Aric walked slowly to the edge of the platform where the nobles stood and raised his voice, his tone hardening as it reached the masses.
"I will tell you what rebellion truly brings—it is the same thing it has brought to these council members."
He let the silence stretch for a moment, letting the implications of his words settle in the hearts of those before him.
The crowd leaned in, as though the air had become too thick to breathe, anticipation clawing at their throats.
The word dropped like a stone in still water, and the ripples were felt immediately. Gasps rippled through the crowd, and murmurs of shock began to rise.
But Aric remained unfazed, his face cold, unmoved by their horror.
"Bring them forward," he commanded, his voice as cold as steel.
The Northrender Legionaries dragged the council members to the front—each Northrender’s cultivation far surpassed that of any council member—they could not struggle, their pleas swallowed by the roaring silence that followed.
Aric looked at them without pity.
Each face told the same story: desperation, fear, the terrible realization of an impending end. They had once held power, once stood beside the king, believing themselves untouchable.
Now, they were nothing more than prisoners, dragged to their execution in full view of the kingdom they had led against their own empire.
Aric pointed to the Northrender legionary, now executioner, standing at the base of the platform, a hulking figure with an axe that gleamed in the crimson light of the setting sun.
The order was given without ceremony, swift and final.
The first councilman—Lord Orin, a man whose name had once carried weight in Byzeth—was shoved to his knees before the block.
His lips moved in a silent plea, eyes wide with terror. But no mercy would come for him. The Northrender Legionary held him in place, and with a sharp nod from Aric, the executioner raised his axe high.
The crowd held its breath.
The blade came down, slicing through the air with a sickening finality. The sound of steel meeting flesh echoed like a distant cry, followed by the dull thud of the councilman’s head hitting the stone floor.
Blood sprayed across the platform, pooling at the feet of the remaining council members.
The crowd gasped as one, but no one looked away. They couldn’t. Horror gripped them, but so too did morbid fascination.
The second councilman was next—Liam Hove, the bearded count who had attempted to insult Aric at the king’s meeting—his body trembling violently as he was forced to his knees.
His pleas were louder this time, his voice a desperate, broken wail. But Aric’s gaze remained fixed, cold and merciless, as the executioner stepped forward once more.
The axe rose, gleaming red with the blood of the first.
It fell, and again the sound of flesh being torn apart filled the air. The head rolled across the stone, coming to rest at the feet of the last remaining councilmen, their faces pale and drained of all hope.
Aric turned his back to them, addressing the crowd now, as if their deaths were mere punctuation to the larger lesson.
"Their fate," he said, his voice carrying across the courtyard, "is the fate of all who think going against Valeria can bring them power. You saw their lives end here—not with glory or triumph—but with the axe. This is what rebellion truly brings."
He gestured to the remaining council members, who stood trembling, waiting for their turn.
"They will die, just as these two have died. Their blood will stain the stones of this castle, just as the blood of your king stains the history of Byzeth. There will be no heroes remembered from this rebellion—only traitors, and the consequences of their actions."
The crowd stood in stunned silence, their gazes locked on the lifeless bodies lying on the platform, their blood still fresh and dark.
Some of them gasped, others merely stared, their faces pale as death. The gravity of Aric’s words weighed heavily on their hearts.
The executions continued, one after another, until all council members were nothing but headless corpses.
Aric turned to the court, his gaze falling on the weeping relatives of Aszer.
They clung to one another, their faces streaked with tears, their voices hoarse with grief. Aszer’s sister let out a wail, collapsing to her knees as the full weight of her loss crushed her spirit.
Aric’s expression softened, just slightly, as he approached them.
"I understand your sorrow," he said quietly, his voice almost tender. "Your king, your brother, your family... they are gone. And I sympathize with you."
For a moment, hope flickered in their tear-stained eyes. But then Aric’s next words cut through with malice.
"And so, to ease your suffering, you will join him."
The cries of despair rose once more, louder and more desperate than before, but Aric’s heart was stone. He raised his hand, signaling the soldiers, and they moved forward, seizing the remaining members of Aszer’s family.
"Hang them," Aric ordered, his voice devoid of emotion. "Let them swing from the walls of this castle, beside the head of their king."
The soldiers dragged the wailing nobles away, their sobs lost in the cold efficiency of the moment. The crowd watched in horror, their faces pale, their hearts heavy with the weight of the bloodshed they had just witnessed.
Aric stood tall, his gaze fixed on the castle walls where the executions would take place. The head of Aszer would not hang alone. His entire line, his entire legacy, and anyone who would seek to avenge the king, would die with him. ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs, ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ ᴠɪsɪᴛ 𝓷𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓵⟡𝓯𝓲𝓻𝓮⟡𝓷𝓮𝓽
And as the sun began to set behind the castle, projecting long shadows over the kingdom of Byzeth, Aric Valerian turned to face his people.
He had brought death. He had brought conquest.
And now, Byzeth was his.
The prince had become king.
And that was his first step to becoming emperor.
[ M-Quest: Overthrowing a Kingdom | has been completed ]