Chapter 132: Public Execution

Two full days had crawled by since Craig formally submitted his bureaucratic entry requests to the Migration Department.

Thanks to the quiet, behind-the-scenes influence and tacit approval of Viscount Mysar—who viewed any enemy of the Black Winter syndicate as a temporary party of interest—the administrative clearance was expedited and approved within a remarkably swift seven hours.

However, the bureaucratic cogs of the Internal Security Service had ground forward at a much more sluggish pace.

Their background checks were exhaustive, intrusive, and far more intensive, requiring multiple verifications of the group’s registry claims.

But in the end, all hurdles were successfully cleared, and Craig’s traveling party officially received full permission to access the high-security maritime port.

On a crisp morning following their clearance, the four travelers—Craig, Annie, Ser Damian, and Ser Hughway—were spotted strolling casually through the bustling, vibrant market streets of Makari Town.

They wore relaxed traveling attire suited for independent merchants and their guards.

Ser Hughway’s broadsword remained strapped securely to his waist, perfectly complementing his cover role as a seasoned sell-sword hired for protection.

Meanwhile, Annie carried a woven market basket, tasked with gathering fresh fruits, crisp vegetables, and durable spare clothing for the upcoming sea voyage across the northern waters.

To shield her face from the beating sun, she wore a simple black cloth hat pulled low over her brow.

As they wove through the crowded thoroughfares, they noticed groups of townspeople hurrying past them, whispering frantically among themselves with grim, tense expressions carved into their faces.

They were returning from the central stalls after successfully procuring all their necessary provisions when the entire atmosphere of the street suddenly shifted.

The crowds began to stir aggressively, ordinary citizens and merchants abandoning their carts and surging in a unified wave toward a singular destination.

Intrigued by the sudden commotion, Craig stepped forward and reached out, firmly grabbing the shoulder of a young local man hurrying past.

The man spun around, his face flushing with immediate anger at the rude interruption.

But before he could unleash a tirade, Craig offered a disarming, polite smile, raising his hands in a placating gesture.

"My deepest apologies for the abruptness, friend," Craig said smoothly, his tone instantly defusing the stranger’s anger. "I had little choice given the rush. Might I ask what is happening? Why is everyone rushing toward the town square?"

The young man’s irritation melted away under Craig’s polite demeanor, replaced by an eager, gossip-driven excitement.

A wide grin spread across his face.

"You must be new in town!" the man exclaimed quickly. "The traitors from the Adramelech Village are being publicly executed in a few minutes! Everyone is rushing to the town square to witness justice being served!"

Without waiting for another word, the man spun back around and sprinted off into the churning crowd, leaving Craig and his party standing by the roadside.

"Adramelech Village?" Annie murmured softly from beneath the shadow of her black hat, tilting her head. "Isn’t that the very same settlement we confirmed was harboring spies and informants for the Black Winter syndicate?"

Craig offered a calm, knowing smile, gently adjusting the brim of his pointy black hat as he watched the rushing crowds. "Indeed it is. It seems Viscount Mysar’s intelligence network conducted a far more thorough investigation than we initially anticipated, unearthing the village’s betrayal."

He turned his gaze toward Annie, his expression shifting into something more deliberate.

"Let’s go take a look. This should prove quite educational."

Annie blinked, looking up at him. "An execution, My Lord?"

"Yes," Craig smiled softly. "This is likely your very first time witnessing a public execution. Soon enough, as you train harder and grow steadily stronger—much like your brother—you will become one of the primary lethal pillars of my faction.

Experiences like this are necessary. I need to prepare you mentally for the harsh realities of power on this continent."

With that, Craig led his small party forward, following the trailing edge of the crowd until they reached the massive, stone-paved town square.

From a safe distance, they blended seamlessly into the sea of spectators who had gathered around a towering wooden scaffold erected at the center of the plaza.

Secured to the raised platform were seven miserable figures—men chained tightly together in rusted irons, dressed in blood-stained tattered rags, and bearing the visible, brutal marks of intense prior torture.

Surrounding the perimeter of the platform stood an elite squad of armed security enforcers, clad in heavy black armor and wearing dark, menacing face masks that concealed their identities.

At the edge of the platform, the official spokesman for the Viscount’s administrative office stepped forward, holding a scroll.

He raised his voice, addressing the assembled masses with formal gravity.

He opened by reminding the populace of the tragedy that had struck the viscounty a week prior—the brutal, cowardly assassination of young heir Vickor Kartrina by operatives of the Black Winter syndicate.

He reaffirmed the sovereign decree that designated the syndicate as a ruthless terrorist organization that must be hunted down and eradicated without mercy.

Pointedly raising his voice, the spokesman gestured angrily toward the wretched men bound behind him. "Yet, while we fight the shadow war against terrorists, we must purge the rot from within!

These foolish, spineless wretches standing before you are confirmed traitors who conspired directly with the enemies of our realm—colluding with the very assassins responsible for the death of our beloved young lord!"

The crowd erupted into furious jeers and shouts of condemnation, hurling curses at the captives.

"For their treason against the Asherian Viscounty, they shall be put to death!" the spokesman declared with absolute finality.

"Their wretched bodies shall be cast out beyond the walls to be fed to the wild abominations, while their severed heads shall be mounted upon spikes in the ruined square of Adramelech Village, serving as an eternal warning to anyone else foolish enough to sell out their homeland!"

The spokesman stepped back, raising his hand and giving a sharp, descending signal to the executioner waiting silently in the center of the platform.

The executioner stepped forward.

He stood tall and unyielding, his face entirely obscured by a dark iron mask, holding a heavy, broad executioner’s blade that gleamed coldly in the sunlight.

One by one, the condemned traitors shivered as they were dragged forward to the block, forced to their knees, and met their grim, inevitable fate, the heavy thud of steel cutting through the tense morning air as justice was ruthlessly executed in the heart of Makari Town.