Chapter 349: Guillotine
The crowdâs noisy debates and hushed whispers continued, but the centuries-old authority of the Bosk family weighed so heavily that not a single person dared to step forward.
Medrolash scanned the fearful and panicked faces below, his jet-black eyes narrowing slightly.
"Everyone, this is the kingdomâs public trial. You are free to exercise your power without fear."
"Hehehe."
Suddenly, laughter echoed from the platform.
Horace, who had remained silent, trembled as he raised his head, his bloodstained face twisted in a defiant smile.
"You dragon lackeys, your schemes will never succeed."
"Stravsburg will always belong to the Bosk family. The lionâs blood will never submit!"
"I am Horace Bosk, eldest son of Grand Duke Leo. No one but my father has the right to judge me!"
Horace spat blood-tinged saliva and hurled curses at Medrolash, as if he no longer cared about his life.
"You wish to die, donât you?"
Medrolash wiped the blood from his face, his expression remaining calm and emotionless as he asked softly.
"You want to die fighting the enemy, like those epic stories, and be remembered as a hero."
"Unfortunately, I wonât grant you that wish."
Medrolash shook his head lightly, slowly walking to Horaceâs side.
"Let me tell youâyou will be judged by the people, branded a criminal, nailed to the pillar of historical shame, mocked in your familyâs chronicles, and serve as the beginning of the Northland nobilityâs demise."
The tieflingâs low voice was like the whisper of a devil, lingering in Horaceâs ears.
Horace lifted his head with great effort, glaring at the tiefling through gritted teeth.
"Y-Youâre delusional!"
"The unyielding Skanians wonât fall for your lies!"
Medrolashâs lips curled into a cold, mocking smile.
"Is that really the case?"
The tiefling turned, drew his sword, and held it high under the sunlight.
"In the name of the Duke of the Ember Kingdom, I promise that anyone participating in the trial and providing substantiated accusations will bear no responsibility afterward!"
"Furthermoreâ"
His voice grew passionate as he paused dramatically.
"You will also have the opportunity, under the laws of the kingdom, to claim a portion of Marquis Horace Boskâs wealth."
The crowd erupted once more.
That was the wealth of a Northland marquis, the eldest son of Grand Duke Leo!
Horaceâs estates and mines were countless, and the gold stored in his marquisate alone was beyond the imagination of commoners.
Before such immense temptation, the authority of nobility seemed trivial.
Among the crowded throng, many were already eager to step forward, ready to seize their chance.
"Despicable!"
"Y-Youâre inciting a riot!"
Bound to the wooden frame, Horace let out a hoarse scream, but Medrolash didnât even glance at him.
"M-My lord!"
"IâI have accusations to make!"
A trembling male voice rang out abruptly.
The crowd turned toward the speaker, a plainly dressed middle-aged man.
His rough hands twisted together nervously, sweat streaming down his face, and even his lips were pale from tension. Yet, his eyes betrayed deep hatred.
"What is your name?"
"Ruluren. Rulen Pierce, a merchant from the eastern part of the city."
"Please, go ahead."
Medrolashâs face lit up with a smile, gesturing for the man to speak.
"Marquis Horaceâno, Horace Boskâhe led soldiers under the pretense of the âGreat Conscriptionâ to seize all the money and food from my shop."
"His knights accused my wife and daughter of disrespecting nobles and abducted them!"
At first, Rulenâs voice was halting, but as he spoke, his tone grew increasingly impassioned and furious.
"I thought they were imprisoned, so I risked everything to search for them, gathering money to pay their ransomâ"
"In the end, I found their bodies at the military encampment outside the city. They had been tortured to death."
By the time he finished, his voice was hoarse.
Tears welled in Rulenâs eyes.
Finally, as if unleashing years of suppressed grief, he scooped a handful of filthy snow and mud from the ground and hurled it at Horace on the platform.
"Splat!"
The muck splattered across Horaceâs face, leaving him disheveled and utterly undignifiedâfar from the image of a Northland noble.
"Lies!"
"This is blatant slander!"
"That bastard has taken the dragonâs gold!"
Horace, his hair disheveled, cursed Rulen furiously from the platform, his face twisted with rage, wishing he could kill him on the spot.
As a marquis, he had never suffered such humiliation!
And in front of tens of thousands of people!
Horace didnât realize: his nightmare had just begun.
While the Bosk Duchy was more orderly than other Northland nations, even here, the infamous "Great Conscription" had brought countless atrocities.
After all, soldiers of this era were never known for their reasonableness.
After hearing Rulenâs testimony, the crowd sighed and wept, while others burned with rage.
More importantly, Rulenâs courage had set an example, emboldening others to speak up.
Like a stone thrown into a calm lake, it triggered waves.
"I have accusations too!"
"Me too!"
"His knights destroyed my home!"
"They killed my mother!"
"They stole our winter food, starving my son to death!"
At this moment, justice and evil, dragons and nobles, were irrelevant.
The people needed to vent.
They passionately and furiously accused the Northland nobility of their crimes, revealing long-silent grievances during this public trial.
Trishka and Horace were the two main leaders of the "Great Conscription."
To impress the duke, they often led troops personally to collect supplies and military funds.
Now, with Count Trishka dead, Marquis Horace Bosk became the sole target of the peopleâs hatred.
The crowdâs fervor and rage grew. Mud, branches, and even stones were hurled at Horace on the platform.
"No!"
"You filthy peasants... traitors!"
"Without the Bosk family, how could you have survived this long?"
But the crowdâs roaring cries drowned out his feeble rebuttals; no one cared about his words anymore.
Horace Bosk was utterly humiliated. Bound to the frame, covered in wounds and filth, his bloodstained face twisted in a grimace, any trace of the noble lionâs bloodline was unrecognizable.
To the people, he now seemed no different from a common criminal.
Finally, Medrolash raised his voice and declared:
"By the peopleâs public trial in Stravsburg, Horace Bosk is found guilty of murder, embezzlement, robbery, and a series of other crimes."
"As the face of the Northlandâs corrupt regime, Horace Boskâs crimes are severe, his attitude vile, and his actions unforgivable. Thus, he is sentenced toâ"
Medrolash paused deliberately, heightening the tension among the crowd.
"Death! Death!"
The furious crowd shouted in unison.
Their voices swelled into a tidal wave, and only then did Medrolash utter the final words:
"Death."
The tiefling guards stepped forward, unveiling the guillotine and dragging Horace toward it.
Horace struggled desperately, roaring angrily.
"No, no!"
"You filthy scum, you have no right to judge me!"
"Traitors! Youâre all traitors!"
But his resistance was futile. Overpowered by the tieflings, the marquis was forced onto the guillotine.
Even in his final moments, Horace strained to lift his head.
"I am Grand Duke Leoâs eldâ"
"Clang!"
Before he could finish, the blade fell with a crisp sound.
Blood sprayed, staining the gleaming blade, as cheers erupted from the crowd below.
Under the kingdomâs careful orchestration, the people of Stravsburg had personally toppled the Northland nobility.
"Drip, drip..."
The slanted blade of the guillotine was lifted again, crimson blood dripping from its edge, its sharp surface gleaming blindingly in the sunlight.