How long does it take for a person to die from being burned alive?

I'm no expert on executions by fire, but wouldn't one lose consciousness due to lack of oxygen before burning to death?

As they ignite from the ground up and become engulfed in flames, there must be a depletion of oxygen. One would likely lose consciousness before succumbing to the flames, and then the body would sustain damage, leading to the shutdown of vital functions. Even if the exact moment of death is unclear, death is inevitable.

And yet.

Despite this, I find myself conscious, gazing at the onlookers with wide eyes as the flames dance before me.

It's absurd in every sense.

But if it's absurd—then let's embrace it.

Even my own execution, for me, was undeniably absurd.

Nevertheless, I had to come to terms with it.

The world around me operated in such a manner.

So.

I will also accept not dying.

Then what?

I shift my gaze from the spectators to my own self, bound by chains. I notice the chains beginning to loosen.

To be precise, it's not that the chains are loosening, but rather, the logs are burning, causing them to shrink in diameter, and consequently, the chains are loosening.

With a little struggle, I manage to slip out of the chains.

Or rather, it feels like I slip out effortlessly.

The area around the base of the log, where the fire was initially lit, is no longer the focal point of the blaze. When I land there, I scatter a large amount of ash and embers, but strangely, I feel neither heat nor pain nor suffocation.

Well, my clothes are burned away, leaving me completely exposed, which is somewhat embarrassing—though thanks to memories of being a middle-aged man, it's not as embarrassing as it could have been—but truthfully, that's the least of my worries.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

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The murmurs of the onlookers grew louder as they witnessed the impossible.

Emerging from the flames unscathed, a girl approached the crowd, causing a commotion among the bystanders.

"What's happening—!"

A voice erupted from the crowd, likely one of the soldiers from the Muller family present during the execution. As the bystanders began to chatter, a few individuals positioned themselves between them and the girl.

However, "What's happening—" wasn't the response she desired.

"I wouldn't know,"

She muttered, seizing a charred piece of wood from the ground and hurling it at the soldiers. Though the impact of Euphemia Grimwood's throw wouldn't inflict much harm, she couldn't stand idly by.

Predictably, the soldier deflected the wooden fragment with ease.

In response, another soldier unsheathed his sword and lunged toward her.

If burning her hadn't succeeded, were they now attempting to stab her?

Well, so be it.

With an odd sense of apathy she couldn't quite grasp, she continued her advance toward the sword pointed at her.

The soldier appeared perplexed.

She remained unfazed.

As the soldier seemed poised to retract his weapon—

She wouldn't allow it.

With a resounding thud,

The sensation of the sword piercing her throat washed over her. Swiftly, before the soldier could recoil in horror and withdraw the blade, she hastened her step, impaling herself further.

A strangled cry escaped, or perhaps it was a whimper, but she couldn't discern amidst the chaos. The soldier relinquished his hold on the sword hilt, and as the weight of the blade shifted, it fell from her throat, blood spurting forth. The metallic tang of blood mingled with the scent of burning flesh.

Yet, consciousness eluded her not.

Nor did agony assail her senses.

Why?

Who could say.

She continued her stride, unaffected. The soldier, trembling with fear, cleared a path. Though nudity brought a flush of embarrassment, she resolved to carry herself with pride.

To feel shame amidst this spectacle would be absurd in its own right.

The crowd parted,

Their fear palpable as they made way for the girl who defied death by fire and steel.

Ahead stood the members of the Muller family.

The patriarch, his wife, and the heir apparent, and Eckhart.

Mizetta... was conspicuously absent.

Yet, she harbored no animosity toward her.

It mattered not.

For reasons she couldn't quite grasp... well, it was beyond her understanding.

Acceptance was the only recourse.

Just as they had demanded of her.

Just as they had made her do.