The humid summer air of Nue-Li City hung heavy, thick with the metallic tang of blood that stained the dirt of the quiet street. A palpable wave of anger radiated from Chinua, a silent fury that seemed to shimmer in the heat rising from the ground. Sweat beaded on Jochi's brow despite the relative coolness of the evening, his defiance a thin veneer over a growing unease. Chinua stood before him, his five bound soldiers kneeling in disgrace behind him, her own ranks a silent wall of disciplined might, and the watchful, fearful eyes of the Ginmiao civilians, the true victims of the atrocity, completing the suffocating circle of accusation.
She looked at Hye, who stood a few yards away from her. She could see the bruises on his face, a physical testament to the violence he had just endured, and the unmistakable footprints from the Northern soldiers' boots on his fine robe. Her cold fury, which had been about the law, now became deeply personal. She saw not just a crime, but a man she respected, bruised and humiliated. The sight hardened her resolve more than any verbal confrontation could.
She turned to look at Jochi, her expression now cold and devoid of any warmth. She took three slow steps forward, a deliberate show of power, to stand before the four kneeling Northern soldiers. She looked down at their pathetic, defeated forms, and her gaze finally settled on the first soldier, who was still unconscious and lying motionless on the street with his hands bound behind his back. With a final, crushing dismissal, she rolled her eyes at his still form, her contempt for his cowardice now complete.
"Wake him up," Chinua said, her voice a cold command that cut through the silent street.
Khunbish walked over to the man. With a swift, fluid move, he unsheathed his sword and, without hesitation, thrust the blade down into the first soldier's thigh. The man's eyes flew open, and a long, guttural scream of pure pain tore from his throat, a sound that echoed the very moment he was brought back to consciousness.
With his hands bound behind his back and bleeding badly from his thigh, the first Northern soldier struggled until he managed to sit up. The anger in him roared, a hot, defiant defiance against his defeat. He looked up, the pain in his leg fueling his fury, to meet the cold, unyielding gaze of Chinua, who looked down on him without a shred of pity.
His eyes scanned the street and landed on Jochi. A flicker of hope sparked within him; this would be another easy escape. But then he saw the grim, defeated expression on Jochi's face, and he knew his freedom might not be as easy as before. His eyes then landed on the woman at the front of the crowd, his throat went dry, and he tried to swallow down some saliva but found none. He suddenly realized the person standing before him was no other than Chinua, the Eastern General and main general who led the army. His brief moment of defiance vanished, replaced by a cold, numbing terror.
Chinua looked at Jeet, her cold gaze passing over the defiant Jochi and the terrified prisoners. "They committed war crimes," she said, her voice a low, chilling whisper. "What are the crimes?" Her question was not for her own benefit, but for the entire crowd of soldiers and civilians. It was a formal, public request for an indictment, and a cold promise of the judgment that was to come.
"Murder, theft, and rape," Jeet said. His voice was cold and flat, the three words a concise, brutal list of crimes that needed no further explanation. The words hung in the air, a devastating indictment that left no room for doubt or debate.
The Ginmiao civilians broke into a collective gasp as the truth of the crimes was laid bare. The gasp quickly became a roar of fury. They surged forward, a righteous mob, beating and cursing at the five kneeling soldiers. Decades of hate and a thousand years of subjugation found their release in the wild, cathartic beatings of their tormentors. They clawed at their faces and their uniforms, screaming curses that echoed through the silent, watching ranks of the Eastern Army. But just as quickly, the Eastern soldiers moved to restore order. They broke the fight, pushing the enraged civilians away from the five prisoners, making it clear that the perpetrators belonged to military justice, not to the hands of the mob.
"Before this war," Chinua said, her voice loud and clear with an unshakeable authority that silenced the entire street. "I've set up my rules for the northern soldiers." Her cold eyes met Jochi's, and the air thickened with tension. "The rules I set are absolute, and so are the punishment." She looked down at the five kneeling soldiers, a chilling question on her lips. "What are the rules?"
The five soldiers' faces went pale, their lips trembling as they knelt before Chinua. Her simple question, "What are the rules?" was a final, chilling trap. It was not a question of ignorance, but a demand for them to publicly confess to the laws they had so arrogantly broken. All their defiance had vanished, replaced by the stark, terrifying knowledge that they had no one to blame but themselves.
Chinua waited for a long, silent moment. The five soldiers' trembling lips remained sealed, their defiance a final, pathetic stand against her unyielding will. She watched them, her cold expression unchanging, and when she finally spoke again, her voice had raised. It was a powerful, strong sound that echoed in the silent street, a chilling demand that left no room for defiance. "What are the rules, soldiers!" she commanded, her voice cutting through the heavy air with an absolute authority that made them flinch in unison.
Swallowing down the pain from the wound in his thigh, the first Northern soldier dared not look up at Chinua. His voice was shaky and small as he began to recite the rules he had so deliberately broken. "Do not harm surrendered soldiers and civilians. Do not steal from civilians. Do not commit crimes against surrendered soldiers and civilians..." His voice trailed off, his defiance gone, and he stammered, "Gen-Gen—general..." The words were a bitter, agonizing confession of his own crimes.
"When the order is not clear, it is the fault of the general," Chinua said, her voice a cold, final pronouncement. "When the order is clear, it is the fault of the soldiers." She rolled her cold eyes at the soldiers kneeling before her, her contempt absolute. "But the order was both clear and understood without question, and a crime was committed. And the general ignored such an order. The punishment is death."
The five soldiers, their defiance finally shattered by Chinua's unbending judgment, broke down completely. Their arrogance vanished, replaced by a desperate, gut-wrenching terror. Tears streamed down their faces as they looked up at the general, their voices cracking with a final, futile plea for mercy. "General! General, we are wrong, please forgive us!" they begged, the words a hollow echo of their dawning, horrifying realization that a single moment of greed and desire had cost them their very lives.
"My orders are clear and absolute," Chinua said, her voice a flat, unemotional blade that cut through the soldiers' desperate pleas. "And so is the punishment." She showed no pity, no sign of wavering. Their tears and begs were meaningless to her. She had stated the law, and now she would enforce it.
"Captain, captain, please help us! Captain!" the five soldiers begged, their voices filled with a final, desperate terror. They began to crawl toward Jochi, tears streaming down their faces, but their pathetic escape was cut short. The collars of their backs were pulled back by Siqi and his small units, who hauled them away from their captain, their final hope shattered.
Chinua scoffed, a sound of utter contempt for the soldier's pathetic, defeated confession. But as she looked at him, a flicker of something else—disappointment—flashed across her face. Her voice, no longer loud, lowered to a chilling, authoritative whisper. "Do you admit your guilt?" she asked, her question a final, formal demand for a public confession, and a last chance for the soldier to show any sign of a soul.
"Ye-ye-yes," the five soldiers stammered, their voices weak and shaky with fear. Their defiance had completely vanished, leaving behind only the cold, numbing dread of their impending fate. All their grand plans and arrogant lies were now reduced to a single, pathetic word.
"Good," Chinua simply said, her voice a final, chilling punctuation to the soldiers' confession. She turned to look at Khunbish, Jeet, and Khawn, her gaze a silent acknowledgment of their support and her unwavering resolve. With a single, gentle nod, she gave Khunbish the absolute authority to kill the five soldiers where they knelt, a quiet order that sealed their fate with the swift finality of a death sentence.
Siqi and his team moved with grim, silent purpose, quickly pulling the hair of the five kneeling soldiers back, exposing their necks. Without a word, Khunbish sprinted forward, and with a powerful swing of his sword, he slashed the five soldiers' throats, their punishment swift and brutal as their lives ended where they knelt.
The Ginmiao civilians watched the brutal, swift executions in a state of silent shock. This was the first time they had ever witnessed a Magoli General punish her own men for a war crime. As they stood there, watching the blood soak into the street, a profound realization dawned on them. They finally understood why they were made to stand outside and witness this grand, terrifying moment. Their foolish refusal to believe that a simple piece of white cloth would save them from being searched had led them to this very spot, where the new law of their conquerors was being laid bare in the most violent and unequivocal way.
"Khawn," Chinua said, her voice a cold, final command that cut through the silence. "Take Captain Jochi to reflect on his mistake in a jail cell with the captured Ginmiao soldiers. And drag these five bodies out of the street." Her words were a final, chilling punctuation, bringing the public display of justice to a close and sealing the fate of the defiant captain.
"General! You can't do that!" Bolor said, rushing toward Chinua, his face a mask of desperation. "Captain Jochi is a respected captain; putting him in jail will weaken our military morale." His voice was loud and clear, a desperate, final plea to stop the humiliating arrest of his fellow captain and a direct challenge to Chinua's authority.
Chinua turned to face Bolor, her expression as cold and unyielding as stone. "Perhaps you would like to join Captain Jochi in jail to reflect on his mistake," she said, her voice a low, chilling threat that carried over the silent crowd. "Giving out an order and having captains and soldiers refuse to follow it—that will weaken our military morale." She had taken his own argument and used it against him, a final, crushing checkmate.
Khawn quickly moved forward and stood beside Jochi. "Captain," he said.
Jochi didn't say another word. He knew that anything he might say now would not lessen Chinua's cold fury. With a final, silent act of submission, he placed his hands behind his back and walked away with Khawn and his unit, his arrogance replaced by a quiet, defeated resignation. As they went, the Eastern soldiers dragged the five bodies away from the street, a final, grim acknowledgment of the justice that had been served.