The Counselor of Tartarus

Common sense says it plain and simple: if it's of no use to me, it has no reason to exist.

Sitting in the Supreme Justice's office, I once again found myself furrowing my brow at the verdict spread across my desk. An entire week of instruction, of laying out exactly which direction to take—and almost nothing had changed. Almost, meaning not one single thing. I exhaled slowly and glared at the man who had brought it to me.

"Look here, Aide."

"…Yes, Your Majesty."

"'Moved by the young lady's tearful pleas and her noble character, the court hereby reduces her sentence.' Explain this to me."

This was a murder case, mind you. A young noble ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠lady falling head over heels for her personal knight in the middle of her foolish, impressionable years—the sort of story that grew on trees in this other world. But this particular young lady had been betrothed to the eldest son of a marquisate, and fearing her little romance would cause problems, she poisoned the knight. Something about the marquis's heir being an "extreme unicorn," apparently? I could understand her anxiety well enough, but the law is the law. If proportionate punishment goes undone, fear of the law erodes—and with it, my control, little by little. As Supreme Justice, and as Emperor, this was not something I could sit on my hands about.

"The verdict reads as it does because the young lady's marriage to the marquisate has already been settled…"

"What, are women with settled marriages sacred sanctuaries now?"

"…No, Your Majesty."

"Then why, exactly, is the defendant's crime not the basis of this verdict—why is that airheaded brat's feelings in there instead?"

At my demand, the white-bearded aide cleared his throat and straightened himself. "Everything was handled precisely as Your Majesty first instructed… I confess I cannot see which part is problematic."

"If you'd remembered what I said at the start, an idiotic outcome like this couldn't have happened."

"You did say you would respect the individual capabilities of each judge."

"I said I'd respect them so long as they kept to the line. I never once told them to use that line as a jump rope."

The world does not run on cleanliness alone. They weighed their ties to the count's house, pocketed a bribe, and cut her sentence? Fine. Wonderful. But those who wield the law cannot afford to be wrong about right and wrong—nor, above all, about the certainty of punishment. Nobles drowning in money must not be able to walk free on bail alone. They need to sit in a cell, however briefly, before the law's certainty becomes something real. Especially in this world, where prisons strip inmates of their human rights outright, the deterrent is guaranteed to work.

"I'll give you one hour. Rewrite it and bring it back."

"…The count's house and the marquisate will lodge formal protests."

"Count's house, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠swan's house, whatever—but the marquisate should be thanking me. I just saved them the trouble of weeding out trash like that."

"…"

"What are you still doing here? Go."

But the aide made no move whatsoever. He swallowed drily, held his ground, and stared me down with perfect composure. I let out a sharp scoff at the display. "You're coming on rather strong today."

"Worrying for the safety of the one I serve is simply what any loyal servant must do."

"Even your lines are insolent. Why? Did Duke Argos tell you I wouldn't dare kill you?"

…!?!?

That the noble bastards were scheming something had been easy enough to anticipate. And as for precisely what they were thinking—I'd heard every detail from Ian, who, just like this aide, had been scouted by the noble faction. "They went so far as to order him to slow-walk the Emperor's direct commands, no less?"

"H-how could you possibly…!"

"'The hands and feet of the Three Branches would never be punished—he is brutal, but not so stupid as that.' That line was the funniest of all."

I chuckled, but truth be told, I was a little offended. "I executed the heads of the Three Branches right in front of everyone so even idiots could follow along—and I still can't fathom how badly they underestimate me."

"H-hiiik!?"

Elise, who had stood behind me without moving an inch the entire time, drew her sword. Turning deathly blue and trembling, he screamed with everything he had left. "Y-Y-Your Majesty! The Aide is the shadow of the Ministry of Justice—he manages the courts' entire information network! Kill him and the courts' internal investigative function will break down…!"

"I know, right? Investigating cases independently to shore up verdicts—that's his job. Kill him, and I'd be handing down rulings on verdicts riddled with holes."

"Th-that's why…!"

"But what's the point if none of it belongs to me? Something I can't use is worthless anyway."

……!

That was why I'd given them a week. Whether this man was someone who would follow me. Whether he was competent. Whether he was capable of change. I had watched him—working beside him, living alongside him, day after day. But from the very first day I took up the post of Supreme Justice, not once had this man failed to take a hostile stance against me. No room for rehabilitation. Watching him any longer was, quite literally, a waste of time. To him—stumbling as he belatedly tried to flee—I offered one final lament. "Honestly, what is it with you clever types? Why do you all insist you're the one person I won't kill?"

"S-somebody, hel—!"

"It's an age where even emperors get replaced."

A short, wet whisper of steel—and the aide's head left his shoulders, his hand still outstretched toward the door. A fountain of blood surged upward, its stench flooding the room, and belatedly I moved to open the window. Composed as ever, Elise called for someone outside with orders to clean up the body, then approached me.

"The Blood Emperor's terrible reputation gains one more entry, I see."

"The name was given to me regardless. What difference will a little more make?"

"You seem rather fond of it, if I may say so."

Fond of it, my ass. Though I did consider myself lucky not to be saddled with something like Kain's Hedonistic Emperor. You can't address an emperor casually, fine—but "Your Majesty" alone would do the job. Why everyone feels compelled to invent epithets is beyond me. I found myself grumbling under my breath, and Elise—who had very nearly smiled at the sight, as though I were adorable for it—forced a pointed cough.

"The carriage is ready. Shall we depart at once?"

"We must, if we're to fill the aide's seat sooner rather than later. …Tartarus Penitentiary, was it?"

"Yes. Your newest candidate for the position awaits you there."

After a deputy commander suspected of rebellion, now an aide candidate struck through in red ink? Not that this was the moment to complain. But seriously—there wasn't a single easy road in this job. Fuck's sake…

Tartarus Penitentiary—a prison named for the god of the abyss. The destination of confirmed felons, where even the number of retrial petitions a man may file is capped by law. Murderers were the cute residents here; it also housed terrorists. The inmates glared at the outsiders with genuine menace, but I didn't particularly care. Walking beside me was my self-proclaimed perfect maid. Any inmate here could tear off every mana-suppression shackle around their neck and come at her swinging—they still wouldn't lay a finger on Elise.

"The more I think about it, the more my head hurts. To imagine that the next Supreme Justice might be sitting in a place like this."

"Yes."

"I wish she'd saved that stray-dog stubbornness for somebody else. Otherwise I'll just have to go hunting all over again."

"Indeed."

"Well, annoying or not, what needs doing gets done."

"Yes."

"…What exactly are you sulking about?"

As if she'd been waiting for precisely that question, she snapped her head up toward me. "I am. Not. Sulking."

"Not sulking, sure. The mana you keep leaking is prickling me half to death… no wonder the prisoners don't even dare come near you."

"There appears to have been a misunderstanding. I harbor no feelings whatsoever regarding the fact that I asked Sir Astrea to take over the sword-training instruction."

So that's what this was about…

But you're fucking terrible at teaching, though. She'd done nothing but bark "just swing it" at me, whereas Ian had corrected my stance from the ground up and sparred with me at exactly my level—flawlessly, every step of the way. A seasoned veteran who'd held training-instructor duties before, I supposed. Now her cheeks had puffed out in a small pout and she'd wrenched her head away; I sighed inwardly at the sight.

"The one I trust and lean on most—my ally, through and through—is you."

"……"

"It's because you're here that I can walk into a place like this without a second thought."

"……"

"Besides, what chance does some middle-aged stick-in-the-mud like Ian have against a beautiful, adorable perfect maid?"

The blade-sharp mana softened at once. Already standing close, she inched nearer and tilted her head down slightly, so I reached up and stroked her hair.

"I didn't understand it at first either, my lord. You tasked me with finding the next Supreme Justice—by investigating the one place where those who break the law are kept."

"From the very beginning, huh… Well, all those mind-boggling retrial petitions did come from here."

Nothing had shocked me more when I first took up the Supreme Justice's work. The retrial petitions sent in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠by the imprisoned had piled up in an utterly absurd volume. At first I let it be. Everyone has a sob story, after all—everyone walks around convinced they're the most wronged soul alive. So I'd planned to skim through them with half an eye… until I actually read the contents, and had to doubt my own eyes.

"What the hell is this…"

The statute cited with precision, the legal requirements dissected, the exact point where those requirements had been violated—all laid out in clean, deliberate prose. If there'd been one or two, I'd have shrugged and figured some clever bastard was mixed in among them. But there were nearly a hundred. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠That was no coincidence.

"Prisoners do not become legal scholars overnight, my lord."

"Then someone is teaching them. It's the only conclusion."

That was why I'd sent Elise here. Find them first, I'd told her—identity later. Perhaps, I'd thought, they might even serve as a spare for that insufferable aide. If they weren't a criminal, I might have made the trip in a considerably lighter mood…

"So? What was the charge? If they were truly some terrible sort, I doubt you'd have suggested I come see them myself."

"They are not an inmate."

"…Huh?"

"The petitioners differed in cell block, in sentence, and in crime alike. More than half had never once laid eyes on one another."

Then what is this? "Did they take correspondence lessons through the prison walls?"

"There was but one point in common. Every one of them sought counsel, during free hours, from a single individual."

Counsel? The word rang a faint bell. The Church sends no chaplains to Tartarus, so that particular gap had to be filled at the facility's own discretion. A person who could be here without being an inmate, and who could hand out counseling on top of that…

"Don't tell me—it's a guard?"

"Yes."

"…"

This was, how to put it… the picture was even stranger than I'd imagined. The one whose entire job was locking people up—teaching them the way out. Even with ten necks, it wouldn't be enough. Dismissal was the floor; if their luck ran out, they'd be charged as an accomplice and thrown into a cell right alongside them. Whatever they were thinking, this was no sane person.

"What are they like?"

"Not a 'he,' my lord. A 'she.'"

"…A woman?"

"Yes. Her name is—"

THUD—!

Just then, turning a corner, I slammed into something. I knew it was a person, but the strange softness and sheer size of it made me flinch. …The hell?

"I-it wasn't my fault… a collision is, strictly speaking, mutual negligence… s-so I'm not at fault here…"

The downtrodden voice drifted down from above. I stand at five foot nine—which meant this person had to be at least six and a half feet tall. I tilted my head up, but an enormous shadow cast by the two mounds overhead made her face impossible to see.

"Whoa…"

"Those tits are fucking enormous…"

Not my words. That came from the perfect-whatever-she-is, who evidently doesn't know the meaning of the word vulgar. Still—holy hell, those milk jugs were something else. No baby of hers would ever starve, that much was certain.