“You framed me!”
“The circumstances forced me!”
“I didn't want to do this.”
“I demand a fair trial!”
“This was a setup!”
A dozen men shouted their truths in chorus. They sought last straws to cling to, or brief extensions of their existences before their imminent execution. When they stood before the abyss, their all-important worries about status, honor and wealth turned into poor jokes.
They wagered their lives, realizing too late that gambling came with a chance of losing. Especially when someone rigged the dice.
“And who pushed you into acting?” Lord of Steel’s question rendered them mute.
“Wolf Hillman,” Viscount Geeza, Anna’s maternal great-grandfather, replied. He found his straw and grabbed hold.
A moment later, three more nobles, who joined the wolf-slaying alliance only in this latest attempt, echoed his words. Marquess Bradley Hoefler was among them. He hoped this would allow the Duke to intervene.
I walked into that. Headmaster Smith’s brows furrowed, but Duke Silverhound smiled and raised his hand. If this was a normal courtroom, he would’ve spoken straight away, but under Word Filter he needed Headmaster Smith’s permission.
“Your Honor, Duke of Silverhound, do you wish to add anything? You may speak freely.” Headmaster Smith unwillingly forfeited his initiative.
Duke cleared his throat and stood. He couldn’t lower himself, speaking while Headmaster Smith looked down at him. “Thank you, Headmaster. I’m intrigued by that statement, Viscount Geeza. Would you please elaborate? I wish to know how Marquess Wolf Hillman drove you into acting.”
The seventy-five-year-old Viscount bowed. If Duke Silverhound intervened on their behalf, the Geeza family would be spared. As for him dying; he had some twenty years left, but he preferred losing his head than ruining his descendants.
“Marquess Hillman threatened to ‘take care of our entire families’ during a distasteful event which occurred at the Mage Academy last year.” The old man spoke, holding his head high. Duke Silverhound gave him a way out. Addressing Wolf by his title gave the old Viscount a hint. ‘Play the oppressed weak party in an unjust conflict.’
And the elderly Viscount did. “If not for that incident, my Geeza family wouldn’t have gotten involved in this mess. Our circumstances do not justify our actions. However. However, the fault for what happens doesn’t rest solely on us…”
A handful of nobles vigorously bobbed their heads. Marquess Bradley Hoefler nodded once. He approved of the Duke’s chosen spokesman. Old man Geeza was dignified and calm. Others would’ve put on a pathetic display, which would disgust the crowd, while he himself was Wolf’s peer and couldn’t play the underdog.
Wolf watched with slight confusion. I pushed them into doing this? And they honestly believe it?
He focused his mind on thinking about destroying their families and felt nothing. Wolf then considered leaving them alone, and again, nothing happened. When he imagined letting Smith go even if he had killed Mandy, Wolf felt those shackles rattle.
Nope. Wolf confirmed. I never intended, nor vowed to destroy their families. Is this a misunderstanding?
“… we couldn’t sleep properly, nightmares of our ruined houses haunting us.” Viscount Geeza painted the picture Duke Silverhound wanted, and the gathered crowd needed, to justify himself in the eyes of the public. “In conclusion, I was wrong. I shouldn’t have plotted against my betters. I will pay for my sins with my life, but I implore Your Honor to be merciful towards my family.”
It was a decent speech. Several spectators clapped their hands, starting a round of applause.
The heinous plotter and murderer from a moment ago became a martyr, sacrificing himself for his family. A man of integrity, willing to admit his wrongs and face justice, only asking for innocents not to bear his sin.
Headmaster Smith saw the public address for what it was, a sappy soliloquy to skirt the law. But in the game of power, justice and law didn’t matter. Power, public appearance and vindication. You could bend laws with those three in your favor. And with enough power, you could break or rewrite them.
Dukes elected the Emperor amongst themselves, yet a barbarian outsider sat on the throne. The reason was simple - Darius had the power to make it happen.
Duke Silverhound raised his hand, silencing the applause. “We shall take this into account when determining the punishment for your families. However, murder and plotting against your betters is still a capital offense and your sentence remains unchanged.”
“Yes, Your Honor.” Viscount Geeza bowed, as did Marquess Hoefler.
The rest stood frozen. They hoped Viscount Geeza’s speech would get them off the hook, but that was impossible. After one stunned moment, they realized their children had escaped punishment. They bowed, glancing at others with worse fates.
As he watched them, the Duke rubbed his eye with his right hand, covering his lips.
How far will you push this? he mouthed, locking his gaze with Headmaster Smith’s while concealing those words from the crowd.
It was a valid question. If they followed this rabbit hole all the way to the bottom, hundreds of heads would roll, maybe thousands.
“Do you have any last wishes?” Headmaster Smith asked, stating that he was only after the ringleaders.
“I wish Lord Hillman to be my executioner,” Count Farah said in an outburst of madness, smiling demonically.
All his plots were in vain. If he knew this would happen, he would have silently awaited the demotion of his noble rank. But he could tear one last bit of flesh before he died. If he wasn’t the only one…
“I wish Lord Hillman to be my executioner.” Several others joined him in one final attempt to smear Wolf with their blood. A Marquess whose reign started with him executing his lessers created a tyrannical reputation Wolf’s enemies could use in the future.
Viscount Geeza remained silent, while Wolf raised an eyebrow. He certainly wouldn’t mind dispatching these monsters personally.
Unlike the naive youth, Headmaster Smith spotted the plot. “Marquess Wolf Hillman—”
“I’ll do it, Sir.” Wolf agreed to the dying men’s request, unaware that Headmaster Smith wanted to reject them. In his young mind, he wasn’t a noble lowering himself to execute prisoners, he was a hero dispatching villains.
Headmaster Smith choked on his words. He didn’t want Wolf to make the same stupid mistakes he did, but apparently, human nature craved faults and flaws.
“I hope you take good care of my great-granddaughter.” Viscount Geeza’s wish differed from the insane requests of his peers. He saw room to play one final move.
Since he’d disowned his granddaughter, Anna’s mother, the connection between him and Anna was flimsy, but the blood relation still existed. He reminded Wolf that Anna’s grandmother was a Geeza, and that moving against them was acting against Anna’s family.
Wolf nodded, then turned towards the Duke. “Can I execute them now, or should we wait for something?”
The Duke was stunned. Even Headmaster Smith’s face twisted into a grimace. Can you not make such statements in full view of the public?
“Since that’s their wish, now is acceptable,” Duke Silverhound passed his judgment. Since you want to start your reign with terror and death, who am I to stop you…
The men about to die stood tall. Wolf didn’t reach the shoulders of the shortest of them.
“Do you want a stool, my Lord?” Count Baskerville raised his voice, delivering one final blow to Wolf. But before he got to laugh, the world spun around him.
Wolf stood on the platform, down below. He grasped a long-sword in his shackled hands, and a bunch of headless bodies next to him sprayed blood.
“No need.” Those words echoed in Count Baskerville’s ears as his head plopped against wood and the world around him grew black.
In a flash, Wolf finished the deed. Heads thumping against the wooden boards entered his ears like the beating of morbid drums. He took a deep breath, smelling iron. He instinctively stored splashes of blood into his Ring of Holding, then splattered a giant red globule onto the planks.
This didn’t ease my hatred at all. Anna and Mandy suffered slander every day because of these shit-heads. Wolf wanted to kill them over and over until he grew tired of it.
Even though Lord of Steel hadn’t inquired about it, Wolf knew these guys fabricated stories, pulling Anna and Mandy through the mud.
“Father!”
“Father!”
“Uncle!”
Dozens of involved spectators shouted in grief, breaking the spell of shocked silence and drawing Wolf back to reality.
Spectators stared in disbelief. They didn’t even see how it happened, but five Counts, three Viscounts and two Barons lay dead on the elevated stage before them. Wolf didn’t flinch after killing so many men in close quarters. In fact, he appeared like he hadn’t had enough.
The crowd felt like mountains pressed their chests. They struggled to breathe, stifled by the sudden display of brutality. Wolf seemed so frail and tiny, yet with the backdrop of spraying blood, he looked like a true monster.
“You framed me!”
“The circumstances forced me!”
“I didn't want to do this.”
“I demand a fair trial!”
“This was a setup!”
A dozen men shouted their truths in chorus. They sought last straws to cling to, or brief extensions of their existences before their imminent execution. When they stood before the abyss, their all-important worries about status, honor and wealth turned into poor jokes.
They wagered their lives, realizing too late that gambling came with a chance of losing. Especially when someone rigged the dice.
“And who pushed you into acting?” Lord of Steel’s question rendered them mute.
“Wolf Hillman,” Viscount Geeza, Anna’s maternal great-grandfather, replied. He found his straw and grabbed hold.
A moment later, three more nobles, who joined the wolf-slaying alliance only in this latest attempt, echoed his words. Marquess Bradley Hoefler was among them. He hoped this would allow the Duke to intervene.
I walked into that. Headmaster Smith’s brows furrowed, but Duke Silverhound smiled and raised his hand. If this was a normal courtroom, he would’ve spoken straight away, but under Word Filter he needed Headmaster Smith’s permission.
“Your Honor, Duke of Silverhound, do you wish to add anything? You may speak freely.” Headmaster Smith unwillingly forfeited his initiative.
Duke cleared his throat and stood. He couldn’t lower himself, speaking while Headmaster Smith looked down at him. “Thank you, Headmaster. I’m intrigued by that statement, Viscount Geeza. Would you please elaborate? I wish to know how Marquess Wolf Hillman drove you into acting.”
The seventy-five-year-old Viscount bowed. If Duke Silverhound intervened on their behalf, the Geeza family would be spared. As for him dying; he had some twenty years left, but he preferred losing his head than ruining his descendants.
“Marquess Hillman threatened to ‘take care of our entire families’ during a distasteful event which occurred at the Mage Academy last year.” The old man spoke, holding his head high. Duke Silverhound gave him a way out. Addressing Wolf by his title gave the old Viscount a hint. ‘Play the oppressed weak party in an unjust conflict.’
And the elderly Viscount did. “If not for that incident, my Geeza family wouldn’t have gotten involved in this mess. Our circumstances do not justify our actions. However. However, the fault for what happens doesn’t rest solely on us…”
A handful of nobles vigorously bobbed their heads. Marquess Bradley Hoefler nodded once. He approved of the Duke’s chosen spokesman. Old man Geeza was dignified and calm. Others would’ve put on a pathetic display, which would disgust the crowd, while he himself was Wolf’s peer and couldn’t play the underdog.
Wolf watched with slight confusion. I pushed them into doing this? And they honestly believe it?
He focused his mind on thinking about destroying their families and felt nothing. Wolf then considered leaving them alone, and again, nothing happened. When he imagined letting Smith go even if he had killed Mandy, Wolf felt those shackles rattle.
Nope. Wolf confirmed. I never intended, nor vowed to destroy their families. Is this a misunderstanding?
“… we couldn’t sleep properly, nightmares of our ruined houses haunting us.” Viscount Geeza painted the picture Duke Silverhound wanted, and the gathered crowd needed, to justify himself in the eyes of the public. “In conclusion, I was wrong. I shouldn’t have plotted against my betters. I will pay for my sins with my life, but I implore Your Honor to be merciful towards my family.”
It was a decent speech. Several spectators clapped their hands, starting a round of applause.
The heinous plotter and murderer from a moment ago became a martyr, sacrificing himself for his family. A man of integrity, willing to admit his wrongs and face justice, only asking for innocents not to bear his sin.
Headmaster Smith saw the public address for what it was, a sappy soliloquy to skirt the law. But in the game of power, justice and law didn’t matter. Power, public appearance and vindication. You could bend laws with those three in your favor. And with enough power, you could break or rewrite them.
Dukes elected the Emperor amongst themselves, yet a barbarian outsider sat on the throne. The reason was simple - Darius had the power to make it happen.
Duke Silverhound raised his hand, silencing the applause. “We shall take this into account when determining the punishment for your families. However, murder and plotting against your betters is still a capital offense and your sentence remains unchanged.”
“Yes, Your Honor.” Viscount Geeza bowed, as did Marquess Hoefler.
The rest stood frozen. They hoped Viscount Geeza’s speech would get them off the hook, but that was impossible. After one stunned moment, they realized their children had escaped punishment. They bowed, glancing at others with worse fates.
As he watched them, the Duke rubbed his eye with his right hand, covering his lips.
How far will you push this? he mouthed, locking his gaze with Headmaster Smith’s while concealing those words from the crowd.
It was a valid question. If they followed this rabbit hole all the way to the bottom, hundreds of heads would roll, maybe thousands.
“Do you have any last wishes?” Headmaster Smith asked, stating that he was only after the ringleaders.
“I wish Lord Hillman to be my executioner,” Count Farah said in an outburst of madness, smiling demonically.
All his plots were in vain. If he knew this would happen, he would have silently awaited the demotion of his noble rank. But he could tear one last bit of flesh before he died. If he wasn’t the only one…
“I wish Lord Hillman to be my executioner.” Several others joined him in one final attempt to smear Wolf with their blood. A Marquess whose reign started with him executing his lessers created a tyrannical reputation Wolf’s enemies could use in the future.
Viscount Geeza remained silent, while Wolf raised an eyebrow. He certainly wouldn’t mind dispatching these monsters personally.
Unlike the naive youth, Headmaster Smith spotted the plot. “Marquess Wolf Hillman—”
“I’ll do it, Sir.” Wolf agreed to the dying men’s request, unaware that Headmaster Smith wanted to reject them. In his young mind, he wasn’t a noble lowering himself to execute prisoners, he was a hero dispatching villains.
Headmaster Smith choked on his words. He didn’t want Wolf to make the same stupid mistakes he did, but apparently, human nature craved faults and flaws.
“I hope you take good care of my great-granddaughter.” Viscount Geeza’s wish differed from the insane requests of his peers. He saw room to play one final move.
Since he’d disowned his granddaughter, Anna’s mother, the connection between him and Anna was flimsy, but the blood relation still existed. He reminded Wolf that Anna’s grandmother was a Geeza, and that moving against them was acting against Anna’s family.
Wolf nodded, then turned towards the Duke. “Can I execute them now, or should we wait for something?”
The Duke was stunned. Even Headmaster Smith’s face twisted into a grimace. Can you not make such statements in full view of the public?
“Since that’s their wish, now is acceptable,” Duke Silverhound passed his judgment. Since you want to start your reign with terror and death, who am I to stop you…
The men about to die stood tall. Wolf didn’t reach the shoulders of the shortest of them.
“Do you want a stool, my Lord?” Count Baskerville raised his voice, delivering one final blow to Wolf. But before he got to laugh, the world spun around him.
Wolf stood on the platform, down below. He grasped a long-sword in his shackled hands, and a bunch of headless bodies next to him sprayed blood.
“No need.” Those words echoed in Count Baskerville’s ears as his head plopped against wood and the world around him grew black.
In a flash, Wolf finished the deed. Heads thumping against the wooden boards entered his ears like the beating of morbid drums. He took a deep breath, smelling iron. He instinctively stored splashes of blood into his Ring of Holding, then splattered a giant red globule onto the planks.
This didn’t ease my hatred at all. Anna and Mandy suffered slander every day because of these shit-heads. Wolf wanted to kill them over and over until he grew tired of it.
Even though Lord of Steel hadn’t inquired about it, Wolf knew these guys fabricated stories, pulling Anna and Mandy through the mud.
“Father!”
“Father!”
“Uncle!”
Dozens of involved spectators shouted in grief, breaking the spell of shocked silence and drawing Wolf back to reality.
Spectators stared in disbelief. They didn’t even see how it happened, but five Counts, three Viscounts and two Barons lay dead on the elevated stage before them. Wolf didn’t flinch after killing so many men in close quarters. In fact, he appeared like he hadn’t had enough.
The crowd felt like mountains pressed their chests. They struggled to breathe, stifled by the sudden display of brutality. Wolf seemed so frail and tiny, yet with the backdrop of spraying blood, he looked like a true monster.
