Chapter 9. Raynald Amblecrown
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After bridging over to the fifth building, they finally reached the sixth one. From their vantage point, El spotted people on the other side; two figures in particular stood out among them.
The first was a familiar boy with faded red hair whom El had encountered in the restaurant beside Ran. He now sported a shade of brown hair that left El puzzled about how his hair had managed to change color.
Beside that boy stood an eye-catching figure―a huge man with short brown hair, his expression filled with anxiety as he looked at Ran, who strode effortlessly along the wooden plank and easily crossed to the other side.
Meanwhile, El felt the large man's scrutinizing gaze as he carefully moved on the plank, the man seemingly wondering who the new boy was. Currently, around twenty-five people were gathered, including their seven-member group.
"Why are you here, Sir Giles?" Ran asked the imposing figure, occasionally averting her gaze.
"Of course, I'm here, lass. I'm worried about you. Please don't do such things again. I nearly had a heart attack when the others told me you forced your way into leading a group," Sir Giles replied, his voice filled with an indescribable concern.
"I wanted to be here, no matter what. How can I stay there in the base, knowing what happens to them?" Ran, scrunched her eyebrows, looked up to him in defiance. Her hands curling into fists at her sides.
From their conversation, it was clear to El that Ran was forbidden to come here. He quietly pondered, guessing that their actual goal was not as simple as just watching the execution from the sidelines.
"But…"
"But what? You're always so overprotective of me. I'm fine, aren't I? That's all that matters," she interrupted him, her cheeks flushed and her lips forming a stubborn pout as she confronted Sir Giles.
From the side, El silently observed Ran finally acting more like a girl her age, though perhaps a tad too intelligent for her years.
Previously, she had carried herself like an experienced leader; now, she resembled more of a child throwing a tantrum.
Yet one thing struck El as odd: except Ran, everyone was extremely submissive in front of Sir Giles. He was a tall, middle-aged man–not as tall as 'the man'―with a beer belly but muscular, looking just as sick as the others from the underside.
He wore a long-sleeved gray shirt, smudged and worn out, along with grey pants. The most striking feature of his appearance, which contributed to his intimidating presence, was the black shield strapped tightly to his back, much taller than El himself, held in place by black ropes crossing over his shoulders.
"Sigh, just tell me next time before you do something like this, alright?" Sir Giles said, his tone a mix of exasperation and care.
"No, you'd surely refuse to let me join," Ran shot back, huffing.
"I won't…"
"Oh, how long have we known each other, sir? I know what kind of person you are, and exactly what you'd say," she replied, her frown deepening. Her sharp retort left Sir Giles momentarily speechless.
Ran turned her gaze to El, eager to steer the conversation elsewhere.
"By the way, this is the guy I picked up on the road here. His name is El."
'Picked up on the road? What am I, a cat?' El grumbled silently to himself as Ran introduced him to Sir Giles, who eyed him suspiciously.
Ran gestured for Sir Giles to bend down.
As he obliged, she cupped her hands around his ear and began whispering something. From where El stood, he couldn't catch a single word of their hushed exchange. All he could feel was the growing excitement from Sir Giles and wariness from the others around.
While she spoke, Sir Giles's expression shifted to one of bewilderment, his eyes widening before he nodded repeatedly.
"I see, I see…" he flashed a smile at El, only to deepen the latter's confusion. 'What? Are they talking about me?'
"Not too obvious…!!!" Ran hissed in frustration, glaring at the man who seemed clueless to her annoyance.
"Okay, okay. No worries," Sir Giles shrugged his shoulder, smiling helplessly like a kind grandpa facing his spoiled granddaughter.
Without warning, he approached El, drawing closer to him. "Hey lad. How are you? No trouble on the way here, right?"
He gave El a light but rough pat on the back of his shoulder, nearly knocking him off balance.
Ran groaned, facepalming at the sight.
El winced, rubbing his shoulder where the impact had left it numb. Despite the discomfort, a small smile crept onto his lips as he replied,
"I'm fine, sir. No trouble at all," El lied, recalling Ran's insistence that they all pretend their journey was trouble-free when they joined the rest of the group.
"Oh, that's good then," Sir Giles, satisfied, turned away from El, then instructed the rest of the members, "Alright, I think we're all set. Let's move; the execution starts soon."
He led the way to the edge of the building, where a sturdy iron bridge stretched across to a taller structure.
El entered the building and noted the pristine condition of its interior, devoid of the trash and rubble that marred the previous structure where they had traversed earlier. They ascended once more, navigating the staircase
At each landing, figures stood at attention in their casual attire. Whenever Sir Giles approached, they saluted—right fist pressed firmly against their left chest, a silent display of respect.
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At last, they eventually reached the top. El leaned over the parapet, peering down at the scene below, where rows of people gathered. They were clearly the residents of Mirthwater City.
The yard of the mayor's office unfolded before El.
It was a vibrant scene, filled with lush green grasses interspersed with an array of exotic flowers swaying gently in the breeze, their colors bursting forth in a riot of reds, yellows, and purples.
The air was fragrant with their sweet scent, creating a stark contrast to the tense scene.
A large steel-white fence now stood wide open, as if inviting onlookers to witness the unfolding events.
In the center of this picturesque yard, a wooden platform rose slightly above the ground, where twelve figures knelt, their hands bound tightly behind their backs. Before these twelve stood a pillar, positioned just low enough for the onlookers to view the kneeling figures.
And to this pillar, a pale, lifeless woman was tied, her eyes closed, wearing a plain white dress, with a deep strangulation wound marring her neck, causing her head to tilt unnaturally to one side.
The sight was jarring against the background of beauty, a haunting tableau that sent shivers down El's spine.
It was the kind of horror that made one question the depths of violence—how cruelty could carve such an appalling outcome into reality.
A crowd of Mirthwater residents gathered around, all dressed in funeral black clothing that contrasted sharply with the colorful flora surrounding them.
Unease etched on many faces; those in the back rows watched with a mix of emotions, predominantly grief, uncertainty, and quiet contemplation.
In stark contrast, individuals in the front rows whispered among themselves, their voices laced with venomous profanity.
One man, filled with disdain, spat on the ground as he glared at the kneeling figures, his expression a blend of disgust and malice. The murmurs of curses from the front rows created a sense of hostility, underscoring the gravity of the moments.
Beyond this restless crowd, at the opposite end of the yard, a lavish platform rose above the gathering. Gilded chairs sat beneath a canopy of shade, a space reserved for select guests.
Servants flitted from table to table, ensuring every indulgence—silver trays laden with desserts and crystal glasses brimming with wine—was within easy reach.
At the center, the mayor stood, his dark attire mirroring the grief-stricken residents, yet his presence radiated something colder, more detached.
To his left and right, nobles lounged in dazzling garments that flaunted their status, their gazes cast downward toward the execution ground.
Their expressions wavered between idle curiosity and stark indifference, as though this brutal spectacle were nothing more than a passing entertainment.
Rows of guards stood straight in silence, dark blue uniforms forming a sepulchral backdrop to the unfolding drama.
They each held long guns, a presence that served as a stark reminder of the authority and control exerted over the event.
"So, this is… the so-called execution ground," El muttered to himself as the disconcerting weight settled heavily upon him.
He looked to his side, where he found Ran and the boy who kept sneering at him in the restaurant, also leaning in to see the scene.
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