The dawn broke over Sedona City, heralding a fresh start. The clamor and chaos of the previous night had faded into the shadows, leaving only whispers and fragments of gossip to linger in the morning air. The cobblestone streets glistened with dew, and the faint scent of freshly baked bread wafted from nearby bakeries, mingling with the crisp chill of early morning.
"Did you hear about last night? The patrol was out in force—word is, slave traders sneaked into the city to kidnap people," A woman's voice carried through the crowd as she walked past, her tone a mix of outrage and relief.
"Those damned slavers! They're pure evil, thinking they can snatch folks from Sedona City. Serves them right, getting caught," A gruff man replied.
"I heard they nabbed a few girls and boys already. If the City Lord hadn't sent the patrol to rescue them, they'd probably be sold off by now," Another voice chimed in, tinged with gratitude.
Gaba strode along the bustling street, her tall frame cutting through the early morning crowd. The snippets of conversation reached her ears, confirming her suspicions about the previous night's bloody raid. So, it was slavers the patrol had targeted—no wonder there was blood. Her lips curled in disgust at the thought of those heartless monsters. She wished they'd all be wiped out, their cruelty erased from the world.
Her hands clenched into fists as memories surfaced—friends from her past, taken by slavers, their fates unknown. If the Guard Division were hiring, she'd have signed up in a heartbeat, driven by a burning desire to hunt down every last one of those vile traffickers. The thought fueled her steps, her boots thudding against the stone path with purpose.
"Hey, hurry up! We need to get in line for payday!" A cheerful shout snapped Gaba out of her reverie.
She blinked, shaking off the weight of her thoughts, and quickened her pace toward the textile workshop. Today was the last day of the month—payday, the most anticipated moment for workers across the city. Her mind buzzed with plans: she'd pick up her sister, Emma, and look for a new place to live, somewhere safer and quieter. Then, they'd treat themselves to a hearty meal at the first floor of the Drunken Night, savoring the rare luxury of a proper feast.
Gaba arrived at the textile workshop, her breath catching as she saw the long line snaking out the door. Nearly a hundred workers were already queued up, their chatter filling the air with a lively hum. She'd arrived later than usual, but she slipped into the line, her heart light with anticipation. The morning sun climbed higher, casting golden rays that warmed her face and glinted off the workshop's weathered stone walls.
As time ticked by, the line shuffled forward, the rhythmic clink of coins and the rustle of paper bags punctuating the air. Finally, it was Gaba's turn. She stepped forward, her eyes widening in surprise when she saw who was distributing the wages: Max, the city's record-keeper, seated at a sturdy wooden table with a ledger spread before him.
"Number and name," Max said, his voice clipped, his quill poised over the ledger without looking up.
"Number seventeen, Gaba," She replied promptly, standing a little straighter.
"Seventeen…" Max murmured, flipping through the pages of his record book. His brow lifted slightly as he found her entry, his voice tinged with surprise. "Monthly salary: eighty copper coins. No absences recorded. Ranked second in individual output at Workshop Five, earning a bonus of twenty copper coins. Plus, twenty additional bolts of linen are woven, at one copper coin per bolt. Total: one hundred twenty copper coins."
Gaba nodded, a quiet thrill running through her. She'd calculated her earnings that morning, but placing second in the workshop's output was unexpected—a leap from her third-place ranking last month. The extra ten coins felt like a small victory, a testament to her hard work.
"That's correct," She confirmed, her voice steady but warm with pride.
Max glanced up, his stern face softening with a rare hint of approval. "Well done, Gaba. Keep it up."
"Thank you, sir. I will," Gaba replied earnestly, her brown eyes sparkling with joy. The praise, though brief, filled her with determination to push even harder next month.
Max pulled open a drawer, retrieving a red paper bag pre-packed with her wages—a meticulous process overseen by the City Lord's mansion, rumored to be managed by Miss Nicole herself. He handed it to Gaba, who took it with care, her fingers brushing the coarse paper.
She stepped aside, carefully tearing open the bag's seal and pouring the coins into her palm, counting them one by one as per workshop protocol. The metallic clink of copper was a satisfying sound, each coin a tangible reward for her labor.
"Correct amount?" Max asked, his quill hovering over her number in the ledger.
"Yes, one hundred twenty coins," Gaba confirmed with a nod, stepping back to make way for the next worker.
"Next! Number and name," Max called out, his voice carrying over the crowd.
"Number twenty-nine…" The next worker began.
Gaba offered Max a respectful nod, tucking the coins securely into a hidden pocket sewn into her tunic. Her steps were lighter as she left the workshop, her mind already racing with plans. She'd fetch Emma, find a new home, and cancel their lease on the old, noisy apartment. The promise of a fresh start felt like a weight lifting from her shoulders.
"Quick, something's happening at the square!" A voice shouted nearby.
"What's going on? Is the City Lord making an announcement?" Another asked, curiosity piqued.
"No, it's about the slavers, I heard!"
Gaba's ears perked up, and she quickened her pace toward the city square, which lay just outside the castle—a detour she could afford, as it was on her way. The buzz of excitement in the air was infectious, drawing her toward the heart of the commotion.
When she reached the square, she found it teeming with thousands of people, their voices a low roar that echoed off the stone walls of the castle. At nearly two meters tall, Gaba had a clear view over the crowd, her gaze settling on the center of the square. A wooden gallows stood ominously, its presence sending a chill down her spine.
"A gallows? Could it be…?" Gaba's face tightened, her suspicions confirmed. This had to be the public trial of the slavers. Her heart pounded with a mix of anticipation and grim satisfaction—she wanted to see those monsters face justice.
She hesitated, debating whether to head home first. Emma wouldn't want to witness such a grim spectacle, but Gaba decided to stay, driven by a need to see the slavers' fate with her own eyes. She'd fill her sister in later, sparing her the darker details.
By 8:30 a.m., the sun hung high, bathing the square in golden light. The crowd had swelled to six or seven thousand, nearly the entire city, save for those tied to essential duties. The air buzzed with anticipation, the collective energy of the gathered citizens crackling like a storm about to break.
"They're here! The City Lord's arrived!" Shouts rippled through the crowd, accompanied by a surge of movement as people pressed forward, eager for a glimpse of their leader.
Gaba sighed, glancing down at a group of young women beside her, their faces flushed with excitement as they shoved their way closer to the front. Their fervor brought a wry smile to her lips—such devotion to the City Lord was almost comical.
Lifting her gaze, she saw a squadron of knights emerge from the castle, their armor clanking as they parted the crowd to form a clear path. Behind them strode Lord Lucas, his presence commanding yet approachable, a faint smile playing on his lips as he nodded to the cheering citizens. Beside him walked Ayesha, the patrol captain, her horned silhouette unmistakable, followed by Miss Mina and other key figures from the castle.
Lucas ascended a raised platform, his expression calm but resolute. Today's trial was more than a punishment—it was a statement, a means to rally the people and address the lingering fears stirred by the slavers' schemes. Last night's interrogations had yielded critical intelligence, and now it was time to deal with the ringleaders. The main culprits would face death, their lives forfeit, while lesser accomplices would be sent to toil in the coal and iron mines, where labor was sorely needed.
"Bring them up," Lucas said, turning to Mina, his dark eyes sweeping over the crowd. This trial would solidify the city's unity and uproot the seeds of doubt planted by the slavers.
"Yes, master," Mina replied with a respectful nod, signaling to a group of patrol officers. A dozen prisoners were escorted toward the gallows, their hands bound, their faces pale with dread.
"Kneel," Andrew barked, shoving Manager Hank to his knees on the platform. With a rough tug, he removed the black hood covering Hank's head, revealing a face twisted with fear and exhaustion. His bloodshot eyes and trembling hands bore the marks of a brutal interrogation by the War Wolf squad, who had pried Black Iris's secrets from him by peeling away his fingernails, one by one.
Hank's gaze darted across the crowd, a strange sense of relief flickering in his chest. At least he was free from the suffocating terror of Black Iris's lair, though the noose awaiting him offered little comfort.
"Isn't that Mr. Hank?" A shocked voice rose from the crowd.
"Yeah, what's he doing up there? What did he do?" Another asked, disbelief coloring their tone.
"Good thing I barely knew him. Must've done something awful to end up on the gallows," A merchant muttered, distancing himself from the condemned man.
The crowd buzzed with speculation, those who recognized Hank—a supposed linen merchant—reeling at his presence on the platform.
Among them stood Bryan, a half-eaten bun dangling from his mouth, his eyes wide with shock. Just yesterday, he'd watched a shadow puppet show with Hank, laughing and chatting. Now, the man knelt on the gallows, a criminal facing death. What could he have done to fall so far, so fast?
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