Published: January 4, 2026
Enlil Province, Larak, the provincial capital.
Under a cloudless, bright blue sky stretched a scene of rapid reconstruction.
In Larak, which suffered heavy damage from the earthquake, the immediate aftermath was littered with rubble from collapsed buildings and structures burned down by fire.
This devastation was not only due to the natural disaster itself, but also compounded by barbaric acts like looting and grave robbing, making the destruction even more chaotic.
All such debris has now been cleared away, and the cityscape is a mix of intact buildings and those under reconstruction, roughly half and half.
Naturally, there is the bustle of recovery, but alongside that another, more unusual kind of fervor has arisen.
In the central square of Larak, about ten criminals are kneeling.
All men, their hands tied behind their backs, kneeling with both knees on the ground.
Each is dressed in prisoner attire, their hair and beards long and untended, smeared with grime, dried drool, and bits of leftover food.
Almost all of them hang their heads low; although none are gagged, not a single one speaks or makes a sound.
From an outsider’s perspective, they all seem resigned to their fate.
A large crowd of citizens surrounds the prisoners in the square.
Soldiers guard the perimeter to keep the crowd from approaching the prisoners, but even without close proximity, a strange heat of tension radiates from the crowd, filling the entire square.
Nearly everyone in the surrounding crowd wears expressions of anger or deep resentment.
Soon, an official inside the ring looks up at the sky to check something, then loudly announces, "The time has come."
This one phrase sets off a spark in the pent-up anger.
The square erupts with explosive shouts and cheers.
☆
Inside the governor’s office at the Governor's Official Residence in Larak.
I, Noah Alarate, sat facing my desk.
A man stood across from me.
He appeared to be in his mid-thirties, dressed appropriately for a senior official, wearing the attire of a civil servant without any awkwardness. His skin was dark, and he seemed more suited to running around outside than deskside work.
His name was Words Gwarth, one of the men I had brought under my command since arriving in Enlil Province.
Holding some documents, he reported the contents to me.
I listened while seated.
"I report that today at noon, beheadings were carried out for those who accepted bribes totaling over thirty thousand Lien but less than fifty thousand Lien."
"Hmm. How did the public react?"
"The scene was charged with tension aimed at the bribers, but after the heads fell one after another, the atmosphere turned to cheers. No riots or disturbances occurred, however—"
"Yes?"
"Well..."
Words faltered, clearly hesitating to say something difficult.
Those who have served me longer, like Don or Evelyn, know my temperament well and report without reservation, but Words, still new to my service, seems unable to do so yet.
"Just say it."
I encouraged him.
Whether it was the word "just" or not, Words tentatively began.
"Uh... it seems many food stalls and vendors have set up nearby, and... well—"
"That, huh?"
I let out a slight smile.
Because I hadn’t prohibited it beforehand, the crowds had gathered, and vendors anticipated the influx of people.
This was hard to understand for newcomers—especially rural folk who seldom witness executions—but the public desires the public execution of corrupt officials, and it has, in effect, become a spectacle, even a source of entertainment.
Those familiar with the practice sometimes watch while munching on skewers of roasted meat. First-timers often gape in disbelief.
Some enthusiasts even critique the executioner’s skill.
Of course, this is considered a "breach of public morals," so Words’s hesitation is understandable.
But—
"Ignore it. It’s trivial."
"Y-yes!"
"If that’s the case, proceed as planned: in three days, execute those who accepted between fifty thousand and one hundred thousand Lien."
"Understood... um..."
Words nodded but looked like he wanted to say more.