Execution

Seven knights, including Hans, were dragged up the hill.

They were forced to kneel in a row. Some still protested loudly; others had fallen completely silent.

Fabien stepped beside Shien and asked quietly, "My lord, shall we conduct the trial by fire as prescribed by law?"

An oppressive silence hung over the camp.

Shien glanced at the ranks below the hill. "We don't have the means. Skip the lengthy formalities. Carry out the sentence here."

The restrained breathing in the crowd suddenly grew heavier.

Fabien asked no more questions. Church doctrine permitted summary judgment in wartime, and he was hardly a rigid man.

He nodded, turned, and gave the order. "Execute them."

The Church Knights pressed the seven men against hastily brought wooden blocks.

Hans, their leader, still struggled. "Shien! You'll regret this! You don't even—"

Before he could finish, a Church Knight forced his head down.

A heavy sword rose and fell.

A dull chopping sound rang through the night, followed by a second, then a third...

Blood ran down the edges of the blocks and seeped into the mud, where the firelight soon stained it dark.

Hans's head rolled across the ground. His eyes remained open, still fixed on Shien's position high on the hill.

Even at the very end, he had not understood why Shien had done this, or how Shien had known it was him.

Shien was not finished.

He raised a hand and singled out Gri, the finance officer, along with two other officials responsible for military supplies.

The unrest that had only just subsided in the camp flared again.

Shien wasted no words. He had the account books brought forward and checked them line by line before everyone.

The records of grain and fodder received, the signatures for soldiers' pay, the figures on the warehouse inventories—each was read aloud.

The knights then carried sacks of dried meat, hidden fragments of Holy Silver, and more from the men's tents. The evidence of their embezzlement lay plainly in the firelight.

Church law had provisions for this, too.

Shien said calmly, "Under the Holy Fire Code, embezzling military supplies in wartime is punishable by death."

Fabien reviewed the inventory and raised no objection. Several more heads fell, swift and clean.

After those executions, the camp grew quieter still. Everyone with dirty hands was trembling.

Few people had died, but the certainty that being named meant death chilled them to the bone.

The camp was unnaturally quiet. Only heavy breathing remained, and every eye was on Shien.

Firelight mingled with the Blood Moon's glow. The night wind lifted the boy's silver hair, and his broad robe made his frame look slight. A trace of youth still lingered about him.

Yet when he looked down at the crowd, anyone who met his gaze quickly looked away, as if holding it too long would burn.

No one dared see him as a bastard they could push aside at will anymore.

The crowd watched Shien, and Shien watched them. But he saw more than expressions and posture.

Through the Canon of Grace and Righteousness, he could see the numbers above their heads slowly changing.

The glaring patches of deep red, like malignant growths, had gone out when Hans and his confidants lost their heads.

A few spots of pale red remained in the ranks: the stubborn hostility of Hans's remaining followers.

But Shien did not think men who had lost their leader could cause much trouble.

Every capable fighter was precious at the Eternal Night Wall. Rather than root out every last one of them, Shien judged it best to let them make themselves useful on the front line.

To Shien's surprise, amid the sea of gray and white, the numbers above more than a dozen knights had quietly turned pale green, along with those of the convicts who had just received meat broth. Most of those knights had suffered under Hans.

An iron hand against the wicked was itself a blessing to the weak. As long as he upheld justice, his Grace would rise on its own.

At the same time, Shien saw another danger emerging. The people were too quiet, too afraid to move. He had established his authority, but he had crushed their initiative along with it.

They might obey his orders, but without initiative, there would always be a delay. When the Blood Moon came, a single slow step could be fatal.

So Shien had to give their fear a clear direction.

What happened tonight had to become the beginning of a new order, not merely a bloody spectacle.

Shien walked down the slope. His boots made sticky sounds as they crossed the ground soaked with blood and muddy water, each step conspicuous in the deathly still camp.

He stopped less than ten meters from the crowd, close enough for them to see his refined face and its inexplicable air of authority.

"I know what you're afraid of." Shien's voice was clear, yet it made them hold their breath.

"You're afraid of the Blood Moon Season. Afraid mutated wolves will tear out your throats. Afraid that when you die, even your remains won't make it home. Afraid you'll become a number on a casualty report."

Shien paused, then said, "I'm afraid of those things too."

Someone in the crowd looked up in shock, staring at Shien in bewilderment.

Shien did not look away. He met their clouded eyes. "I won't hide it from you. The territory we're heading to is nothing but ruins right now. We have to start from scratch, and the Blood Moon has left us little time."

The tension deepened throughout the camp. Quite a few people swallowed without realizing it.

"But it has come to this. We have nowhere to retreat." Shien looked up at the Blood Moon hanging on the horizon.

"One step back, and you face the Burning Stake of the Church tribunal. Another step back, and the Blood Moon will drag your wives and children in the Kingdom into the long night, where they'll become food for Ghouls."

After a brief, deathly silence, Shien changed tack. Sacred compassion and fervor entered his voice.

"But the great Most Holy did not place us here merely to die in vain. He has granted us the highest trial on the path to the Sacred Flame!

"He is watching you. Every drop of blood you shed will be inscribed by the Clergy in the undying record of merit.

"Countless precedents tell us this is more than honor in name. It brings real rewards, pardons, and land and titles you can pass down to your descendants!

"This is your one ladder beyond the station you were born to, your one chance to touch greatness!"

The rigid atmosphere in the camp began to shift.

In Shien's sight, numbers rose across the crowd. Most increased by only a dozen or so points, but even that meant his words had planted a seed in their hearts.

There was one exception. A tall knight named Ivan stood among the crowd, his hand gripping his sword hilt and his chest rising and falling visibly.

The pale green above Ivan's head suddenly deepened. His Grace Value jumped straight from 142 to 216. The dark green stood out amid the gray and white: Shien could now copy his skills directly.

Shien committed the name to memory but did not let it distract him. His speech was not over. He still had one last piece of kindling to throw on the fire he had just lit.