Chapter 349: Guillotine
The crowd's 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 kingdom's 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 lion's 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, don't 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 won't grant you that wish."
Medrolash shook his head lightly, slowly walking to Horace's side.
"Let me tell you—you will be judged by the people, branded a criminal, nailed to the pillar of historical shame, mocked in your family's chronicles, and serve as the beginning of the Northland nobility's demise."
The tiefling's low voice was like the whisper of a devil, lingering in Horace's ears.
Horace lifted his head with great effort, glaring at the tiefling through gritted teeth.
"Y-You're delusional!"
"The unyielding Skanians won't fall for your lies!"
Medrolash's 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!"
"Furthermore—"
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 Bosk's wealth."
The crowd erupted once more.
That was the wealth of a Northland marquis, the eldest son of Grand Duke Leo!
Horace's 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-You're inciting a riot!"
Bound to the wooden frame, Horace let out a hoarse scream, but Medrolash didn't even glance at him.
"M-My lord!"
"I—I 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."
Medrolash's face lit up with a smile, gesturing for the man to speak.
"Marquis Horace—no, Horace Bosk—he led soldiers under the pretense of the 'Great Conscription' 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, Rulen's 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 ransom—"
"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 Rulen's 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 Horace's face, leaving him disheveled and utterly undignified—far from the image of a Northland noble.
"Lies!"
"This is blatant slander!"
"That bastard has taken the dragon's 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 didn't 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 Rulen's testimony, the crowd sighed and wept, while others burned with rage.
More importantly, Rulen's 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 people's hatred.
The crowd's 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 crowd's 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 lion's bloodline was unrecognizable.
To the people, he now seemed no different from a common criminal.
Finally, Medrolash raised his voice and declared:
"By the people's public trial in Stravsburg, Horace Bosk is found guilty of murder, embezzlement, robbery, and a series of other crimes."
"As the face of the Northland's corrupt regime, Horace Bosk's crimes are severe, his attitude vile, and his actions unforgivable. Thus, he is sentenced to—"
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! You're 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 Leo's eld—"
"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 kingdom's 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.