The Trial of Artis T. Painter
The night of Artis T. Painter’s trial, which had dragged on far longer than usual, finally passed, and dawn broke over the land. The residents of Hemonigent, roused from sleep, gathered in the square before the Demon Lord Castle to begin their day. Yet what awaited them was not the usual roster of daily tasks and assignments. Instead, they found naked men lined up in the center of the square and the battered, half-dead goblin Artis T. Painter hanging from an erected log.
“These wretches dared to commit unspeakable acts of disloyalty and depravity against the great Demon Lord, against Secretary Lusteria, against Lady Beatrice, and against the honorable Captain of the Orc Engineering Corps, Nella!”
Beriberi’s furious roar echoed across the square and shook the very walls of the Demon Lord Castle. He was merely announcing the events of the previous day to the citizens of Hemonigent, yet each word burst forth like blood from his throat, his face livid with veins standing out in rage.
“The criminal hanging here, Artis T. Painter, forgot his duty as Goblin King and high-ranking officer of the Demon Lord’s army! He drew and sold vulgar images of the individuals I just named!”
Though he had spoken only of “vulgar images,” the crowd understood perfectly what he meant. Some gasped in shock; others turned pale. A few spat curses at the criminals, while others hurled spittle onto the ground in disgust. A handful of disloyal souls cast covetous glances toward Neromeltia and her female retainers, but when their neighbors noticed and glared with murderous intent, they immediately lowered their eyes and fell silent as corpses.
“Those standing naked before you are members of the secret society Utopia, which Artis organized in secret! They traded in the images he produced and aided him in his crimes!”
Even from Beriberi’s brief announcement, the crowd understood the nature of their punishment. The women whose naked forms had been depicted in those paintings now forced the same shame upon the men who had shared them.
“This spectacle serves as a warning to all. Such villains must never again appear beneath the sacred banner of Hemonigent! Their punishment does not end here. The Demon Lord herself shall decide their final fate!”
Having delivered his message, Beriberi turned without hesitation and took his place among the Demon Lord’s officers. At the same moment, Neromeltia, who had stood at the forefront, stepped forward to address the assembly.
Her expression betrayed not the slightest emotion. She approached the naked, humiliated members of Utopia who stood exposed before the crowd.
“How does it feel to be stripped bare before so many eyes?”
No explanation was needed; everyone understood the meaning behind the Demon Lord’s words. Yet the members of Utopia could say nothing. They had committed crimes for which execution would have been merciful, and the only reason they still drew breath was the Demon Lord’s clemency. When Beriberi’s orcs had captured them alive instead of killing them on the spot, they had assumed they would be subjected to cruel torture before death. Instead, they had been placed in temporary cells without a single wound. Being stripped naked before the crowd was nothing compared to what they had feared; they were grateful even to die cleanly by public execution.
“And you, Artis? You spent a long night alone with Beatrice, did you not?”
Artis T. Painter, like the others, hung naked from the central log, his hands bound. His body was a ruin of wounds; there was not a single unscathed spot left on him. Bruises covered every inch of his skin, and blood still seeped from some. His breathing came in broken gasps. His face was so swollen that his eyes could not open, and from his slack mouth, where every tooth had been ripped out, blood dripped steadily onto the ground, tracing a crimson circle.
Some in the crowd turned their heads away at the sight of his mangled form.
“…Eah… hui-huim… ungkeok…!! Euh… angho-haia…….”
Still hanging limply, Artis struggled to form an answer. With every tooth gone, his mouth swollen, and his jaw shattered, his words resembled the cries of a beast more than speech. Thick blood trailed from his open mouth and pooled on the earth.
“Absolute Healing.”
⟨ 8th-Tier Recovery Magic ⟩
Light poured from Neromeltia’s hand and sank into Artis’s body. The radiance spread through him, and his form began to twist violently. This was the 8th-tier recovery magic that granted perfect regeneration to the target—an authority of mana that bordered on the divine, stepping beyond mere healing into the realm of creation.
Bones realigned and mended. Every wound sealed and vanished. His grotesquely swollen face returned to the wrinkled, aged features of an elderly goblin. Most astonishing of all, new teeth sprouted from his gums—cleaner and healthier than the discolored, cavity-ridden teeth he had lost.
Crack!!!
The instant Neromeltia confirmed his complete recovery, she fixed her gaze upon the top of the log from which he hung. The crowd thought she was merely staring at the wood—until the upper section exploded into splinters. The ropes binding his wrists snapped at the same moment.
Thud!
Artis fell like a marionette whose strings had been cut, collapsing limply onto the ground. Though the drop was considerable, his light goblin frame suffered no injury. He lay there, stunned not by pain but by the realization that every trace of agony had vanished. His skin was smeared with dried blood, yet beneath it his body was whole and vigorous—even the chronic back pain that had plagued him for years was gone.
Artis pressed his forehead to the earth and prostrated himself before the Demon Lord.
“O Goddess of Luina, I worship you! You have shown mercy to a sinner whose crimes deserve a thousand deaths!”
Neromeltia closed her eyes and sighed. She could not decide how to handle this matter. Artis had committed an unforgivable offense, yet he had also rendered great service over the years. Even if she set emotion aside and chose the path of public duty, conflict remained. An example had to be made, yet she could not establish the precedent that any crime, regardless of past merit, would result in execution. Such a policy would fill the castle with fear; capable people would avoid serving her. Above all, she did not wish to appear as a Demon Lord who took lives for anything less than murder.
“What am I to do with you?”
The words sounded like a threat, yet Neromeltia spoke them in earnest, inviting him to offer his own solution. To Artis, it meant only one thing: wash away your own sins.
“This humble servant dares not speak before the Demon Lord, yet if you would permit a sinner to offer a small defense of his actions—”
“How dare you speak so insolently!”
The Artis of old had always maintained the refined composure of a gentleman even in the Demon Lord’s presence. Now that same bold elder bowed his head so low that he seemed to grovel at her feet. Beriberi, however, trembled with fury, his face flushed crimson as he gripped his battle-axe, ready to cleave the goblin’s skull at any moment. Yet when Neromeltia gave a quiet nod of permission, Beriberi was forced to swallow his rage.
“Everything this one has done against Your Majesty was for the sake of Hemonigent’s prosperity!”