Chapter 67: The Burning Mountain

That evening at dusk.

Fruit Basket Village.

The setting sun sank slowly below the horizon, painting the sky a soft orange-gold, while distant green fruit trees swayed gently in the breeze.

What a peaceful scene indeed!

At that moment, several soldiers arrived with a cart.

“Your Excellencies, may I ask what brings you here?”

Robert, the village chief, bowed respectfully before the soldiers.

As he spoke, he pulled a few copper sols from a torn pocket in his sheepskin robe and offered them to the lead soldier.

“We come under the orders of His Grace, the Lord of Black Wolf, to deliver grain.”

The soldier refused the coins, his expression solemn.

Saying no more, he and his companions began unloading baskets of barley from the cart.

Robert: “???”

In his decades of life, he had never heard of a lord delivering grain to serfs!

“All this grain… is for our village?” Robert asked in disbelief.

With some bran and nettle seeds mixed in, this much grain could feed the entire village for a full month!

“This is barely enough. Your neighboring villages, suffering famine, received three full carts each from His Grace.”

The soldier rolled his eyes.

Though he couldn’t understand why the lord was so generous, the order was absolute.

“By the way, farmer, the lord has announced that at noon tomorrow, all criminals captured in recent days will be executed at Stone Ore Town. You may organize your villagers to watch.”

After unloading all the grain, the soldiers tossed those words over their shoulders, climbed into the empty cart, and hurried away, leaving Robert standing stunned in place.

“This isn’t the lord’s style… Could it be the prince?” he muttered to himself.

It seems I must go and see for myself.

The next day at noon.

Stone Ore Town.

The blue sky was like a flawless sapphire, the sun hanging high, pouring down countless rays like a waterfall, making people sweat profusely.

Yet the townspeople and crowds from every village and settlement across the domain ignored the heat, surging toward one place like a tide.

In the center of Stone Ore Town, a new, towering guillotine had been built.

Its frame was made of dark oak, carved with fine patterns; atop the crossbeam hung a heavy blade, its edge honed to mirror sharpness, gleaming with a cold, icy light in the sun.

Clearly, the blade-smith had poured his soul into polishing it.

Over a hundred criminals, shackled, knelt beside the guillotine, guarded by soldiers armed with spears and clad in leather armor, helplessly staring up at the cold blade above them.

Directly opposite the guillotine stood a raised platform, where Kallen sat upon the main seat.

Yet his current state seemed far from good—his forehead was drenched in sweat.

Not because of the heat, but because

“My Lord, are you certain you must stand the entire time?” Kallen couldn’t help asking behind him.

Xia Mingyu stood silently behind him, wearing the Crown of the Humble.

That was precisely why Kallen was tense—how could a prince stand while a viscount sat?

“It’s fine. Better to prevent speculation from below,” Xia Mingyu said coolly.

“Begin, Kallen.”

Xia Mingyu glanced at the dense crowd below the platform, noting their expressions were already desperate with anticipation.

After all, nearly every criminal in the domain was gathered here—these villagers had suffered greatly under their oppression.

Hatred cannot be dissolved by self-restraint or love—those are lies. Only the blood of the enemy can cleanse the wounds of the soul.

“Begin!” Kallen rose and shouted, slashing his hand downward in a cutting gesture.

Tap-tap-tap.

The next instant, the soldiers guarding the criminals moved.

One by one, the shackled criminals were dragged onto the guillotine, and the first was forced beneath the blade.

He was a middle-aged man in his thirties, his eyes sunken deep into his skull from days of starvation, radiating a chilling aura.

“Maur, gatekeeper of the Golden Jasmine Brothel, responsible for seventeen deaths, forced thirty-one women into prostitution…”

Old Xiao En stood before the guillotine, reading the charges aloud from a scroll.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Many in the crowd hurled stones at Maur, soon covering his head in blood as he screamed in agony.

Old Xiao En paid no mind, continuing to read the scroll without pause.

After committing so many evils, being pelted with a few stones before death was mercy enough.

When the charges ended, the executioners began straining to pull the winch.

Then—clang!

With the muffled crash of the blade descending and the snap of cervical vertebrae, a head with wide, unblinking eyes tumbled free, rolling down the designed slope until it came to rest on the open ground.

“Finally! That devil is dead!”

“Wahhh… Miya, your soul may rest now.”

“Long live the lord!”

The crowd erupted in cheers; many former prostitutes freed from the Golden Jasmine Brothel wept with joy.

But this was only the beginning.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

From the scorching noon until dusk rose like smoke, the blade fell again and again without pause, each descent met with a cheer—and another round, rolling head.

Though many in the crowd vomited and fainted, they were quickly roused by companions to resume watching the spectacle.

Was there anything more satisfying than witnessing the execution of those who had oppressed them?

To miss it would be to regret it for life.

When all the shackled criminals had been beheaded in terror and panic, a small mountain of over a hundred heads now lay piled at the slope’s end.

The lower heads drowned in a stinking pool of blood, their tangled hairs like seaweed.

Hundreds of black crows circled the pale sky, watching the “mountain” with hungry eyes.

Some bold crows even tried to swoop down and snatch a head, but were swiftly driven off by soldiers with spears.

“Sun, fire, impact rune.”

Xia Mingyu stood on the platform, forcing down his nausea as he stared at the scene; then, empty magic gathered at his fingertips, intricate rune patterns forming in the air.

Boom!

As the runes layered and merged, a blazing fireball streaked across the dim sky like a meteor, striking the base of the head-pile and leaving a brilliant trail behind.

Crackling!

Instantly, the mound of heads was engulfed in flames, tongues of fire licking every strand of hair, bursting with sharp pops.

The villagers stared, stunned, at the roaring fire; their pupils reflected the flames, and somehow, something deep within them felt… changed.

Thud. Thud.

Someone—no one knew who—was the first to kneel; then, one by one, the entire crowd bowed down, pressing their foreheads to the ground before the platform.

“My Lord, you are the most merciful lord—being your subject is my greatest honor! I will till your fields for life!”

“Wahhh… thank you for the grain. I had no milk left; my child was starving, barely breathing. Thanks to you, my newborn lives.”

“Daughter, the kind lord has avenged you by killing those beasts—you may rest in peace now!”

The villagers’ sobs and praises surged like a tidal wave, nearly drowning the entire town.

Kallen stared, dumbfounded—he had never imagined being thanked by so many. With his Knight-Master’s vision, he could clearly see the tears and gratitude on these commoners’ faces.

Especially the woman holding the infant—her child was exactly the same age as his little Hayden.

So… these commoners lived in such desperate hardship? He had never noticed before.

This had merely been his attempt to curry favor with the prince—but now, Kallen felt a flicker of relief…

Thank the heavens, that infant had not died.

(End of Chapter)