Thud. Thud. Thud.
Chains coiled around the condemned like venomous serpents, binding them tighter with every passing second. Their faces darkened as realization set in. Fainanshe's earlier speech had effectively spread the hate equally among them, leaving no one unscathed.
By now, everyone understood Ash's insidious plan—this damned fugitive wanted them to air their dirty secrets, revealing the hidden machinations of government power to the city's citizens. Worse, he aimed to drag untouchable entities into the spotlight, exposing their complicity.
Where was the Office of Criminal Discipline? Why hadn't the broadcast station cut the feed? What were the Church and Research Institute even thinking?
They exchanged glances, silently agreeing on one thing—no one would speak further. Remaining silent was the only way to defuse the rising anger of the masses and buy time until the authorities shut this spectacle down.
But not everyone was willing to abide by this unspoken truce. For example, the beastman Kiven, former leader of the "Glutton Serpents" gang, was on the verge of breaking.
Unlike the subtle, detached "evil" of politicians and bureaucrats, Kiven represented a more visceral, everyday villainy that the citizens could easily recognize and despise. Without intervention, Kiven was sure to become the "star attraction" of this Blood Moon Trial. But one thing about scoundrels—they rarely go down alone.
"Three years ago, in the Dragon's Lair Apartment Scandal, Fainanshe played a significant role!" Kiven bellowed. "Does no one remember? Dragon's Lair Apartments bought out properties at exorbitant prices and then rented them out cheaply, expanding aggressively not just in Kaemon but in other cities like Faimont and Waikai."
"But the scam was obvious. They paid property owners monthly while demanding one- or two-year upfront payments from tenants, siphoning off massive funds. It was a ticking time bomb, and everyone knew it—but nobody stopped it. In fact, some even encouraged it! Fainanshe's administration pushed the 'Financial Innovation Guidance Policy,' enabling commercial banks to offer rental loans, saddling tenants with debt to prop up Dragon's Lair's collapsing finances. He may not have technically broken any laws, but he was undeniably complicit."
"And how do I know this? Because I own a bank too. We took the chance to hand out countless microloans to students and new workers—prime targets. And by the way, a member of Fainanshe's Woodland Gallery faction also owns a commercial bank!"
The sound of chains stirring echoed through the air as moonlit tendrils began to snake up toward Fainanshe. The ogre exhaled heavily. He knew how this would play out. Everything was proceeding according to Ash's cruel choreography. Worse yet, Fainanshe had no choice but to play along, hastening the very cycle that would lead to their collective ruin.
"Andralier." Fainanshe's voice rang out. "In 1662, thanks to your efforts, Moon Sugar was legalized in Kaemon City. It shifted from being a black-market drug to a legitimate enterprise. The largest sugar company, Immortality Inc., even founded your precious Immortal Wine Club the following year. You may be here with us now, but Immortality Inc. is still producing Moon Sugar, addicting countless people every second."
A simple sentence sent Andralier's execution pillar into a frenzy. Chains writhed like tentacles, snaking toward the middle-aged academic. His face turned grim—he knew the citizens' wrath had been ignited.
Moon Sugar, an addictive substance, was outlawed in most regions of the Blood Moon Nation. Yet it was inexplicably legal in select cities like Kaemon. Though many adored the drug, even more despised it. Every citizen had likely encountered a "sugar head"—whether being harassed on the streets, disrupted in public restrooms, or disturbed during university lectures or movies. Worse yet, Moon Sugar abuse had led to a sharp rise in violent crimes, further fueling public disdain.
Andralier didn't think he had done anything wrong. Under the Civil Liberties Act, no one had the right to prevent an adult from consuming Moon Sugar. Any resulting crimes were a separate issue entirely.
But to Andralier, that was the Criminal Discipline Office's problem, not his. Legislators weren't graded on crime rates. In fact, since Moon Sugar couldn't be eradicated, legalizing it had seemed logical. Taxes could be collected, gang markups were eliminated, and sugar heads could buy the drug at lower prices. It was a win-win—except for the ordinary citizens who suffered the consequences.
And what about banning Moon Sugar entirely? Arresting users? That would bring down the wrath of the Human Rights Association and Species Rights Advocates. Goblins, beastmen, and ogres—species with natural resistance to drugs—could consume Moon Sugar with minimal adverse effects, often finding it enhanced focus and work efficiency.
For ogres, Moon Sugar wasn't just a recreational drug; it was an indispensable resource for artistic creation.
Moon Sugar legalization wasn't merely Andralier's brainchild. It was a compromise reached by the council, benefiting multiple factions. Ordinary citizens had no say—they elected these legislators, after all. This was elite politics at work.
Yet the public's resentment toward the law had only grown over time. Normally, such resentment was toothless, harmless. But during a Blood Moon Trial? Resentment could grow fangs—and bite.
"Fainanshe," Andralier spat bitterly. "You've successfully shifted public outrage onto me."
"Your literary skills are lacking, Andralier," Fainanshe retorted with a sneer. "Outrage misplaced on an unrelated party is called scapegoating. But you? You're the key architect of Moon Sugar legalization. This isn't scapegoating—it's retribution."
Andralier sighed. "Is this how it has to be?"
"If you're willing to sacrifice yourself to shield us all," Fainanshe said coldly, "then this farce ends with you."
Andralier glanced around at the anxious faces of his peers. Their silent, hopeful gazes implored him to take the fall. He turned toward Ash, who watched impassively from the edge of the platform, and a profound sadness flickered in his eyes.
"We, the self-proclaimed geniuses and elites," Andralier murmured, "have been utterly toyed with by a mere death row inmate."
A bitter smile crept across his face. "What an ugly sight."
"Fine," he said quietly. "Let me put an end to this."
Fainanshe raised an eyebrow in surprise. The others breathed sighs of relief, their faces brightening as though they'd been given a second chance at life.
"ARANDAL FAINANSHE!"
Suddenly, Andralier roared, his voice echoing like a thunderclap.
"If anyone here deserves death, it's YOU. It was during the 422 Incident that YOU invited foreign sorcerers to attack innocent citizens of Kaemon City!"