The Grand Duke's Son Is A Heretic-Chapter 111:Public Execution[II]

The town was alive with the usual morning bustle of vendors shouting prices, children looking in the streets, and men gathering in corners discussing politics, gossip, and rumors.

Their eyes were hollow and sunken. Most of them were hungry, malnourished, and deprived while trembling in the cold winter but despite that they came out unlike previously.

Because it wasn’t just another day.

The town square was packed with people, men, women, children, old and young, all crammed together under the cold, grey sky.

The air was heavy with tension, clouds thick like smoke blanketing the sun. Snowflakes danced in the breeze, but no one noticed. All eyes were locked on the raised wooden platform at the center.

There, kneeling and tied with thick rope, was Cedric—his body bruised, his lips swollen, eyes darting wildly in panic. A filthy rag stuffed in his mouth muffled his desperate whimpers. The rope that bound him cut into his skin, blood trickling from where he’d struggled too much.

Kael stood before him, towering and grim. His long black cloak fluttered in the wind, and the sword at his side gleamed under the pale morning light. His eyes were like frozen steel—sharp, merciless, and unshaken.

He turned to the crowd, his voice booming like thunder.

"People of Sparves!"

The murmurs stopped. Silence fell.

"This man," Kael pointed at Cedric without even glancing at him, "betrayed his blood. He cursed his own father and poisoned him. Cut supplies to the Northern Gate, putting all your lives at risk. He planned to hand over our home to snakes hiding in the dark. For power. For greed."

Gasps rippled through the crowd followed by rage.

"He used poison on the sick, bribed guards, starved the poor, and let demons crawl closer while we slept. And for what? A title? A seat? This coward... sold your safety."

Kael’s voice dropped lower, rough with fury. "Tell me. What should I do with him?"

"Kill him!" someone screamed.

"Hung him!" shouted another.

"Burn him alive!" cried a woman, voice shrill with grief.

A storm of fury broke out.

"He let my brother die in the frost!"

"He made my son starve!"

"Monster!"

The crowd surged forward, throwing whatever they could grab—rocks, rotten fruit, even broken wood. Cedric groaned and tried to shake his head, to plead, but the rag choked any words.

His body was battered—blood pouring from his nose, a tooth knocked loose. He squealed like a pig, gagging and snorting behind the gag, tears running down his filthy face.

Valen pushed through the guards, stumbling up to Kael.

"My Lord, please! He’s done wrong, yes—but he’s still human! We can imprison him. Don’t—"

Kael didn’t even look at him.

"Valen," he said coldly. "You still think a rat deserves a cage after biting half the house?"

Kael turned to the guards nearby. Four of them, pale and shaking.The same guards who refused to know him and didn’t allowed him to enter.

Kael’s boots crunched over the snow as he approached. He grabbed one of them by the hair and forced his head up.

"You helped him, didn’t you?"

"N-no—!"

Kael slammed his forehead into the man’s face, breaking his nose.

"I told you before. I told you... I don’t forget."

He moved to the next, who tried to crawl away. Kael kicked him to the ground, knelt beside him, and whispered, voice as cold as the frost underfoot:

"Even in the afterlife, don’t forget who I am."

Then he stood tall again, raising his hand.

"These men," he shouted, pointing to the guards, "were part of the same disease. They knew. They watched your children suffer. They laughed while we buried our dead."

All of them were Cedric men. A single man couldn’t achieve so many things.

He turned to the crowd.

"I am Kael Veydrin. Son of Grand Duke Ruth Veydrin! And I swear, on his name, I will deliver justice for every child who went hungry... every man who died in the frost... every woman who cried herself to sleep fearing monsters in the dark."

He stepped forward, voice blazing.

"I won’t forget your pain. I will not forgive betrayal."

He drew his blade. "Let justice be done."

Cedric’s muffled screams reached a fever pitch, his body twitching like a worm. Kael watched without emotion as the axe rose.

Then, in a clean, brutal motion, it fell.

The square exploded with noise—shouts, cries, and the stomp of boots. But Kael didn’t flinch.

He turned to the remaining guards, gave the signal, and one by one, they were dragged forward.

Kael gave his final words as the executions continued behind him.

"This is what happens when evil hides behind law. When cowards wear uniforms. This... is justice."

And not once... did he look away.

....

Soon, blood-curdling, high-pitched wail that tore through the air, freezing everyone in place. Heads snapped toward the city gates, eyes widening in shock at the grotesque sight before them.

There, strung up like a slaughtered pig, was a fat man—naked, wrapped in rope, and hanging upside down. His body shuddered in the cold, his cries echoing through the town square. The marks of a brutal beating were visible across his pale, quivering skin.

Women gasped, some covering their children’s eyes, while others simply turned away, whispering hurried prayers. Men, even the most hardened ones, stood in stunned silence, their jaws clenched as they processed the sheer audacity of what they were seeing.

And after it was done, Cedric’s body was dragged across the streets brutally.

Those who weren’t on squares, after catching a glimpse of the scene outside flinched.

"By the gods... who would do such a thing?" an old merchant muttered, his wrinkled fingers gripping his cane.

"This is... isn’t this Lord Cedric?" A younger nobleman gulped, his face drained of color.

A group of children, too young to understand the severity of the act, laughed and pointed, making jokes about the "big, fat flying man." Their mothers quickly hushed them, dragging them away from the horrifying spectacle.

Some servants, recognizing Cedric, exchanged knowing glances. Whispers spread like wildfire.

"This is Lord Kael’s doing," one servant muttered under his breath.

Another nodded, a strange mix of fear and admiration in his eyes. "He doesn’t play around."

While the town processed this gruesome sight, the mansion was a different world altogether.

...

Back at the Mansion

Snow blanketed the courtyard, falling gently, creating a serene yet chilling contrast to the tension in the air. The cold bit at the skin, but no one dared to move.

Guards stood in perfect formation—silent, disciplined, unwavering. Their breath misted in the air as they remained locked in place.

Handel, Baret, Gare, and Vic stood at the front, overseeing their positions with sharp, scrutinizing eyes.

Handel, ever the strategist, adjusted his gloves, his mind already calculating their next move. Baret, a seasoned warrior, scanned the ranks, ensuring no weakness was visible. Gare, calm and observant, measured each soldier’s stance, his eyes flickering between them.

Vic, however, was impatient, his fingers twitching. "Tch. We should be out there hunting those bastards instead of standing around like statues," he muttered, his voice thick with frustration.

Handel shot him a glance but said nothing. It was how Vic was—hot-headed, brash, but undeniably loyal.

Across the courtyard, atop a wooden crate, Kael sat. His sword was embedded in the snow beside him, its blade gleaming under the pale morning light. His eyes were closed, his breath steady. Snowflakes landed on his shoulders and hair, but he remained still—like a predator waiting for the perfect moment to strike. frёeωebɳovel.com

Beside him, Lyria peeked around curiously, her sharp eyes taking in every detail of the assembled forces. The air was heavy, charged with something unspoken.

Valen stepped forward, breaking the silence. His boots crunched against the snow as he approached Kael with a firm, measured pace. He stopped before the crate, clearing his throat.

"All the able knights who can fight are here," he reported.

For a moment, there was no response.

Then, Kael’s sharp, piercing eyes snapped open. A chill ran through those standing closest to him. There was no hesitation, no uncertainty—only raw, terrifying resolve.

Without a word, he rose. His movements were smooth, effortless, yet every step carried weight and purpose. As he walked forward, the air around him seemed to grow colder.

Handel and Baret observed in silence, their minds already racing with possibilities. Gare remained composed, awaiting orders, while Vic smirked, eager for whatever chaos was about to unfold.

Kael stood before them, his presence casting a long, dark shadow over the gathering.

"Good," he finally said, his voice deep and menacing.

It was time.