The Execution
“Those rejected by the door harbor malice toward us. They shall be executed here and now,” Ferdinand announced.
“As you wish. These men are all firmly in the mayor’s faction. I have no defense for them. Rather, I am grateful that the Door of Judgment has proved the innocence of everyone else,” Richt responded.
Ferdinand knelt in front of me. My heart was pounding hard. The blood drained from my face as the realization hit me that these people were about to be executed. It wasn’t necessarily a surprise, since Ferdinand had said that the mayor would be executed from the very start, but now that it was happening before me, my heart thumped painfully and a cold sweat ran down my back.
“Rozemyne, do not avert your gaze.”
“...Okay.”
Neither Richt nor anyone else in the plaza seemed to feel any sympathy for those who had dragged them into this mess. Or, well, maybe that wasn’t the right way to put it. They didn’t seem to feel any disgust or hesitation toward them, either. Everyone was simply acting like it was completely natural for those deemed to be traitors or harmful to the community to be executed; they were wrongdoers for putting the entire city at risk, and this was a just punishment.
“Justus.”
“At once, Lord Ferdinand.”
Justus headed to the large box that had been brought onto the stage and opened the lock with a loud clink. The front side of the box opened flat, revealing its contents—five shallow drawers stacked on top of each other like a makeshift filing cabinet. But from where I was standing, I couldn’t see what was inside them.
“Ferdinand, what is in those drawers?”
“Hasse’s identification medals.”
He was apparently referring to the citizenship medals that we stamped our blood onto during our baptism ceremonies. In the city of Ehrenfest, the temple took care of registrations, marriages, and cancellations due to deaths. But elsewhere, the registrations were all done during the Harvest Festival, with the mayor sending word upon the death of a citizen. Scholars in the castle managed the medals themselves, following reports from priests and tax officials to keep them all properly organized.
“We brought them all here since we did not know how many executions there would be, but in general, they are not to be taken outside the castle,” Ferdinand explained. I could guess that it was like taking a box of confidential papers outside of a government office, in which case it made sense that the scholar in charge of them would need to stay close and keep a close eye out.
Justus took out a piece of parchment and called out to Eckhart. “Make sure nobody gets close.”
Eckhart brought out his schtappe and transformed it into a sword, before taking up position beside the box. He held his blade at the ready, prepared to cut down anyone who got close, which was enough to show just how valuable the box was.
“Justus. Begin.”
“As you wish, Lord Ferdinand.”
Justus gripped his schtappe and chanted “messer,” turning it into a knife. With the sheet of parchment still in hand, he walked up to the light-bound traitors sprawled out on the stage, their faces twisting in fear as they watched his feet approach. A couple choked out hoarse cries for help, but nobody answered their calls as Justus knelt down to stamp the closest man’s blood.
The traitor’s thumb was slightly pushed out between the bands binding him, at which point Justus pricked it with his knife. As the blood started seeping through, Justus pushed the fresh cut against the parchment, producing a slowly expanding red stain.
Ow, ow!
Even though it wasn’t happening to me personally, I could almost feel the pain as I watched the knife pierce the skin and draw blood. I wrapped my hand around my thumb in shared discomfort and shifted my focus so as to see as little of what was happening as possible.
Once Justus had confirmed that the blood was firmly stamped against the parchment, he smoothly whipped his knife through the air. The slight amount of red that had been streaking down the blade seemed to disappear into thin air.
Huh...? The knife is clean again?
Justus held up the blood-marked parchment to the crowd, proving that it had been stamped, which elicited cheers from the citizens and an approving nod from Ferdinand. He then headed to the next prone man, pressed his blood against the parchment, and showed the crowd again. This process repeated.
“Ferdinand, what in the world is Justus doing?”
“Selecting the identification medals. It is the work of priests and scholars to handle them.”
For nobles, the identification stamping that was done during every baptism ceremony registered their mana. For commoners, however, it only registered their blood. That was why, during my first baptism, I had simply needed to press my blood against a white, flat-looking stone. I naturally hadn’t written anything on it, nor had I even been asked my name.
These medals were stored according to what year they had been registered, but beyond that, there was no quick way to identify whose was whose. They were instead usually tracked using blood; during funerals, they would place the medal on the body to ensure that it belonged to the person in question. To this end, Ferdinand had taken some of my blood to find my medal during Myne’s funeral.
I hadn’t noticed, though, because I was unconscious.
For funerals held outside Ehrenfest, some of the deceased’s blood was smeared on a wooden board, which was then given to the scholar who visited the city during the Harvest Festival. They then sent the boards to the castle along with the collected taxes. These boards would be returned with the medals attached, which would then serve as grave markers.
As Ferdinand explained the system to me, Justus walked over to the final person.
“You won’t get away with this...!” she cried, the only woman among the six traitors. She was the mayor’s wife, glaring at us with hate in her eyes and tears streaming down her cheeks as the bands of light kept her bound.
That’s terrifying...
As I continued to endure her intense glower, my throat bobbed, goosebumps rose on my arms, and my hands started to tremble a little. I wanted to step back and hide in Ferdinand’s shadow, or at least look away, but I had been told that I needed to watch the entire execution. I had no choice but to keep looking at her, so I clenched my teeth and tightly clasped my hands, trying to at least stop them from shaking so visibly.
As the wife and I continued staring at one another, Justus finished the blood stamp. He, at least, seemed entirely unfazed. With the last one complete, he wove his knife through the air while saying something and returned it to schtappe form. He then waved the schtappe around again, this time saying “auswahl,” which made the blood-stamped parchment ignite in golden flames like a magic contract. It flew over the box being guarded by Eckhart, trailing fire behind it, then burned away into golden light that sprinkled down onto the drawers.
Instantly, the drawers started to rumble without anyone touching them. The topmost and second topmost ones both launched themselves open and shut, acting strangely until six medals suddenly shot out from within.
“Oooh!”
Awed cries could be heard from the crowd as the ivory medals used to register the people as citizens flew into the air before settling into Justus’s hands. He looked over them carefully, then smoothly walked in front of Ferdinand and kneeled.
“Here are the medals, Lord Ferdinand.”
Justus held up the medals gracefully and, once Ferdinand had accepted them with a nod of gratitude, stood up and briskly returned to the box. He firmly clasped the lock back on, then stood in front of it protectively.
“Rozemyne, step back and stand by Justus,” Ferdinand said, before waving his free hand to make his schtappe appear within it. I could guess he was about to use some magic, so I did as requested, leaving only Ferdinand standing in the center of the stage.
He scanned the area as if making sure there was nobody near, then held his schtappe high in the air. Mana poured from its tip, forming letters and complex designs in the air.
“Aah, it’s my first time seeing this!” Justus exclaimed, his brown eyes wider than usual and gleaming with joy. He was leaning forward slightly, absorbing as much as he could of the magic circle that Ferdinand was drawing in the air.
“Justus, what’s about to happen?”
“The execution of the traitors, milady. This is a spell taught only to archduke candidates, so nobody is allowed near when it’s being cast. That way, they can’t hear the chant he’s saying, or see the details of the complex magic circle,” Justus explained. “I knew there existed a spell specifically for executing traitors, but I’d never gotten the opportunity to see it. This kinda thing is really rare, since usually nobody even thinks about acting against the archduke. Aah, I’m so glad I wormed my way into coming along!”
Seeing Justus clench his fists and shake with excitement at the upcoming execution, I deeply understood why Ferdinand had given such a terrible grimace when he arrived to accompany us. I took a full step back.
“You’ll be learning this spell yourself one day, milady. Please send word to me if you ever get the opportunity to use it.”
“I will pray to the gods that such a day never comes.” Nor shall I tell you if one does, I added silently, before looking back to the execution.
Ferdinand swung his schtappe as he stood in the center of the stage. He must have completed forming the magic circle with his mana by that point, as a black mist wavering like fire spewed out from within. Perhaps it was a spell connected to the God of Darkness. It looked a lot like the mana-sucking black mist that I had seen during the ambush at last year’s Spring Prayer, so the dots weren’t hard to connect.
Keeping his eyes locked on the ominous black magic circle, Ferdinand’s lips moved in a chant. He then tossed the medals into it. They stopped in midair, as if sticking to the magic circle, before getting completely enveloped by the black mist.
“Eckhart, release their bindings!”
“Yes, sir!”
At Ferdinand’s order, Eckhart quickly whipped his schtappe, making the light binding the six people disappear in the blink of an eye.
The now freed traitors reacted in a variety of ways. Some blinked in confusion, remaining sprawled on the ground, unsure what was going on. Others screamed and tried to run, one of whom raced directly toward Ferdinand in an attempt to take him down with them. It was the mayor’s wife.
“Ferdinand?!” I cried as I saw her sprinting toward him at the center of the stage. But despite my desperate cry, Ferdinand didn’t even blink; he spoke with his eyes locked on the magic circle, not even sparing the woman a glance.
“Fear not. There is nothing they can do.”
In the end, they were afforded only a brief moment of movement. Both the mayor, who had stood up on wavering legs to flee, and his wife, who had tried to attack Ferdinand, froze in place after a few steps. Then, they dropped down onto the stage. When they attempted to stand back up, while they could move their arms, their legs were completely paralyzed.
“Ngh! My... My legs!” the woman screamed.
Soon, the others started crying out as well—voices of pain, fear, and desperation.
I narrowed my eyes as I watched them closer, and that was when I noticed their feet had turned light gray. At first, I assumed they were all simply wearing matching shoes, but then the color spread to their clothes. They were gradually being dyed gray, and the further it advanced, the less they could move.
“...It looks like their legs are being turned to stone.”
“That should spread across their entire bodies,” Justus replied, now leaning forward even more eagerly without even trying to hide his enthusiasm.
I really couldn’t share his enjoyment. Had Ferdinand not been shooting me the occasional harsh glare, I would have already closed my eyes and covered my ears so that I wouldn’t have to see their writhing bodies or hear their piercing screams.
The black mist eroded the medals like acid, the white stones breaking apart from all sides. By the time they had been reduced to half their original size, the prisoners were gray up to their waists. Their torsos hardened before my eyes, and as the color reached their necks, they lost even the ability to scream.
When the medals had broken apart entirely, the prisoners were gray from head to toe, frozen like statues. Ferdinand then whipped his schtappe, making the magic circle disappear.
In an instant, all six statues broke apart. Large cracks had run through them, spreading until each person collapsed onto the stage with a heavy thud. The impact was enough to shatter them completely, sending large chunks of what looked like stone all over the place. These fragments then began to crumble like sand until, eventually, their ash-like remains were carried away on the still-cold spring wind.
They had no medals to attach to their gravestones, and no bodies to bury. Traitors were allowed no burial, nor were they permitted to be mourned.
This is awful...
I couldn’t stop thinking about their faces, twisted in fear and despair, their mouths agape in dying screams that still rang in my ears. The looks of agonized suffering that remained in their eyes until their very last moments were burned into my mind, having been frozen on their statue-like faces before they were turned to ash and blown away on the wind. No human being should have to die like that.
“Spectacular. Wasn’t that wonderful, milady?” Justus asked excitedly. But I didn’t even have the motivation to put on a fake smile and nod; how could he have been so excited to watch people be killed in such a horrid, disrespectful manner?
That was... beyond words.
My toes felt unnaturally cold. The contents of my stomach stirred as I was overwhelmed with disgust. I would have actually preferred to pass out completely than experience the emotions that were surging through me, but I wasn’t low on stamina or mana. All I could do was stand at the edge of the stage and continue to watch, not even allowed to close my eyes.
The plaza was silent, and everyone present wore expressions that made their terror toward the nobility clear. They had just witnessed the immense power that nobles wielded and been thoroughly taught that their lives could be taken away at any moment.
With the spectacle over, Richt, who had been kneeling on the opposite side of the stage, stood up to address the crowd in a clear voice. “Everyone, the traitors are now gone. They stood against our archduke and put our entire city at risk. Our good names were sullied due to their actions. To restore our honor, we must work to repay the damage they caused until our newly baptized children come of age, and yet more years after that. We must act together so that the mercy of the Saint of Ehrenfest, who saved us from execution as traitors, will not go unrewarded. The journey ahead will no doubt be tough, but it is a journey that must be made.”
Richt looked just as fearful as the crowd he was speaking to, but even so, he was doing his absolute best to try and get Hasse back on its feet. This was not the end; it was the beginning of a new decade, during which Hasse would repay the archduke’s family, and seeing their determination moved me.
It’s not over yet. Not for Hasse. And not for me, as the Saint of Ehrenfest.
I took deep, deep breaths to collect myself. The screams were still echoing in my ears, but I couldn’t let them distract me forever. Handling the situation in Hasse after the mayor’s execution was part of the task that I had been given; I needed to work together with Richt as much as possible to help the city recover.
And so, I deliberately walked to the center of the stage, acting as calm and graceful as I could. I stopped beside Ferdinand, all the while fighting down the bile that had risen up my throat as I moved. All eyes were on me, from both the crowd gathered in the plaza and the people remaining on the stage.
The moment I closed my eyes, memories of the guilty writhing in pain and terror flashed through my mind. I shook my head to force them away, took a powerful step forward, and raised my head.
“Here you are,” Ferdinand said, handing me the voice-amplifying magic tool. I gripped it tightly, moved it to my mouth, and then sucked in air.
“People of Hasse...” I began to address the crowd, but my voice was quivering slightly. I swallowed, trying to steady myself, then took another breath. “People of Hasse,” I repeated, this time sounding a bit better, “please endure for just one year.”
Relieved that I had managed to push down my unease, I continued. Nobles used the enormous power of mana to strike pure terror into the hearts of commoners, but it was also used to save their lives. I had been given the role of a saint, so I needed to play my part and give hope to Hasse and its citizens.
“Whether Spring Prayer is held in Hasse next year will all depend on how the archduke perceives your efforts in the meantime. I shall do what I can, but the deciding factor will be your own actions.”
The aghast expressions of the farmers lit up slightly when they heard that—by working hard, they might still get Spring Prayer next year. Some started whispering that they could surely manage so long as it was just one year, and the returning hope in their faces lightened the burden on my shoulders a little.
“It has been proven that none among you harbor traitorous intentions. Now, please prove through action that you wish to atone for your crimes; I would like to visit Hasse during Spring Prayer next year to offer prayers and blessings to you all.”
At that, cheers erupted from the crowd. Amid the noise, Ferdinand instructed me to bring forth my highbeast, and together we headed to the monastery. Joining me in my Pandabus was Fran, Zahm, Brigitte, and Justus with his big box.
“That was absolutely wonderful, Lady Rozemyne.”
“Thank you, Brigitte.”
I managed to smile back, but my head was spinning. My chest ached, and my stomach churned like my body was trying to throw up all the bad feelings inside of me. I wanted to escape reality, either immersing myself in books or going to sleep to provide a brief respite from my thoughts.
When we landed in front of the door to the monastery, we were greeted by gray priests, the Gilberta Company, and everyone’s attendants, all of whom were kneeling in wait.
“Justus, Eckhart, Damuel, Brigitte—prepare your rooms within the chapel,” Ferdinand said, handing each of them a red feystone.
They all got to work at once with their attendants, with Justus ordering his to carry the big box out of my highbeast.
Now that everyone was out of my Pandabus, I put it away. Drained both physically and mentally, I hung my head, only for a bitter rush of vomit to catch in my throat once again. I couldn’t throw up here and now with everyone watching, so I desperately swallowed it down and wiped my teary eyes with my sleeve.
“Rozemyne, you seem... unwell. You need rest. Attendants, prepare her room,” Ferdinand instructed.
My attendants hurriedly stood up and went inside. I had given Gil a magic tool to open my hidden room since he had gone to the monastery first, but while the room would be ready to some degree, there were still some things that had to be organized before I could rest.
I saw my attendants off, in a complete daze, then aimlessly looked around. That was when I saw Dad among the people who had come out to greet us. He looked incredibly worried, and it was immediately obvious that he was wracking his brain for anything that he could do to comfort me.
A single thought ran through my mind: I wanted to run over, call him “Dad,” and sob into his chest.
“Rozemyne.”
“...Ah.”
Ferdinand placed a hand on my shoulder, and I immediately came back to my senses. I would never be permitted to do anything like that. I lowered the arms that I had started to raise, putting my foot back down before I could start moving toward him.
Ferdinand gestured me forward, but no sooner had I started walking than Dad offered me his thick cloak.
“Lady Rozemyne, I offer you this cloak, if you would accept it. You look very cold.”
I looked at the cloak, and then up at Ferdinand, who shot Dad a firm look. But Dad simply returned the glare, continuing to hold out the cloak.
Ferdinand looked down with narrowed eyes for a moment, then furrowed his brow. “Are you cold, Rozemyne?”
“Yes, I’m cold. I’m... very, very cold. I thank you ever so much, Gunther.”
I took the cloak from Dad and hugged it close. It was a little dusty but not enough to mask his smell, which made me feel both relief and bitter sadness. I buried my face in the cloak on the spot.
“High Bishop. Have this if you’re still cold.”
“No, this one’s a lot warmer.”
Unexpected voices called out to me, and for a second, the tears stopped. I looked up and saw five soldiers all holding out their cloaks to me. I couldn’t help but smile a little as I saw the row of men forming a cloak wall in front of me, and the heaviness in my heart seemed to lighten ever so slightly.
“I’m afraid that I would be unable to carry any more, but I appreciate the concern. May you all be blessed for your kindness.”
With the cloak in hand, I went to my hidden room, where I found my attendants busily moving around to prepare things for me to sleep. I moved to a corner and started spreading out Dad’s cloak, hoping to wrap myself up in it and stay out of everyone’s way.
“Rozemyne, let me see that for a second.”
“No,” I replied, hugging the cloak tightly to protect it from Ferdinand’s outstretched hand. He rubbed his temples, then quickly snatched one end.
“You cannot bring it to bed as is. I will merely be cleansing it. Give it to me.”
“...Cleansing?” I asked, tilting my head.
Ferdinand used that opening to steal the cloak. He took out his schtappe and began chanting something right then and there, causing a ball of water to appear from seemingly nowhere. It engulfed the cloak before quickly disappearing again.
“What was that spell?”
“As I said, a cleansing spell.”
It was apparently an essential spell for knights when they spent multiple days on feybeast hunting trips, as it could be used for cleaning both one’s body and tools.
“I didn’t know that magic could be so convenient. I’ve never heard of that spell before.”
“It would be unnecessary for you to learn, since you have attendants and servants,” Ferdinand explained.
It was considered a waste for nobles to use mana to clean themselves when they could simply have somebody else do it. But in circumstances such as these, where one had to stay outside without any attendants accompanying them, there was no other choice.
“This is a special exception. It would be a disaster for you to bring that to bed, but there is no time to clean it now,” he continued, plopping the cloak on my head. It was clean now, and the dusty smell was gone. “Rest well. I shall explain the circumstances to the Gilberta Company.”
At that, he exited the room, as if to say that his business here was done.
As I passed the time smelling the cloak, I heard Gil tell Fran that he had brought in enough hot water. Monika then promptly chased them both out of the room.
“Lady Rozemyne, your bath is ready. Would the men be so kind as to leave?”
That day, I slept with my head buried in Dad’s cloak. The nasty, distressing feelings faded, and I didn’t have a single bad dream.
No Comments Yet
Post a new comment
Register or Login