Pokhan repeatedly emphasized that he possessed immense wealth. He had no hope of rewriting his fate; all he wanted was a peaceful death. Firing squad or gallows, he did not care.
The officials overseeing the trial were clearly tempted. After all, either way, they would merely be killing a criminal.
If they could seize this opportunity to obtain a vast sum, whether it went into the treasury or was used to compensate the public, it would be more valuable than killing a prisoner by brutal means.
But Franz would not waver. He would never make a deal with this trash for money, nor would he betray his principles.
Whether Pokhan's supposed treasure was real or not, Franz did not care. No matter how wealthy a gang boss was, he was beneath notice before the state.
On the other hand, if he changed his principles for money, would not everything Franz had done before have been for nothing?
Getting the money would be fine. But if they failed to get it and even lost manpower, would they not become the laughingstock of the world?
Still, Franz had to admit that anyone who could rise to the top of any field had more than a few tricks up their sleeve.
In truth, Pokhan did not manage to stall for long. Franz's order was unwavering: a man as monstrously guilty as Pokhan had to die.
When the messenger once again read Franz's order aloud in the square, Vienna's citizens erupted completely.
At least at that moment, they felt that the Emperor stood with them—and could not be bought with money.
The people raised their hands, thumbs pointing down, as if passing judgment on gladiators in an ancient Roman arena.
"Death! Death!"
At the same time, countless victims clutched their heads and wept bitterly.