Free Web NovelThe ninth subterranean level of the Imperial Capital's dungeon, a deep prison where light never reaches.
The air here held no scent of dust, only a pungent mix of dampness, rust, and decay.
The walls were covered in mottled moss, and bloodstains had long seeped into the stone cracks, congealing into dark patterns, like some bizarre emblem.
Joseph Kaladi, once a high-spirited pioneer noble of the Northern Territory.
Now, he was just a mass of flesh and blood, stripped of dignity, skin, and human form.
He was curled up in the iron interrogation chair, his hands dangling, his ankles tightly bound by rusty chains, his wounds festering and suppurating, looking like something even a crow wouldn't bother to glance at.
He hung his head low, his hair matted into strands of dark ropes, indistinguishable whether it was mud, blood, or tear stains.
"Speak, Lord Joseph," the interrogator on the right said, smiling as he leaned closer, his mouth twitching to reveal a misaligned gumline from a burn, "This is already your fourteenth confession; we want to hear the fifteenth."
Joseph did not answer.
He merely lifted his swollen eyelids, looking at the scar-covered face.
Another interrogator, strolling leisurely forward, extended his prosthetic limb and, with a *smack*, tore off a small piece of unhealed flesh from Joseph's body.
"Ah—ah ah—"
His screams seemed unable to fully echo in the dungeon, for the sound was too familiar; even the stone walls were numb to it.
The pain could only make him repeat words he had already spoken countless times.
At first, amidst his screams, he would still ponder:
Who betrayed me?
What role did Louis play?
But now, Joseph no longer thought; he only wanted one thing: "Kill me—let me die—please, I beg you..."
He no longer remembered when he had started begging for death.
"You want to die?" the burnt-faced interrogator whispered softly, his tone like a flirtation, "Sorry, His Majesty hasn't approved your death yet."
"And we want to see how many times a proud dog can bark."
They laughed as if they had told an extremely funny joke.
One drew out his laughter, the other sneered.
Joseph began to gag at their laughter, but nothing came out.
He was once the unrivaled strategist of the North, high-spirited, controlling a county with a mere word and a smile, yet now he couldn't even articulate a single sentence clearly.
He even began to envy his cellmates who had died swiftly by the blade.
"That's about enough."
After the interrogator with the metal prosthetic arm recorded Joseph's words again, he flexed his wrist.
He seemed tired too, leaning back against the damp stone wall and stretching, "He's said everything he can say, repeated it several times."
The one-eyed interrogator, rolling up the blood-stained parchment, muttered softly, "Information overlap is over ninety percent, with less than two sentences of discrepancy."
"Hmm, probably won't dig up anything new," the metal prosthetic nodded, "Send this confession, the copies of letters, the accounts, and that contact letter directly to His Majesty."
"His Majesty should laugh when he sees these."
"At least his mouth will twitch."
The two no longer paid attention to Joseph, who was trembling on the ground, leisurely packing up their tools like butchers cleaning a chopping board.
Before leaving, they whispered to each other about things like "he should be publicly beheaded."
Finally, the iron door clicked shut, the torch extinguished, and the dungeon returned to deathly silence.
In the darkness, only one person's intermittent, blood-tinged whispers remained: "Please—let me—die...."
Joseph's wish, in the end, was granted.
Three days later, Imperial Capital—Longyang Plaza.
This was the intersection of the Empire's oldest and most bustling main thoroughfares. The streets were partially cordoned off, and patrolling troops stood guard with swords, their formations like a forest.
Three layers of iron railings were erected around the plaza, ostensibly to "prohibit unauthorized persons from approaching," but beyond the railings, commoners crowded in, eager to watch the spectacle.
This was a common sight in Longyang Plaza.
Since the current Emperor's ascension, it had become one of the Imperial Capital's most famous "political execution grounds."
Every two or three days, a head would fall, the charges bizarre and varied, but most often, it wasn't commoners who were executed, but former powerful figures.
Fallen nobles, great merchants, military officers, scholars—anyone who angered "the one above" would meet a bad end.
And in the last two years, this "purge" had become even more frequent.
There was a popular joke among the people: "If anyone is called to the Ministry of Internal Affairs for tea, their family should order a coffin from the blacksmith."
But ironically, despite the bloodshed, the common people did not feel afraid.
"Here we go again."
"Who is it? Do you know them?"
"Don't know, probably another noble family who got into trouble."
"I heard it's the family that sells military equipment? Anyway, so many have been beheaded these years, I can't keep track of who's who."
Among the crowd, there were vendors selling melon seeds, roasted chestnuts, children riding on their fathers' shoulders watching the show, and old men squatting in the front row to secure seats.
It all resembled a marketplace, not an execution ground.
They couldn't clearly see the charges on the high platform, nor did they care who was on the platform.
They only knew that today, another "powerful person" was going to die.
In the center of the plaza, the high platform, made of cold iron and draped in black cloth, stood solemnly.
Notices hung on all four sides, stating: 【Treason, Aiding the Enemy, Inciting Rebellion in the North, Deceiving the Court】.
Gold powder outlined the characters, silver nails secured them, gleaming with a chilling light.
But in the eyes of the onlookers, it was merely "customary" decoration.
"Do you think he'll beg for mercy?"
"Nobles usually pretend to be tough—but they scream pretty loud when they're chopped down."
"I bet he'll faint."
Amidst the whispers, the bell tolled.
The iron cage cart carrying the prisoner slowly rolled in.
The cage cart transporting the prisoner screeched to a halt, the iron door opened, and several fully armed Imperial Guards stepped forward, dragging the "person" out.
It was a blood-stained, bone-twisted human wreckage.
Joseph Kaladi, once a noble who sat at banquets and spoke eloquently, now in this shadow, could barely remember who he was.
He was dragged by two soldiers, like a sack of broken straw.
Just last night, the interrogators, against all precedent, had invited a military medical officer.
"Make him at least look like a 'person'."
"A beheading should be dignified, otherwise it'll scare the children."
So his face was washed, his broken nose forcefully reset, the blood on his face scraped off, and his fractures bandaged. Outwardly, he looked "complete."
They even put him in his custom-made noble black robe, though it was stained with blood, washed to a gray, and had two tears in the cuffs, like old clothes pulled from a coffin.
Joseph didn't know how he got onto the platform; perhaps he was pushed, or perhaps he was suspended.
The executioner opened the execution list and read aloud:
"Joseph Kaladi, for violating Imperial Law: Colluding with enemy nations, betraying secrets, conspiring with merchants, and instigating secession.
With irrefutable evidence, all three charges are confirmed, sentenced to death—beheading, for public display."
He was pressed onto the cold iron platform, his neck clamped into the icy blade stand.
The cold wind of Longyang Plaza poured into his robes, chilling to the bone.
He suddenly heard people laughing, and others cheering.
He opened his swollen eyelids and saw a sea of people, scrambling to peer, comment, and place bets.
They didn't know who he was, nor did they care. He was just today's "show."
"Where did I go wrong?" Joseph asked himself inwardly, but no one answered him anymore.
On the front row of the viewing stands, several new nobles knelt behind a curtain, their heads bowed in silence.
Some old nobles were also present, their expressions indifferent, their attire neat, as if this were a mandatory social morning ritual.
"It really is the Kaladi Family's son... The Kaladi Family is in trouble now."
"Hmph, three crimes combined, he didn't even get the noble execution privilege."
"His Majesty the Emperor has never shown mercy these past few years."
These whispers did not travel more than a foot.
Everyone knew that the red-robed inspectors hidden around the plaza were recording every word.
The executioner looked back at the clock tower; the time was just right.
The raised executioner's blade gleamed silver in the sunlight, as if even the air trembled.
"Execute."
The blade fell, the head rolled several feet, and blood gushed like a spring, splattering the steps.
The moment the head hit the ground, the entire plaza seemed to freeze for a few seconds.
Then, someone, no one knew who, shouted first: "Well cut!"
Then, a second, a third, and increasingly louder shouts rang out.
"Serves him right!"
"Cut another one!"
"That was a clean cut!"
Laughter, cheers, mixed with children's exclamations and vendors' calls.
Some waved handkerchiefs, some threw copper coins, and several young people leaned over the railing, as excited as if they had just watched a thrilling gladiatorial match.
They didn't know who the fallen person was, nor did they care.
To them, it was merely the Imperial Capital's morning "program."
Blood, crime, verdict, beheading—all complete.
As for "Kaladi Family," "military secrets"—
They didn't understand, nor did they care.
In these times, as long as it wasn't their own head falling, it was a good day.
By the plaza, the blood on the execution platform had not yet dried, but crows had already descended, pecking at the broken remains.
And in the nearby clock tower, the Imperial standard time-telling music began to play again.
Because of this matter, Joseph was not the only one to suffer.
The head of the Kaladi Family, Elman, sat at his desk, his eyes bloodshot, his face devoid of its usual sternness and dignity, only an indescribable weariness and despair.
His right hand trembled incessantly, the ink dragging a blurred trail across the memorial.
"In the name of Kaladi, sever ties with the traitor—with three border fortresses and thirty percent of military authority, I request the Imperial Judgment—"
He gritted his teeth, signed his name on the last line, and slammed down his signet ring, as if to crush a paper of guilt along with it.
That was the only thing he could do.
As a father, disowning his son; as a family head, cutting off his arm to survive.
Then, he finally slumped back against the chair, as if all his bones and strength had been drained, and he suddenly aged ten years.
"Bastard... damn good-for-nothing..." he cursed in a low voice, his throat hoarse and tasting of blood.
"Colluding with foreign merchants, selling military intelligence, playing rotten tricks with grandstanding—what power struggle drama did he think he was acting in?!"
He slammed the table with such force that the wine cup jumped.
"He ruined himself, and dragged my decades of foundation, the sweat and blood of generations of Kaladi, into the mud with him!"
His rage burned to its peak, but in the end, only a very soft, almost inaudible sigh remained.
He didn't want to cry, but his eyes were red-rimmed.
Elman Kaladi had fought countless battles in his life, avoided three political traps, and pulled the Kaladi Family from the mire to the center of power.
But he had never imagined that the fatal blow would come not from an enemy, but from his own family.
It was the infant he had once held in his own hands who now exchanged the entire family for an extreme punishment.
"Bastard."
He repeated it again, this time a murmur, as if to completely erase that name from his memory.
All he could do now was hope that the Emperor would show mercy this time.
He had expected a reply, even if it was just "the crime is not so severe," to give him some breathing room.
But there was nothing.
Three days passed, five days passed, not a whisper of wind blew.
Until the morning of the seventh day, a swift rider from the Ministry of Constitutional Affairs arrived at the Kaladi mansion, bringing an imperial decree.
When the heavy letter was brought in, he was still in his study reviewing military reports. The sealing wax on the envelope was still fresh, bearing the golden emblem of the Imperial Charter, signifying its origin from the highest authority—the Emperor's Privy Council.
He opened it with trembling hands, one page, two pages, three pages...
The first decree: revoke the military contracting rights for the Southwest Defense Zone.
Those three old legions stationed at the border would be taken over by the Royal Dragonflame Knights within the next ten days.
The Kaladi Family's military banner would be lowered from the fortress, replaced by the Golden Dragon clan banner.
The second decree: strip three noble powers: permanent seats in the Noble Council, military academy recommendation qualifications, and royal hunting ground permits.
This was a blatant act of disinheritance, almost equivalent to expelling the entire family from the Imperial Capital's noble circle.
The third decree: audit Imperial Capital assets, freeze noble bank accounts, and seal two family residences for investigation.
Every word, every sentence, left no room for negotiation.
Elman stood in the center of the hall, ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) clutching the three sealed edicts just delivered by a Royal Messenger.
The edges of the letter paper still held warmth, the golden Imperial emblem dazzling and sharp, as if sneering at him.
He read it word by word, his face expressionless, yet it felt as if each word hammered a nail into his heart.
"Revoke, strip, freeze..." When the last sentence fell: "Effective immediately, special envoys will be stationed in Kaladi territories to implement transitional control."
He seemed to have his skeleton pulled out, instantly collapsing onto the main chair where he had sat countless times, symbolizing his authority.
The heavy chair back hit behind him, emitting a hollow sound, like the last gasp before an old house collapses.
The retainers, butler, guards, and several clan sons beside him were all silent, not daring to make a sound.
Elman slowly lowered his head, his hand clutching the edict trembling.
But it wasn't from anger, nor shame, but exhaustion. freёwebnovel.com
Those words, even though he had been mentally prepared, only when he read them did he understand the true weight of "deprivation." freewёbn૦νeɭ.com
It wasn't taking a bit of power from him; it was tearing out his sinews, scraping his bones, ripping the entire Kaladi Family from the golden spine of the Empire.
He let out a low murmur, his voice so faint it was like an echo: "It's over..."
