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Chapter 8: The Reversal Trial (2)
“But… Brother, may I ask what exactly you’re doing right now?”
Wesley carefully inserted a small piece of cotton soaked in pure peach juice into the socket of the round snap button on the royal uniform, then pressed it onto Charlotte’s right forearm with tape.
“It’s an experiment. An experiment to save Count Diesel.”
“What kind of experiment?”
“Think of it like… the witch’s peanut.”
Even in a world inside a game, he assumed allergic reactions would exist. From his research, he had discovered the term. Local legend held that those who collapsed after eating peanuts were said to have eaten the “witch’s peanut,” a tale widely circulated in this land.
“If we can just prove whether it was the witch’s doing or not, we can clear the Diesel family of their false accusation.”
He already had a clear understanding of the concept—it was only necessary to demonstrate that what had happened to Charlotte was an allergic reaction.
“Um… Your Highness, isn’t that a little dangerous?”
Emily’s concern was evident.
“To confirm that, Charlotte would have to eat the peach, wouldn’t she?”
“No. That won’t be necessary.”
Wesley attached the same patch to Emily’s left forearm, mirroring Charlotte’s, and spoke calmly.
“There’s a safer method than actually eating it.”
“Your Highness Charlotte? And beside you…”
The gaze of Marquis Benimaru sharpened.
‘How dare a mere maid step foot in a sacred noble trial?’
He wanted to roar immediately, but since this was someone the crown prince had brought, he couldn’t bring himself to speak.
“…What are you doing here?”
“I’ve brought her to prove something.”
“Prove…? Prove what?”
“Haven’t I already said?”
With a sudden bound, Wesley leapt from the gallery into the courtroom.
“To prove that Count Diesel did not kill Charlotte.”
Standing between Charlotte and Emily, Wesley raised their hands high.
“To prove that there was no poison in the peach juice.”
A murmur ran through the courtroom.
All eyes turned to Wesley, scrutinizing him with distrust. In the midst of these wary gazes, Douglas calmly closed his eyes.
“Silence.”
At that single command, the courtroom fell solemn. Douglas fixed his gaze entirely on Wesley.
“And how do you intend to prove it?”
“Your Majesty, before I explain, may I first address Marquis Benimaru?”
Douglas wanted to refuse outright, but Charlotte’s imploring gaze beside him made that impossible.
“You may proceed.”
“Thank you.”
Douglas’ expression left no doubt: speak nonsense and you will be stopped immediately. Wesley met that gaze steadily and continued.
“Marquis Benimaru.”
“Yes, Your Highness?”
“Are you familiar with the witch’s peanut?”
The marquis flinched slightly; one eyebrow twitched.
“I am.”
“If it is not too troublesome, could you explain it for us?”
He pressed his lower lip nervously, trying to hide his unease.
“Must I be the one to explain?”
“If you do, my argument will be flawless.”
Flawless logic, he thought to himself—what nonsense.
“Well… if you refuse, I shall explain.”
“No, I will do it.”
So insignificant, the witch’s peanut.
“The witch’s peanut is a nickname for those who cannot eat peanuts. If they do, mild reactions include hives, rashes, or itchy skin. Severe cases can result in death from respiratory distress.”
“You know quite well, then.”
“Isn’t it strange if someone doesn’t?”
“Then here is the problem.”
Clap! Clap!
Wesley clapped again, and someone entered the courtroom.
‘That person…’
A figure in a golden robe, a sun emblem glowing brightly on their chest, drew a stir from the crowd.
“High Priest Pereira.”
The archbishop of the Seihart Church, devoted to Laura, goddess of life and birth.
“From your experience caring for countless patients, how would you assess Charlotte’s condition?”
He had helped nurse Charlotte back to health over the past three days.
“Did she appear poisoned?”
Pereira shook his head lightly.
“I am not skilled in pharmacology, but having seen many cases of poisoning, this was not poison.”
“Then what was it?”
Pereira glanced at Marquis Benimaru before speaking.
“It resembled a reaction to the witch’s peanut.”
Speaking the truth while feeling uneasy, he looked out at the courtroom as Benimaru’s eyes bore into him.
“I see. Thank you, Archbishop.”
“…So. What is it you wish to say, Your Highness? That Charlotte’s case is akin to the witch’s peanut?”
Marquis Benimaru, perhaps feeling guilty, blurted out the words Wesley had intended.
“You know my thoughts well, Marquis. Yes. That is correct. What happened to Charlotte is indeed like the witch’s peanut.”
Murmurs rippled through the room.
“Hmph!”
The marquis snorted incredulously.
“Such strange reasoning. The symptoms Charlotte showed after drinking the peach juice are exactly what you describe.”
‘Bark all you want,’ he thought. ‘No one will heed you.’
…Then Wesley spoke.
“So, we prepared this.”
In an instant, Charlotte and Emily extended their taped arms.
“Proof that Charlotte reacted to the witch’s peanut.”
“…Proof?”
Looking at the tape on their arms, Marquis Benimaru mumbled under his breath.
“Did you bring evidence hidden on her arm?”
“Indeed, Marquis. Your cleverness is unmatched in the kingdom.”
“Really…?”
It was meant as mockery, yet the marquis had nothing to retort.
“Let me cut to the point.”
With a sweep, Wesley emphasized the taped areas on their arms.
“My point is simple: Charlotte was not poisoned. She merely reacted to the peach, as some might to the witch’s peanut.”
“…And behind that tape is evidence to prove it?”
Douglas interjected suddenly.
“Yes.”
“To the untrained eye, it’s merely tape, but here’s the principle. Cotton soaked in peach juice was applied to the skin for two days, then we observed the reaction.”
“Reaction? What reaction?”
“Hives.”
A patch test—commonly used in allergology to detect contact dermatitis or food/drug allergies. Wesley’s trump card to resolve the entire matter.
“Hives? And this proves Count Diesel’s innocence?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t understand. How can hives prove anything?”
“Your Majesty, do you recall Charlotte’s reaction after drinking the juice?”
Douglas remembered.
“She said it itched and pricked.”
“Exactly. Now Charlotte, what do you feel under the tape?”
“It itches and pricks, but I can endure it!”
Despite her words, her eyes betrayed a desperate urge to scratch immediately.
“See? Charlotte’s past reaction matches what she shows now.”
“…So what? Of course it itches after two days of peach-soaked cotton.”
Some jurors nodded, unconvinced.
‘Such a pointless exercise,’ Benimaru smirked quietly.
“Perhaps. Which is why we applied the same to Emily under identical conditions.”
All eyes turned to Emily, who shyly lowered her head.
“Lift your head. There’s no need to be shy.”
“Yes, Your Highness!”
“Emily, what do you feel under your tape?”
“Nothing at all.”
“Not itchy? Not prickly?”
“Nothing.”
A hush fell.
Wesley carefully removed the tapes. On Charlotte’s arm, small blister-like bumps appeared in the shape of button sockets. Emily’s arm showed no reaction.
“Under identical conditions, Charlotte developed hives and itchiness; Emily showed no reaction.”
A collective murmur.
“Truly?”
“Hives only on Charlotte’s arm.”
This was proof enough.
“In short, Charlotte’s reaction to the peach was identical to the witch’s peanut.”
She had not been poisoned.
Wesley summarized his argument:
“First, peaches are a newly introduced crop in Liechtenstein.
Second, Count Diesel offered the drink with benevolent intent.
Third, Charlotte almost lost her life not to poison, but due to an allergic reaction akin to the witch’s peanut.”
He spoke slowly, clearly, resolutely.
“On this basis, I, Wesley Vicious von Liechtenstein, submit that Count Diesel is innocent.”
The courtroom buzzed.
“Wait! I object!”
Marquis Benimaru spoke, sensing danger.
“This experiment had no observers. How do we know you didn’t test Charlotte with the peach but merely put plain water on the maid?”
“Are you implying I lied?”
The marquis’ shoulders slumped.
“I may wield immense power in Liechtenstein, but I am no fool to lie in a court blessed by Justitia herself.”
“No one could deny it here,” Wesley said, undeterred.
“Very well. If doubt persists, I’ll recreate the situation.”
Snap!
A court officer brought a dish covered with a dome. Wesley lifted the lid.
“Peaches. Sourced through Count Diesel’s household staff. Pure, untainted peaches.”
“And if Charlotte eats this and reacts as before—”
Wesley’s gaze fixed firmly on one man.
“Marquis Benimaru, will you recognize Count Diesel’s innocence?”
“…Are you threatening me?”
He could only accept it.
“Forgive me, but this isn’t my decision,” Wesley said, looking at Charlotte.
“This is the decision of Charlotte Aisa von Liechtenstein herself.”
