Chapter 350: Viscount Ludon's Memoirs
Yet, the people's rage had not subsided. One marquis's head could not satiate their long-suppressed emotions. The revelry continued, and the fury persisted.
The crowd cheered and shouted.
"Death! Death!"
The commoners were in a frenzy!
The fate of once-unreachable, untouchable nobles now rested in their hands—at least in appearance.
"Dawn Sharaf, guilty of premeditated murder, inciting war, and robbery..."
"Florrey Carson, sentenced..."
"Giovannio Valde, sentenced to death..."
One after another, the "prestigious" family names were read aloud by the tieflings who replaced Medrolash.
One by one, nobles were dragged to the guillotine. The sound of blades cleaving through flesh rang repeatedly, and each time the blade fell, a wave of fervent cheers erupted from the crowd.
The wooden platform turned red, a slow river of blood trickling down, eventually pooling at the people's feet.
Viscount Ludon was held among the captured, trembling under the tiefling guards' watch.
"Oh, gods..."
"How could this be happening?"
"Do they intend to kill all the nobles of the Northlands?"
Viscount Ludon quaked as he watched an elderly noble being placed on the guillotine, his face turning pale.
He recognized the man: Count Askin Garret, a renowned general of the Bosk Duchy, and Ludon's own uncle.
Once, Count Askin had commanded respect on the battlefield, winning the admiration of his peers on horseback. Ludon had even written a stirring poem for him—"The General's Triumphant Song. "
But now, the once-proud general was nothing more than a lamb to the slaughter.
"Clang!"
With a crisp sound, the blade fell again.
Instinctively, Ludon recoiled as if it were his own head being severed.
Suddenly, something warm splattered onto his neck.
He reflexively touched it with his hand.
It was blood.
Fresh, warm blood.
And it wasn't over yet.
"Thud, thud..."
The bloodied head rolled off the platform, landing just a few feet from Ludon. Its eyes, wide open in despair, stared directly at him.
"L-Lord Askin..."
Ludon screamed in terror, a wave of nausea rising from his throat as he nearly retched.
"Ugh!"
But before he could double over, the tiefling guards behind him grabbed him roughly, forcing him upright.
"What are you doing?"
"Don't even think about pulling any tricks!"
"Death! Death!" the chant rang out again, nearly shaking the heavens.
The cheers of the crowd, the guards' shouts, and the sound of falling blades intertwined, echoing in Ludon's ears.
Ludon felt the world spinning around him, his ears buzzing sharply before descending into silence. The scene before him seemed to turn blood red.
The frenzied, cheering crowd looked like devils straight from the Abyss.
"M-Madness..."
"They're all mad."
Ludon's face turned ghostly pale, his eyes vacant, cold sweat dripping from his forehead. His lips trembled slightly.
Images flashed through his mind like a lantern show: grand banquets, disciplined armies, elegant dances, meticulously bound books...
That was the life he was supposed to have.
The Northlands were meant to be a paradise for nobles like him.
What had happened to the world?
How could these people dare to rebel?
Why had the once-docile commoners gone mad?
"This world... is doomed."
In his final conscious moment, Viscount Ludon thought.
The tiefling guards began whispering among themselves.
"He fainted from fear!"
"Typical Northland weakling!"
"Heh, I've seen worse. The last one was so scared he turned into a fool."
"Tsk, such worthless trash."
"This feels like a dream!"
"Who would have thought these noble lords' lives could be decided by us?"
"T-They really compensated me! I got three gold coins!"
"I've finally avenged my wife and daughter."
As people left the crowded square, their thin faces still carried traces of excitement.
The public trial had lasted from morning until dusk, proceeding by rank from highest to lowest.
What had once been the source of the Northland nobility's authority had now become their death warrant.
These high-ranking nobles, to varying degrees, had all oppressed the common people—or at least, it had been second nature to them. They had never truly regarded commoners as equals.
Once the people's anger ignited, harsh retribution became inevitable.
By day's end, a total of twenty-seven nobles had been beheaded, the most prominent being Marquis Horace Bosk, while the lowest-ranking was a count of the Bosk Duchy.
Their hoarded wealth was hauled from their estates, with a significant portion distributed to victims.
The kingdom's plan of sowing division had succeeded.
It was an open strategy.
An open strategy to divide the commoners from the nobles.
Through this public trial, those who participated and benefited had been firmly bound to the Ember Kingdom's cause.
After all, their hands were now stained with the blood of Northland nobles. If the nobles ever regained power, the people would face the most brutal and bloody retaliation imaginable.
Thus, they had no choice but to accept the kingdom's rule.
And the dragon's governance didn't seem as brutal as the rumors claimed—at least not for the commoners.
Among the lesser nobles, many escaped execution, including Viscount Ludon.
They were temporarily imprisoned in the Bosk Duchy's former jails, awaiting their own trials.
"Third Age, November 3, 1785. I will never forget this day etched into my soul."
"That day, my world turned blood red."
"I had never seen so many esteemed figures die before my eyes. A day prior, they were my honored elders, respected mentors. By the next, they were all cold, headless corpses."
"This was no so-called 'trial,' but a cruel and violent slaughter targeting the Northland nobility. The dragon and his kingdom shamelessly incited our people, inflamed their emotions, and turned them into true demons."
—"Ludon Seager's Memoirs"