CHAPTER 42: RED EYES

The next morning, the city of Rammstein did not awaken to the warm embrace of sunlight but instead to the blood-curdling screams of its citizens. Panic surged through the streets. What they saw was beyond comprehension.

The citizens who woke up early to open their shops, walked to City square only to witness a horrifying sight that had no explanation. Everything was all but fine the night prior, it was silent and peaceful, there was no threat since the area was under the City Guard.

They were even happy to see the City Guard commit their night patrols although the patrols did end before midnight against the wishes of Estefan.

Thousands of severed heads lined the city’s major squares, marketplaces, and even in front of the homes of those criminal factions.

All were mounted on pikes, some crudely placed where no pike could be found. These were not random victims instead they were criminals, their names written on blood-stained parchment nailed to their foreheads. Beneath each list of crimes was the unmistakable seal of Baron Estefan Angeras.

Some wept in terror. Others vomited at the grotesque sight. But not all were afraid.

A surprising number of citizens stared at the heads with relief, even satisfaction. Loved ones lost to these criminals would finally find a semblance of justice. Whispers of support for the new regime slowly replaced cries of horror.

Frejlurd, Commander of the City Guard, received the report moments after waking. Upon arriving at the scene, his boots splashed in blood pooled on the cobbled ground. The stench of decay already hung thick in the morning air.

He was shivering. But he forced himself to stand tall in front of his subordinates. "Who did this?" he asked sharply.

One of the guards ran toward him, handing over a piece of parchment nailed to one of the heads.

Frejlurd scanned it and his eyes narrowed. "The Baron?" he muttered, seeing the unmistakable wax seal of Estefan. "But... he didn’t mention this to me yesterday."

"What should we do, sir?" one of the City Guard asked hesitantly.

Frejlurd’s gaze wandered across the thousands of decapitated heads and he simply stood there while being speechless because he couldn’t believe it because this couldn’t be the work of just the Baron since he didn’t have the manpower considering that Frejlurd did not see any movement of his Guard nor the time to do all this in a single night especially for his own force.

He examined the clean cuts. They were perfect, swift and professional, something that the City Guard cannot achieve as he knew the limits and capabilities of his men.

"Impossible..." he whispered, walking through the endless field of pikes. "The Baron did not tell me about this. I need to speak to him immediately."

He then rushed towards his carriage while telling his men to stand by and not let the people get too close to the heads in his absence.

Upon reaching the Palace, Frejlurd found the staff and even Galliard, Estefan’s main butler, in shock. Newspapers had already begun reporting the massacre.

"Did you know?" Frejlurd asked directly.

Galliard turned to face him, visibly disturbed. "Not even a clue. I assumed it was the City Guard who carried it out."

"No!" Frejlurd responded, startled. "I was here yesterday. The Baron only ordered night patrols and recruitment. This... this wasn’t part of any plan he shared with me."

Galliard exhaled slowly. "Our lord has a habit of... surprising us. Though I must admit, his methods tend to lean towards the gruesome."

"It’s pointless to hold back anyway," Frejlurd said, almost reflexively. "Cruel as it may be, those criminals deserve death. They were left unchecked for too long."

Galliard raised an eyebrow. Frejlurd’s tone which was once filled with idealism had shifted. His views were slowly aligning with Estefan’s ruthless philosophy, even if he didn’t fully realize it.

"How many were killed?" Galliard asked.

Frejlurd scratched his head, troubled. "Thousands... Maybe tens of thousands... Reports keep coming in from all over, especially from areas we don’t even control. Some heads weren’t even on pikes. They were just... left inside homes."

"Civilians?" Galliard asked in horror.

Frejlurd nodded grimly. "Unfortunately, yes. Including children... That’s the part I don’t understand. I supported the executions of criminals, but this... this I can’t justify. Why would he kill them too?"

Before Galliard could respond, a familiar voice echoed from the stairwell.

"Because they were part of it." Both men turned sharply.

Estefan Angeras, the Baron of Rammstein, descended the steps slowly, his cloak trailing behind him. They bowed respectfully the moment they saw him coming down towards them.

"It is pointless to keep them alive," Estefan said, his voice calm. "They would have continued the evil of those already slain, maybe for the sake of revenge, or for profit."

Frejlurd hesitated. "Even children?"

"Yes, even them." Estefan was blunt with his response.

Estefan’s expression remained composed as he spoke, "You see, Frejlurd... There is a difference. These families benefited from the crimes. A murderer comes home with money soaked with blood, and the family uses that wealth for comfort. That comfort turns to habit. And habit becomes tradition."

"But can’t we educate them? Show them what’s right?" Frejlurd asked, attempting to reason.

"No." Estefan’s voice was cold. "It’s too late for that. This city has rotted from within. Education and patience are luxuries they no longer deserve."

Frejlurd tried once more. "I understand the criminals had to die. But what about the innocent ones caught in the crossfire?"

"But still what?" Estefan interrupted, stepping closer. "You want me to close my eyes? Pretend the corruption doesn’t start at home again? Do that... and the city will rot once more."

There was something terrifying about the way he spoke. He was unshakable, more like a tyrant. No, perhaps something worse. He spoke not like a ruler, but like a man possessed by a mission that must be fulfilled no matter what, willing to do anything for a peace no one could imagine.

"Being a tyrant may seem bad," Estefan continued, now standing in front of both men. "But to be a tyrant who brings order... There’s no shame in that. They may hate me now, but in time, they will sing my name."

He looked at them both, cold and unwavering. "I understand there will be hatred. But that hatred must never disrupt the chain of command. If it does... I will not hesitate to dismantle the City Guard myself."

At that moment, Frejlurd froze because he felt it. Eyes... Red eyes, watching them from across the grand hall. Dozens, No maybe hundreds. The shadows within the palace weren’t empty.

The Bloodhounds were here. Watching them and waiting for the command from their master.

[To be Continued]