In the dim, flickering light of a single candle, the air was thick with tension. Shadows danced across the damp stone walls of a cold prison corridor as two armored guards led an old man forward. Chains clinked heavily with each step he took, his body hunched beneath the weight of time and captivity. Clad in coarse prisoner's garments, his face bore the weary lines of a life long lived and recently shattered.
The trio moved in silence through the oppressive hallway until, after a short walk, they emerged into the open night air. The sudden brightness under the moon revealed a vast gathering a platform had been erected in the square, towering above a roaring crowd. At the center of the stage stood a guillotine, dark and ominous, its blade gleaming under torchlight. Beside it waited a young man, perhaps no older than twenty, gripping a polished axe with steady hands and an unreadable face.
Below the stage, a sea of onlookers buzzed with morbid excitement. Cheers erupted from the crowd, their bloodlust uncontained as they watched the proceedings with hungry eyes.
The old man was dragged to the stage and forced to kneel. His head was pressed down onto a wooden plank shaped precisely for execution.
Suddenly, a stern-looking, middle-aged official ascended the platform, his robes rippling as he raised his voice to the masses.
"The Jiang Dynasty has been the protector of our state for hundreds of years!" he declared, voice booming over the crowd. "All the land beneath the heavens belongs to the Emperor! But these demonic cultists ,these blasphemers refuse to bow before him!"
He pointed accusingly at the old man, who remained silent, eyes half-lidded.
"This man," the speaker continued, "a deacon of the demonic cult, is a traitor to the Empire! He shall be executed for his crimes by the sacred decree of His Majesty, the Emperor!"
With a wave of his hand, he signaled for the execution to proceed.
The crowd erupted into thunderous applause and deafening cheers. But as the old man was pressed further into the plank, a faint smile tugged at his lips. His eyes gleamed with an eerie calm as he suddenly shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos.
"The day of salvation is not far! The Crimson Night will descend soon! And all shall be purified by holy fire! The Emperor you all so blindly worship will meet his end as well!"
A haunting laugh echoed from his throat, sending a shiver through the watching masses. The middle-aged official's face darkened, his brows furrowed in discomfort. Silently, he gestured once more toward the young executioner.
But something was off.
The executioner, axe still in hand, was motionless.
What place is this...? he wondered, confusion gripping his mind like a vice. Where am I? Didn't I just take a nap? Why am I here now...?
Suddenly, a surge of foreign memories flooded into his consciousness, uninvited but undeniable.
My name... is Li Ming. This is the Jiang Dynasty. The court is plagued by rebels, and cults rise in secret across the land. I'm an executioner... an orphan who inherited his father's position. This—this is my hundredth execution.
As the truth of his identity settled heavily in his mind, the voice of the middle-aged official snapped him back to reality.
"Execute him now!"
It was the third time the order had been given.
Li Ming had been too distracted to react earlier, still reeling from the surge of strange memories. But now, clarity returned. Slowly, he raised the blade above his head. The crowd held its breath.
And then—
The axe fell.
Blood splattered against the wooden platform, painting it in crimson. The crowd erupted once more into ecstatic cheers.
Yet, amidst the deafening celebration, a strange sound echoed in Li Ming's ears.
[Ding...….]