NOVEL NEXT 128. Public Execution
Ravenna's voice carried across the square like a clarion call, cutting through the hushed anticipation of the crowd.
"Today," she declared, her heel striking the wooden stage with deliberate emphasis, "I stand before you not merely as Jola's sovereign—but as the living voice of Herptian, your Goddess of Indulgence and Desire!"
With a calculated motion, she pushed forward one silk-clad leg, the slit in her gown parting to reveal the sacred Apostle's mark etched into her thigh—a swirling sigil of interlocking crescents that seemed to pulse in the torchlight. A collective gasp rippled through the assembled masses.
The crowd dropped to their knees as one, their movements practiced from months of conditioning. Not a whisper of dissent rose from the throng—only reverent silence and wide, fearful eyes. They might dread Ravenna's mercurial temper, her razor-sharp tongue, but none could deny the miracles she'd wrought. Where there had been starvation, now there were markets overflowing with grain. Where crumbling slums once stood, sturdy apartments now housed families in safety.
And now this—divine confirmation that their ruthless savior walked with the Goddess's own blessing.
"As Herptian's chosen," Ravenna continued, her stiletto heels clicking rhythmically as she paced the stage's length, "I have uncovered an abomination festering in our city's heart!"
Marie stood among the front ranks of observers, the administrative staff clustered around her. Every shop, every dock, every workshop had been shuttered for this event—Ravenna's decree had seen to that. The entire island held its breath.
"These worms dared pervert our goddess's most sacred gift—the right to choose when, how, and with whom we indulge!" Ravenna whirled, her black gown flaring as she gestured behind her.
High Priest James watched from the sides, his lips curling in quiet approval. The girl had taken to her apostolic role like a natural, weaving political theater and religious fervor into a single devastating weapon.
"Our goddess is no stern judge," Ravenna hissed, the torchlight in her hand catching the rubies in her hair like flecks of blood. "She does not demand purity or penance. But she will NOT tolerate thieves who steal other's first tastes of pleasure!"
The crowd's roar shook the very stones beneath their feet.
"As your Apostle," she continued, the torchlight carving shadows across her face, "I sentence them to suffer."
The prisoners—moments ago preening in their silks, still warm from baths and beds and the illusion of mercy—were dragged forward. Raymond thrashed like a wild animal, his manicured nails scraping against the knights' armor. "No! You can't—I'm noble blood! I signed—!" His voice cracked as a gauntleted fist silenced him.
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One by one, they were bound to the towering pyres, their fine robes now funeral shrouds. The last sliver of sun vanished, plunging the square into darkness save for the lone torch in Ravenna's hand—a single, terrible star in the void.
The crowd's chant rose like a tide: "Herptian's justice! Herptian's justice!"
Ravenna stepped forward, her priestess garb whispering against the stage. Up close, she saw the moment Raymond understood—the dawning horror as she tilted the torch toward the oil-soaked wood at his feet.
"We used slow-burning oil," she murmured, just for him. "You'll have time to reflect."
"You psychotic bicth—!" His curse became a scream as the flames licked up his legs, the scent of scorched silk and searing flesh thick in the air. Around him, the other pyres bloomed into hellish flowers, their light painting the crowd's upturned faces in grotesque relief.
Ravenna turned back to her people, the firelight dancing in her eyes. "Remember this night!" she called over the cacophony of shrieks. "Herptian blesses those who indulge—but She destroys those who force it!"
The flames climbed higher, the screams grew shriller, and in the flickering shadows, the goddess's Apostle smiled.
[ Reputation System v0.1 ]
User: Ravenna Solarius / Joy Cha Kim
Reputation Level: 70 — (59,399 / 59,400 EXP) ↑
Current Reputation Points: 210,140 RP ↑
{ View Reputation Log } { Spend Reputation Points }
The numbers ticked upward as whispers spread through the crowd. Ravenna let them simmer in the aftermath before raising her hands.
"If you wish to understand today's events in full," she announced, her voice carrying over the square, "Jola's first newspaper service begins at dawn!"
A murmur of confusion rippled through the masses. Newspapers? The word tasted foreign on their tongues.
Sarah ascended the stage, her practical boots clicking against the wood. "Think of it as a notice board you can hold in your hands," she explained, holding up a prototype. "Daily pages documenting city announcements, happenings, innovations... even entertainment like illustrated stories and puzzles." She paused, letting the concept sink in.
"Her Highness has planned this for months, waiting for a night worthy of its launch. And for a limited time..." A calculated smile. "...we'll deliver them to every household free of charge."
The crowd buzzed with curiosity.
Ravenna reclaimed the stage, the city's new lamps casting her in an almost ethereal glow. "One final announcement."
High Priest James joined her, his ceremonial robes whispering against the planks. "The name 'Jola' has long defined this land," he began, then corrected himself with theatrical hesitation, "Ah, forgive me. I misspoke. Not 'defined'—cursed."
He gestured to the transformed skyline—the gleaming towers where hovels once stood, the bustling streets that had been barren wastelands. "This is no longer the city of your suffering. Why cling to the title of those who abandoned you?" His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper the crowd strained to hear.
"Should our salvation still bear the name of our oppressors?"
Ravenna let the silence stretch until it ached, then struck: "From this night forward, this land shall be known as the Kim Dukedom!"
The foreign name hung in the air like smoke. For three heartbeats, no one moved.
Then—
"ALL HAIL KIM ISLAND!" Marie's voice sliced through the hesitation.
The crowd erupted. The chant became a living thing, rolling over the city in waves as stars blinked to life above them—not a whisper of dissent to be heard. Not when the pyres' embers still glowed.