Hundreds of captured rioters knelt in the square, their hands bound behind their backs.
Grom looked at the people around him, some bound and others stripped of their weapons, and sneered inwardly.
Just as he had said, the lord of the Gray Marsh Fief was indeed settling accounts with them. The "criminals" in the square included not only people who had joined tonight's robbery like him, but also members of organizations and gangs that had taken no part in the operation.
The thought that those who had lacked the nerve to cause trouble tonight would die alongside him dispelled some of his fear.
Around them, more than a hundred Bader War Beetles stood silently, their single horns reflecting a chilling gleam in the torchlight.
The sea breeze blew through the fjord, carrying cool, salty moisture, but it could not disperse the stench of sweat and fear hanging over the crowd.
Veylin walked to the center of the square, with Barrett following behind him.
He placed a ledger on a wooden table brought over for the occasion and flipped it open with his fingers.
He tilted his head toward Barrett.
Barrett stepped forward, and his voice, accustomed to roaring across battlefields, thundered through the silent square.
"Grom, formerly a miner in Shatterstone County, leader of the Iron Fist Society."
Grom, the burly man kneeling at the very front, jolted.
"Charge one: organizing a gang, monopolizing the quarry, and using violence to extort 'protection fees' from one hundred and twenty-seven workers."
Barrett paused, sweeping his gaze over the watching crowd.
"According to City Hall's calculations, from the seventh of this month through last night, your total illegal profits amounted to more than three thousand merit points."
A wave of stifled gasps rose from the crowd.
Many workers who had suffered his bullying