Chapter 53: Cleansing Flames

Red Mist Bar.

"Hey, Snake Boss, why are the odds for that guy so high? And no betting cap yet? Aren't you worried about losing big?"

The patrons crowded around the Local Betting Channel, perplexed at the unusual odds for the "popular candidate." Normally, the odds for the favorite were so low—1.0001 or even lower—and tightly capped to limit losses.

After all, most people could predict who would die after reading the convict profiles. Snake Boss wasn't the type to hand out free money.

Typically, the more popular bets were things like, "How much of a margin will the highest and lowest votes have?" or "Will the top vote count surpass 150,000 in 15 minutes?" or even "Will a convict brawl break out within five minutes?"—outcomes that were harder to predict and more exciting to bet on.

At the bar, Snake Boss flicked his tongue and hissed, "Oh, I'm terrified. If you all bet on him, I'll be ruined. Hissss."

One patron laughed. "Ah, I'm just here to lose money for fun! I'm going to bet on the lowest odds, the one with the cap, just because I can!"

Meanwhile...

Sitting nearby, Lorens stared at the betting interface. It had been over a year since his stint in Broken Lake Prison, and he hadn't touched gambling in ages.

Local betting networks allowed anyone to set up wagers, as long as the host deposited a significant reserve in the Kaimon Commercial Bank. This prevented any fraudulent hosts from running off with the winnings if they incurred losses.

Scanning through the odds for the eight convicts, Lorens quickly discerned who was most likely to meet their end this time.

The lowest odds always belonged to the one everyone expected to die.

Lorens smirked and placed his bets on the convict with the lowest odds, fully confident in his choice.

Ash finally understood why Harvey was so sure the "random" selection would target him.

The "random" selection was a vote!

The convict with the most votes would "win" the grand prize: a one-way trip to "Heaven," courtesy of the Executioner.

And why was Ash guaranteed to win this dubious honor?

Because he was famous.

Ash had been the star of recent headlines—an "evil cult leader" whose backstory had been dissected, sensationalized, and broadcast in gripping detail. Even Ash himself had found the stories oddly entertaining.

The audience knew him.

And that recognition was all it took for him to become the top choice.

As Ash's vote count skyrocketed, the crimson Executioner behind him grew larger and more terrifying. Its glowing blue flames licked at the edges of the platform, leaving Ash teetering on the brink. His heels dangled over the abyss.

Every fiber of his being screamed for him to run.

Just as Ash reached his breaking point, a sudden scream snapped his attention away.

"AAAAHHHHH!"

Nearby, the ogre convict let out a high-pitched wail, reminiscent of a frightened child.

The ghostly blue flames from the Executioner had grazed him. Trembling violently, the massive ogre clung to the steel wire, looking utterly helpless.

The other convicts weren't faring any better.

Screams filled the air as they staggered and writhed in agony, clutching their heads or collapsing to their knees. Despite showing no outward injuries, the pain etched on their faces was undeniable—sharp, visceral, and unrelenting.

A nimble goblin convict tried his luck on the steel wire, inching along precariously to escape the burning flames.

Ash blinked in confusion.

Is it really that bad?

Despite the chaos, Ash felt... fine.

No searing pain. No soul-burning torment.

"Wow," he thought smugly, watching the convicts around him convulse. "You guys sure scream a lot. Not like me—I'm totally fine. Clearly, I'm built different."

One of the convicts, his lips bleeding from biting too hard, shouted in defiance.

"This is a violation! A breach of basic human rights! The Blood Moon Trials aren't supposed to hurt us during the voting phase!"

"You're torturing us!" another chimed in. "This is a perversion of justice—a disgrace to the Blood Moon's spirit of redemption!"

"Where are the human rights groups? The city council representatives? Stop this madness!"

Ash found himself agreeing, albeit with some skepticism. The Blood Moon Trials were renowned for their fairness—one execution, seven survivors. Most prisoners he'd met had been through multiple trials and survived, their tales of near-misses painting a picture of a system that valued spectacle over cruelty.

Even in this world, human rights were taken seriously—or at least appeared to be. The country prided itself on its enlightened policies, from abolishing torture to introducing humane interrogation methods like memory extraction.

And yet, here they were, subject to inexplicable agony during what should have been a safe phase.

"Not true," Nagu interrupted, shaking his head.

"The rules of this trial have been approved by parliament, human rights groups, and racial advocacy organizations. While the situation may appear perilous, as long as you remain on your platforms and do nothing, you will not be harmed."

Just then, the Executioner near a burly orc swelled slightly. The ghostly flames grazed the orc's skin, eliciting a shriek so high-pitched it could shatter glass.

"That's not 'no harm'!" a convict roared, trembling with rage. "You slimy, fish-eyed bastard! You're full of—"

The convict unleashed a string of expletives, each more creative and offensive than the last.

Freed from the constraints of their implants, the convicts devolved into a cacophony of vulgar insults, hurling slurs and accusations at Nagu and each other.

Nearby, Harvey muttered darkly, "Damn fool believers of the Four Pillars!"

Ash turned, momentarily confused. "Wait, is that supposed to be me?"

Harvey sneered. "What do you know, corpse-snuggling necromancer?"

Ash blinked. "How the hell did you know about that?!"

Harvey's glare darkened.

Ash felt a chill run down his spine.

For a moment, he forgot about the Executioner looming behind him.