Chapter 348: Public Trial
Stravburg had fallen.
The armies of the Kingdom of Ashen surged into the city, marching in perfect formation, swiftly securing key locations such as the Armory and the Duke’s Residence. With practiced precision, they seized control of the entire metropolis.
Stravburg, the largest city in the Northern Regions, still teemed with life even under wartime siege—nearly seventy thousand souls still dwelled within its walls.
“Tampas above…”
“This is real. It’s actually happened.”
“Last Hope monsters won’t cause a massacre, right?”
“That… that’s a Dragon’s Follower! Haven’t you read The Book of Ashen Flame?”
“Gods… who on earth can save us now?”
The citizens sealed their doors tight, trembling in their homes, envious of those who had already fled, and filled with suspicion toward the Dragon’s Promise.
The city was shrouded in gloom. Oppression whispered through the streets, its voice faint yet pervasive.
Some curious Players, drawn by the chaos, began poking around the ruins. They rummaged through abandoned homes, overturned crates in the alleys, and one even tumbled headfirst into the underground sewer system—only to be dragged out by a passing Tiefling officer and arrested.
But soon, the disciplined Tiefling soldiers, trained to a razor’s edge, began knocking on doors, house by house.
“Please, don’t kill us!”
“Don’t hurt us—I surrender!”
“By order of the Kingdom, all citizens are to proceed to the Assembly Square.”
There was little bloodshed—though many citizens fainted from fear.
Forced from their homes, the people emerged into the cold light of day, hearts pounding, praying desperately that they might survive the Dragon’s tyranny.
“What… what are they going to do?”
“Are these devils going to eat us?”
“No… no, they’re not going to hand us over to that Red Dragon for dinner, are they?”
Their words had barely died in the air when a thunderous roar split the sky.
Everyone froze, hearts seized by dread, and looked up—toward the same place.
Boom!
A colossal red dragon descended from the heavens, crashing through the towering city wall with the force of a storm. The ancient stone shattered like glass. Debris rained down like hail.
That mighty wall, tall enough to make a Frost Giant marvel, crumbled beneath the Red Dragon’s might—like a paper toy crushed beneath a boot.
Kai Xiusu climbed slowly onto the highest tower, his crimson scales glinting in the dim light. He opened his maw and let out a long, echoing roar—one that drowned out every sound in the city.
Countless eyes, wide with terror, stared upward at the monstrous figure now dominating the sky.
“Humans,” he declared, his voice like rolling thunder, “the Northern Regions are no more.”
“In the name of the King of the Burnt, I proclaim: centuries of oppression by the Northern Nobles have ended.”
“Face the truth. The ten thousand allied forces of the Northern Regions have been utterly annihilated. And now, the Kingdom will bring you a new order—no more decadent nobles, no more corrupt leadership. A new century awaits.”
“Finally… the Public Trial begins. Enjoy it.”
With a gust of wind, Kai Xiusu unfurled his vast wings and soared into the sky. The air warped around him—then he vanished.
The tower beneath him, already strained beyond its limits, collapsed with a deafening crash, leaving only a cloud of dust and rubble.
“Public Trial?”
“What… what is that?”
“Gods… how could a dragon do this…”
The citizens were still reeling from shock, clutching their chests, gasping for breath. Yet beneath their fear, confusion stirred.
This Dragon… he wasn’t acting like a brutal conqueror.
After all, this was an age of wandering warlords, where even the armies of the Bosk Family, when passing through their own cities, often resorted to raids and coercion. The people had long grown accustomed to such horrors.
But the Tiefling forces—invaders, conquerors, yet so orderly—had done nothing outrageous. They acted with military precision, almost… civilized.
So what were they planning?
Sacrifice?
Stravburg had never heard of a “Public Trial.”
And the Red Dragon’s words only deepened the confusion of a populace long indoctrinated by Bosk propaganda—taught to see the Kingdom of Ashen as a den of monsters.
But soon, they would understand.
Under the watchful eyes of the Tiefling Guard, the people gathered in the plazas, their voices rising in anxious murmurs.
“What are they doing?”
“Last Hope might survive…”
“Shh! That Ogre’s watching you!”
Amidst the crowd, Meizhuolashi stepped forward onto the elevated platform, draped in a heavy black cloth. His voice was low, commanding.
“The Public Trial is about to begin. Please remain silent. Now. It is not yet your turn to speak.”
His voice, though quiet, carried through the crowd—amplified by several black boxes embedded into the stone.
Bang!
The Tiefling line soldiers raised their rifles into the air and fired—sharp, deafening reports that silenced the entire plaza.
Silence.
A thousand people, frozen in fear.
“Good,” Meizhuolashi murmured, nodding slightly.
At his signal, the Tiefling guards flanking the platform swiftly tore away the heavy cloth.
A wave of gasps erupted. Eyes widened. A chorus of shocked exclamations tore through the crowd.
“How… how is this possible?”
“I must be seeing things…”
“That… that’s—”
“Tampas above… that’s Marquis Horace!”
On the platform stood several towering wooden frames. Bound to one was a man—middle-aged, golden-haired, blue-eyed—naked from the waist up, head bowed, his body streaked with blood and bruises. Utterly broken.
It was Horace Bosk—the eldest son of Duke Leo, former Marquis of the Bosk Duchy.
No wonder the crowd was stunned.
This was a man they had only ever seen in portraits—untouchable, sacred, a noble of noble blood. And now, he was nothing more than a prisoner, chained to a wooden stake, his dignity stripped bare.
Meizhuolashi scanned the faces around him, a satisfied smile curling at the corner of his lips. He drew from his coat a scroll, carefully prepared.
“Excellent. I believe you all recognize this man—Horace Bosk, eldest son of Duke Leo, former Marquis of the Bosk Duchy.”
“Guilty beyond measure. A war criminal. One of the primary architects of this endless war. The mastermind behind the Great Taxation. The creator of countless tragedies.”
“Today, the judgment of his crimes will be decided… by you.”
The crowd erupted once more. Faces twisted in disbelief. Some even thought they were dreaming.
Judgment?
Decide the fate of a Marquis?
Let commoners pass sentence on a noble?
This was unthinkable. It would shatter their entire worldview.
“That’s Marquis Horace!”
“Who dares judge him?”
“Right… but what if he’s ever released? Who’ll be punished for speaking?”
The murmurs swirled—yet no one dared step forward.
The people had long accepted the absolute authority of the Northern Nobles. Even now, with the chance before them, they were too afraid to challenge it.
But down in the prisoner line, Viscount Luton stared upward at the platform, his eyes scanning the crowd.
He saw it—the true design.
This wasn’t just conquest.
It was total destruction.
Not only of the nobles’ bodies—but of their minds, their culture, their legacy. The eradication of the entire bloodline that had ruled the Northern Regions for a thousand years.
His face paled. His lips turned purple. His limbs trembled.
“They… they’re actually doing it,” he whispered.
“They’re going to tear out our roots.”
(End of Chapter)
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