The People's Trial
Goebbels once said that propaganda is, at its core, a form of art. And this? This was art. Nothing more. Not a threat, not a warning—just a performance with slightly odd staging.
“Lati, fall back and hide. Tyrga, carry me and switch to giant mode.”
“Understood, Master.”
Tyrga began to swell, growing like an excited man’s cock, until she towered over the fortress itself. One swing of her fist or a single kick would have reduced the entire stronghold to rubble like a sandcastle. But this time, there would be no violence.
Though the startled defenders hurled spears and loosed crude arrows, every projectile turned to ash before it could even touch her. I cleared my throat and raised my voice.
“Fear not, people of this land! We have no intention of harming you. Cease these meaningless attacks and hear me out.”
The enemy ignored me and kept firing. But when none of their attacks caused any real damage, they finally stopped and listened.
“Let me ask you this—who are you fighting for? Your parents? Your beloved? Your precious children? No. That’s nothing but pretty hypocrisy. You were dragged here by force to fight for capitalists and nobles. We, on the other hand, came of our own will. There’s a clear difference between those forced to fight and those who choose to. Do you really think you can win? And now, reinforcements—including myself—have arrived for the revolutionary army.”
At my words, the defenders began murmuring among themselves, glancing at one another. They were wavering. My speech was working. If it hadn’t, they would’ve attacked again.
I paused to swallow, then continued.
“You were never our enemies to begin with. We don’t want to fight you either. It’s wrong for fellow people—comrades—to shed each other’s blood. Our true enemies are the filthy capitalists, nobles, and priests who use you to satisfy their own greed. Open the gates at once! Together, let’s drag those pigs out and build a paradise for peasants and workers.”
Not bad for an improvised speech. I’d used deliberately provocative, strong wording to make an impact—even an idiot could understand it.
The enemy’s will to fight collapsed. Their agitation grew even louder than before. I told Tyrga to set me down on the fortress wall. She worried it might be dangerous, but I could handle myself well enough.
“D-don’t come any closer…”
“Lower your weapons, comrade. Like I said, we’re not enemies. There’s no need to fight. My name is Pyotr of the revolutionary army. What’s yours?”
“I-Ivan…”
“Comrade Ivan. Do you have family?”
“A wife and a young daughter.”
“Comrade Ivan, have you ever thought about this? You work your ass off in this freezing cold for your precious family, while the nobles sit in warmth, leeching off the people and stuffing their bellies. Isn’t that unfair?”
Good. They were all nodding along. Communism sounds idealistic and sweet when you hear it on the surface—hard to argue against. Ivan, who clearly had plenty of pent-up grievances, trembled with rage. The local nobles must have done a piss-poor job managing their reputation.
Of course, a few voices still hesitated, muttering that this was wrong. But the majority had already lost their will to fight.
“He’s right!”
“We’re freezing our asses off fighting out here while the baron’s warming himself by the fire inside the castle!”
“I don’t want to die like this. Who the hell are we even doing this for?!”
Finally, the gates opened. The revolutionary army poured in instantly. All that remained was the inner castle where the lord resided. The place was built mostly of wood—plenty of timber in these parts, I supposed. It looked crude compared to Truepus Castle, more like early medieval architecture. If I called in Tyrga and the angels for a few bombardment runs, it’d probably collapse without much trouble.
The revolutionary forces surrounded the inner keep and prepared for a final stand.
“Truly magnificent, Comrade Pyotr. You brought down a castle we couldn’t breach—with nothing but your tongue.”
“Save the flattery for later, Comrade Tamara. There’s still a filthy bourgeois left to deal with.”
“Leave this to my clan. We can handle something like this easily.”
Fair enough. I’d come all this way as reinforcements—if I did nothing, it’d hurt my image. Might as well let the furries handle it.
I ordered Nikolai to kill anyone necessary, but to capture anyone who looked like nobility alive. The moment I finished speaking, the werewolves charged. They leapt over the walls, smashed through the palisades, and stormed inside like Spetsnaz raiding a terrorist hideout.
“Impressive combat power indeed.”
“Having beastman comrades on our side is truly reassuring.”
How the hell had the Empire’s guards managed to round up monsters like these and throw them into camps? I was starting to reevaluate the elves.
Screams, destruction, and chaos echoed from within the keep. After some time, the gates opened again. A family was dragged out, escorted by the werewolves. Judging by their luxurious clothing, these were the nobles.
“Good work, Comrade Nikolai.”
“It was nothing. But what do you intend to do with them, Comrade Pyotr?”
“Prepare for a people’s trial. Gather everyone from the village.”
At last, the long-awaited event. My chest swelled with excitement—blood rushing south in anticipation. A communist revolution in a fantasy world with a class system, executing nobles? “Fun” or “thrilling” didn’t even begin to cover it.
Soon, the villagers had gathered. The three bound nobles were dragged onto the execution platform. The crowd hurled insults and pointed fingers, enraged by how much the family had stolen and how many atrocities they’d committed.
“Cut off their heads!”
“Strip them naked and beat them senseless!”
“While we starved, they stuffed themselves! Gut them and pull out their entrails!”
The atmosphere was perfect. This raw hatred and disgust… Yeah, the weak were never truly kind. And these idiots still didn’t realize that if nobles could be dragged to the execution platform, so could they.
Time to start the show—the red revolution spectacle I’d seen in movies and books. First, confirm their identities. Father, mother, and one daughter…
“Are you the lord of this land?”
“I am.”
“Speaking so casually? You still don’t understand your position, you son of a bitch?”
I pressed my thumb between his collarbones and gave him a light jolt of lightning. He screamed in agony, and the crowd roared in approval.
“Ghh… Do you think you’ll get away with treating a noble like this? The Archduke’s army will arrive soon and wipe out your rebellion!”
“You call that a threat? I thought only your belly was full of fat, but apparently your head is too. Listen well—the Northern Archduke will be defeated and killed by our revolutionary army.”
“What…?”
That was enough for identification. I hauled the lord to his feet and addressed the crowd.
“What are this man’s crimes? Tell everyone what evils he has committed!”
The people screamed themselves hoarse—extortion, abuse of power, bullying, every form of tyranny imaginable. Listing them all would’ve filled a thesis. How had they even lasted this long without a revolt?
“Very well. This filthy noble deserves death. And I leave his punishment to the people!”
The execution method was primitive and simple: tie the lord to a wooden post and let the crowd stone him. To make it more painful, they could’ve buried him up to the waist, but the ground was frozen solid in this cold region, so I skipped that.
The enraged villagers hurled stones with all their fury, cursing him. To prevent an instant death from a lucky shot to a vital spot, I’d put a helmet on his head.
“You devil! Let my husband go and stop them! Are you even human?!”
“I’m doing this precisely because I’m human. So, madam—how does it feel to witness human madness up close?”
“Please, let my father go. I’m begging you.”
The daughter pleaded pitifully, but I felt no sympathy. She was pretty enough, but something was lacking. Her figure wasn’t much to speak of either. After having my fill of Tyrga and beautiful elves, a noble’s daughter didn’t interest me in the slightest. Someone used to fine wine wouldn’t settle for cheap liquor. Was this another side effect of that tarot card? It seemed my capacity for pity had been completely deleted from my brain and heart.
She wanted me to stop this entertaining show? Not happening.
“I’m not that heartless. So I’ll give you a chance. I’ll untie you—try convincing the angry crowd.”
I burned through her ropes with electricity. She rushed forward, arms spread wide, shouting to protect her husband. But she was weak, and her words carried no weight. A stone struck her head, and she collapsed, bleeding.
“Mother! Father!”
“Having good parents is a blessing. Seems our young lady here wasn’t so lucky.”
She screamed herself hoarse, begging them to stop as she watched her fallen mother and her father being pelted with stones. But the crowd’s barrage didn’t cease.
Who would’ve thought I’d witness a medieval-style people’s trial in a fantasy world?
After some time, the noblewoman lay cold and dead. The lord’s head hung limp—he’d either lost consciousness or died. Even with the helmet, the accumulated impacts had taken their toll.
Only the noble daughter remained.
“You demonic bastard. You think you’ll get away with something this horrific? I’ll curse you even in death.”
“Oh, is that so?”
Contempt and insults from someone like her were practically a reward for a degenerate like me. Since the noble daughter had caught my interest, I decided not to kill her. Instead, I locked her in the warehouse and turned her into the communal prostitute.
And with that, the people’s trial came to an end.