Broken Lake.
"It's over!" Kenman yelled, his voice trembling with a mix of hope and desperation. "The trial's done! Let us go back to the prison!"
Aside from the still-dazed Andrei, the other six death row inmates were visibly eager to return to the safety of the prison walls, their eyes fixed expectantly on Ashur Heath. Yet, Ashur remained unmoving, still holding the Directory of Sinners, his calm gaze betraying no intention to act.
Panic spread like wildfire. Was this it? Would the madman finish them off here and now?
Suddenly, a low hum filled the air, a mechanical drone rising over the eerie stillness. The sound of a turbo engine broke the silence, and all eyes turned to the lake's crimson-hued horizon. A speedboat cut through the waves, heading straight toward the trial's stage. Though the figures aboard weren't yet visible, there was no doubt: this wasn't some middle-aged man out for a night of fishing—it was the Bloodcraze Hunters of the Crimesweeper Bureau!
Relief didn't flood the prisoners' faces, though. If anything, their anxiety doubled.
"No! Not now! Why couldn't they arrive sooner?!"
In their minds, the timing was catastrophic. If Ashur was still debating whether or not to spare them, the arrival of the hunters might tip him toward killing them outright—just to mock the Blood Moon Nation.
They no longer saw Ashur Heath as a rational being. "No sane man would stage his own breakout trial, publicly humiliate a mayor, and drag the city's darkest secrets into the light!" To them, Ashur wasn't planning to escape—he was planning to go out in a blaze of madness and chaos, dragging everyone down with him.
Their frantic thoughts were interrupted as Ashur finally moved. He closed the Directory of Sinners with a resounding clap, reached into the pocket of his coat—
Zing!
A sharp, otherworldly sword song sliced through the air. A crimson line of light split the lake in two, piercing the night sky before impaling Ashur straight through the chest!
The line pulled taut like a leash, yanking its prey off the speedboat and depositing him onto the Skywatch Platform in an instant.
A figure stood on the platform now, the wielder of the weapon—a tall, white-haired man with scarlet eyes and an aura as cold as the grave.
Gerard Willminster, the three-wing Saint Domain Sorcerer, and legendary Bloodcraze Hunter.
The death row prisoners exhaled in unison. Finally, someone who could stop this insanity.
"Wait, where's Ashur?" Kenman muttered, his relief evaporating as he scanned the platform.
Andrei, jolted from his stupor, turned his head toward the platform. Gerard stood alone, his intense presence filling the space. But Ashur Heath, the one who had orchestrated this entire trial—the one who had taunted the Blood Moon Nation itself—was gone.
Vanished.
There was no corpse, no trace of a body. He couldn't have escaped under Gerard's nose, could he?
Andrei's lips moved wordlessly, until the answer dawned on him:
"A substitute technique…"
Gerard crouched, ignoring the Directory of Sinners lying discarded on the ground. Instead, he reached for something smaller—a pen-sized device nestled amidst the rubble. With a faint click, the device's speaker whirred to life, broadcasting a familiar voice:
"Exactly, you're absolutely right. I didn't need you to state any actual crimes—I just wanted you to reveal those 'legal crimes' of Fernand Snow…"
A recorder.
Gerard's expression darkened. Scattered around the platform were more recording devices—simple, everyday tools owned by most citizens, used to document statements or evidence for reporting to the Crimesweeper Bureau. Each recording carried Ashur's pre-recorded voice, tailored to manipulate the audience.
The realization hit Gerard hard: the entire "live trial" had been staged. Ashur had never been there.
He picked up another recorder, this one tied with a butterfly bow, and pressed its play button.
"Hey, Igura, why'd you stop talking? You were just getting to the good part about Gerard spying on legendary sorceresses while they bathed, or how he secretly donates money to rescue impoverished girls, or that whole rumor about him being a 'shared lover' for a dozen succubi… Go on, keep going—I love these legendary tales!"
The voice paused before switching tones.
"Ah, fine. If the infamous 'Fraudster' Igura Borgen won't spill, guess I'll take over. Hey, Gerard Willminster! This is Ashur Heath, your favorite 'innocent fugitive.' I know you're probably chasing me right now, but maybe consider catching some real bad guys first? Try Igura, Archibald, Ronar, or Ronald—they're the real scum. Let me stew in terror a little longer, as a personal favor, okay?"
"Oh, and Gerard… don't take this as an insult. I actually respect you. Thanks for letting me live that night—you're my hero."
Snap!
The recorder crumpled in Gerard's fist. His burning red eyes scanned the darkened lake, the moonlight swallowed by encroaching clouds. Somewhere in the distance, Ashur was laughing at him.
"Not even showing up to thank me in person?" Gerard muttered, his voice a low growl. "How rude."
Pearl District, on the fringes of Kaemon City.
Five figures, still clad in prison guard uniforms, stood atop an abandoned construction site, their gazes turned toward the city's glowing skyline.
This was the Pearl Slums, a district that had been meant for redevelopment into a commercial hub but was left half-finished after political scandals drained its budget. The empty shells of half-built towers had since become havens for gangs, criminals, and the destitute.
As they stood there, the five felt a sudden lightness in their chests. An invisible weight seemed to lift from their souls.
"Fernand Snow is dead," said Harvey, breaking the silence. "Our contract is fulfilled."
The others nodded in agreement, their tense shoulders finally relaxing.
"Strange," Ashur remarked, rubbing his chin. "We didn't have chips monitoring us, nor did we directly witness Fernand's death. How did the contract resolve itself?"
"Simple," said Igura, smirking. "The Void Realm acts as the ultimate arbiter. It knows when a contract's terms are fulfilled. Fernand's death confirmed the pact was complete."
"Which means…" Igura turned to Ashur, eyes glinting with curiosity. "You actually pulled off a Blood Moon trial using nothing but those recordings. How'd you manage that?"
"Isn't it obvious?"
"Obvious? How could you predict what people would say?"
"Clearly, you've never pitched a product to a room full of investors," Ashur replied smugly. "Making people ask the 'right' questions is an essential skill for anyone in sales. After all, my old job involved selling ideas to whole crowds."
Igura scoffed but said nothing. His personal grifts paled compared to Ashur's cult-leading theatrics.
Ronald clapped his hands, commanding attention.
"Alright, folks. Harvey's contract is done. We've escaped, and now we're here at the city's edge. To the right, the city awaits. To the left, freedom in the countryside."
He paused for dramatic effect.
"I think it's time we disbanded."
The group exchanged nods, their expressions a mixture of relief and resolve.
Ashur's grin widened. "I couldn't have done it without you all. This was a truly legendary plan, and each of you played a critical role. I'll never forget—"
Boom!
The building erupted in chaos.
Ashur's sword barrier snapped into place as Ronar lunged, his transformation into a wolfman tearing through the night.
Harvey unleashed a volley of necrotic spikes, their eerie glow streaking toward Igura, Ronald, and Ronar.
Ronald retaliated with a cloud of steel spheres, each homing in on Igura with deadly precision.
Igura let loose a psychic scream, its sonic shockwave shattering windows and cracking the foundation beneath them.
Trust was dead.
The breakout squad had officially disbanded—and in their world, disbanding meant war.