From a tall building far from the execution platform, two former agents of the Marines' Intelligence Division Five observed the increasingly chaotic plaza below.
One of them lowered his binoculars and asked his companion curiously, "Is this part of our plan? I haven't heard anything about it."
"Doesn't seem like it," replied the other agent with a frown. "Looks more like an accident. But it's definitely stirring up the crowd."
In the plaza, Basco, who was surrounded along with his garrison troops, was far less composed than the two agents watching from afar. The swelling crowd of commoners pressed in on them, and the ease with which they had initially entered the plaza was long gone. Protecting the young noble and his entourage now felt like trying to steady a lone boat in the middle of a raging storm. Every step forward became a struggle.
The young noble's incessant insults acted like a fuse, igniting the smoldering anger of the surrounding commoners. During Morgan William's imprisonment, they had endured too much—indiscriminate crackdowns, mass unemployment, economic depression. While the nobles' attitudes and behavior hadn't changed much from before, the commoners, having experienced William's reforms, no longer saw these injustices as natural or inevitable.
The crowd began to shove Basco and his troops. Even though the young noble was at the center of the group, he was jostled back and forth, nearly losing his balance. He continued to hurl curses, not only at the commoners but also at his "incompetent" guards and the garrison troops.
Basco, already frustrated, grew increasingly irritated by the young noble's inability to read the room and his continued provocation of the crowd. Turning around, Basco roared at him, "Shut your mouth!"
The young noble froze for a moment before snarling, "Fine! You'll pay for this!"
The noble wasn't afraid of the commoners around him. Even now, the crowd only dared to shove; no one had actually laid a hand on him or his entourage. He didn't believe Basco's actions had saved his life.
Instead, the young noble was filled with rage. After experiencing Morgan William's rule, even these lowly soldiers had started to disrespect the authority of the nobility. A mere garrison leader dared to yell at him.
"Basco," one of the garrison soldiers nudged him with an elbow, giving him a meaningful look.
It had been mentioned earlier that one of William's military reforms was the introduction of elections for lower-ranking officers. While not every elected leader was a paragon of excellence, they all commanded significant respect within their units.
Additionally, most of the garrison soldiers were of commoner origin. The hardships that had befallen the slums and poorer districts in recent times were the same hardships their families were enduring. They harbored no love for the nobility.
The young noble's anger was plain to see, and Basco, along with many of his soldiers, noticed it. Basco recalled how he and his men had been punished for an incident at a tavern not long ago. If they were held accountable again, the consequences would be far graver. Back then, the Marines had been too preoccupied to pursue the matter, but this noble was a different story.
Basco's expression shifted between gloom and uncertainty. In the cacophony of shouts and the relentless pushing of the crowd, his mind was a chaotic mess. Fear of the noble's retribution and a deep-seated sense of guilt churned within him, fueling a rage he had no outlet for.
A rumor that had been circulating among the lower ranks of the military came to mind, but he couldn't make up his mind in the heat of the moment.
Despite his inner turmoil, Basco continued to lead his men, struggling to escort the noble and his entourage to the edge of the crowd.
But as they finally broke through the throng, Basco froze. Through the thinning crowd, he saw Felisk and his sister standing on the outskirts, supporting each other.
Felisk's sister was quietly sobbing, wiping her tears with trembling hands. Her hat, which had previously covered her forehead, had been knocked off at some point, revealing a horrifying dented scar on her head. Felisk, usually timid and unassuming, stood pale and trembling, clearly terrified by the chaotic crowd. A fresh wound on his nose, left by the noble's guard earlier, was still visible.
It was only now, seeing this scene, that Basco truly realized something he hadn't before. Felisk, who had worked at the tavern and whose story he had heard of, was just a boy of about sixteen. A frail, small, and pitiable child, burdened far too early with the weight of his family's survival.
Felisk was younger than the noble Basco was currently protecting.
The young noble, having finally escaped the crowd, turned back and spat another insult: "Filthy peasants!"
Basco let out a heavy sigh. In the next moment, the young noble, still cursing at the commoners, heard the sound of something slicing through the air. Before he could react, Basco struck him hard on the back of the head with the butt of his rifle.
The noble collapsed to the ground, his eyes rolling back as blood trickled from his mouth. His body twitched uncontrollably.
Basco's comrades and the noble's guards were stunned.
"Take them down!" Basco roared.
Without hesitation, his comrades, who were just as seething with unvented anger, turned their weapons on the noble's guards and began beating them down.
"I've had enough of this life," Basco declared, standing over the unconscious noble with his rifle pointed at his head. He turned to his comrades and shouted, his voice echoing across the plaza.
The crowd, initially noisy and chaotic, fell silent at the sudden turn of events. Basco's furious voice reverberated through the air.
"I'm going to greet the true ruler of this country. Who's coming with me?!"
His comrades barely hesitated before shouting their agreement. Then, one by one, voices from the crowd began to echo their sentiment. Soon, the entire plaza erupted in a cacophony of shouts and cheers.
"Alright!" Basco said no more. He pulled the trigger, and a gunshot rang out, sharp and clear. Moments later, more gunshots followed, but they were quickly drowned out by the crowd's uproar.
Basco had executed the young noble. His comrades followed suit, shooting the noble's guards dead. Then, Basco turned his gaze toward the execution platform.
The two Marines guarding the Transponder Snail on the platform had already reported the situation to the command center. Seeing Basco and his men charging toward them, they knew things were about to get worse. Moments later, the garrison soldiers, under Basco's command, stormed the platform.
The commoners followed close behind. The hastily constructed execution platform swayed precariously under the weight of their fury.
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