To increase the "success rate" of her baiting plan, the "rookie angler" Selene had ordered most of the 8th Imperial Guard Legion to station themselves at strategic checkpoints throughout Patripol City, leaving only five hundred soldiers to guard the marketplace.
"I'm... not certain," the governor of Patripol Province replied nervously, bowing his head.
"All the better," Selene said with a light smile. "If they come, it'll just be an extra meal. I'm sure Esdeath will find ways to make the prisoners talk once we catch them. Still... whether the rebels come or not, these people will die."
The governor swallowed hard. Just the mention of Esdeath's interrogation methods sent a chill down his spine.
The official notice had already gone out—the executions would begin at noon. Only thirty minutes remained.
As time passed and the sun climbed higher, Selene's interest began to fade. The square remained calm; no disturbance, no sign of rescue. It seemed the rebels were too afraid to act.
"So, they won't come after all..." she muttered, shaking her head. "Tch. Such a waste of a carefully prepared lure."
At last, when the appointed hour arrived, the officer on the execution platform glanced at the sundial, then raised his voice.
"Prepare for execution!"
Shiiing—!
Rows of gleaming blades were drawn in unison. Soldiers of the 8th Legion lined up with military precision, leveling their swords toward the kneeling prisoners.
The presiding officer began to read out their crimes—arms trafficking, collusion with the rebels, leaking military secrets... High treason! The sentence: execution by beheading.
"The hour of noon has come! Execute them!!"
He threw the command token high into the air.
Slash—!
In an instant, the first row of ten prisoners lost their heads.
A wave of gasps and cries rippled through the crowd. Though the commoners bore no love for the corrupt nobles and merchants being executed, the gruesome sight of fresh blood spraying across the platform made many recoil in fear.
"Next batch!"
...
From atop a nearby rooftop, Selene watched the executions unfold. Half the condemned were already dead. She smiled faintly. "They're more patient than I expected."
Beside her, the governor of Patripol had turned pale, looking away in disgust. A man of letters and refinement, he was well-versed in music and art—but not in slaughter. The sight of people being executed like livestock made him queasy.
Then, just as the next row of prisoners was brought forward—
BOOM!
A deafening explosion shattered the tense silence. A small artillery shell slammed into the platform's supporting beams, splintering them apart. The entire structure collapsed in a plume of dust and debris.
"The rebels... they're here!"
Panic spread through the marketplace like wildfire. Screaming citizens fled in every direction, trampling one another as they ran.
Dozens of shadowy figures burst from alleyways on all sides, converging on the ruined platform. Their objective was clear—rescue the captured nobles amidst the chaos.
"Go," Selene ordered calmly, rising from her seat.
"Yes, General!"
Before her voice had even faded, her officers leapt into action, drawing their swords and rushing toward the battlefield.
The soldiers of the 8th Legion—honed by Selene's personal training—moved with lethal precision. Instead of panicking, they formed ranks instantly, intercepting the attackers head-on.
Perhaps the rebels had grown complacent from fighting weak provincial garrisons for too long, for they completely underestimated the strength of the Imperial Guards. What was meant to be a daring rescue quickly turned into a massacre.
"Tch... you dare raid an execution ground with this level of strength? Fools!" one officer scoffed as he carved through his foes, laughter ringing amidst the chaos.
Steel clashed, blood sprayed, and within minutes, the battlefield was silent again. The rescue attempt had failed spectacularly—every rebel lay dead or captured, and not a single prisoner had been saved.
"Esdeath," Selene called, her voice even. "The surviving prisoners are yours."
"Yes, General!" Esdeath replied eagerly.
...
Dark clouds rolled in, and heavy rain began to pour, washing the blood from the streets. The Imperial troops had already withdrawn. Yet, as the storm raged, curious townsfolk began to creep back, drawn by morbid curiosity.
No matter the world or age, it seemed there would always be those eager to watch the aftermath of tragedy—the ever-present crowd of onlookers.
Among the returning onlookers stood a tall, broad-shouldered man in his thirties. His short brown hair was slick with rain, his square-jawed face marked by a deep scar that ran down from temple to cheek. His plain, travel-worn clothes gave no hint of his status, but the intensity in his eyes spoke volumes.
He gazed at the ruins of the execution platform—the shattered beams, the pools of blood, and the heaps of corpses piled together under the relentless downpour. Though Selene had issued no order forbidding the recovery of the bodies, and no Imperial troops stood guard, not a single soul dared approach. The rain washed away the blood, but the air remained thick with dread.
The man clenched his fists tightly, veins bulging under his skin.
Beneath his hood, his face was unmistakable—it was the same as the wanted portrait carried by the Imperial Assassination Division. He was none other than Nal, deputy head of the Southern Rebel Intelligence Bureau.
"Damn the Empire..." Nal muttered through gritted teeth.
As the second-in-command of the Revolutionary Army's intelligence network, Nal was responsible for espionage and the infiltration of Imperial territories. When word spread of the Emperor's grave illness and the ensuing power vacuum, the rebels and the southwestern tribal factions seized the opportunity to test the Empire's strength.
Nal had come to Patripol City to undermine Imperial control in the southwest, hoping to strengthen the Revolutionary Army's foothold in the region. He had even managed to win over several local aristocrats to his cause.
But now—everything was gone. With Selene leading the Imperial Guard's 8th Legion in person, his network, his allies, his painstakingly laid plans had all been obliterated. Rage and grief twisted his face.
When he learned that his so-called "noble brothers" were to be executed publicly in the marketplace, Nal didn't hesitate. He launched a rescue attempt, trap or not. His faith in his agents' combat prowess was unshakable. After all, the provincial garrisons they'd fought before were nothing but cowards—one strike and they'd crumble.
But Nal had gravely underestimated the power of the Imperial Guard. His forces had been annihilated before they could even reach the platform.
Now, as he stood amidst the rain-soaked ruins, fury burned in his chest.
Meanwhile, not far away, inside a high building overlooking the square, a pair of crimson eyes gleamed faintly through a narrow gap in the shutters—eyes filled with cold amusement and killing intent.
Their owner was Selene, who had silently returned instead of heading back to her camp as planned.
Initially, she had intended to resume preparations for the coming campaign against the southwestern tribes. But then another thought crossed her mind.
She hadn't caught the "big fish." The ones who'd appeared were mere minnows. But if she put herself in the rebels' position... a movement like the Revolutionary Army—born in hardship, bound by shared struggle—wasn't without deep loyalties. Surely someone would come to mourn their fallen comrades.
In that case, Selene mused, why not wait a little longer?
Let's see if the big fish will take the bait.
And sure enough, her patience had been rewarded.
A faint smile curved her lips as her eyes flared with crimson light.
"The big fish has bitten."