The Scum Emperor's Redemption System - Chapter 70

Chapter 70: Consequence
The line snaked forward with an almost glacial slowness, a parade of citizens from the Districts stepping forward one by one.

As expected, the privileged elite were heard first, especially the well-heeled merchants whose coin greased the Empire’s gears.

Argider slouched in her throne, her chin resting in her palm, trying not to groan as the procession dragged on. The line was dauntingly long, and it wasn’t even midmorning.

— [FORCED QUEST TRIAL ACTIVATED: MORAL DEVELOPMENT]

— [Description: Fairly Judge The People & Be A Proper Emperor]

— [Time Duration: Until The End]

An enforced quest trial? Already? she thought bitterly. After everything I’ve been through? She stifled a grimace.

Thank the gods she’d spent some much-needed time with Fialova, or her mental state might have cracked like a dropped porcelain plate.

Ironic, really, since these so-called “trials” were practically beginner level. And here she was, drained before she’d even started.

Her fingers tapped against her cheek as she glanced lazily at the others in the chamber.

A few council members shot her disapproving looks, no doubt silently composing lecture notes about “proper decorum for an Emperor.”

But Argider wasn’t interested in performing the delicate, doll-like role they expected of her. Not today. She was tired.

“Move,” she finally muttered, waving to the Knight Guard posted by the door.

The grand doors creaked open, and a man strutted in with the kind of pomp that practically screamed aristocrat.

He was of average build but made up for it with a towering hat, a thick, elegant beard, a monocle perched precariously on his face, and an unnecessarily ornate cane.

His nose was so comically elongated Argider wondered if he could smell gold.

By his demeanor, he was clearly from Aloxus, the province of blinding wealth and insufferable manners.

The man cleared his throat with an exaggerated “Ahem,” drawing all eyes to him. “Your Imperial Majesty,” he said, puffing out his chest. “I have an urgent matter. My cat… is stuck in a tree. I am, alas, unable to retrieve them myself.”

Argider blinked. Surely, this was some kind of test? A riddle? A moral quandary?

A cryptic demand for wisdom, perhaps?

The silence in the room was deafening as everyone waited for her response.

“You… can’t get it yourself?” she ventured, eyebrows raised.

The collective gasp that followed was so dramatic it could have powered an entire theater troupe.

— [Warning: 20EXP Has Been Drained From The Perception Of People]

Argider flinched under the weight of their wide-eyed stares, slumping further into her throne.

What is it with these people and their theatrics?

Duke Gander, Esmerald Liege of the Sceptre Council and father of her betrothed, stormed forward, looking thoroughly apoplectic. He was head of Morrigan House, the faction that governed the Empire’s economy, and apparently a professional glowerer.

“Do you not recognize this man’s importance?” Gander snarled, his voice booming. “He is a titan of trade! A magnate of mines! The jewelry czar of our Empire!”

Argider pinched the bridge of her nose. “Father-in-law, there are hundreds of people in line waiting for me to solve actual problems. Can’t this… wait?”

“Wait? Wait? Just send a guard to fetch his cat!” Gander growled, exasperation dripping from every word. “It’s not hard, and you’d be done with it already!”

Argider sighed. “Fine, fine,” she muttered, waving her hand in reluctant surrender. “Someone fetch this man’s cat before we have another crisis about trees.”

One less absurdity to deal with, she thought. But the day was still young.

No sooner had Argider settled back into her throne than the next supplicant approached, a wiry young man who radiated the awkwardness of a fawn attempting ballet.

His brown hair stuck out in odd directions, his eyes darted nervously, and his thin frame seemed barely able to support the weight of his overly embroidered noble attire.

“Your Imperial Majesty,” he began, his voice cracking with what could only be described as too much earnestness. “I have heard of your… passions. May I ask how you, um… do it?”

Argider blinked.

Her? Passions? What rumors were circulating about her?

She sized him up again, noting his jittery demeanor and a creepily overzealous smile. The son of a noble, no doubt.

One of those socially inept types who lurk on the fringes of ballrooms, waiting for someone to acknowledge their existence.

“Just go to a whorehouse,” she almost quipped, biting her tongue at the last second. No, she reminded herself—this was technically a trial. She needed to respond with some semblance of dignity.

“Read a book,” she said instead, grasping at the first excuse that came to mind. “A classic, called… uh…” Her mind scrambled until she remembered a title she’d once seen gathering dust in the palace library. “The Art of Seduction by Robert Grass.”

The young man’s face lit up as if she’d handed him the Holy Grail. “Thank you, Your Majesty!” he exclaimed, bowing hastily before scuttling off like an overexcited puppy.

Argider exhaled sharply, muttering under her breath, “Oh, the joys of being a teenager.”

But the parade of absurdities was far from over. One by one, the elites filed in with their complaints: a woman lamenting the quality of soup at her favorite restaurant, a man demanding action because his rival’s horse was too shiny, and someone, someone, spouting off racist nonsense that made Argider’s eye twitch.

By the time an elderly aristocrat strolled in to complain about how “commoners had the audacity to exist,” Argider slumped further into her throne, rubbing her temples.

“Next,” she groaned, praying to every god she knew that the next person would at least have a problem worth solving.

The next figure to step forward was a woman clutching a baby to her chest. At first glance, there was something oddly familiar about her.

Argider narrowed her eyes, studying her closely.

The woman’s mature figure and disheveled hazel hair clashed with the golden-eyed poise of a noble.

But her tattered attire and exhausted demeanor painted a picture far removed from privilege. She looked as though she had just stumbled in from the street, carrying more burdens than one person should bear.

Before Argider could say a word, the woman fell to her knees, clutching the baby tighter as tears streaked down her face. “Your Majesty, I beg of you,” she cried, her voice trembling with desperation.

Argider flinched. Vulnerability wasn’t something she encountered often in this chamber, where pomp and entitlement were the order of the day. This was different, raw, unfiltered, and confusing.

“What… exactly is happening here?” Argider murmured, more to herself than anyone else.

The woman bowed her head low, trembling. “I have been abandoned by my House,” she said, her voice cracking under the weight of her words. “I have nothing left. Please… I beg of you… save me and our baby. I don’t know where else to turn!”

“Huh?!” Argider blurted, sitting upright so fast she nearly toppled out of her throne.