Chapter 5

Smiling faintly, Michael began cleaning an iron hook hanging from the annex wall. Blood stained the metal, likely from where the criminal had been dragged by his collarbone. Muffled sobs and wails continued to seep from the building.

"They'll need a branding iron, won't they?" Michael asked.

"I left one by the fireplace to heat up. I was going to bring it to them after hanging the laundry," Clara replied.

"I'll take it," Michael offered. "You can finish hanging the clothes."

"Thank you. Be careful not to burn yourself."

Michael entered the house and spotted the branding iron glowing red among the embers of the fireplace. It still needed a little more time to heat up fully. As he waited, his eyes wandered to a massive sword leaning against the wall—a weapon that had always seemed terrifying in his inherited memories.

He approached and grasped the hilt. The moment his fingers curled around it, a peculiar sensation coursed through him. A voice, dry and mechanical, echoed in his mind:

[Activation conditions met. Absorbing mana. Mana absorption complete. Ability use conditions not satisfied. Function terminated.]

Michael stood frozen for a moment before regaining his senses. What had just happened?

As he released the sword, glittering fragments fell from its blade to the ground. Upon closer inspection, he realized it was the mana stone embedded in the hilt that had shattered. These stones kept the blade perpetually sharp without needing maintenance.

Had he absorbed its mana by touching it? And what were these "ability use conditions" it mentioned? His heart pounded with curiosity, but he knew he shouldn't rush. Discovering the answers would require time and experimentation.

Calming himself, Michael picked up the branding iron and the sword before heading to the annex.

Inside, the criminal lay bleeding and groaning in pain. Alfred took the branding iron, seared the man's lower body, applied medicinal herbs, and wrapped him in tight bandages.

The man would die eventually, but it wouldn't be from blood loss before his execution by beheading. His screams of agony filled the room until he finally passed out. Alfred then hoisted the unconscious man onto his shoulder and stepped out of the annex.

At a nearby water barrel, Alfred washed the blood from his hands. Henry, Michael's uncle, who had been overseeing the scene, turned toward his nephew with a broad grin.

"You're finally up! How are you feeling?" Henry asked, his expression kind despite his rugged features.

"I'm fine now," Michael replied with a small smile.

"Good. Don't go back to the castle. Stay here and live peacefully with us," Henry said, though his worried expression betrayed his cheerful tone.

Michael chuckled softly. Seeing such a tender expression on Henry's massive frame was almost endearing. "I've come to my senses. I'll stay here."

Henry's smile widened. Alfred, observing the exchange, finally spoke. "If we're done here, let's head to the square."

The final task remained—to execute the criminal.

The town square was packed by the time the sun had passed its zenith. It was a bright, sunny day—perfect for carrying out an execution. Laughter and the cheerful chatter of vendors selling baked goods and preserved fruits filled the air.

Dressed in their finest, townspeople had turned the execution into an outing. Michael and Henry loaded the prisoner into the wagon. The man, now half-mad, mumbled incoherently.

"It wasn't me… It was the demon inside me… Yes, he made me do it. He told me to strangle her soft neck, to defile her. I'm a good man, don't you know? I was once the great archer, Yoan! Women used to throw themselves at me. I was a war hero! That girl—she tempted me! She must have been the devil's child. This is all the demon's doing. I'm innocent…"

Michael ignored the delusional muttering. In cases where mitigating circumstances applied, criminals might be given a sedative before their execution to ease their passing. But Alan warranted no such mercy.

Henry hitched the well-fed brown horse back to the wagon and pulled the reins. Michael climbed onto the wagon's rear with Alfred, the rickety wheels creaking as they began their journey to the square.

As the wagon rolled down the forest path, Michael's thoughts returned to the dry, mechanical voice he had heard when the mana stone shattered. What did it mean? And what would come next?

The wagon reached the square, where Jacques, the father of the murdered girl, pushed through the crowd with a pale face. Alfred intercepted him.

"This man will pay the price, Jacques. He'll die in the most excruciating way. I swear it," Alfred said solemnly.

Jacques broke into sobs, clutching his daughter's ribbon in his trembling hands. "Please, Executioner. My wife has cried herself into exhaustion. My little Marie… she was so kind, so beautiful. You know that, don't you? Such a small, innocent child… Oh, God…"

Alfred said nothing, his face hard as he hooked the criminal's underarms and dragged him from the wagon. Yoan, drenched in blood, screamed in protest as Alfred hauled him onto the execution platform.

The townspeople jeered, their anger mingled with grief for the murdered girl. No one prayed for Yoan's soul.

The execution platform loomed high above the square. At the toll of the bell signaling three o'clock, the crowd fell silent. Bound and trembling, Yoan's wide eyes darted across the faces of the onlookers, terror etched into every feature.

Alfred's voice rang out, steady and firm. "If I do not stain my hands with blood, who will? Peace comes from vengeance, and death brings rest."

The sword fell.

First, Yoan's ears were severed, then his shoulders slashed, and finally, his neck shattered. Alfred had kept his promise to Jacques. Alan died in agony and terror.

The crowd began to disperse, their emotions a mix of relief and unease. Jacques stayed behind, cutting a lock of the criminal's hair to show his wife, perhaps seeking closure for their shared grief.

The village scribe approached Alfred, bowed respectfully, and left. Alfred lit his pipe, smoke curling around his weathered face as Henry and Michael collected Yoan's remains.

The day's work was nearly done. The body would be buried in the graveyard for the unclaimed, a final duty to complete the grim affair.

As Michael lifted Yoan's severed head, a voice echoed in his mind once more:

[The absorbed mana is sufficient. Ability use conditions satisfied. Would you like to revive him? Yes/No.]