Fainanshe couldn't recall exactly why he, an ogre, began to harbor ambitions that were so unlike his kind.
Was it the sight of well-dressed politicians visiting Boneclub Orphanage, smiling as they patted orcish children on the head while their eyes betrayed thinly veiled disdain?
Or perhaps it was the longing he felt while watching movies that showcased grand mansions and elegant high-society lifestyles?
Or maybe it was the moment he saw a confident human mayor on the screen, raising his fist and declaring with unshakable conviction a lie so transparent even orcish children scoffed: "Let's make all races great!"
Whatever the reason, Fainanshe began to live differently from other ogres. After every brawl, when he managed to secure his share of food, he would sneak off into a corner to watch recordings of supplementary lessons from the elite Emerald Garden Orphanage.
Theoretically, every child had access to a full set of educational materials and could master the basics through self-study. But to pass middle school, university, or—dare he dream—gain entry to a research institute, it required a deeper understanding far beyond what the standard curriculum offered.
While well-funded orphanages could afford private tutors to guide their wards, Boneclub Orphanage had no such luxuries. The average educational level of those who left Boneclub was on par with prenatal care—basically nonexistent.
Yet institutions like Emerald Garden, aiming to set an example or bolster their reputation, uploaded their lessons onto the public network. Children from underprivileged orphanages could download these videos for free—provided they had the willpower to self-learn.
Fainanshe would never forget those nights: battered and bruised from fights, he'd huddle in a damp, rancid corner. Around him, chaos reigned—ogres and orcs fought ferociously in the sandpit, one ogre casually ate and defecated in the same spot, while another orc added his toenails to a sandwich.
But on his small screen, he witnessed something utterly different: orderly classrooms, sophisticated teachers, and students bursting with laughter and intellectual curiosity.
Even after so many years, the memory of his youthful determination stirred something deep within him. That burning sensation in his chest—that fire he later realized had a name—
Shame.
"Now that the audience has been introduced to these eight candidates for redemption, I'm sure you all have a pressing question," Ash Heath's voice rang out, amplified across the scene. "Why is Mayor Fainanshe, temporarily suspended but still not a criminal, part of today's trial?"
Fainanshe, still recovering from the nausea and pain of his injuries, glanced up. Standing on the observation platform was none other than the man who had brought him here.
It was starting to come back to him now. After signing the Book of Sinners, he had been rendered powerless by its binding magic, only to be ambushed and knocked unconscious by this very man.
A closer look revealed that Ash wasn't speaking to them directly but instead addressing the hovering camera.
A prison... broadcast... under the Blood Moon.
Narrowing his eyes, Fainanshe turned to the man seated beside him. "Director Laidor, who is that?"
Laidor, a former project director recently ousted by Fainanshe's machinations, instinctively answered despite his resentment. "That's Ash Heath. A convicted death row inmate."
The pieces clicked into place for Fainanshe. Turning his gaze to Ash, he found the man staring back at him. Ash held the ominous Book of Sinners close to his face, revealing only a pair of cold, calculating eyes.
"Mayor Fainanshe finds himself here because, as a friend once told me, he's a bad person—someone who has repeatedly exploited legal loopholes to evade scrutiny."
Fainanshe let out a dismissive laugh, refusing to dignify the remark with a response.
"But of course," Ash continued, his tone dripping with irony, "a phrase like 'I have a friend' is hardly credible evidence. In fact, according to investigative records from the Bureau of Sin, there is no concrete evidence to convict the mayor of any crimes. A few gaps in memory here, some unexplainable oddities there—but technically, Mayor Fainanshe has not committed any illegal acts."
"Ultimately, the true judges of this Blood Moon Trial are not the mayor, the Bureau, or even a lowly host like myself. It's you—our discerning viewers, whose votes guide this process of redemption."
"So, I don't expect you to take my word for it. I don't expect you to condemn a law-abiding mayor to meet the Blood Moon's embrace prematurely."
"But that's where this trial becomes... entertaining."
Ash gestured toward Fainanshe. "Unlike the mayor, the other seven candidates—former officials, gang leaders, and corrupt bureaucrats—are unquestionably guilty. Their crimes are laid bare, accessible for anyone to review with a simple click on their profiles."
"Theoretically, only one of these seven sinners will be chosen for redemption. But today, I'm giving you all an opportunity."
Ash pointed directly at the ogre. "You can publicly reveal Mayor Fainanshe's misdeeds. Convince the audience to vote for him. The more substantial your allegations, the less likely you'll be chosen for redemption yourself."
The platform fell silent, the candidates exchanging uneasy glances.
Former secretary Menken, a burly orc, was the first to break the tension. "I'll say it! Fainanshe hired assassins to—ARGH!!"
Menken's scream was cut short as red smoke billowed from his stone seat, the searing heat burning through his flesh.
"Ah, I forgot to mention," Ash said, feigning an apologetic tone. "This trial features a special enhancement: Mouth of Lies. Say something false—lie, fabricate, or accuse without evidence—and the executioner under you will heat up. Slowly. Relentlessly. Until you're fully cooked."
The crowd's faces paled. They struggled against the binds holding them to their seats, only to realize their movements—and even their abilities—had been completely restricted.
"This private trial," Ash added with a smirk, "grants you one privilege: free speech. Everything else? Off-limits. So enjoy your seats—after all, not everyone gets to sit atop an executioner."
Someone muttered bitterly under their breath, Then trade places with us!
"Wait."
The bespectacled, scholarly Andralier raised his hand. "Let me clarify. First, we know Fainanshe hasn't committed any actual crimes. Second, we can't accuse him of anything we can't personally verify. So... how are we supposed to implicate him?"
Ash's cold gaze shifted toward the man.
"You're right," he said smoothly. "I'm not asking for evidence of crimes. I'm asking for legal acts of illegality."
The room fell silent.
Everyone present—veteran politicians and bureaucrats who had climbed the greasy ladder of Kaimon City's governance—instantly understood Ash's meaning. Their faces turned ashen. Even Fainanshe couldn't conceal his unease.
In the Bureau of Sin's office, the commissioner chuckled as she sifted through Ash Heath's profile.
"Interesting," she murmured. "There's no record of him working in public administration. No connection to city politics. Could someone have fed him this information? Or did he figure it out himself?"
"Either way, this isn't just about a vendetta against Fainanshe or challenging the Bureau. He's probing deeper—testing the very rules that underpin society itself."
Her lips curled into a wry smile, dark-ringed eyes glinting with anticipation.
"This... could be fun."