Broken Soul

Lynx

Killing has never been Lynx's favorite activity. He didn't mind it overly, but that also doesn't mean that he enjoyed it.

Killing was messy. The stench of blood and fear was something oppressive, the begging and pleading uncivilized, but in the end, it always came back to it. One person taking another's life, or in this case, one thing taking a great many lives.

Because that was surely what these poor souls thought of him, an unfeeling, monstrous thing that came out of nowhere and began cutting through them like a scythe through weeds.

Mistakes would always be made in a chaotic setting like this, but Lynx would make sure that the worst wouldn't come to pass.

He stepped over the corpses of another guard toward a merchant who was closely aligned with the noble faction and their crimes. He had profited a great deal from their actions and somehow had slipped through the waves of arrests.

Such a pity, had he stayed and not tried to evade his just punishment, he might even have gotten away with his life. The Radiant Soul wasn't a cruel man, nor did he enjoy killing, much like Lynx himself.

Lynx felt a tug on his coat and saw that one of the guards was still alive and had grabbed onto him.

"Such loyalty," Lynx pondered. "Or rather desperation?"

The man tried to say something, but his lungs were slowly filling with blood, so the only sound he managed was a gurgling something.

Lynx kicked back and hit the man's nose with his heel, ramming it up into his brain and releasing him from his fate of slow suffocation.

He then turned back to his original target, who had fallen with his back against his wagon.

"Noa Petrovic, I assume?" Lynx tried to confirm the man's identity. It was nothing more than useless thoroughness. He knew that he had the right man.

"W-what are yo-you?" the man stammered, and Lynx chose to ignore what was going on at the lower end of his torso.

It wasn't the first time Lynx had gotten that question right before killing someone. It actually was one of the most common last words, next to calling for their mothers or cursing him.

"I am a weapon," he replied simply and crouched down in front of the man. "And you are my target."

"Ple...," the man started, but Lynx cut him off.

"Please don't beg. It has no use."

Noa closed his mouth and stared at his soon-to-be killer. Tears ran down his face, but in a show of unexpected bravery, he nodded.

Lynx would smile if he were able to. With a movement that was too fast for the trader to even notice, he rammed a knife right into his temple. The man had earned a quick death.

Michael

It had always struck Michael as odd how people tended to be in such good spirits when attending executions. The nobility was chatting happily, even if a little tense from the whole change of power dynamic, and the common people loved executions as long as it wasn't their neighbors, and sometimes especially if it was their neighbors.

Michael couldn't quite understand that. He had witnessed too many of them in his short life, if the sick feeling he could feel from Thomas's side of his conscious was to be trusted. He tended to agree. He always felt a similar blanket fall over his emotional state as with a funeral, even now, when he was satisfied with the victims of today's event, it all felt bland to him.

There was no doubt in his mind that Thomas's own opposition to killing was bleeding into him, and that more prevalently in situations where his life was not in danger. The man understood the need for self-defense, but Michael doubted that he would ever agree with the concept of killing without a need to.

It made Michael wonder about the kind of civilization the old man must have come from. He would love to see it, if only in memory. A country where killing even the most heinous criminals is seen as barbaric must be idyllic in comparison to the cruelness of the current world.

"We are ready, milord," Zeke said and recalled him from his thoughts. Michael blinked himself back into the moment and took stock of the situation.

He was standing on a wooden platform that had been hastily raised for this purpose. Next to him was a row of eight men, standing on wooden blocks with nooses around their necks.

Michael's eyes wandered to the audience, which was separated from the stand by a line of soldiers. First were the nobility, behind them prominent citizens, and even further behind those was the general population.

They were all in great attendance. It didn't happen often that nobility was to be executed after all, and humans seemed to love the spectacle of it.

"Very well," Michael said and stepped forward, his eyes glancing over the men on their blocks. "You have all been given an opportunity to make your peace with a priest and your families?"

Some nodded, and others simply stared either at him or into the distance.

"Good, you have all been sentenced to death for crimes against your liege, land, and subjects. If you have any last words, speak them now, but make it brief," Michael announced and pushed mana into his throat to not have to shout.

Like so, he stepped down the line of men, one after another, hearing their last words while an aide noted them down. It was some pleading, but more often, he was met with silence.

The last two men were Redric and Dittrich Plon. He stopped in front of Dittrich first and looked up at the man.

"I should have just killed you when I had the chance," he spat.

"Anything else?" Michael asked, making sure that his face showed not a hint of emotion.

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"Yes, Idas will smite you, and this whole land will burn due to this demon spawn!" he yelled as loudly as he could.

Michael simply nodded and stepped forward to Redric.

"Couldn't even afford us the beheading we deserve, ey?" the man asked bitterly.

"Nobles get beheaded, and you aren't a noble anymore, Redric," Michael replied curtly.

"One last moment of shame for us."

Michael didn't afford him a response and circled around the prisoners.

Geron waited for him behind them and said, "You don't have to do it yourself, you know?"

Michael shook his head. "I have to."

"The one who sees fit to condemn shall be the one to strike the blow," Sola recited a passage of the Illuminated Way in agreement.

With methodical purpose, Michael began kicking out the blocks of wood from underneath the former noble's feet. Most were lucky to break their necks, others had to struggle.

Some satisfaction managed to break through when Dittrich and Redric Plon met their end. The former knight did use augmenting on his neck to save his life out of reflex, but that only meant a slow death, suffocating.

Michael stayed until they had all succumbed to their punishment and then turned to the audience.

The nobility was quiet, but most weren't overly distressed.

Many of the more prominent citizens seemed outright terrified. The Emall merchant class had been hit especially hard with the loss of their patrons and many of their colleagues being arrested or found dead in their homes.

The populace, on the other hand, was positively delighted with what had just transpired.

"People of Emall," Michael addressed them loudly. "Let this be a warning to everyone who wishes to stand in the way of progress and the law. It doesn't matter if you are a servant who owns nothing or the richest noble in all the lands. I am watching, and I will judge those who show themselves as unworthy.

"But let it be known that I am not only watching for the wrongs in the world. If you prove yourself to be skilled and trustworthy, you can rise to prominence. There is a great power vacuum in this county now, and I will need competent people to fill it. If I were you, I would think about that. If you have the skill that it takes to help bring this county to the height it deserves, then step forward and apply for work at the House Telp estate."

Spirited applause followed his declaration. Michael smiled. He was looking forward to all the bureaucratic work it would take to get this fief back on track. It would be a nice respite after the weeks of fighting and plotting.

- Later in the great hall -

After the long-winded trial and execution, it was time for some light-heartedness. A party was in order, of course, not to celebrate the execution of nobles but rather their victory against the Rangda.

It was important to end things on a positive note and not allow them to think about the blow he had dealt the entirety of the noble caste for too long.

He couldn't escape that topic easily, though, as Theden wasn't happy with all of his choices.

"You should wipe their whole families off the face of the earth," he commented yet again.

"Perhaps. It would definitely remove any threat they may pose, but I doubt there is much left anyway. The barons are dead, their heirs will follow, and most of the important members of their houses had a hand in their crimes, so they too will die. What remains is an unimportant shell."

Theden crossed his arms in front of his muscular body; he didn't seem convinced. From what Michael had gathered from him in the time they had spent with the man, it was apparent that he was a good example of the saying; If you are a hammer, every problem starts to look like a nail. He would always prefer the violent solution if given the choice.

It didn't make him unlikable; Michael did like him after all, but it made arguing with him a little bland.

"They will go to our enemies," Theden noted. "My father quite expressly stated that none of them could be allowed to do that."

"If a noble who has been disposed by his liege comes to you with a tale of tyranny, he brings you legitimacy and cause. If it is some cousin of a lord that has been rightfully judged and executed not only by his direct liege but also by his duke, then they barely give you cause, much less legitimacy. Allowing the children and mostly innocent parts of their fallen houses to live will hurt us less than slaughtering them for the only crime of having been born into those houses," Michael explained calmly. "I will not condone such senseless violence."

Theden studied his expression and then nodded. "I do not agree that the harm would be greater to clear them out, but I can't deny that it is better for the consciousness to not have the blood of too many women and children on one's sword."

That wasn't quite how Michael would have put it, but the spirit was there. He was sure that he would get a letter about the subject from Duke Wallsten soon. It wasn't like the surviving members would be allowed to leave any time soon.

Their conversation didn't last much longer, and Michael excused himself when he saw Lord Uger standing alone, gazing out of a window.

Michael joined him, and they stood for a moment before Michael spoke up. "I wanted to thank you for your support."

"I am just doing my duty to king and country," the baron answered, but he still sounded pleased with the gratitude.

They stood in silence for a few more moments.

Michael looked over to the baron and smiled. "So, I was wondering. How long have you secretly been a loyalist?"

Lord Uger looked surprised for a moment and then returned to his easy smile.

"It was when I witnessed a young boy repel an incision by assassins, deal with loss more heavy than most experience in their whole life, and still stand up to those who would tear him down for all his achievements," he explained.

Michael remembered that he ripped into a couple of nobles that night, and now that he thought of it, Baron Uger had been one of them.

"You became a loyalist because I scolded you?"

"You make me sound like a child intimidated into following you," Lord Uger laughed. "But it was a spark that ignited my passion for your rule. I apologize for not sharing my loyalties with you."

"Don't worry. I understand your reasons. What better place for a loyalist than at the head of the neutral faction?" Michael brushed his apology off. He had realized it after Lord Telps' comment about Lord Uger. It was one of these things that one didn't notice until someone pointed it out, but the neutral faction had been very open to his rule. It certainly explained why so many of his reforms and decisions had met less resistance than expected.

"I would prefer it to stay that way for a while. I believe the factions won't last long after this."

"Of course. I don't plan to interfere," Michael agreed. "But I am sure you have to know that I don't plan to ever allow the nobility to regain the power they had. On the contrary, I believe they will stagnate even further as time passes and my reforms take hold."

Lord Uger gave Michael a long look and then asked, "Do you plan to repeat purges like this?"

"No. Not if it isn't absolutely necessary. I do not enjoy taking lives senselessly."

"Do you plan to continue your work to better the kingdom and the fate of its people?"

"I do."

"Then I don't see any reason to be concerned. I trust that I will be allowed to keep my fiefs and titles as long as I manage them properly and I believe in your vision, Lord Rowan. As long as you do not betray that vision, I will stand with you against everything and everyone."

Michael paused at that. To think that one of his most zealous followers would be someone he had considered a political threat just a couple of days ago was amusing.

"I am happy to hear that and will do my utmost to fulfill my vision. And yes, as long as you don't give me a reason to strip anything from you, I will not."

Lord Uger nodded. "I am glad. Now, I am going to have to leave you. We can't be seen too much together like this."

Michael agreed and let the lord leave him alone.

He stepped closer to the window and leaned on the sill. There was no glass here. It was way too expensive for the south, and so he could feel the wind on his face through the open shutters.

Michael had been anxious about this whole thing from the moment Dittrich had revealed his intention. Civil war, manhunts, assassinations, and so many more scenarios had haunted him, but in the end, it felt like child's play to uproot the noble faction.

Was that because of the preparations, the skills of his subordinates, or some other fact that eluded him?

The clean-up had been easy, and Michael couldn't help but think that it had been too easy. A certain paranoia was setting back in that he had carried around for a long time. Was someone influencing things? Ferrekxan? Demons? Someone else from the shadows?