Steel and Mana

Chapter 274 – Trials of Nobles

The dawn after the siege was eerily calm as if the city had collectively paused to catch its breath. Or… Maybe it was because of the patrolling soldiers and their massive frames scaring everyone around them. They held bright lanterns in their hands, letting their light shine on the shattered remains of the eastern wall as morning arrived. Most of the rubble was slowly being cleared away, and the bodies found under the wreckage were recovered and burned away in the multiple firepits, glowing before the city. The smoke from them hung in the air, drifting towards the south, blown away by the cold wind coming from the north. The streets were lined with exhausted citizens, many huddled together or wandering aimlessly, looking for missing friends and relatives. Many of their faces were pale, filled with fear whenever they saw an Avalonian soldier, but these frightening warriors never even shouted at them… which was not what they expected.

Fiora, a young baker's apprentice, moved carefully through the remnants of what was once her workplace, close to the eastern walls. She clutched a small loaf of bread, her knuckles trembling from gripping it too tightly. It was a nervous habit she couldn't shake since seeing the walls crumble. The bakery where she had worked was nothing more than a skeleton of bricks and stone now, a casualty of yesterday's bombardment. She returned to look for others, but... Her master had been one of the unlucky ones, caught under falling debris when the first blast shattered the walls right onto half of the bakery, setting it ablaze. Only she and a few others had escaped, and now the empty building stood as a monument to a life she would never get back.

She tried not to look at the tall figures that dominated the square she had to cross to get home. These Avalonian soldiers were everywhere, their dark armor ominous, their helmeted faces unreadable. First, to her eyes, they moved with a grim purpose, patrolling the streets in pairs or standing guard at key junctions, ready to murder anybody who they deemed suspicious. Yet, the closer she looked, Fiora couldn't help but notice the care they took to avoid harassing the townspeople. Unlike the mercenaries the nobles had hired—brutish men who had terrorized Hospet for the brief moment they were present—these warriors were much more disciplined. They treated the people with a measure of respect, though it was clear they would not tolerate resistance or any type of tomfoolery.

A sudden shout snapped her from her thoughts, and Fiora's heart leaped into her throat. Down an alleyway to her right, she saw a group of Avalonian soldiers closing in on a ragged, frantic figure. It was one of those mercenaries she just remembered, dirty and wild-eyed. He clutched a chipped sword in one hand and held a terrified little boy as a shield, the blade pressing against the child's throat.

"Stay back!" the mercenary screamed, his voice cracking. His face was gaunt, smeared with dirt and blood. "I'll do it; take one more step, you bastards, and I am taking him with me to hell!"

The Avalonians halted their steps, their hands on their weapons at the ready. One of them, a man with a scar that slashed across his cheek, his helmet hanging from his waistband, raised a hand in a calming gesture.

"We will not let you go." he called out, his voice level and commanding. "Release the boy, and we'll show you mercy, though. Hurt him, and you will wish for a quick death."

The mercenary's eyes darted between them wildly. His desperation was palpable; a man who had watched his comrades burn and scatter, witnessing the same soldiers arriving at Hospet, the demons who cut through his comrades like nothing. He saw them take swings of blades head-on, letting their armor withstand dozens of strikes like monsters before cleaving people into two. He didn't seem to believe in the concept of mercy anymore. Watching, Fiora held her breath, clutching her bread tighter, her legs rooted to the ground in fear.

Then, with a sudden movement, the leading Avalonian soldier lunged forward. His sword flashed, slicing through the air without warning. The mercenary staggered backward, clutching his slashed wrist as his sword clattered to the ground. His hand was still holding its hilt as it was severed from his arm, spraying blood everywhere. The child screamed as he scrambled away, sobbing, and the soldier's companions swiftly subdued the similarly howling mercenary, dragging him away, most likely to a place that would be worse than hell. The boy was quickly scooped up by another soldier, who murmured something soothing to him before returning him to a group of huddled townsfolk, now surrounding Fiora, watching the whole scene play out, unable to look away.

Fiora exhaled shakily, relief coursing through her veins as the armored figures left without saying anything else. She realized that the Avalonians were different from the men their nobles had invited from foreign lands. They were harsh, yes. Relentless even. But they seemed to care for the people of Hospet in a way that had been absent from the others. Saving a child was no more than a minor task for them… and she was sure that the old guards would have either let the men go or not bother with the boy at all.

Further along, Fiora heard snippets of conversation drifting from where Avalonian soldiers were rounding up the last of the mercenaries, flushed from their hiding places. Some were dragged kicking and screaming from the cellars of noble homes, pulled from abandoned basements or attics where they had hoarded stolen goods. Others were found crouched in dark alleys, weeping or too terrified to resist. Executions followed swiftly, with no trial given to those who had fought against Avalon's forces on the walls of Lothlia. The message was clear: Justice would be swift and merciless. There was no escape from Avalon's retribution.

As she began walking again, she saw a group of nobles, haggard and defeated, forced to march past the city's main square under heavy guard. Fiora recognized some of them from days when they had ridden through Hospet's streets, proud and untouchable, sitting in their luxurious carriages. Now, they were worse off than she was, their fine clothes dirtied and their faces marked with smudges and unmistakable marks of a well-placed punch or two. The Avalonians treated them as prisoners, not guests, and whispers spread among the townsfolk about what fate awaited them. Executions had already begun for those who had declared to have undying loyalty to the Empire and its current ruler, and it was said that only those who proved their innocence or at least their willingness to cooperate were spared.

Fiora's mother had told her about the nobles' apparent betrayal and how they had sided with the Eternal Emperor, who chased away the true ruler of Ishillia, Empress Mirian. She was changing the Empire; she was stripping nobles of their unlimited powers and giving more of it to the people. Watching them now, Fiora felt a pang of bitter satisfaction. If it was indeed true… she was curious about the Empress's laws, those edicts that never reached Hospet. These were the people who had ignored their Empress, who had grown fat and comfortable while the rest of them starved and shivered in the cold. Maybe justice had finally come to Hospet in a form none had expected.

But even as she thought this, Fiora couldn't ignore the uncertainty that loomed over everything. What would come next? The Avalonians seemed to be keeping their word not to harm civilians, but would that hold true once the city was fully secured? And what did justice mean for the common folk, for people like her and her family, who had simply tried to survive? The city needed leadership, even she realized that. But who would step up to do it…?

Deep in thought, a hand touched her shoulder, and Fiora jumped with a scream, spinning around to see her older brother, Tomas. His eyes were shadowed with exhaustion, his face smudged with soot, but he managed a tired smile.

"Finally, I found you! I was worried! You were taking too much time to return." he said gently. "We need to find shelter. Also, let's go; there's a group handing out food near the temple!"

She nodded numbly, and together, they made their way through the fractured streets. Here and there, Avalonian soldiers helped the wounded or offered blankets to those shivering from the cold, left without homes. One group even set up a makeshift station to distribute clean water and something called a 'disinfectant,' whatever it was.

Just after arriving near the remnants of the old chapel, a commotion broke out between the crowd. A handful of mercenaries had attempted a last stand, using civilians as shields. Tomas pushed Fiora back into the shadows as Avalonian soldiers stormed the scene, moving with brutal precision. Within minutes, the danger had passed, and the mercenaries lay decapitated, or their heads shot through by crossbow bolts, their blood staining the snowy cobblestone streets. They indeed showed no mercy, cutting through them as if they were made of paper. The captives were freed, trembling but unharmed. One of the freed townsfolk—a middle-aged tailor named Gerold—stumbled over to Fiora and Tomas, his face pale but grateful.

"They saved us… I thought I was dead!" Gerold murmured, disbelief evident in his voice. "I have never seen a man as big as they move so quickly… Are they really human under those helmets?"

Fiora swallowed hard, meeting her brother's gaze. The city was still a place of mourning and ruin, but perhaps, just perhaps, there was hope to rebuild it. And do it better. Avalon's soldiers seemed more interested in restoring order than inflicting further suffering.

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The stone floor of the great hall, where Hospet's highest nobles were now gathered, was cold and unforgiving. It mirrored the expressions of their captors, here to administer justice. The tables where these nobles had once feasted were gone, replaced with harsh wooden benches, their cushion stripped away, used to make clothes for the people who were without homes. The light from the Avalonian's lamps flickered ominously, casting long shadows on the walls and illuminating faces that had once been radiant with wealth and power but now appeared pale and hollow. All of their power was gone, and it seemed like it would never return.

The only one who was different was Sir Baldric. He sat with his back straight, his eyes locked on the central figures seated at the only table within the room. The once proud knight clenched his jaw, refusing to let his fear show. He had donned his breastplate in some misguided effort to retain dignity. Their captors probably saw his effort and let him keep it, but without his sword and helmet, he looked like a caged lion, defanged and stripped of any threat.

Beside him, Lady Katerine sat rigidly, her lavish furs torn from her and given away to be used to warm the needy on the streets. A blasphemy, yet she couldn't really protest against it. Her hands rested in her lap, but her fingers trembled as she tried to maintain her composure. Lord Ewan, the former ruler of Hospet, hunched forward beside her, subconsciously pulling on his hair. He had aged decades in hours, his thinning hair further demolished by his own fingers.

Soldiers from Avalon, clad in black armor, lined the side of the chamber, their different, unique weapons reminding the nobles that they may only be a step away from death. They watched the room, keeping an eye on the collected nobles, their silence a heavy reminder that any hope of escape was a fool's dream. Sitting calmly in front of them was their judge, Pion, the commander of the forces that had conquered the city. He was amongst the first of these soldiers who wore no helmet and let his face be seen by the nobles. At least he looked human… even if his eyes were cold, at least his demeanor was measured. But he wasn't alone. Beside the clerks surrounding him, there was also a woman of surprising elegance, and it didn't take long for Ewan and the others to learn she was from the Zimmermann family. As far as they knew it, she was a Countess.

The first to be brought forward to be questioned was Baron Merek. He stumbled over his own feet, clutching his wine-stained robes. Or… by the smell, it may have been piss-stained. Two Avalon guards dragged him to the front when he failed to take more than two steps, forced to kneel with a whimper, his legs barely holding his weight in an upright position. Pion looked at him without any compassion, his gaze locking onto Merek's eyes. His voice was clear and commanding, filling the vast hall without effort.

"Baron Merek, you are accused of aiding Otto's governance and providing intelligence that led to the invasion of the Frontier. What do you say in your defense?" Hearing him speak, Baron Merek looked like a cornered rat, his face pale and lips trembling.

"I... I had no choice! Otto... he was a mage! An agent of the Emperor! He threatened us all. We are not warriors! We are but caretakers of this land. I obeyed because I had no power to resist. You must understand, please! Going against the Emperor is akin to death!"

Pion remained unmoved. He nodded to a man standing to his left, a scholar of sorts with thick glasses and a ledger in hand. None of the nobles recognized him, which wasn't strange. He belonged to the retinue of Matilda, assigned to her by the Ministry of Avalon. She didn't come alone, as about fifty newly trained and twenty experienced clerks came with her, here to help Hospet adapt to some Avalonian customs.

The man began reading aloud, listing Merek's actions collected from local documents found within the main castle. The record contained details of heavy taxes to fund Otto's mercenaries, the seizure of food from the peasantry, and his open support of the campaign to subjugate the Frontier. As the accusations echoed through the hall, Merek's knees gave way. He collapsed into a pitiful heap, sobbing like a child having a tantrum, repeatedly screaming no at the top of his lungs.

"You knew what you were doing," Pion's jaw tightened as he declared. "You enforced Otto's edicts with vigor, stamping multiple edicts yourself, not even asking your Viscount to look into it."

"…!" Hearing it, Ewan couldn't help but raise his head, feeling shaken. He held back his voice by glancing at the soldiers looming over them, afraid to curse or utter any words. Instead, he continued to listen and listen well.

"You were lining your own pockets while your people starved. You have shown no remorse until your own life was at stake." Pion nodded after the clerk finished and glanced at the guards. With a simple gesture, they hauled Merek to his feet. The Baron's pleas devolved into unintelligible wails as he was dragged from the hall, his cries fading into the distance. Everyone knew what fate awaited him. Death.

The room was silent, the nobles barely daring to breathe until the next name echoed. It was time to hear Lady Katerine's side. She rose unsteadily, but to her credit, she lifted her chin with what remained of her defiance. She met Pion's gaze after standing before him, though her voice wavered.

"You accuse me of what, exactly?" she demanded. "Of being a woman of influence who had no power over a military campaign? I... I did what I could to soften the impact on places I had a reach in. I pleaded with others many times to spare our people, to ease the weight put on them."

"Is that so?" Pion raised an eyebrow, meeting her gaze. "Your name appears alongside Viscount Ewan's in decrees that led to harsh punishments for dissenters and conscripts drafted against their will. You oversaw the officers of Otto, people who went around Westland, gathering conscripts and feeding them fake promises."

"I... I was forced." Lady Katerine faltered. "You must understand that they gave me… gave us no choice. I did what I could to mitigate the worst of their impulses. My own hands... they are not so stained as others! If not for my interference, more families would have been torn apart! I am smart enough to realize the people are what makes us nobles powerful. Without them, we rule over nothing!"

"There are accounts," the scholar consulted his ledger once more as he noted, "of Lady Katerine donating food and gold to affected towns and supporting the families from where the men were enlisted. But there are also reports of her condemning those who defied Otto's, or in this case, Viscount Ewan's edicts."

Pion scrutinized her, his expression unreadable. At last, he glanced at Matilda, who gently nodded her head.

"You will live, Lady Katerine, but you will serve the people you once failed. Your titles are forfeited. You will work under our Magistrate Matilda Zimmermann to mend the damage you've done. Consider this a mercy, and use it well." Hearing him, Lady Katerine's relief was palpable. She bowed deeply, tears streaming down her face.

"Thank you…" she whispered, not to Pion, but to Matilda, before being escorted away.

Sir Baldric stepped forward next, his breastplate clinking with each determined step. He met Pion's gaze squarely, his expression one of resignation but not of fear.

"I won't beg," Baldric said, his voice firm. "I served my lord and my city since I was young. I protected my soldiers and people when I could, and I fought to uphold what honor remained for us. I was powerless to stop my men from being taken from me and led into a crusade without my overseeing eyes. If that is a crime, so be it."

"You were loyal, Sir Baldric." Pion tilted his head as he spoke, his voice showing a tinge of respect, "But where was your loyalty when Otto's decrees began costing your men's lives? Enlisting them into his army? Did you never think to turn your sword against him?"

"I am a knight sworn to serve." Baldric stiffened. "My oath is my life. But even I knew Otto was wrong... But what should we do against a wizard? Against someone who our Emperor sent down himself?! We… I am loyal to my lord, who is loyal to the Empire." He declared, never breaking eye contact, "I aided my men where I could, and if I had defied my orders openly, we would not be having this conversation. I would be dead, and so would my family, my men, my men's family."

"There are multiple accounts of Sir Baldric sparing civilians while the mercenary forces were gathering around Hospet." The scholar hesitated before speaking up on his behalf, "He often turned a blind eye to acts of defiance against Otto's forces when they were demanding too much."

"Your loyalty binds you, but it also spared lives." Pion nodded, understanding his views. "You will retain your knighthood, but you will serve Lady Zimmermann now. Your first duty is to train a new militia to defend the people of this land without the cruelty previously demanded."

"I will serve with honor." Baldric inclined his head, his expression one of solemn acceptance.

As time went on, several other nobles were brought forth, their fates varying. A minor lord who had profited greatly from the increasing oppression, sending his own men to enforce cruel demands, was taken away for execution, his protests echoing through the hall. Another nobleman, a young man who had openly defied the conscripting of people and paid a heavy price, losing an arm, was pardoned and even offered a place in the new administration. His bravery had inspired quiet resistance, and he wept openly at the unexpected reprieve.

Finally, it was Lord Ewan's turn. He stepped forward, his face ghostly pale. He had once ruled Hospet with pride, but now he was a broken man, haunted by his failures. Pion's gaze hardened the moment it came to the nominal leader of Westland.

"Lord Ewan, you were the voice of this city. You could have resisted, but instead, you allowed Otto to strip you of your power, and you stood by as he bled this land dry."

"I... I was powerless." Ewan's voice cracked. "Otto made it clear from the beginning that dissent would mean death. What could I do? I tried to manage his rule to maintain some stability. My people needed me alive."

"There are mixed reports." The Avalonian clerk cleared his throat. "Some claim Lord Ewan turned a blind eye to Otto's cruelty, while others state he did what he could to aid the suffering, albeit in secret."

"Lord Ewan," Pion considered him for a long moment before speaking. "You will not die today, but your rule is over. You will live as one of the people, no longer shielded by your title or your wealth. Prove that you care for this city, or you will find that second chances are a rare gift."

"Thank you…" he whispered, his voice breaking with emotion as he bowed deeply, tears glistening in his eyes. He had already felt the ropes around his neck tightening, yet all of a sudden, they were gone, allowing him to breathe freely once more. He didn't even flinch when he was led away by Avalonian soldiers.

With the interrogations complete, the nobles led away, some to their deaths and others to a life of penance; it was time to announce it to the city. The people of Hospet, watching from afar, murmured amongst themselves, listening to the words of the Avalonian clerks, accompanied by bodyguards. Avalon had brought justice, not indiscriminate vengeance, and perhaps now the city could begin to change.

"Send the word," Pion commanded within the hall. "we need to inform our Sovereign of our success."

"What about the brothel?" Matilda asked.

"For that… we need a wizard." Pion sighed as indeed. They found Otto's old headquarters, but it was defended by magic that their sensors, the same ones that were responsible for detecting magic in Lothlia and Avalon, picked up at once.

Fearing that it would be destructive to fiddle with it, Pion decided to cordon off the area and wait for further instructions. Knowing how explosive the enemy mages were… he feared it could easily level the whole city if they barged in.