This story is about the Pathway of Anarchy. There will be spoilers for Book 2, as In, MC will be mentioning things from Book 2, as well as lore about the Sefirots, the Western Continent, and more. If you haven't read it yet, what are you doing? Go read it now!
...
"Wode Johnson, you are accused of stealing a gilded horse harness worth approximately 15 soli from Mr. Wills Hendler on November 17th. How do you plead?"
"I am innocent, sir!"
Listening to the familiar exchange between the judge and the defendant, Burton Chester turned his gaze to the young man seated to his left in the same row.
He was a handsome young man with sharp features, wearing a white stiff-collared detachable shirt, a black open-sleeved robe, and a short white wig made of horsehair. He sat upright, looking at the judge presiding over the court. He was the defendant's defense lawyer, Lorien Ashford.
Burton Chester knew this young man well, or rather, there was no one in Backlund's legal profession who did not know him.
Lorien came from a family of lawyers. His father, Mason Ashford, was born into poverty but refused to accept his circumstances. He worked as a laborer in the East borough docks by day and studied at the free Church school run by the Church of Evernight by night.
Through diligence and hard work, he eventually gained admission to the law academy and became a barrister. Within a few years, he made a name for himself in Backlund's legal circles and, by the age of thirty-five, founded his own law firm. However, perhaps due to years of overwork, Mason passed away from illness two years ago, before he could reach sixty.
At the time, Lorien Ashford was still a student at Tingen Law College. He returned to Backlund to handle his father's funeral and took over the family law firm.
If that were all, Burton would not have paid much attention. A young man inheriting his family's law firm was nothing unusual in Backlund. Every year, there were countless heirs inheriting vast wealth, just as there were countless others who squandered their fortunes and ended up as vagrants or laborers in the East Borough. He had seen many such cases in his younger years as a solicitor, even drafting numerous sales contracts for them.
But Lorien Ashford was a little different. Within just six months of his father's death, he completed a five-year law degree, graduated from Tingen Law College and became a barrister.
And like his father, He made a name for himself, but only in a year, becoming a renowned barrister in Backlund.
Yet, for some reason, in the past half-month, Lorien had started taking on ordinary civil cases, even minor cases involving less than a pound, like this one.
He's still young, wasting his time on such trivial cases. If he is taking them for experience, he is only setting himself up to develop bad habits… Burton sighed inwardly.
Meanwhile, Lorien was looking at the judge, Harvey Brook. The judge was in his fifties, with a broad face marked by wrinkles. He wore a black silk robe and a short white wig, casually sipping from a wine glass.
Hehe, he is definitely a believer of Mr. Storm Pigeon, the embodiment of 'I'm the storm that is approaching, Lorien chuckled on the inside as he thought irreverently about a True God without batting an eye.
From the memories of his predecessor, Lorien knew that many judges devoted to the Lord of Storms had a habit of drinking during court sessions. But neither his predecessor nor he had ever witnessed it firsthand.
Perhaps it was because this was merely a minor civil case, with a disputed value of only 15 soli, that Judge Brook felt comfortable drinking.
His predecessor had only handled major civil and criminal cases, where no judge would dare drink before presiding, especially not something strong as claret.
However, looking at the judge's bench, cluttered with a quill stand, a silver candlestick, and a tilted balance scale, Lorien suspected that Judge Brook might not hesitate to drink even during major trials.
If I had OCD, I might've thrown a shoe at his face… Lorien joked in his mind, but his face was the epitome of professionalism.
Anyways, at his age, still only a salaried magistrate at the Cherwood Borough Magistrates' Court, it seemed unlikely he would ever preside over a major case.
After all, this was the capital of the Loen Kingdom, Backlund, the City of Cities. The House of Lords, the Court of Appeal, the High Court, and the Royal Court were all here. There was little chance for a mere magistrate to oversee a significant case, Lorien speculated as he finished looking over the evidence that the solicitor had gathered for the last time.
"Summon Wills Hendler."
Hearing the clerk call the plaintiff, Lorien knew the trial had begun. Judge Brook also set down his wine glass, adjusted his black robe, and turned his gaze to Wills Hendler.
Wills Hendler appeared to be in his fifties, wearing a white shirt and a red waistcoat that struggled to contain his bulging belly, with his expression being warm and affable.
Finally, someone who isn't giving the ugly bastard vibe. Lorien remained straight as his full attention turned towards the plaintiff.
"Mr. Johnson came to my home two years ago and became my coachman. However, last November, he requested leave to return to Lamud Town because his son had fallen ill." Hendler began his opening statement as he gestured with his right arm. "As a gentleman, of course, I agreed.
I paid Mr. Johnson his wages and then left for a holiday at Desi Bay, only returning in February this year. Upon my return, I discovered that one of my gilded horse harnesses was missing. My servant informed me that Mr. Johnson had taken it when he left!"
Hendler pointed at the defendant, Wode Johnson. "I understand that his son was ill, and he may have stolen my harness to sell it for his son's treatment. So, I immediately sent my servant to inquire. When my servant arrived at Mr. Johnson's house, he found my harness there!"
"So, I wrote to Mr. Johnson, requesting that he return my harness. But he refused, leaving me no choice but to sue him."
Hendler's statement caused murmurs among the jury. Judge Harvey Brook struck his gavel.
"Lorien Ashford!"
Finally. Lorien rose from the defense table, nodded at Judge Brook, then turned to Wills Hendler.
"Mr. Hendler, how did you first notice your harness was missing? Was it when you needed to use it?"
"No, I discovered it during an inventory check. After all, you must understand… I have been away from Backlund for over a month. There are always some dishonest servants who take things while their masters are away."
At the mention of "dishonest servants," Hendler cast a meaningful glance at Wode Johnson as he continued, "Every gentleman detests such behavior, which is why I always take inventory before and after my vacations."
"Well said! If the same thing happens in my house… I would sue him too!" A young man in the jury, dressed in a black tailcoat, called out.
I should sue you too for being stupid. Lorien retorted on his mind without moving his eyes from the plaintiff.
Thud, thud.
"Mr. Charles, do you wish to be removed from the court?" Judge Brook warned with a knock of his gavel.
The young man named Charles sat back down reluctantly.
Lorien's eyes turned to Wode Johnson, who was eager to defend himself, and gestured for him to stay silent.
"Oh?" Lorien broke his professional mask as he chuckled lightly. "Then, do you own two carriages?"
"No, just a two-wheeled carriage."
"That seems unbefitting of a gentleman of your standing. You should consider purchasing a four-wheeled coach." In Backlund, wealthy gentlemen typically owned both a two-wheeled carriage and a four-wheeled coach.
"I haven't reached that level yet, Lawyer Lorien." Hendler, unsure of Lorien's intentions, still responded politely. Though Lorien was currently his "opponent," he was a promising young barrister, one Hendler would not mind befriending, especially in his current predicament.
"But I heard that you bought a lot of land two years ago, and last year alone you had an income of nearly three thousand pounds…"
To put it into perspective, a top lawyer in Backlund usually earned around a thousand pounds a year.
Wills Hendler's lawyer, Burton Chester immediately sensed something was off. He stood up and declared, "Your Honor, I object! Attorney Lorien's questioning is irrelevant to the case at hand!"
Judge Brook nodded as he gestured Burton Chester to sit down. "Mr. Ashford, keep your statements relevant to the case."
Lorien placed a hand over his chest and gave Judge Brook a slight bow. "Apologies, Your Honor. I'll be mindful."
Ignoring the sudden ashen look on Hendler's face, Lorien turned to question Wode Johnson. "Mr. Johnson, I've heard that jobs like butlers, servants, and coachmen differ from dockworkers in that they don't receive weekly wages but are instead paid annual salaries. Is that correct?"
"Yes, sir," Wode answered nervously, rubbing his hands on his loose breeches. "You see, for people like us, a single accident can ruin an entire family. Being a coachman means I get to stay with my employer, have food and lodging covered, and the pay is slightly better. But while we are on annual salaries, most employers still pay weekly, even if they delay it from time to time."
"Understandable! But did Mr. Hendler follow this practice when paying you?"
"N-no, no! He paid me only after a full year of work!" Johnson quickly shook his head.
"My god!"
"Dear goddess, how could he?!"
"No way!"
The jury gasped in shock. While the qualifications to serve on a jury were low, jurors were often from well-off families, the kind of people who joined juries out of boredom rather than financial need. But precisely because of that, they knew exactly what delaying a servant's wages meant for their lives.
All eyes in the courtroom turned to Wills Hendler. His face, which had been pale moments ago, turned bright red as he snapped, "I paid him twenty-seven pounds a year! Two pounds more than a regular coachman earns!"
"But my client never agreed to that arrangement, did he?" Lorien pressed.
Hendler flailed his arms. "He agreed after I promised additional compensation!"
Once again, all eyes shifted to Wode Johnson.
"Is that true, Mr. Johnson?"
"Yes. I wanted to save enough money to send my son to a grammar school, so he wouldn't have to live like us. My wife's salary, combined with my son's temporary jobs, barely kept us afloat. If I worked for a year, I'd get twenty-seven pounds, enough to send him to school. But then he fell seriously ill, and I had no choice but to quit and return to Lamud Town." Johnson choked up as he spoke, and a few emotional women in the jury shed crocodile tears of sympathy.
He's a good actor... Lorien didn't press Johnson further. Instead, he handed him a handkerchief before turning back to Hendler.
"Mr. Hendler, when did my client, Wode Johnson, start working for you as a coachman?"
Realizing he was in trouble, Hendler frowned. "As I said before, November of the year before last."
"Give me the exact date. It's important."
"November 7th. I remember clearly because the day before, my son told me his teacher had made him a prefect." Jonson replied while wiping his tears with the handkerchief.
Free schools, funded by the three major churches and various charities, provided night classes from 8 to 10 p.m., completely free of charge. They even supplied writing tools and paper. Their main purpose was basic literacy education.
Due to the shortage of volunteer teachers, these schools developed a unique teaching model: the instructor would arrive early to tutor the best-performing students on the lesson content, and these students would then teach the rest of the class under the instructor's supervision. This system was known as the "monitorial method."
There were also free institutions like technical training workshops, providing one of the few real opportunities for the poor to climb the social ladder. Unfortunately, there were too few of them to make a significant impact.
Lorien continued questioning Hendler. "And when did my client leave your service?"
"November 13th of last year. That was the day a friend from town came to tell me my son was gravely ill," Johnson interjected again before Hendler could speak. Tears streamed down his face once more.
Brother, what are you doing being a coachman? You should be in the theater… Lorien mused to himself as he saw Hendler unwillingly nodding in agreement. "So, my client, Wode Johnson, worked for Mr. Hendler for a full year and should have been paid twenty-seven gold pounds."
He paused before raising his voice. "And the other promised compensation!"
Lorien stepped closer to Hendler, locking eyes with him. "Tell me, Mr. Hendler, did that additional compensation include a set of gilded horse tack worth nearly a gold pound?"
Burton, the defense lawyer, had already shut his eyes. He knew he had lost the case the moment Lorien mentioned Hendler's land purchases. Even though he had managed to cut Lorien off at the time, the young lawyer was too skilled at stirring emotions. The jury was already swayed, and even his own client had behaved like a brainless baboon, despite all the warnings before the trial. It was too late now.
"I would never give my horse tack to anyone! That's my..."
"Mr. Hendler!" Lorien cut him off. "Then what was it? What could possibly count as payment and still satisfy your coachman?"
"Mr. Hendler, think carefully! What else could fit those conditions?" Lorien twirled his index finger near his temple in slow circles.
"There was… there was…"
"But I doubt there was anything else, was there? After all, what do you even have left that hasn't been sold off to pay your debts?"
Thanks to the Grain Act, land prices had skyrocketed in recent years. Hendler, having profited from his early land purchases, reinvested all his earnings last year to buy even more land taking on massive loans in the process. But just two weeks ago, rumors of the Grain Act being repealed began circulating. A week ago, the House of Commons formally introduced the repeal bill. With creditors banging on his door, Hendler had been forced to sell everything his land along with his valuables just to barely cover his debts.
With that, Lorien turned and walked back to his seat. He gave a slight bow to Judge Harvey Brook. "Your Honor, I have no further questions."
"Mr. Burton Chester, your turn."
At the clerk's announcement, Chester opened his eyes and rose to his feet. But there was nothing he could do. The jury and even the judge's stance were clear; he could hear it in the clerk's tone.
He cast one last glance at Lorien Ashford and saw the young man already tidying up his case notes.
Too young, he thought with a deep sigh.
…
"The ladies and gentlemen of the jury, please deliberate on your verdict."
Judge Harvey Brook leaned back in his chair and took another sip from his glass.
After a brief discussion, a young man in a black wool coat stood up, looked around, and declared loudly:
"Not guilty!"
…
Outside the Cherwood Borough Magistrates' Court, Wode Johnson, wearing a thick brown jacket and loose breeches, was full of gratitude. He wiped his right hand on his pants several times before finally extending it.
"Thank you, Mr. Ashford. I really don't know how to express my gratitude."
Lorien shook his hand and smiled. "It's what I should do. Besides, you already paid me, didn't you?"
"No, no, I know that for someone as esteemed as you, ten sulets is nowhere near enough. You only took my solicitor's case because of your kindness. I originally thought that money would only be enough for my solicitor to defend me in court. I never imagined it could get me a barrister, let alone a top barrister like you. Please accept my thanks."
In the Kingdom of Loen, there were two types of lawyers: solicitors and barristers. The former handled non-court matters such as gathering evidence, speaking with clients, drafting wills, overseeing asset distribution, and providing legal advice. They could also represent clients in lower magistrate's courts for simple cases.
Barristers, on the other hand, specialized in presenting cases in court and examining evidence. Loen's legal system required barristers to maintain objectivity, meaning they couldn't interact with clients directly. Instead, solicitors acted as intermediaries, collecting all necessary information. Each barrister was a true legal expert, with exceptional rhetorical skills and a sharp ability to argue.
Because of this division of labor, legal fees inevitably increased. In most cases, clients had to hire both a solicitor and a barrister. If the case involved royal interests or was particularly complex, a King's Counsel (KC) had to be retained, meaning the client would have to pay for three lawyers.
For minor cases like Wode Johnson's, where the dispute involved less than a gold pound, a junior solicitor was typically sufficient. However, since solicitors varied greatly in their litigation skills, court representation was often hit or miss.
If Johnson had lost, returning the gilded horse tack and paying damages would have been the least of his concerns. The judge's punishment could have ranged from branding or flogging to exile in the Southern Continent or some remote island. A few decades ago, he could have even been sentenced to hanging. Lorien still vividly remembered reading an old ruling about a thirteen-year-old boy named Andrew Browning, who was executed by hanging for stealing a spoon.
"Then I wouldn't refuse your gratitude. You're welcome. And a word of advice: I suggest you join a theatre, you would become a star in no time." Saying that, Lorien put back his top hat and started walking toward the coach, leaving Johnson speechless.
It's good to let out my inner troll sometimes. May the spirit of Little Lumian, Prankster King of Cordu, look after me. What was his liturgical response again? Hmm, I don't think it was revealed in the story.
…
Unit 31 Warrington Road, Hillston Borough, Ashford Law Firm.
Lorien had changed into a purple morning coat embroidered with gold trim. Although his barrister's robe was loose-fitting, its stiff false collar had made the past half-month unbearably uncomfortable.
Leaning against the sofa, he stretched his neck while watching a young man organize a collection of case law for him.
"Locke, tell me what you think of today's case with Mr. Johnson."
"Mr. Johnson is truly pitiful. He just wanted his son to attend grammar school, and yet—"
"Mr. Grant!" Lorien stopped stretching his neck and looked at the young man in front of him. "Which law school did you graduate from?"
The blond-haired young man, dressed in a double-breasted wool coat, froze for a moment before stammering, "Uh… Middle…"
Lorien cut him off again. "Tell me, what's the difference between a barrister and a solicitor?"
Although confused by Lorien's sudden change in demeanor, Locke Grant knew that as a trainee lawyer, he had to accept his mentor's harshness if he wanted to continue down this career path. More importantly, Lorien wasn't just his mentor, he was also his employer.
"A barrister primarily focuses on courtroom advocacy—"
"Exactly! Advocacy! Remember, our job is only to defend. Nothing else! It doesn't matter whether our clients are pitiful or wealthy, righteous or wicked!" Lorien wasn't about to let Locke finish his sentence.
Locke was completely taken aback. In his mind, Lorien was a compassionate and empathetic man, who frequently took on cases for people who couldn't afford legal fees. But now, Lorien was telling him that a client's suffering or morality didn't matter at all.
Seeing Locke's stunned expression, Lorien softened his tone. "This isn't about becoming an unscrupulous lawyer. It's about understanding the fundamental principle of being a great barrister."
"How is that possible?" Locke was utterly baffled. He had no idea what Lorien was trying to say.
"What do you think makes an outstanding barrister?"
"Knowing the law inside and out? Having exceptional rhetorical skills?" Locke forced his brain to work, but after what Lorien had just said, it felt like he'd been struck over the head, his mind was still foggy.
"Knowing the law makes you a legal scholar. Great rhetoric makes you a skilled orator. But those are only prerequisites."
"Prerequisites?"
"Yes, prerequisites! To be an outstanding barrister, you must have the ability to find loopholes - whether in the law, in your opponent's words, or most importantly, in their minds."
Lorien stood up and tapped his finger against his forehead.
Locke hesitated before placing a hand over his own heart. "Loopholes in the mind?"
"The division between barristers and solicitors exists because of Loen's legal tradition. While some legal scholars advocate merging the roles, I disagree. The moment a barrister becomes too close to a client, learning too much about their personal circumstances, they risk becoming emotionally involved. And that's when opponents will exploit their mental vulnerabilities. The difference between winning and losing can come down to a single moment."
Seeing that Locke still looked confused, Lorien frowned. "How did I win today's case?"
"You… uh… I'm sorry, sir." Locke felt like a curly haired baboon.
"I first made the jury sympathize with Johnson. Then, I used that pressure to force Hendler to admit his agreement with him. Finally, I brought up Hendler's massive debts after the repeal of the Grain Act, leaving him completely speechless."
"Hendler lost because I exploited a loophole in his mind."
Lorien patted Locke's shoulder. "Go get some rest. I'm taking a week off. Use this time to go through my past case files and attend a few sessions at the magistrate's or criminal court."