The noise ahead shifted. People weren’t just going sowhere; they were gathering. Dozens stood shoulder to shoulder near a raised platform in the square that sat between two large buildings. The wooden steps leading up were new—smooth planks, unstained by ti—built for one purpose. Rope hung from the short wooden bar above, tied into two nooses.
My stomach dropped. I slowed, unsure whether to keep moving, but the crowd in front pressed in so tightly that I couldn’t get out without drawing even more attention.
The guards on the stage were dressed in fitted chest plates and reinforced leather layered beneath, swords strapped to their hips. Their helts didn’t cover their faces—expression and authority were part of the performance.
Two prisoners stood at the center with bound hands: a woman and a boy, maybe ten years old. Both had pointed ears. Both elves.
An execution.
Not that I was a stranger to this kind of stuff, though. But innocents...? Or were they just criminals?
Gasps, whispers, and approving nods spread through the crowd. Not angry shouts—just general agreent, as if this was routine, as if nobody questioned it. A few looked away, uncomfortable, but they were far outnumbered.
I forced myself to watch, even though everything in scread to look anywhere else.
The woman stood tall despite her fear. Her hair was long, a shade between silver and ash, pulled back into a simple tie. Her clothes were rough—cotton shirt and dark trousers, torn at the knees. The child beside her wore a shirt far too large and had dried tear marks down his cheeks. Neither of them could have passed for dangerous. If anything, they just looked tired and cornered.
A guard stepped forward to address the crowd. He didn’t need to shout—his voice carried with the confidence of soone who had done this more than once.
"We do not behave like elves," he said, sweeping a hand toward the prisoners. "We do not rape. We do not tornt. We do not treat captives as sport. We give our enemies a clean end."
The crowd murmured in approval. I felt my jaw tighten. The woman didn’t even move. The boy’s lips trembled, but he bit down and tried to stay silent.
Another guard walked over and tugged the nooses. Fresh rope. New knots. Carefully prepared.
One old man in the crowd huffed, "Should have been sooner if you ask ."
A younger woman beside him offered a half-hearted shrug. "At least this way is quick."
Another voice—soone closer to —muttered under their breath, "It’s just a child..." but no one responded to them.
The woman on the platform leaned down, touching her forehead gently to the boy’s, whispering sothing I couldn’t hear. She wasn’t crying. I didn’t know if she couldn’t or if she refused to give this crowd the satisfaction.
The main guard stepped behind the platform and lifted a short wooden lever attached to the execution chanism. The floor beneath each prisoner was divided into small square panels. Once the lever dropped, those boards would split and plunge their feet downward just enough to snap their necks.
He didn’t rush. He spoke again for the crowd.
"Let this be a lesson. Our city stands strong, and those who strike against us will face justice."
A few cheers rose. Others simply watched in silence, waiting. My pulse raced. I had seen violent movies, police reports, footage online—but this was real. No screen. No distance. No filter.
The guard stepped up behind the woman and placed the rope around her neck. Another guard did the sa with the child. When the boy felt the rope settle, he whimpered—not loud, but enough to punch air out of my lungs.
The woman hissed. "Don’t look down. Lo... look up. Look strong."
"Mother..." he whispered.
She rested her hand on his shoulder as long as the guards allowed it.
Then the main guard returned to the lever.
"By order of Kinola’s laws," he declared, "sentence carried out."
My voice stuck sowhere between my spine and throat. I couldn’t move, couldn’t blink. The crowd leaned in, waiting.
The guard pulled the lever.
The floor panels dropped with a dull sound, and the two elves fell just enough for the ropes to yank tight. The woman’s body went still after a single tense mont. The boy jerked once, twice, then stopped moving.
A sound passed through the square—not applause, not horror. Just a wave of acceptance. Like this was a routine announcent that crops were healthy this year.
A few put their hands on their chests in so gesture of respect. Others turned away and continued their day. Two students behind began casually discussing a course assignnt as if they hadn’t watched a mother and child hang monts earlier.
I felt cold. No words. No breath.
The guards cut the rope after a short wait, letting both bodies settle onto waiting cloth sheets. Two workers folded them carefully, almost professionally, as if they did this every week. Another guard scribbled sothing onto a parchnt, like soone signing paperwork for a shipnt.
Everything was clean. Efficient.
I had never felt more foreign or small in my life.
I swallowed, forcing myself to turn around. If I stood there any longer, I was going to crash ntally and I knew it. Whatever this world was... this was its reality.
And I had to survive in it.
"I... I need to go..."
As I started forward, I noticed a faint line etched into the ground—a thin yellow thread that pulsed every few seconds, as if it were breathing. I slowed, staring at it, unsure whether to trust what I was seeing.
Before I could question it further, the map flickered open in front of on its own. The sa yellow line glowed across its surface, stretching ahead and winding through the streets—leading straight to the Guildhouse.
Damn. It was useful. Incredibly useful.
Under any other circumstances, I might have felt relieved—maybe even grateful. But the image of two innocent elves being executed for absolutely nothing still burned behind my eyes, and no glowing line was enough to make forget it.
"Okay... let’s go."
I followed the faint yellow line on the ground, my feet moving on their own while my head remained stuck back in the square. The execution wouldn’t leave . I had seen violence in movies, sure, but standing in a crowd where most people treated death like a scheduled event... that was different.
My mind replayed the mont the lever dropped. The way the crowd barely reacted. The boy’s small fra falling beside his mother. I had no connection to them, yet the scene dug under my skin. If this world executed children without hesitation, what hope did soone like have?
The yellow line guided down a wider avenue where foot traffic thinned. Stone buildings frad both sides, their facades carved and hung with painted signs showing symbols I didn’t know how to read. So looked like bakeries, so like lecture halls, others maybe businesses.
After a short walk, the line curved again, leading straight to a large stone structure that rose above the surrounding rooftops.
There it was. The Guildhouse.
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Location Discovered!
Na: Guildhouse
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District: dra
Objective:
○ Pick up two quests.
○ Find the phantom chest.
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Gained EXP: 20
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