In an open clearing marked with a sign that read "[Witness]," a crowd had gathered to watch the trial. As I arrived, the guards snapped to attention and greeted me respectfully. I acknowledged their efforts and decided to proceed with the trial.
"Guard, explain the incident," I instructed.
"Yes, my lord! Last evening, a villager named John rushed to the patrol guards, claiming he heard screams from Henry's house. He said it sounded like someone had died and asked the guards to accompany him. Two guards, fully armed, went to Henry's house. Upon arrival, they found Henry's wife dead, beaten with a club, and Henry passed out drunk, still holding the club."
"Was it clear at the scene that his wife was dead?"
"Uh... if you see the body, my lord, you'll have no doubt she's dead."
The body in question lay covered in a mat in a corner of the courtroom, serving as evidence. The guard lifted the mat slightly and asked, "Shall I show you, my lord?"
"What happened after you found the body?"
"We brought John, the witness, and Henry, the suspect, back to the guardhouse. We then dispatched additional personnel to secure the scene and retrieve the body."
"Did you conduct any further investigation? There might have been other evidence at the scene."
"Well... we were certain Henry was the culprit, so..."
"From what I've heard, the only confirmed facts are that screams were heard from Henry's house and that Henry was found unconscious holding a club. John's testimony doesn't provide any additional details. Is there any other evidence that confirms Henry as the murderer?"
"That... um..."
The guard trailed off. I sensed the investigation had been rushed. Whether the wife's time of death was important wasn't the issue here. I decided to postpone examining the body and turned my attention to Henry.
Henry looked at me, visibly startled, then quickly bowed his head. I asked, "Henry, did you kill your wife?"
".....I don't know."
"You don't know?"
"I have no idea if I did it or what happened. I remember drinking and heading home, but after that, everything's a blur."
This was a classic case of someone being framed. While it was possible Henry, in a drunken stupor, had beaten his wife to death, it was equally plausible that someone had framed him. Henry had so many enemies in the village that five people had come forward to testify against him in a murder that happened at night.
Such a man killing his wife seemed natural, as did someone framing him to get rid of him.
"I've heard you often beat your wife."
"....Yes."
"How did you usually beat her? Did you use a bottle or tools?"
"Uh..."
Henry clenched his lips and shifted his eyes, clearly unwilling to confess in front of so many people. I pressed, "Speak, Henry. The lord is asking."
"Mostly... I kicked her... and punched her..."
"Why did you do that? Were you trying to kill her?"
"I... I was too angry... I lost my job, and nothing was going right..."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Some called Henry scum or beyond redemption. I declared, "If there's one more disturbance in this courtroom, I'll identify the speaker and punish them severely."
The courtroom fell silent. I turned back to Henry.
"You lost your job. What was your profession?"
"I was a carpenter, but I got injured on the job and couldn't work anymore."
"What kind of injury?"
"I hurt my arm. My right arm has no strength, so I can't use a hammer..."
"You're right-handed, then."
"Yes, I still use my right hand mainly, but I can't lift heavy things or do strenuous work."
I turned to the guard and asked, "Which hand was Henry holding the club in?"
"His left hand."
The guard replied. Since the incident had just occurred, it was easy to remember.
"So, based on the guard's and John's testimonies, Henry has a history of abusing his wife, his whereabouts on the day were unclear, and he claims to have no memory. When the guards arrived after hearing screams, only Henry and his wife were present. In this situation, it's easy to assume Henry beat his wife to death."
"Yes, that's correct."
The guard nodded. Henry hung his head, but I shook mine. Something felt off. Unnatural. Very unnatural. I asked Henry,
"Henry, did you only use your left hand to beat your wife?"
"Probably... both hands."
"After losing your job due to your arm injury, did you undergo rehabilitation to use tools with your left hand?"
".....No. My wife was earning, and I was... too busy drinking..."
The crowd looked eager to speak, their lips tightly pressed and expressions filled with impatience, hoping for Henry's swift execution. But I had no intention of rushing to judgment. This case was definitely strange.
A right-handed drunk, with no left-hand rehabilitation, who supposedly chose to use his left hand for a weapon because it was stronger? And successfully beat his wife to death with it?
Something was off. Definitely.
Frankly, whether this drunk was framed or actually committed the murder wasn't my concern. The issue was that someone was trying to deceive me, the lord. If I fell for it this time, they'd become bolder, framing others more provocatively. If this repeated, I'd be trapped in another cycle of misery.
When you sense something's wrong, you must root it out completely. I needed to resolve this case cleanly. Leaving it with lingering doubts would keep me up at night.
**Name:** Henry
**Occupation:** Drunkard
**Level:** 8
**Stats:**
- Strength: 3
- Agility: 4
- Intelligence: 3
- Luck: 2
**Traits:**
- **Muscle Abnormality:** Due to injury, his muscles are impaired. Strength and agility stats are penalized, and he can't use weapons properly.
Henry might be a wife-beating scumbag, but he wasn't the murderer in this case. With stats this abysmal, it'd be hard for him to kill someone. Even if his wife had been frail, if she died at the hands of this half-cripple, it would've been natural causes.
I ordered the guard to uncover the body. As the mat was removed, Henry's wife was revealed. She was quite beautiful, though her choice in husbands left much to be desired.
Her skull was completely shattered at the back. I winced, and Henry turned away from the gruesome sight. The crowd gasped, "Oh dear!" The damage was so severe that she was undoubtedly dead when found.
I surveyed the area. Some nuns and Siri from the church had come to watch. I asked the guard who first discovered the body,
"Guard, how was the body positioned at the scene?"
"Face down."
"Show me exactly how she was lying."
The guard hesitated, then, at my gesture, lay down on the ground, mimicking the position. He was flat on his stomach, arms and legs outstretched. I asked,
"Was the body facing Henry?"
"No, she was lying with her back to him."
The guard stood up and continued.
"Where's the club used as the weapon?"
"Here it is."
The guard brought over the club, which had been stored separately. I expected a wooden club, but it was a solid iron rod. A blow to the head with this would certainly kill. The grip was excellent, and the weight was just right. The problem was: could this trembling drunk have struck such a clean blow?
I dismissed the guard and stripped the corpse's upper garment. Both the guards and the villagers were taken aback by my sudden action. There were bruises on her back but no signs of being struck by the iron rod. If the killing had been spontaneous during a fight, there should have been injuries elsewhere. But there were no marks on her arms, torso, or anywhere else from the rod.
If enough force to shatter her skull had been used, there should have been broken bones or torn flesh elsewhere. Judging by the body, Henry must have struck her head precisely a few times and then suddenly passed out drunk. Doesn't that seem too odd?
It was more believable that someone else killed Henry's wife and placed the club in his hand.
"This is strange."
"What is it, my lord?"
"It's too clean."
"What do you mean?"
"Henry can't swing his arm properly, so how did he manage such a precise blow to the head? You know as well as I do that using your non-dominant hand with a weapon reduces its effectiveness."
"Well..."
"Moreover, according to your testimony, the victim didn't resist."
The body's position was also odd. She was too straight, as if she hadn't expected to be struck from behind.