"Secondly, his followers ambushed the Red Tide Knight Team at night, leaving an Apprentice Knight severely injured on the ground. The injured’s na is Aaron Tyne, who is still unconscious."
"Thirdly, taking advantage of the chaos in the city, Brooke instructed his subordinates to forcefully open the west granary and steal three boxes of war materials and over thirty winter stoves, causing a shortage of supplies along several lines of defense."
"Fourthly, inciting a riot at the grain distribution site, resulting in a four-year-old child being trampled to death; additionally, three post-operative wounded soldiers saw their wounds worsen due to a lack of dicine, of which one succumbed to the wounds."
"Fifthly, disrupting order by setting fire on West Street, creating panic. The fire spread, causing a nightti escape and stampede, injuring thirteen people, including two with serious fractures."
With each point read, the scene erupted into a bout of commotion.
Each statent was accompanied by the testimony of eyewitnesses, records signed by Red Tide soldiers, and physical evidence, painting a picture of blatant wrongdoing, proof beyond doubt.
Quinn spoke with a voice like forged iron, calm yet heavy, with each word seemingly nailing Brooke’s head to the judgnt stand.
The murmurs among the crowd began to surge.
Upon hearing "a four-year-old child trampled to death," an old woman began to sob quietly, while soone cursed angrily: "That was my neighbor’s granddaughter!", "Only a beast would do such a thing!"
On the high platform, Brooke hung his head low, his lips trembling, his entire being collapsing as if his backbone had been removed, his face ashen.
He wanted to defend himself, but no sound could escape his throat.
Beside him, Quinn thundered with a voice like thunder, "Such treasonous rogues, their cris are unforgivable, and today they shall be made a bloody offering to the law, and through execution, establish authority!"
With these words, the Red Tide Iron Guard below responded in unison, and the executioners on both sides were already in position.
On the execution platform, several principal offenders were heavily pressed down to kneel, their throats clamped, struggling futilely.
A flash of cold light, the knife rose.
Blood sprayed three feet.
Corpses tumbled down the wooden steps, rolling into the snow, tracing winding scarlet lines across the icy ground.
Brooke, in his last struggle, twisted his head, his lips trembling, as if trying to shout sothing, but only spit out thick blood, the sound dying in his throat.
Once a nobleman, a councilman, now he could not even take a single defense with him, his eyes filled with unyielding shock, ultimately swallowed by snow and blood.
The crowd below fell silent for a mont, then erupted:
"Well killed!"
"These scoundrels should have been dealt with long ago!"
anwhile, a white-haired old woman in the back row covered her face crying, muttering, "My son’s death was unjust... but today, at least there’s an end to it..."
Emotions scattered, there were roars, cries, and even near-frenzied cheers, as it was a release of emotions long suppressed after the war.
In the nobles’ seats, a group of "survivors" already looked ashen.
They watched helplessly as Brooke, who had conspired with them just last night, was beheaded in broad daylight, with not a soul daring to plead for him.
"He... he actually directly beheaded Brooke..."
"Mad... he’s mad..."
Whispers rose, but no one dared to speak aloud.
So were soaked with cold sweat down their backs, others’ fingers were stiff as wood, almost unable to grip their canes.
Though not nad, it felt as if the execution blade was already at their necks.
Imdiately after the execution of the principal offenders, the square had not yet dispersed.
On the platform, the Iron Guards swiftly cleared the bloodstains, the red liquid from the execution knife not yet congealed, yet Quinn continued unabated, unfolding the scroll in his hand, his voice resounding once more: "Secondary participants, twenty-three, bring them up one by one."
As the order was given, another squad of Red Tide Guards escorted the accused onto the platform.
These people had ragged clothes and unsteady steps, varying in age and gender, their expressions either dull, terrified, or fiercely defiant—but none dared to shout.
"These twenty-three people, though not the masterminds, aided the rebellion in this instance.
First, refugee Joseph, spread rumors claiming ’the Red Tide hoards grain without distribution,’ inciting over a hundred people to gather at the South Street tavern.
Second, refugee woman linda, provided information and multiple tis covered the main offender’s escape.
Third, mber of an outsider caravan ’Marcel,’ secretly probed Red Tide’s mobilization and garrison deploynts."
As each count of cri was read, soldiers would drag the involved parties to the execution post, either to be tied or to kneel.
The whipping imdiately comnced.
The sound of whips slicing through the air resembled wind arrows, brutally landing on flesh.
"Aaaah——!"
The first prisoner scread as the second whip landed before the cry could fade.
Blood splattered, dust swirled, and the audience was in an uproar.
"Good beating!" soone shouted, raising a fist, "My spouse was tricked out by these people! Barely ca back!"
"These henchn of the rebels, if not killed, should at least be whipped to a pulp!" another woman cried out forcefully, her eyes red.
A child beside her shrank into his mother’s arms, yet watched the execution stage with wide eyes, not daring to blink.
On stage, Quinn announced calmly, "For those with lighter offenses, they are to be whipped between ten to fifty tis, and sentenced to labor for the Red Tide work crew, to dig canals and build walls, not to be discharged before winter."
On the execution platform, the sounds of whipping continued.
It was the sound of iron law driven into flesh, the clearest and coldest declaration of justice in the Red Tide Territory during the harsh winter.
Outside the execution stage, in the small alleys closest to the square’s edge, so roars who refused to "line up properly" had originally hid.
These were the traffickers of black market grain tickets, the midnight rumor spreaders, the "spectators" who injured Red Tide soldiers the day before.
At the mont when heads rolled, soone almost fell to the ground, so turned to flee, while others bit a rag hard and covered their mouths, terrified that even a single breath would bring calamity.
After witnessing the entire public trial and execution, these roars, who had intended to stir trouble, no longer dared to act rashly.
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