Chapter 53

The Trial III

Before civilization collapsed, people used to half-jokingly say,

"Ugh, seriously, what kind of verdict is that?"

"We might as well leave everything to AI; it would probably be better than this!"

Of course, the other half of this sentiment carried a serious undertone: an AI, made of steel and code, might indeed be more impartial than Homo sapiens, who are often entangled in various vested interests.

Now that AI judges have debuted nationwide, one could exclaim, "Wow! An era of law where biased judgments are impossible!" But, naturally, things in the world never turn out to be that simple.

[Judgment. The defendant is sentenced to life imprisonment.]

"What?"

"He killed someone and it’s not the death penalty?"

"Why can’t we just kill the criminal?"

People were baffled.

Since there had been no updates since civilization's downfall, the judgments of AI judges were inevitably bland for the post-apocalyptic humanity accustomed to harsher realities.

[Judgment. The defendant is sentenced to three months in prison.]

"What?"

"He dared to touch someone else's property and it’s not the death penalty?"

"Why can’t we just kill the criminal?"

From the start, the concept of 'prison sentences' handed down by AI judges was an antiquated artifact.

Prison? Who has those anymore?

Would anyone build indestructible walls, install iron bars, and, furthermore, expect to feed, shelter, and care for prisoners? Do guards get paid out of thin air?

Yes, the AI judge was fair.

But that fairness was akin to divine fairness—it was utterly useless if it didn’t descend to reality.

"Wait a minute. Isn't three months in jail roughly equivalent to losing a pinky finger?"

"Ooh..."

Thus, inevitably, there arose a need for a professional class to 'interpret' these 'divine words.'

Guild leaders, or their most trusted aides, took over roles once held by shamans in ancient times and priests in the Middle Ages.

If a guild leader had achieved enough to own a city, they could arguably be considered the closest to god within that city.

"So, guild leader, what about six months in jail?"

"Well, that's cutting off the index finger. Of course, if the victim prefers, cutting off a toe is also an option."

"And what about one year?"

"From then on, it might be appropriate to take off a hand or a foot. Oh! But be careful not to damage their labor capacity, so let's split it 50-50... Say, three fingers from the offender, two from their family members, making it a five-finger punishment altogether."

"Ooh..."

"Exactly, guild leader."

If prisons were antiques, collective punishment was the hot new commodity desired by all the trendy guilds.

"What if all fingers and toes are cut off?"

"Then they gotta die. Shit. If you can't play the game right even with 20 life points given, you're just not cut out for it."

"Fair point."

"After all, if there's nobody willing to sacrifice a finger for a criminal, who would mourn their death anyway? Just kill them all."

"Ah..."

The above conversation is a compilation edited for easier reading, originally spoken by a guild leader in Incheon.

Interpretations by 'shamans' varied greatly from city to city. While some, like Incheon, cleanly converted all life stats to fingers and toes, others interpreted a six-month sentence as six months of slavery, turning the offender into the victim's slave.

But precisely because of this, guild leaders happily embraced the AI judges.

"This isn't bad."

Dang Seo-rin casually tapped the AI judge's head.

"It’s much more comfortable for guild leaders to say that they just added interpretation to an already impartial judgment from someone else—from beginning to end—rather than claiming they made the judgment alone."

For people, films from the old days served as a means to momentarily recall the glorious past of human civilization.

This was evident from the way they watched TV. They didn’t sit neatly in a row, attentively watching the screen. Instead, they huddled together, cracking peanuts, casually glancing at the screen, and loudly discussing the 'exotic items' in the videos.

"Hot water comes straight from home? Just push a button for bottled water? Wow..."

"But why do they look so dissatisfied? It’s practically heaven."

"Anyway, everyone was so spoiled back then. Those guys all need their heads peeled by monsters for their brains to cook right. Hey, pass me that hammer, this one’s tough to crack."

Roughly, this was the contemporary self-portrait.

Thus, the 'unrealistic judgments' of AI judges, initially treated like toys, gradually began to take on a different hue over time.

[Judgment. Defendant B shall pay plaintiff A 1 million won.]

"Really? Wait, I’ll get it together in a week."

"Huh?"

Some people started to take the AI’s judgments seriously.

In this world, money was more like a talisman than currency—a talisman that reminded them of the times they were part of a civilized society.

Collecting '1 million won' worth of such talismans was extremely difficult.

But one citizen eventually gathered 50,000 won, 10,000 won, 5,000 won, and 1,000 won bills from wherever possible and truly handed over 1 million won to the plaintiff.

"Are we good now?"

"Uh, yeah..."

"Yeah, I’m sorry for disrupting your business. This settles things between us."

Surprisingly, one citizen’s apology was accepted.

Money, which had lost all its value as currency and couldn't be exchanged for other goods—essentially having lost all meaning as money—was recognized as compensation for wrongdoing.

This accidental incident gradually led more citizens to voluntarily comply with the AI’s judgments.

Certainly, in cases where people were seriously injured or their lives were at risk, citizens did not rely on the AI judge.

But for minor disputes, things that didn’t warrant killing each other over, people willingly submitted to 'old judgments'—the justice of times when the world was still intact.

"Here’s 3 million won."

"Let’s get along better from now on."

Even if the most recently issued currency had been printed over ten years ago, the bills were crumpled and grimy from human contact, people cherished and exchanged them with great care.

From afar, it looked less like the execution of laws and more like some kind of religious ritual.

A ritual to prove and certify to each other that they were once members of a world that had already perished.

A process to affirm that we all belonged to the same community.

What can I say? Unlike in stories where currencies turn to trash the moment an apocalypse strikes, reality was quite different.

"...I really didn’t see this coming."

I felt somewhat emotionally punched.

Not that it felt entirely bad. After all, it confirmed that despite the world falling apart, most people were still suffering from nostalgia.

Even after the 109th cycle, I continued to keep the 'AI judges.'

Even if they weren’t much help judicially, if they could remind people living in such times of their 'humanity' even a little, then that in itself was meaningful, wasn’t it?

"Judge."

[Yes.]

"There’s this infinite regressor who keeps ditching his colleagues to flirt with his wife, continuously neglecting his duties as an old man. Meanwhile, the colleague left behind is breaking his back trying to save the world. What judgment fits this despicable regressor?"

[Judgment. Not guilty.]

"......"

Humanity be damned.

Clearly, AI still didn’t understand the human heart.

Footnotes:

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