**The village square**
The village square had never seen so many people gathered at once. Word had spread overnight—the new Baron was executing prisoners. One hundred seventy-three of them.
Cecil and his knights had worked through the night, dragging criminals from their homes, from taverns, from the very halls of the manor itself. By dawn, the dungeon overflowed with the corrupt and the complicit.
Now they stood chained in the square, surrounded by villagers whose murmurs grew louder with each passing moment.
I stood at the center of the square, surveying the crowd. Faces twisted with confusion, anger, and fear stared back at me. The guillotine rose behind me like a monument to justice—or tyranny, depending on who you asked.
"Did you hear?" an old woman whispered to her neighbor, though her voice carried. "The new lord killed all the servants in the manor."
"I heard he murdered his own family to steal the title," a merchant added, his face pale.
"My cousin told me he's a demon," a young man said, crossing himself. "That he drinks blood and eats the hearts of his enemies."
The rumors spread like wildfire through dry grass. Within minutes, half the crowd believed I was some kind of monster.
Perfect. Fear was useful. Fear kept people obedient.
I raised my hand, and the square fell into uneasy silence.
"Hello," I began, my voice carrying across the packed square. "I am your new lord, Edward Brown. Today, we will be executing one hundred seventy-three people who have committed treason against the kingdom."
The crowd erupted immediately.
"Treason?!"
"What treason? No one said anything about treason!"
"Is this some kind of joke?"
"He's going to kill us all!" a woman screamed.
"This is madness!" a merchant shouted. "One hundred seventy-three people? What kind of tyrant are you?!"
"He's worse than the old Baron!"
The panic spread like plague through the crowd.
Alfred stepped forward, his voice cutting through the chaos like a blade. "SILENCE!"
The crowd quieted, though rage and fear still rippled through them like a living thing.
"The crimes will be announced as each execution proceeds," I continued calmly. "You will hear exactly what these people have done. And when this is over, you will understand why it was necessary."
Without waiting for a response, I walked to the raised platform where a chair had been arranged at a comfortable distance from the guillotine. Close enough to see everything. Far enough to avoid the blood spray.
I sat down, crossed my legs, and gestured for Alfred to begin.
The crowd's angry muttering continued. I could see it in their eyes—they thought I was a monster. A tyrant worse than anything they'd known before.
Good. Let them think that. For now.
Alfred moved to the center of the square, unfurling a long scroll. "As our lord has stated, these criminals have committed treason through various acts against the kingdom and its people. Their crimes include: systematic tax evasion, theft from the Baron's estate, corruption of official records, bribery, extortion, murder, and—" he paused for emphasis "—human trafficking."
The crowd's murmur turned into a roar, but it was still angry—angry at me.
"Human trafficking? He's making this up!"
"They're going to accuse all of us next!"
"This is just an excuse to kill whoever he wants!"
Alfred raised his hand. "The first criminal: Marcus Thorne, former village treasurer of Ashwood Village."
Two knights dragged a portly man to the guillotine. He was crying, snot running down his face as he begged for mercy.
"Please! Please, my lord! I have children! I was only following orders!"
The crowd's anger shifted slightly—some toward sympathy for Marcus, some toward fury at me.
"He has children!" a woman cried out. "You're going to orphan his children?!"
"This is barbaric!"
Alfred's voice cut through the noise. "Marcus Thorne collected taxes of sixty percent from the people of Ashwood Village. The official rate was thirty-five percent. He pocketed the difference—a total of 2,000 gold coins over five years."
The square fell silent. Deadly silent.
Then it exploded.
"WHAT?!"
"Sixty percent? I paid my taxes in full! Where did my money go?!"
"My son died because I couldn't afford medicine! I PAID SIXTY PERCENT!"
"We were told the tax rate was kingdom law!"
An elderly farmer pushed forward, his weathered face turning purple with rage. "My wife starved to death last winter because we couldn't afford food after paying taxes! And this FAT BASTARD was stealing from us?!"
"I sold my daughter's dowry to pay taxes!" another man roared. "She couldn't marry because of YOU!"
"My family lost our farm!" a young woman screamed, tears streaming down her face.
Marcus screamed as the blade fell. His head rolled into a basket, blood pooling on the platform.
The crowd roared its approval. The anger had found a new target.
"Next: Helen Blackwood, former head maid of the manor."
A middle-aged woman was dragged forward, her face defiant even as tears streamed down her cheeks.
"Helen Blackwood embezzled 1,500 gold coins from the manor's household funds over three years. She also accepted bribes from merchants to provide them with exclusive contracts, overcharging the barony by three hundred percent on basic supplies. Flour that should have cost ten silver was purchased for thirty. Medicine that cost five silver was purchased for fifteen. All of this came from your taxes."
"Lies!" Helen screamed. "The late Baron knew everything! I was following his orders!"
"The late Baron is dead," Alfred replied coldly. "And his orders died with him. You stole from the people and enriched yourself. That is fact."
A woman in the crowd shouted, her voice shaking with rage: "My husband's a merchant! He couldn't get a contract with the manor no matter how many times he tried! You told him he didn't have enough 'influence'! You wanted a bribe!"
"I should have had that contract!" another merchant yelled. "My prices were fair! My family nearly went bankrupt because you shut us out!"
"That's why bread was so expensive!" someone else realized. "She was inflating the prices!"
"My children went hungry because we couldn't afford flour!"
Helen's head joined Marcus's in the basket.
The crowd's bloodlust was growing. And their anger at me was transforming into something else—understanding.
By the tenth execution, the pattern was clear. Each criminal had stolen, extorted, or murdered their way to wealth while the common people suffered.
"Richard Stone, former captain of the guard. Accepted bribes to ignore smuggling operations. Participated in kidnapping seventeen children for sale to slave markets in the south. Personally murdered four witnesses who threatened to expose him."
The crowd went absolutely feral at that one.
"CHILDREN?!"
"My nephew disappeared three years ago! Three years old!"
"My daughter! She was only seven!"
"MONSTER! DEMON!"
"I HOPE YOU BURN IN HELL!"
Richard didn't even make it to the guillotine. Someone threw a rock that struck his temple. Then another. Then a dozen more. stones, pieces of wood—anything the crowd could grab.
"YOU KILLED MY BABY!" a mother screamed, her voice raw and broken. "SHE WAS FIVE YEARS OLD!"
The knights had to form a barrier just to get him to the platform, and even then, the barrage didn't stop. When his head finally fell, the crowd cheered so loudly it echoed off the surrounding buildings.
Then the mother who had screamed collapsed, sobbing into the dirt. Women around her knelt down, holding her, crying with her.
I watched it all from my chair, my expression unchanged. But inside, I felt the weight of each name, each stolen child, each destroyed life.
This was justice. Brutal, bloody justice.
"Thomas Reed, village head of Westfield Village. Sold falsified documents allowing criminals to escape prosecution. Sold twenty orphans from the church orphanage to slavers over two years."
Thomas had been a respected man in the community. Seeing him dragged to the guillotine shocked many into silence.
"No," an old woman whispered. "Not Thomas. He helped build the church. He donated to the orphanage."
"With stolen money," Alfred said, hearing her. "Every coin he gave away was taken from your pockets first. He played the generous benefactor while robbing you blind. And he secretly sold the very orphans he pretended to care for."
The old woman's face went white.
A young mother pushed forward, her voice trembling. "My husband went to him when we couldn't pay our taxes! Thomas told us there was nothing he could do, that the rate was set by the kingdom! You're saying he LIED?!"
"He lied," Alfred confirmed. "He inflated your taxes by twenty-five percent and kept the difference."
"My husband... my husband hanged himself. Two months ago. Because we couldn't pay." Her voice broke. "Because of him?"
"Yes."
The woman's face transformed from grief to pure rage. "YOU KILLED HIM! YOU MURDERED MY HUSBAND!"
The crowd turned on Thomas then. The stones came faster this time, along with curses, screams, and prayers for his damnation.
When his head fell, no one cheered. They were too angry, too devastated. Some wept. Others stood in stunned silence, processing the depth of the betrayal.
By the fiftieth execution, the crowd's demeanor had completely changed.
They no longer saw me as a tyrant.
They saw me as their salvation.
"Bless the new Baron!"
"Finally, someone who cares about justice!"
"He's cleaning out the corruption!"
"God sent him to save us!"
I remained seated, watching as name after name was called. Watching as the crimes were revealed. Watching as the people realized, one by one, that every hardship they'd suffered—every death, every bankruptcy, every missing child—had been caused by these criminals.
The rage in the square was palpable now, but it was no longer directed at me.
It was directed at the true enemies.
The square was painted red with blood. The basket overflowed with severed heads. The stench of death hung heavy in the air.
But the crowd didn't leave.They stood there.
By the thirtieth execution, my clothes were flecked with blood spray despite the distance. The air stank of death and copper. The basket overflowed with heads.
The crowd had transformed from frightened villagers into something primal. They screamed for blood, threw refuse at the condemned, spat curses that would have made sailors blush.
"Gerard Frost, former clerk. Forged shipping manifests to hide smuggling operations. Worked with bandits to ambush merchant caravans. His cut: 8,000 gold coins."
"Harold Vance, stable master. Sold manor horses and replaced them with sick animals. Profited 2,000 gold coins while the Baron's cavalry suffered."
"Margaret Silver, seamstress. Overcharged for clothing by two hundred percent and split the excess with the head maid."
The executions continued. Each name, each crime, each head that rolled into the basket.
By the fiftieth execution, some villagers had started vomiting. The square was slick with blood, and the stench had become unbearable.
But no one left.
When the one hundred twenty-fourth head fell, Alfred's voice had gone hoarse. But he pushed on.
"Daniel Cross, merchant. Hoarded grain during famine and sold it at ten times the normal price. Forty-three people starved to death in the winter."
An old man collapsed, sobbing. "My grandchildren… they were so hungry…"
The crowd nearly tore Daniel apart before the knights could get him to the guillotine.
Finally, mercifully, it was done.
One hundred seventy-three bodies lay in growing pools of blood. One hundred seventy-three heads filled multiple baskets. The executioner's arms shook from exhaustion.
The crowd had gone silent now, the bloodlust draining away to leave only shock and numbness.
Alfred stepped forward one final time. His fine clothes were ruined with blood, but his voice carried clearly.
"These criminals stole from you. They starved you. They sold your children. They grew fat while you suffered." He paused, letting it sink in. "Your new lord, Baron Edward Brown, has delivered justice today. And to prove his commitment to your welfare, he makes this decree:"
The crowd stirred, uncertain.
"For the next two years, the tax rate in this barony is reduced from sixty percent to ten percent!"
Silence. Then confusion rippled through the crowd.
"TEN PERCENT?!"
"Did he say TEN?!"
"That's… that can't be real."
"Is this a trick?"
People looked at each other uncertainly, too shocked to believe what they'd heard. The silence stretched uncomfortably.
The soldiers saved 16 children, who went missing few days ago. They found them in those criminal place. They were beaten, exhausted , no colour in their eyes.
They took care of the children. They silently brought in front of crowds. When a mother saw her she ran to her.. my baby girl!! "Are you ok!?! Do you see me? Can you recognise me?" Her eyes looked at her and.. mommy?! Barely a whisper and started to cry.
The crowd still went as if the world itself stooped for a second. Another couple., my boy!!! He is our son!!! Another.. brother! My grandson!
Alfred continued and said, " we don't know how many are still alive. But we'll find them as long as they are breathing and still alive."
Then, one of the planted people—a young farmer positioned strategically near the front—raised his fist and shouted, "LONG LIVE LORD EDWARD!"
"LONG LIVE LORD EDWARD!" Another planted voice joined in from the left side of the square.
"LONG LIVE LORD EDWARD!" A third voice from the back.
Then a fourth, a fifth, a sixth—all the plants strategically positioned throughout the crowd, their voices strong and passionate.
The genuine villagers hesitated for just a moment more. Then, like a dam breaking, they joined in.
"LONG LIVE LORD EDWARD!"
"We can actually EAT now!"
"TEN PERCENT! He's actually giving us back our lives!"
"GOD BLESS THE NEW BARON!"
Within moments, the entire square was chanting. "LONG LIVE LORD EDWARD! LONG LIVE LORD EDWARD!"
The sound was deafening, echoing off the surrounding buildings, building in intensity until it felt like the very ground shook with it.
I stood from my chair, surveyed the blood-soaked square, and raised my hand. The chanting stopped immediately.
"Proceed with cleaning the square," I said quietly. "And prepare for the celebration feast tomorrow. Every family receives one copper coin and a loaf of bread."
The crowd erupted in cheers again.
I turned and walked back toward the manor, Alfred falling into step beside me. Behind us, the chanting resumed, even louder than before.
"Did you think I was a monster?" I asked him quietly.
Alfred considered the question. "I think you're practical, my lord. And practicality often looks like monstrosity to those who lack your vision."
I smirked. "That's a diplomatic way of saying yes."
To be continued...