How is the bastard this fast?
The [Lord] was running like the devil itself was at his heels, but it was only an injured [Maid]. Small consolation.
He was running through the town, screaming as his potion slowly healed his lungs, and the [Maid] was chasing. She had a crossbow bolt in her thigh, but she was still faster, Fayette was gradually catching up.
The market ahead, just need to keep up a bit, and then—
And then a leg shot in from behind a building to trip up the [Lord], and he fell down, skidding onto his face. Fayette slowed down, staggering to a stop. She was… at the town’s central square? There were people.
The [Lord]-tripping foot went back a step, then with a hop, Marat the [Journalist] stepped on top of the [Lord’s] back and turned to face the confused [Maid]. He was smiling, wearing a dark navy-blue cloak and a black top hat. He tipped his hat, smiling as carefree as he had before, back down in the mine's mess hall. But now the same expression looked vicious.
“Greetings, miss. I was hoping you would arrive soon. Pierre does not like to wait,” The curly-haired man said, grinning, and he jumped off the sprawled [Lord], towards Fayette.
A tall and thick-set figure stepped out of the shadows, cloak billowing ominously. Fayette felt her [Dangersense] tingle as the figure stepped closer, but it stopped at the [Lord], crouched down, and started hauling him away, dragging him in line with the others.
Others. Fayette’s eyes widened as she looked beyond the pair, to the centre of the square. Lined up next to a central block of wood, three figures were shackled down. First, the [Mage] who had bound the elemental, on his knees before the block of wood. First in line.
Behind him stood [Lord] Marcel—somehow still alive—but burned almost unrecognizable. A third, shorter hooded figure was bound behind him. They seemed to be in a daze, barely conscious of what was happening around them.
The tall figure threw the new [Lord] forward, and with a cry of pain, he joined the others as last in the line. Shackles were snapped on his hands, and then the hulking man stepped away, fading back to the shadows.
“You—what is this?” Fayette asked. She had just been fighting for her life… and suddenly all these men were in chains and waiting for… what exactly? Her eyes went to the first figure. “I thought that [Mage] flew away. How do you have him?”
Marat’s eyes flashed red as he opened up his right hand, revealing a gleaming red gemstone within. “He was quite easy to find, carrying something like this around.” He nodded at the tall figure who loomed over the line of prisoners. “And my friend is a bit of a specialist in arranging captures.”
“Is that what this is?” Fayette asked, eyes drawn to the gem. “A trial, or something of the sort?”
The [Journalist] gestured Fayette forward, towards a group of observers standing on the side. “Indeed, the opportunity came, so we decided to pass judgment.” The [Maid] narrowed her eyes, recognizing some of the observers. They all looked afraid and confused. Are those… villagers? Testimonies? And that’s…
The bespectacled [Secretary] was there too, staring silently at her shackled [Lord], not moving an inch. Fayette shuddered, feeling an oppressive aura approach, and turned to the center. A figure in tattered robes marched to the wooden block.
Pierre. His shaggy robes and wild beard now seemed sharp under the moonlight, and he held a huge blade with both hands, more butcher knife than sword. Fayette finally recognized that this was no mere trial—the haunting town square was hosting something darker.
“An execution,” she said, eyes now focused on the ragged figure.
Marat gestured her forwards. “Come, you shall hear a [Judge] speak. We have you to thank for today’s offerings, I believe.”
Fayette hesitantly walked forward. These men, what is their game? But she had to see this through. Even if she did feel a bit annoyed… “I read your book. I guess this is the sort of thing you do, then?” She asked, peering doubtfully at the [Journalist]. “Not the most pleasant of hobbies.”
“Ah, but as you read the book, you should know this is no hobby, but a duty,” Marat said, smoothing his mustache.He walked to the execution like a [Socialite] approaching a gala.
“A duty you seem very late in performing,” Fayette said, voice cold. “We could have used help a lot earlier.”
“Ah, for that you have my apologies, miss,” Marat said, tipping his hat for a second time. “I’m afraid we are a careful group in our operations, and that can run close to cowardice. We only acted after we saw an opportunity.”
Fayette grimaced and shook her head. If felt like they were trampling on her victory somehow, but did that matter in the end? She suspected the results would be the same. Pierre was stretching, rolling his shoulders side to side, then finally nodded at the tall cloaked figure.
The giant picked the [Mage] up, then pushed his head to the wood block, keeping him there with a foot to the back. Fayette noticed that the [Mage] seemed to have some sort of darts stuck in his face, and she squinted, trying to see better. Magic disruption of some sort?
And then the [Judge] spoke. The words carried no hesitation, and though Pierre’s voice was hoarse from disuse, it rumbled.
“[You are Accused], [Elementalist] Eblé of crimes against the people. You have stolen rightfully earned money, and unleashed dangerous experiments on the unaware. I repeat, [You are Accused].”
Fayette was impressed and raised her eyebrows. They actually know who he is, and what he’s done? She turned to Marat. “Is this like, a real trial after all? Witnesses and evidence and such?”
Marat chuckled darkly, and the shadow from his hat hid his eyes. “In a way, yes. But Pierre…” he turned to look forward, to the [Judge] who was raising his voice. “—has only ever given one type of judgment.”
The [Mage] was struggling and shouting, head flopping like a fish on dry land. “I—what—let me free!” He cried out, wiggling under the firm grip. “Pitiful mock trial! I have done nothing wrong!”
Then Pierre finished raising his blade, and like the snapping of a bowstring, threw it up into the air. Where it just… hung. Waiting. Above the suddenly terrified [Mage]. Pierre looked coldly at the man and spoke his verdict.
“You lie. [Judgement: Death].”
And the blade fell. Fayette did not wince or look away, she stood steady as a neck was cut through in one slash, soft as a floating leaf. A head rolled onto the town square. Eyes forever locked in horror.
“You see—” Marat said, glancing to Fayette from the scene, “My friend is a [Judge], but an odd sort. He only ever accuses those he knows will be judged his way.”
The [Maid] nodded, keeping her eyes on the scene. So, they were this type of group. Is this how they will change things for the better? Felt pretty different in the writing. “Your book was hard to understand. Learn better words or something.”
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The [Journalist] made a mock gasp of outrage, then laughed. “Hah! True—true. It is one of my older works. Was more for the academic types back then, I like to think I’ve gotten better.”
Pierre had stepped back, and the giant was leading the next person to the chopping block now. The [Mage’s] body had been tipped to the side, and Pierre had reclaimed the blade, now sharpening it with a stone.
[Lord] Marcel was led to the stand.
His face had little of anything human left on it. A charred skull, with one dull eye still moving about—but not one bit of hair left anywhere. Even Fayette winced a bit at the sight—better if he had just let himself be incinerated. Was this justice then?
“Is this what you do? Your group—whatever you are. Kill [Lords] and such?” Fayette asked, finally turning from the scene. Marat just seemed so calm. Not on edge one bit, as if the executions, not really trials—Fayette wasn’t a fool—were just normal things.
He shook his head. “Our group… we are a club of sorts. Friends of Jacob, who leads us. But this… this is not the aim—but a tool. For change, you understand? Things are rotten, they need to change. Don’t you agree? You did fine work yourself.”
Did she agree? Maybe I once did… Fayette turned back to the wooden block, and the [Lord] was struggling now. He had seen his [Secretary] in the crowd, but the foot at his back held him firm.
“Isabella, Isabella! Come, speak for me! Go get help!”
The [Secretary] walked over and nobody stopped her. Pierre just watched the bespectacled woman approach the burnt man. The woman bent down, holding her glasses against her nose. “My [Lord], what should I say to them?”
Marcel licked his lips, “Say—”
That was enough for Pierre. This time there was no accusation even, only the [Judgement: Death]. He again threw his sword into the air, and Marcel’s scream of terror cracked through the town square when it fell.
And another head rolled. The [Secretary] froze in place, staring. She started shaking. Fayette felt uneasy. Why is nobody seeing this? That was loud, but nobody is opening the windows to look. The crimson-tinted moon at her back started to feel more ominous.
The crowd of onlookers were muttering, but there were only a dozen-or-so of them. Many more villagers should have awoken to the noise. The night air—it felt oddly stifling, like the smog of Palogne. A skill?
But still, Fayette did not regret watching this. Seeing the shaking [Secretary], she knew there was a story there too. Justice had been done. Right? But the book had been very firm about how change had to be large-scale. Larger than this.
“Are you just going to kill all [Lords]?” Fayette asked, once more turning to the [Journalist]. The book had kind of stopped midway. “What happens then? Somebody has to lead, right? Your group?”
“We can talk on this more,” Marat said, stroking his chin. “But ultimately, it comes to classes. Yes, somebody must lead, but the classes must change. No more [Lords], you see. Are you interested? We could use someone of your talents.”
Ah, so this is a recruitment pitch then, is it? Fayette narrowed her eyes, preparing a response.
And then the next man was led to the block and the hood was pulled off his head. Fayette flinched back to look at him, eyes wide. Henri, the short man who had led them to the mines, the one who had betrayed them.
The senior [Miner] awoke from his daze, eyes sharpening, then started struggling against the grip that held him, but the huge man as implacable as a mountain. “No—no, I have done nothing! What is this? Why?”
He looked like he had been pulled straight from bed, and his eyes were wild with fear. And… confusion. Fayette brushed Marat off and stepped closer. She had to know.
The [Maid] marched to the block and stared at the panicked [Miner]. “Hey, Henri, don’t you remember me?” she asked, looking him in the eye.
And the man froze. “You—didn’t you die? When the mine collapsed?” A tear left his eye, and a held breath left him. He gave a short nod, as good as he was able to when laid on the block. “Thank goodness—the boy, did he make it?”
Fayette’s heart trembled. He doesn’t remember a thing. “The kid, he’s dead—you killed him. You collapsed the mine,” Fayette said, watching his eyes. But there was no recognition at all, just confusion.
The [Miner] was staring at her, wide-eyed. And then he really started panicking and trying to pry himself free. “Wha—this has to be a mistake! Some terrible mistake, the lad… I would never—”
Then he was pushed down to the block, and Pierre spoke. Fayette shivered, backing away. No—if Pierre speaks, but he did it—is this right?
“[You are Accused], [Miner] Henri.”
Pierre’s voice rumbled out, as he steadily kept sharpening his blade. His eyes were like death, nothing human shone through them. The ragged figure stood up, and held his blade up, moonlight glinting off the razor.
“But you do not know your crimes.”
Henri looked up desperately, seeking mercy, an explanation. “How can I not know? I have done nothing wrong!”
Pierre’s voice was a glacier.
“You lie. You made a deal once, knowing something may be asked of you one day. Even something like this. You accepted, though you do not remember.”
The [Miner] started struggling. “No! No—I wouldn’t have! I—”
“[Judgement: Death].”
Fayette turned away, she couldn’t watch this one. Marat was still smiling, more vicious now. “Deals without the consequence of guilt—a foul thing. He knew what he accepted. The judgment is right.”
Judgment? What was hers? Did that man deserve to die? Fayette felt her unease growing, like icy fingers grasping at her ribs, as she thought about it, replaying that rolling head. Not like the others, a faceless grey mob, she remembered the expression on this one.
How would I judge this? Judge… No… I don’t—I just…
Her class itched.
Need to leave. Fayette began to walk past Marat, away from all this and back to her friends, and then she heard laughter. The last [Lord], the one she had chased here. “See, little [Maid]! See how the rabble acts once grown, let loose! Senseless anger! Madness!”
The [Maid] felt her unease calm, replaced by fury, and whipped around, meeting a mocking gaze. The [Lord of the Field] was now lying on the block, skin peeling from burns, but his eyes still burned with fierce strength, and his gaze did not waver.
“You would do the same to us!” Fayette shouted, stepping towards him, panting. “You have no right to speak!”
The [Lord] just smiled, seeing her anger. “My actions are those of Justice, of law. Your madness is personal, ceaseless.” Then he sneered, spitting down on the ground. “I will laugh when your [Lady] friend shares this same block. Will you be the one to judge her? She has benefited from many of her family’s sins you know.”
Fayette stared at him, stunned, and then was shaken awake by a rumbling voice.
“[Maid], you are holding a blade. Do you wish to judge? You have more right than I.”
She looked up and saw that Pierre was staring at her. And she felt at her right hand. There was a knife there, waiting. When did I take this out? She took it in front and saw it was just a plain butterknife. But… there was something familiar about it.
“Choose. Do you wish to judge?”
Fayette looked forward, meeting the [Lord’s] eyes. They were staring at her, laughing. As if he knew something. She wanted to kill him, yes, just stick a knife in a fight, exterminate. But to judge… That word…
It was not something [Maids] did.
A shiver went along her spine, far worse than the previous itches at her class, and the [Lord’s] aura felt stifling. Fayette turned away, panting, and marched away, not looking back once more. It doesn’t matter. The [Lord] was doing something. He’ll die anyway. No reason for me to do it. More important things to do.
She heard a blade thud against wood but barely took note of it. It was done, not by her, but it didn’t really matter. She didn’t even hear the system message dinging out, noting her experience gains. Her eyes were on the rising smoke, and the manor she saw outlined among the fire. Marie.
“Wait just a minute, miss!” Marat shouted, jogging to catch up with her. “Are you refusing our offer?”
She slowed just a bit, remembering. Oh, right. Him. “Sorry mister, but… I don’t know you really. I’m not sure I like you,” Fayette responded, not looking back. I have my friends. And Marie’s…
“There’s no need to hurry the decision! Just wait one second, let me give you something!” The [Journalist] shouted, and Fayette hesitated.
She stopped, turned to the side and stared at what the man was offering her. “Another book?”
“A bit better than the last, I hope. I’ve improved.” The man said, smiling. This book had a blue cover too but looked fresher than the previous one. Then he took a card out of his breast pocket and slipped it behind the last page. “And an invitation. No need to hurry—search for your answer.” His teeth flashed under the crimson moon. “I think you’ll arrive at the same destination as us.”
Fayette hesitated for a moment, then nodded once, and took the book. No harm in it. The last one had set her thinking, and the man was smart… She slipped it into her pouch and then turned forward, walking back, dreading what was ahead. The enemies were dead. In a sense, they had succeeded. But the damage…
Mireille and Olivia caught up to her midway but did not say anything when they saw the [Maid’s] face. Fayette gave them a quick nod, winced when she remembered the pain in her leg, and kept walking forward.
She could not feel victory when she saw the [Lady] in the dark, lit by the burning building she was watching, like a ghost of fire. Fayette took a deep breath, then walked closer.
Marie. Just how bad have I messed things up for you?