"I bet he faints."

Amidst whispers, the bell tolled.

The iron cage cart transporting the prisoner slowly made its entrance.

The cage carrying the prisoner creaked to a stop, its iron door opened, and several fully armed guards stepped forward, dragging out the "man" inside.

It was a blood-stained, bone-twisted human wreckage.

Joseph Kadari, once a noble seated high at banquets, speaking eloquently, now almost couldn't remember who he was in this shadow.

He was dragged by two soldiers, like a bag of broken straw.

Just last night, the interrogator unusually summoned a military medic.

"Make him at least look like a 'man'."

"A beheading needs to look decent, or it might scare the children."

Thus, his face was washed, his broken nose brutally set, the scabs on his face scraped away, and the fractures bandaged to appear, outwardly, "whole."

They even dressed him in his formerly custom-made noble black robe, though stained with blood, washed to a sullen gray, with two rips at the cuffs, resembling old clothes dug out from a coffin.

Joseph didn't know how he got up there, perhaps he was pushed, perhaps he was held.

The executioner opened the list and read aloud:

"Joseph Kadari, guilty of violating the Empire's laws: colluding with enemy nations, selling secrets, conspiring with merchants, and inciting separatism. The evidence is irrefutable. Three charges determine the verdict, and the punishment is death — beheading, to be displayed."

He was pressed onto the Cold Iron Platform, his neck locked into the icy execution stand.

The cold wind of Longyang Square seeped into his coat, chilling him to the bone.

Suddenly, he heard laughter and cheers.

He opened his swollen eyelids and saw the sea of people, eagerly watching, commenting, and betting.

They didn't know who he was, nor did they want to. He was just the "show" of the day.

"Where did I go wrong?" Joseph asked himself in his mind, but there was no answer.

On the front row of the platform, a few newly risen nobles were kneeling behind the curtain, silent with their heads lowered.

Some old aristocrats also appeared, their expressions indifferent, and their attire neat, as if this was some sort of social morning ritual to check off.

"Is it really the son of the Kadri Family... The Kadri Family is really in trouble now."

"Tsk, three charges judged together, they don't even have the noble execution privilege anymore."

"His Majesty the Emperor has never shown mercy these past few years."

These whispers did not reach a foot away.

Everyone knew that red-robed inspectors were hidden around the square, recording every word.

The executioner looked back at the clock tower, the time was just right.

The raised decapitation blade shimmered silver in the sunlight, as if even the air trembled.

"Execute."

The blade fell, the head rolled several feet, blood gushed like a spring, dyeing the steps.

At the moment the head fell, the entire square seemed frozen for several seconds.

Then, someone first shouted: "Well done!"

Then the second voice, the third voice, each louder than the last, started to ring out.

"He deserved it!"

"Do another one!"

"What a clean cut!"

Laughing, cheering, mixed with children's screams and the hawkers' shouts.

Some waved handkerchiefs, some threw copper coins, and a few young people leaned on the railings, excited as if they'd just watched an exciting gladiatorial match.

They didn't know who the fallen was, nor did they care.

To them, it was just the "morning show" in the Imperial Capital.

There was blood, there were crimes, there was a verdict, there was a beheading, everything was complete.

As for the "Kadri Family", or "military secrets"...

They didn't understand, nor did they care.

These days, as long as it wasn't their own head falling off, it was a good day.

At the edge of the square, the blood on the execution platform hadn't dried yet, and the crows had already descended, pecking at broken remains.

And not far away, the clock tower began to sound the Empire's standard time-keeping melody again.

......

Because of this matter, Joseph wasn't the only one unfortunate.

Elman Kadari, patriarch of the Kadri Family, sat before his desk, his eyes bloodshot, devoid of the usual steel and authority, now showing only an unspeakable weariness and dread.

His right hand trembled constantly, the ink dragging out a blurred tail across the memorial.

"In the name of Kadri, sever all ties with the traitor... with three border fortresses and thirty percent military power, plead for a holy judgment..."

He gritted his teeth, signing his name on the last line, stamping down hard with his ring, as if trying to crush the paper's sin.

It was the only thing he could do now.

As a father, sever ties with his child, as a patriarch, give up an arm to survive.

Then, he finally slumped back against the chair, as if all bones and strength had been sucked away, aging ten years in an instant.

"Worthless scum... damnable waste..." he cursed under his breath, his throat rough and tasting of blood.

"Colluding with foreign merchants, selling military intelligence, playing petty deceptive games... did he think he was starring in some political intrigue drama?!"

He struck the table hard, the force making the wine cup jump.

"He ruined himself, dragging with it the foundation I built over decades, the sweat and blood of countless generations of Kadari, into the mire!"

His anger burned to its peak before it dwindled to a light, almost inaudible sigh.

Though he didn't want to cry, his eyes flushed red.

Elman Kadari had fought countless battles, avoided three political traps, and pulled the Kadari Family from the swamps to the center.

But he never thought that the fatal strike would come not from his enemies, but from his own family.

From the child he once held in his arms, now using the entire family to pay for an extreme punishment.

"Worthless scum..." he repeated, this time muttering, as if wanting to completely erase the name from memory.

What he hoped now was for the Emperor to show leniency this once.

Thinking he would receive a response, even a mere "not to the extent of death", would have given him some room to breathe.

But nothing came.

Three days passed, five days passed, not a breeze came by.

Until the seventh morning, a knight from the Constitutional Department arrived at the Kadri residence, bearing an imperial decree.

The heavy letter was brought to him while he continued reviewing military reports in his study.

The seal's wax was still soft, marked with the Empire's golden emblem, indicating it was from the highest authority — the Imperial Secretariat.

His hands shook as he opened it, one page, two pages, three pages...

The first decree, revoke the military contract rights of the Southwest Defense Zone.

The three veteran corps stationed at the border would be taken over by the Royal Dragon Flame Knight Order within ten days.

The Kadari family's banner would be lowered from the forts, replaced by the Golden Dragon Banner.

The second decree, strip away the three noble rights: permanent seat on the Noble Council, military academy recommendation privileges, Royal Hunting Ground license.

This was a blatant act of deprivation, almost akin to casting the entire family out of the Imperial Capital's nobility circle.

The third decree, review of the Imperial Capital's assets, freeze of noble bank accounts, and the sealing and investigation of two family residences.

...

Word by word, there was no room for negotiation.

Elman stood in the middle of the hall, holding the three sealed orders just delivered by the royal messenger.

The edges of the letter still held warmth, the golden lacquer of the Empire's emblem sharp and mocking him.

He read it word by word, expressionless, yet it felt like each word drove a nail into his heart.

"From this day forth, a special commissioner shall be stationed to audit and freeze the noble's bank accounts and to oversee the sealing and investigation of two family estates."

Word by word, with no room for negotiation.

When the last word fell—"effective immediately, a special officer shall be stationed"—he sank into the central hall's chair with a hollow thud, like the sound made before an old house caves in.

His aides, stewards, and several sons stood by, frozen in fear, not daring to utter a word.

Elman Kadari, who had fought countless battles in his lifetime, sidestepped three political traps and raised the Kadari family from the mud to the center.

But he had never foreseen that the fatal blow would be dealt not by an enemy, but by family.

By the very child he once held in his arms, now trading the entire family for a severe punishment.

"Damn scoundrel..." he murmured again, with a hoarse and bloody voice.

"Colluding with foreign merchants, selling military information, engaging in trifling deceptions... did he think he was starring in some kind of power drama?!"

He slammed his fist against the table, the force so great it caused the wine cup to jump.

"He ruined himself and dragged the foundation I built over decades, the blood and sweat of generations of the Kadri's, into the mire!"

The fury burned to its peak, but eventually, it faded into a faint, almost inaudible sigh.

He didn't want to cry, but his eyes turned red.

Elman Kadari had fought countless battles in his life, dodged three political traps, and pulled the Kadri family from the mud to the center.

But he never thought that the one who would deliver the fatal blow wasn't an enemy, but family.

It was that baby he once held in his arms, now swapping the entire clan for an ultimate punishment.

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