In the southern town square, many people gathered. From nobles to commoners, priests to beggars, all united against one common enemy: murderers.
The wooden platform stood tall in the middle. Metal barricades surrounded it in a circular fashion. There were no guillotines, no ropes, no firing squad. Five men and one woman stood on the platform.
Corven recognized the woman from afar, she was Vaela. He looked around for his Seren but couldn't find her. He pushed through the crowd, trying to get closer to Vaela, bumping into the crowd, not paying attention to would-be pickpockets. It wasn't as if he had a pouch full of gold coins.
He reached the barricades. The metal sapped the heat from his hands and left them cold. Corven could finally look behind the podium.
Knights, not clad in iron like the olden times but wearing a simple uniform. They enforce the general law of the crown in cities as police; next to them were neatly dressed nobles holding a small glass.
"Seren."
He found her. A smile broke his neutral face. Should he wave? No, that'd be strange. They just met. Not to mention human beings were about to die horribly.
Seren stood still, her hands clasped, lips tight.
Was she nervous? Guilty? Or proud?
He was imagining himself comforting her, holding her hand, caressing her soft hair.
Vaela's voice boomed.
"His majesty grants safety to all under his rule in these lands, and we the inquisition protect all humans against threats from the unknown. The accused before you have committed murder. The gravest sin. They're marked for hell," she paused and looked around the crowd, "And the Emperor has no intention of depriving demons of their toys."
The crowd cheered in unison, "Kill and be killed."
The priests prayed to one of the many gods they believed in, the beggars watched, the nobles drank.
Corven couldn't watch them die... He was too busy innocently staring at his lovely Seren.
Her hair gently swayed. Her eyes watching her sister. Did she like it? Did she feel the execution was just?
He used to believe these executions were just about controlling the masses through fear. But he had met a demon. They were actually sending sinners straight into hell.
He didn't even realize they were dead until he heard the applause.
Five heads fell in five baskets and five blood fountains dripping onto the square.
Vaela's blade was soaked in blood. A guard handed her a cloth but she focused on something else. A young man staring at her sister.
Corven felt a shiver go down his spine.
Vaela flicked her sword, swiping the blood clean off, straight into the crowd. Some enjoyed it.
Corven not so much. It felt as if she intentionally drenched him in blood.
The crowd slowly dispersed. Everyone went on to live their own lives. Corven stayed behind. As soon as the barricades were moved he'd approach Seren.
He could talk to her about the execution. That'd be a good icebreaker.
The knights moved the barricades one by one.
"Come on..." he muttered.
He had to speak to her before she entered the noble district. He couldn't follow her there.
Finally.
Corven walked towards the podium where Seren had been standing... but she wasn't there anymore.
"What..."
He turned to look to the road leading to the noble district. A pair of sisters were walking away from him. An angel he wanted to learn more about and a demon who he wished to never see again if possible. The demon glanced back. Corven froze.
They were getting farther away, blending into the crowd of nobles, rich merchants and academia students.
His eyes lingered on the academia coat. He needed to learn magic and he needed to get closer to his Seren. He balled up his fist.
"I'll be joining you soon my Seren."
He didn't know how much blood it would take, only the monetary part.
To join the academy you need a mana necklace, status and grimoires. Not to mention money for tuition. He reached for his pouch and realized he didn't have it on him.
He panicked and checked all of his pockets in a hurry.
"Pickpockets."
Corven looked around. The square was emptying out, leaving only the cleaning crew, the beggars and the drunkest nobles.
A duo leaned against a pole. They were dressed nicely, too nicely for those who weren't nobles. One smoked a cigar, the other counted the money they had just stolen.
Corven recognized one of the pouches. It was his.
He approached them carefully. The two didn't seem to pay him much attention but he could tell that it was an act. The cigar man puffed out a smoke ring and looked straight at Corven.
"You got some business with us, street rat?" he said.
The duo chuckled.
Corven knew he shouldn't get involved with shady characters. But how could he let them keep the money she gave to him?
"You know what you took," Corven said.
"And what would that be?"
"I need that pouch back. You stole it from me," Corven pointed at his pouch.
"Are you sure about that?" the man asked.
He took out Corven's pouch and opened it.
"How much is inside of it?"
Corven frowned, he had no clue.
"20 gold coins," he guessed.
"I see..." the man counted them.
"17, 18, 19, 20," the man grinned widely, "It is indeed yours."
Corven extended his hand. The man stared at it.
"Obviously I'm not returning it."
Corven clenched his fist. He thought it was stupid. The man was bigger. He looked stronger. But it was also stupid to let his chance slip away.
He swung a fist straight at the man's face, catching him off guard.
The man dropped the pouches and immediately retaliated by throwing an elbow into Corven's chin. He stumbled back. The man grabbed Corven by the neck and lifted him above the ground.
"I'll be taking your arms as compensation."
Corven's feet were dangling above the cobblestone road; he was trying desperately to breathe by peeling off the hand on his neck. It was no use, the man was stronger, the man was built like a fridge. He was slowly squeezing Corven unconscious.
The cigar man finally got involved. His eyes stared deep into Corven's half-shut eyes.
"He looks familiar," he said.
The man unfolded a slip of paper. A rough sketch of Corven's face was beneath a wax-sealed crest: Lucien's family mark.
Even unconscious he could recognize that crest. Even through his resentment he could see that it's a good thing.
"Let him go. Boss would skin us alive," he handed the paper to his partner and picked up Corven's pouch.
Corven fell to the ground and tried to stand back up. He coughed.
The man let the cigar fall to the ground, and stepped on it to put it off. He threw the pouch at Corven, hitting his face.
"You're lucky rat, we don't usually return what we take," the fridge of a man said.
"Boss says you're valuable," he took another glance at the paper, "No idea why, Corven."
The duo walked away, leaving him with a sour taste in his mouth, along with blood.
"Lucien's back," he muttered.
He got up and dusted himself. He didn't want to get involved with him again. It felt wrong; after what happened.
He looked at the pouch and then to the blacksmith district.
Corven mustered a grin.
"We will learn magic together."