"Secondly, his followers ambushed the Red Tide Knight Team at night, leaving an Apprentice Knight severely injured on the ground. The injured's name is Aaron Tyne, who is still unconscious."

"Thirdly, taking advantage of the chaos in the city, Brooke instructed his subordinates to forcefully open the west granary and steal three boxes of war materials and over thirty winter stoves, causing a shortage of supplies along several lines of defense."

"Fourthly, inciting a riot at the grain distribution site, resulting in a four-year-old child being trampled to death; additionally, three post-operative wounded soldiers saw their wounds worsen due to a lack of medicine, of which one succumbed to the wounds."

"Fifthly, disrupting order by setting fire on West Street, creating panic. The fire spread, causing a nighttime escape and stampede, injuring thirteen people, including two with serious fractures."

With each point read, the scene erupted into a bout of commotion.

Each statement was accompanied by the testimony of eyewitnesses, records signed by Red Tide soldiers, and physical evidence, painting a picture of blatant wrongdoing, proof beyond doubt.

Quinn spoke with a voice like forged iron, calm yet heavy, with each word seemingly nailing Brooke's head to the judgment stand.

The murmurs among the crowd began to surge.

Upon hearing "a four-year-old child trampled to death," an old woman began to sob quietly, while someone cursed angrily: "That was my neighbor's granddaughter!", "Only a beast would do such a thing!"

On the high platform, Brooke hung his head low, his lips trembling, his entire being collapsing as if his backbone had been removed, his face ashen.

He wanted to defend himself, but no sound could escape his throat.

Beside him, Quinn thundered with a voice like thunder, "Such treasonous rogues, their crimes are unforgivable, and today they shall be made a bloody offering to the law, and through execution, establish authority!"

With these words, the Red Tide Iron Guard below responded in unison, and the executioners on both sides were already in position.

On the execution platform, several principal offenders were heavily pressed down to kneel, their throats clamped, struggling futilely.

A flash of cold light, the knife rose.

Blood sprayed three feet.

Corpses tumbled down the wooden steps, rolling into the snow, tracing winding scarlet lines across the icy ground.

Brooke, in his last struggle, twisted his head, his lips trembling, as if trying to shout something, but only spit out thick blood, the sound dying in his throat.

Once a nobleman, a councilman, now he could not even take a single defense with him, his eyes filled with unyielding shock, ultimately swallowed by snow and blood.

The crowd below fell silent for a moment, then erupted:

"Well killed!"

"These scoundrels should have been dealt with long ago!"

Meanwhile, a white-haired old woman in the back row covered her face crying, muttering, "My son's death was unjust... but today, at least there's an end to it..."

Emotions scattered, there were roars, cries, and even near-frenzied cheers, as it was a release of emotions long suppressed after the war.

In the nobles' seats, a group of "survivors" already looked ashen.

They watched helplessly as Brooke, who had conspired with them just last night, was beheaded in broad daylight, with not a soul daring to plead for him.

"He... he actually directly beheaded Brooke..."

"Mad... he's mad..."

Whispers rose, but no one dared to speak aloud.

Some were soaked with cold sweat down their backs, others' fingers were stiff as wood, almost unable to grip their canes.

Though not named, it felt as if the execution blade was already at their necks.

Immediately after the execution of the principal offenders, the square had not yet dispersed.

On the platform, the Iron Guards swiftly cleared the bloodstains, the red liquid from the execution knife not yet congealed, yet Quinn continued unabated, unfolding the scroll in his hand, his voice resounding once more: "Secondary participants, twenty-three, bring them up one by one."

As the order was given, another squad of Red Tide Guards escorted the accused onto the platform.

These people had ragged clothes and unsteady steps, varying in age and gender, their expressions either dull, terrified, or fiercely defiant—but none dared to shout.

"These twenty-three people, though not the masterminds, aided the rebellion in this instance.

First, refugee Joseph, spread rumors claiming 'the Red Tide hoards grain without distribution,' inciting over a hundred people to gather at the South Street tavern.

Second, refugee woman Melinda, provided information and multiple times covered the main offender's escape.

Third, member of an outsider caravan 'Marcel,' secretly probed Red Tide's mobilization and garrison deployments."

As each count of crime was read, soldiers would drag the involved parties to the execution post, either to be tied or to kneel.

The whipping immediately commenced.

The sound of whips slicing through the air resembled wind arrows, brutally landing on flesh.

"Aaaah——!"

The first prisoner screamed as the second whip landed before the cry could fade.

Blood splattered, dust swirled, and the audience was in an uproar.

"Good beating!" someone shouted, raising a fist, "My spouse was tricked out by these people! Barely came back!"

"These henchmen of the rebels, if not killed, should at least be whipped to a pulp!" another woman cried out forcefully, her eyes red.

A child beside her shrank into his mother's arms, yet watched the execution stage with wide eyes, not daring to blink.

On stage, Quinn announced calmly, "For those with lighter offenses, they are to be whipped between ten to fifty times, and sentenced to labor for the Red Tide work crew, to dig canals and build walls, not to be discharged before winter."

On the execution platform, the sounds of whipping continued.

It was the sound of iron law driven into flesh, the clearest and coldest declaration of justice in the Red Tide Territory during the harsh winter.

Outside the execution stage, in the small alleys closest to the square's edge, some roamers who refused to "line up properly" had originally hid.

These were the traffickers of black market grain tickets, the midnight rumor spreaders, the "spectators" who injured Red Tide soldiers the day before.

At the moment when heads rolled, someone almost fell to the ground, some turned to flee, while others bit a rag hard and covered their mouths, terrified that even a single breath would bring calamity.

After witnessing the entire public trial and execution, these roamers, who had intended to stir trouble, no longer dared to act rashly.

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