Chapter 243: Showdown

The morning sun hung up across Rujgard, pouring amber across the Grand Municipal Plaza.

Normally, the citizens wouldn’t cross the street to watch a bloated imperial noble get his throat slit. Executions were Tuesday morning in Rujgard. But today, the plaza was packed shoulder to shoulder with thousands of people.

Because the rumors had that two of the Four Lords had supposedly been slaughtered. The city was a mess now, and every rogue with a rusty dagger was waiting to see who held the match.

Suddenly, the crowd went dead silent.

Strolling out onto the raised marble scaffold came the undisputed ringmaster of the circus. Vane moved with that loose, swaggering predator’s limp, his spiked black hair catching the glare, a massive, jagged butcher’s cleaver resting casually against his shoulder.

In his free hand, he swung a runic megaphone by its strap like a kid carrying a tin pail.

Behind him, two enforcers dragged out Baron Kiliyan, kicking and blubbering. The bloated aristocrat was wrapped in an iron chain, dropped onto his knees beside a pitted wooden chopping block, sobbing so hard snot was pooling in his silver mustache.

Vane tapped the megaphone twice with his knuckles.

"Good morning, my delightful degenerate and high-society ladies of Rujgard!" Vane’s voice boomed, dripping with theatrical, rabid charm. "We have some spicy administrative updates for you all!"

He paused, pacing along the edge, grinning ear to ear like an auctioneer about to sell prime beef.

"Now, I know what you’re all whispering about down there. The rumors!" Vane put a dramatic hand over his heart, feigning grief with an exaggerated pout. "So let’s just rip the bandage off, shall we? Yes, my precious little psychos... it is true! Our beloved, charismatic Lord of Meat, Branagh, and our Lord of Contracts, Silas... are officially dead!"

A collective, stunned silence washed over the crowd. Thousands of criminals stood frozen, blinking up at the scaffold as if he had just casually announced a fifteen-percent discount on ale.

Vane let out a loud, theatrical sigh, strolling casually toward the shivering noble.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Tragic, right? Truly, the underworld weeps," Vane droned, tapping his cleaver against his thigh. Then his expression twisted into a wild, manic leer.

He leaned forward, roaring straight into the megaphone with feral, electrifying fury:

"WHO THE FUCK CARES?!"

"They fucking deserved it!" Vane yelled, his eyes alight with manic exhilaration as he walked across the platform. "What is the only law written into the dirt of this glorious cesspool?! You either hunt, or you get hunted! Branagh and Silas got hunted? Because they were weak!"

He spread his arms wide to the sky.

"And do you know what that means, my ambitious citizens?!" Vane’s voice soared, intoxicating and wild. "Two sovereign seats of the Four Lords are completely vacant! The throne of Contracts! The throne of Flesh! They’re sitting wide open in the dark, just begging for someone with enough iron in their spine and blood on their hands to climb up and take them!"

The plaza detonated.

A deafening roar erupted from the thousands of throats below. In an instant, Vane had flipped a brewing municipal panic into a bloodthirsty, predatory frenzy.

Vane lowered the megaphone, chuckling with raspy, satisfied delight as the chaos swirled below. He turned his attention back to the execution block, nudging Baron Kiliyan with his boot.

"Now, now! Settle down, you greedy bastards!" Vane laughed, raising a placating palm. "Before the open auditions begin... before the sovereign selection committee opens its doors... we still have a little bit of unfinished business to attend to. Pest control."

Vane rested the flat of his serrated cleaver across Kiliyan’s trembling neck, the door.

"Now, before we turn this guy into sausages," Vane drawled into the megaphone, his eyes sweeping across the howling sea of people with mocking theater, "in the grand tradition of municipal legal justice, does anyone down there have a formal objection? Any brave little soul want to step up to the podium and advocate for this noble piece of trash?"

The square chuckled as jeers and whistles rose from the mercenaries.

Then, right from the center of the dense crowd, a single hand rose casually into the air.

Vane’s eyes locked onto it, and his grin widened. "Well, we have a defense attorney! Let’s welcome our distinguished legal counsel to the dais!"

The sea of thugs parted like dirty water, muttering curses and gripping dagger hilts with murderous fury as they got a clear look at the intruder.

Eren walked through the aisle with effortless, arrogant leisure while dragging Alice behind him by a firm grip on her slender wrist.

Her golden hair was tied back, and she wore a simple linen traveler’s tunic to hide the thick bandages across her chest. She cradled the Shadow Cat cub, which glared at the surrounding butchers with violet eyes. Alice wore a silver earring Carolynn had left behind.

The crowd scoffed, spitting on the stones as the young duo passed, but the sheer, brazen audacity of their walk kept every blade in its sheath.

Eren stepped up the marble stairs, leading Alice onto the high terrace without breaking stride.

Vane threw his arms wide open in grand, theatrical welcome, the serrated cleaver dangling loose in his right fist. "Well, well, well! If it isn’t the guest of honor! The mystery tourist who decided to turn our quaint, peaceful little territory into an absolute chaos!"

Eren smiled. He matched Vane’s manic grin beat for beat, his blue eyes sparkling.

"Thanks for the glowing hospitality, Vane," Eren drawled smoothly, rolling his shoulders as he glanced at the blood-slicked chopping block. "Honestly, the local accommodations were too good. Fresh air, lively streets, lovely bonfires... It’s been a genuinely pleasant vacation."

Vane chuckled, his gaze flicking Eren up and down. "Whisper said you were a real prickly little bastard."

"Did he also mention how hard he cried when I took his arm off at the elbow?"

A ripple of nervous silence passed through the front-row thugs below, but Vane didn’t snap.

He threw his head back and burst into a wild, howling laugh that echoed across the stone walls of the plaza.

"Gods above, I love you crazy bastards!" Vane wheezed, wiping a tear of pure delight from his eye before holding out the brass megaphone toward Eren’s chest.

"You’ve got balls of steel, kid! Go on, then. Take the floor. Let’s hear your grand defense! Give your last words to the fine citizens of Rujgard!"