Execution

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

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

Fabien stepped to Shien's side and said quietly, "My lord, shall we conduct a trial by fire as the law requires?"

An oppressive silence hung over the camp.

Shien glanced at the ranks below the hill. "We don't have the means for that. Skip the drawn-out proceedings. Carry out the sentence here."

The sound of stifled breathing grew suddenly louder among the crowd.

Fabien asked no more questions. Church doctrine did permit summary judgment in wartime, and he was hardly an inflexible man.

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

Church knights pressed the seven men down before wooden blocks hastily brought over.

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

Before he could finish, a church knight pinned the back of his neck.

A heavy sword rose, then fell.

A dull chop sounded in the night, followed by a second, then a third...

Blood ran down the edges of the blocks and seeped into the mud, soon turning dark in the firelight.

Hans's head rolled across the ground. His eyes remained open, still fixed on Shien's position atop 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 did not stop there.

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

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

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

The records of grain and fodder entering storage, the signatures on military pay disbursements, the figures on the warehouse inventories—each was read aloud.

Then knights carried sacks of dried meat and secretly hoarded fragments of holy silver from the men's tents. The evidence of embezzlement lay spread out in the firelight, plain for all to see.

Church law had provisions for this, too, of course.

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

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

After the beheadings, the camp grew quieter still. Everyone with dirty hands trembled.

Not many had been killed, but the sense that being named meant certain death chilled them to the bone and left them shaking.

The camp was unnaturally still, save for heavy breathing, and every gaze rested on Shien.

Firelight mingled with the Blood Moon's glow. The night wind lifted the young man's silver hair, and his broad robe made his frame look slight, even lending him a trace of boyishness he had not yet outgrown.

Yet whenever he looked down over them, anyone who met his eyes instinctively glanced away, as though staring too long would burn them.

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

The people watched Shien, and Shien watched them. But he saw more than their expressions and bearing.

Through the Canon of Grace and Righteousness, he saw the numbers above every head slowly changing.

The glaring patches of deep red that had stood out like tumors had vanished when Hans and his close followers lost their heads.

A few pale red marks remained among the ranks—the stubborn hostility of Hans's remaining supporters.

But to Shien, those leaderless men could stir up no trouble.

Besides, every fighter was precious on the Eternal Night Wall. Rather than tear the weeds out by the roots, Shien judged it best to let them spend what strength they had left on the front line.

What surprised Shien was that amid the sea of gray and white, the numbers above more than a dozen knights had quietly turned pale green, in addition to those above the penitent folk who had just received meat broth. Most of those knights had likely suffered under Hans.

An iron fist against the wicked was itself a blessing to the weak. So long as he carried out justice, grace would climb 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 had cut away their initiative along with it.

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

So Shien had to give their fear a clear direction.

He had to make tonight the beginning of a new order, not merely a bloody spectacle.

Shien walked down the earthen slope. His boots made sticky sounds against the ground, where blood and muddy water had mingled, each footstep jarringly loud in the deathly still camp.

He stopped less than ten meters from the front of the crowd, close enough for them to see his finely shaped face and the inexplicable authority it carried.

"I know what you're afraid of." Shien's voice was clear, yet it made them hold their breath without realizing it.

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

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

Someone in the crowd looked up at him in astonishment, eyes full of confusion.

Shien did not look away. He met those pairs of clouded eyes directly. "I won't hide it from you. The territory we're heading to is nothing but ruins right now. We have to build everything from the ground up, and the Blood Moon hasn't left us much time."

The pent-up tension swelled through the camp. Quite a few people swallowed without realizing it.

"But we've come this far, and there's no turning back." Shien raised his eyes to the Blood Moon hanging at the edge of the sky.

"One step back lies the Church Inquisition's pyre. Another, and your wives and children back in the kingdom will be dragged into the long night by the Blood Moon and become food for ghouls."

After a brief, deathly silence, Shien abruptly changed tack. A measure of sacred compassion and fervor entered his voice.

"But the great Most Holy One did not send us here merely to die in vain. He granted us the highest trial on the path to the Holy Fire!

"He is watching you. Every drop of blood you shed will be inscribed by the clergy in the immortal rolls of merit.

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

"This is your only ladder out of your station, your only way to touch greatness!"

The camp's rigid atmosphere began to shift, if only slightly.

In Shien's sight, scores of numbers were rising. Most went up by only a dozen or so points. It was not much, but it meant his words had planted a seed in their hearts.

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

The pale green above his head suddenly deepened. His grace value leaped straight from 142 to 216, the dark green conspicuous amid the gray and white. It meant Shien could copy his skill directly.

Shien committed the name to memory but did not let himself be distracted. His speech was not over. He still had one last log to throw onto the newly kindled fire.