate.

Then suddenly,

Bam! Bam! Bam!

The office door burst open, and a group of people rushed in.

"What the heck is this?" Coughlin shouted angrily, his face flushed, not just from the alcohol.

"Who on earth could be this rude?" he thought, incensed that soone would dare act so brazenly in his own estate.

But the intruders remained unfazed, ignoring his outburst.

"Are you Count Jeff Coughlin?" one of them asked.

"You don't know, even though you can see ?" Coughlin replied, incredulous.

"Well, it's just a formality," the man said, smirking. "After all, how could we mistake the best body in the council?"

"What the hell is this rotten bastard saying...? Oh my, you're the Sears family's darling prosecutor. Is this what your father taught you?"

There was only one prosecutor from the Sears family. Corbin's lips curled into a smirk as he looked at Coughlin with a disdainful glare.

"You'll be coming with us today."

"Where?"

"Where? To the detention center. Take him."

"What, what did you say? This can't be happening. Guard! Guard!"

Coughlin shouted, trying to resist, but the officers were too rough.

In the end, Count Coughlin was bound like a captured wild boar and dragged off to the prosecution headquarters.

Count Coughlin struggled against his restraints as he was hauled through the corridors of the estate, his face flushed with a mixture of rage and disbelief.

The sight of his guards, usually so vigilant, standing back with uncertain expressions only fueled his anger further.

"How dare you lay your hands on ! Do you know who I am?" Coughlin bellowed, his voice echoing off the walls.

The prosecutor, Corbin, walked beside him, unimpressed by the display.

"Yes, Count Coughlin, we're well aware of who you are. That's precisely why you're coming with us."

Coughlin's eyes narrowed as he tried to make sense of the situation.

"This is madness! On what grounds are you arresting ? I demand to know!"

Corbin glanced at the count, his smirk growing wider.

"Oh, you'll find out soon enough. But for now, let's just say that certain truths have co to light, and they aren't very flattering."

The vague response sent a shiver down Coughlin's spine.

He had been careful, or so he thought, to cover his tracks in all his dealings. But now, as they stepped outside and the cool evening air hit his face, a sinking feeling settled in his gut.

This wasn't just a power play. They had sothing on him—sothing serious.

As they reached the waiting carriage, Corbin nodded to the guards, who roughly shoved Coughlin inside. The count nearly stumbled but caught himself, glaring daggers at the prosecutor.

"You'll regret this," Coughlin hissed. "I have powerful friends. You think you can just take in like so common criminal?"

Corbin chuckled as he climbed into the carriage, taking a seat opposite the count.

"Your powerful friends won't help you this ti, Count. In fact, I suspect they'll be distancing themselves as we speak."