Chapter 22
Chapter 22
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 22
Chapter Title: Declaration of War (2)
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Crows perched on the bell tower took to the skies in a massive flock.
Dooong— Dooong— Dooong— Dooong—
The tolling of the bell that guided the souls of the departed to the afterlife.
At the sound, people began gathering in the central square of the city.
And then, the death of one man was announced.
Everyone should have been shocked.
Administrator Yuda was the man who had wielded the full authority of the Meursault House, a power player who could bring down even birds in flight within the Meursault territory.
"Wait, Yuda? The administrator of the Meursault family? He's dead?"
"No way. He looked perfectly healthy just the other day."
"Must've had some hidden illness. People drop dead suddenly in the North all the time."
The news of Administrator Yuda's passing spread like wildfire, throwing the castle town into immediate chaos.
He had served as a retainer to the Meursault House for decades.
As Soleil Meursault's closest confidant, he had handled every major and minor affair of the family.
Among the local notables, a commotion erupted.
"We can't just sit here! Move, now!"
"Huh? Why?"
"Can't you see? With Yuda dead, his kid's gonna take over as administrator. You know who's grabbing power then! If we don't cozy up soon, it'll be too late!"
"But why's the chief mourner a Meursault scion instead of Yuda's son?"
"Who knows. They must've been thick as thieves. Happens in noble families sometimes."
"That damn old geezer. Loved his bribes, and now he goes out with a whimper."
"Tell me about it. Always squeezing us with 'tributes' and such, scraping up every last emergency stash I had hidden under the floorboards. What a guy..."
"Sigh, wonder what the next administrator will be like. Still, better than Yuda, right?"
"It's probably gonna be his son anyway. Like father, like son. If anything, he'll be worse."
Soon after the funeral notice went up, carriages loaded with gold and silver "condolence offerings" began pouring into Meursault Castle without respite.
Greedy parasites eager to latch onto the new power holder.
"Hope this new administrator's satisfied with my condolence amount..."
"How much did you put in?"
"A hundred gold. Cash."
"A hundred gold? Man, did I bring too little?"
"Go grab more right now! Took me squeezing subcontractors dry to scrape that together."
"Still, if we catch the new guy's eye, it'll pay off big. We'll make back more than that."
But.
"...!"
The mourners entering the funeral hall sensed it instinctively.
"...! ...!"
That something was terribly wrong.
The funeral hall was the square in front of the Meursault estate.
In its center stood the corpse of Administrator Yuda.
And upon seeing it, the mourners' jaws dropped in horror, unable to open wider.
"...! ...! ...!"
Yuda's body was tied to a stake in a gruesome, headless state.
His severed head was impaled high on a pole, already swarming with black crows pecking at it.
Beneath it hung a single judgment notice.
The criminal is punished on the following charges:
Name: Yuda
Offenses: Treason, tax evasion, embezzlement, breach of trust, instigation of murder, and 34 other legal violations
Sentence: Execution
Mitigating Factors: None
And below that, another proclamation was posted.
1. For the next ten days, those who voluntarily report their own crimes will receive substantial sentence reductions.
2. Crimes discovered after the ten days will be punished at ten times the original penalty.
Proclaimed by: Federback Meursault
Only then did the crowd realize the truth.
This was no funeral hall.
It was an execution ground.
"Urghhh!"
Those seeing a corpse for the first time began retching.
Even the self-proclaimed tough locals broke out in cold sweats.
And for good reason—Yuda's state on the cross was utterly horrific.
Dark blue skin, crimson congestion, the frozen, swollen horrors of decapitation.
Who could have foreseen that Yuda, the man said to bring down birds in flight, would meet such an end?
The faces of the mourners twisted in growing dismay.
"Wh-what the hell happened?"
"Why was Administrator Yuda executed? Why?"
"What in the world is going on...?"
Just then, as if answering the crowd's questions, the proclamation fluttered in the wind.
The Meursault House had drawn its sword.
The giant, crippled by a parasite named Yuda, was finally beginning to move.
To uproot the trash entrenched throughout the territory.
As the funeral—or execution—ended, people slowly dispersed from the square.
Complex, subtle emotions played across their faces.
Was this the end of a power broker?
Some felt exhilaration, others chills.
Black flags signaling mourning fluttered on the square's walls.
News of Administrator Yuda's execution spread rapidly through the town.
Many were stunned.
"Meursault finally took Yuda's head."
"Never saw that coming."
"Not really surprising, though. Yuda gorged himself too much for too long."
"True, but no warning at all before chopping his head off? Didn't think they'd go that far..."
The entire territory buzzed.
A massive discourse swirled around the Meursault House like a living thing.
Interpretations and opinions poured in about this move.
...But most were far from positive.
"Meursault resorting to such extremes—who knows what'll become of the family now."
"Reform might be needed, but no trial and such brutality? That's over the line."
"Can this radical approach even succeed?"
"Yeah, right."
The Meursault House had clearly entered a new phase.
Yet few believed this drastic reform would succeed.
Especially among local influencers, concerns and cynicism toward Meursault thickened.
Ending Yuda's overreach and rampage was good for Meursault, but few thought bloodshed would lead to true reform.
The consensus was that Meursault's recklessness would only invite ruin.
Because the trash that fed off Yuda still had deep roots everywhere in the territory.
In a secluded salon of a high-end tavern within the territory, smirks filled the faces of those gathered.
"If they think catching one administrator like Yuda will uproot us, they're gravely mistaken."
One man spoke as he sipped his drink.
His eyes were cold and mocking.
"He was just a figurehead at best."
The man beside him nodded in agreement.
He gripped his sword hilt, grinding his teeth.
"If they wanted to draw swords, they should've done it ages ago. What bullshit is this now?"
"We just lay low a bit, and we're fine. Heh heh."
"Idiots who only know swinging swords—what deep thoughts could they have? Probably think brute force fixes everything."
They burst into laughter, clinking glasses.
One lowered his voice to a whisper.
"Still, let's be cautious for a while. Meursault's sharpening its blade right now—just dodge that, and things'll quiet down. They can't kill without cause, after all."
"Of course. A few unlucky bastards might swing, that's it."
"Damn that old Yuda fool. Should've gorged moderately instead of crossing the line and stirring this mess."
Second-gen influencers, local notables, entrenched powers, and various vested interests.
These cancer-like self-proclaimed "elite" were the true core rotting the Meursault territory.
While the guilty schemed, time flowed equally for all.
The morning sun rose over the horizon again, blanketing the territory in fleeting peace.
But that didn't last—some began sensing the coming storm on their skin.
"......"
"......"
"......"
Because today was the morning of the tenth day since Meursault's proclamation.