Chapter 181
Montpellier! 0h, Montpellier! (2)
When Montpellier first heard the queen’s plan, he thought that it was good. Doubts started creeping in when he was bound and dragged to the plaza like a dog and tied to a wooden post. Then, the new governor of the royal palace announced his public execution, listed his crimes, and spoke of the wickedness of the emperor.
Since it had all worked out so realistically, Montpellier didn’t even have to pretend that he knew it to be a sham. The people of the capital figured that he would not be spared, as they showed no consideration for the prestige of the empire and the emperor’s dignity.
Montpellier could not drink a sip of water during the entire day, but this did not shake him. Everything was going according to the queen’s plan, and his suffering and shame was part of that plan.
“The dirty imperial dog!”
“You’ve been acting like a king! No-good bastard!”
‘Lchook~ Pwa!’
However, even if it was for the sake of a grander purpose, the insult was difficult to bear. The humble common folk who usually never lay their eyes on his person now approached, swearing at Montpellier and spitting in his face.
“How dare he?”
“This pig! Wake up, pig!”
Montpellier was struggling to bear their anger; when he focused his eyes, he saw a woman appear from somewhere and dump a bucket full of shit all over him. Montpellier’s mind was stunned as the stench slammed into his nose.
“Now you’re alert, hey?”
“You’re ugly!”
Montpellier heard the commoners laughing, but he couldn’t even shout out, for he dared not open his mouth in fear that the manure flowing over his face would get stuck on his teeth.
He was treated just like a criminal; the ploy looked realistic.
Yet to Montpellier’s mind, it was all surreal: The soldiers who swore, chuckled and pointed their fingers; the ridicule upon the faces of the royal soldiers and knights who were supposed to protect the sinner, and his shit-soaked clothes.
The night breeze blew in, and unlike the pleasant winds of the empire, it was freezing.
The chill that dug into his body, drenched in waste, was a real problem, and it did not make him feel well. His mind flashed; it felt as if the cold was tearing his skin away.
“Hey, look here. If I stay like this, I will freeze to death. Even if you only give me dry clothes… if that won’t work, please light a fire,” he begged and begged, no longer able to endure.
Neither the soldiers nor the knights gave any heed to his request. Instead, they laughed at him as if he was stupid and told him that he hadn’t realized his situation.
They said that it mattered little if he froze and died. Montpellier had guessed that even if the soldiers didn’t know, at least the knights had to know about the queen’s plan. Still, he surmised that she hid the truth from them to make it confidential. Soon enough, the realization came to Montpellier that he was suffering as mortal saints suffer, and he began to wonder what kind of expression his face had to make for him to look saintly.
He began ignoring the cold and the painful reality of his position. He just waited for the sun to rise and for an end to the farce. The night was deep and long, and now that the crowds who had gathered like flies disappeared, only the knights remained.
While Montpellier endured the cold by clattering his teeth, a man, wrapped in his cloak, approached.
“It’s hard for me not to beat you to death right here! I cannot wait to hear the grinding of your bones as the ax chews into your flesh!”
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Unlike the curses of the anonymous crowd, Montpellier’s eyes widened as he heard the man curse him with such desperate emotion.
‘Ghak~ Pwoo!’ the man spat in his face, turned around, and walked away. Montpellier felt as if he had seen a bit of the man’s face, despite him leaving in a hurry.
I’m sure that’s not the Great Marshal.
Montpellier shook his head to dispel the thought. There was no way that the marshal, who would be overlooking the plans to deal with the imperial knights and soldiers throughout the night, would come to the plaza without an escort. As Montpellier’s dazed eyes looked at nothing in particular, he saw another person appear.
“Since the tears wept by the kingdom because of your deeds are like a sea, I hope tears of blood will come from your eyes. I hope that tomorrow when the sun rises, you will die in pain.”
The curse was spoken in a low voice, but the man’s sharp jawline was revealed for a single moment from under his hood; a beautiful jawline.
The gracefulness of the man and his sibilant voice that tickled the ears made Montpellier think of someone he knew well.
“Are you Kirga-“
‘Schwak’ the man slapped Montpellier through the face before he finished speaking.
“I am not Siorin Kirgayen!” the man said in a stern voice and smacked Montpellier a few more times.
Montpellier didn’t even get the time to ask the man why he had hit him, for the man hurriedly disappeared from the plaza. Similar scenes played out several times after that.
The scoundrels who kept appearing throughout the night all pressed their hoods down, and Montpellier was always amazed by the parts of their faces that he did see; they then got handy with him.
The day dawned bright, and Montpellier had been slapped across the cheeks and kicked in the shins many times.
Citizens of the capital swarmed like bees to honey to view the execution. The nobles were sitting on the terraces around the plaza, viewing proceedings as well.
Only then did Montpellier feel shame, yet, he held it back. The current spectacle was the only way for him to repay the sins he couldn’t confess and for him to convert to the cause of the kingdom. If all worked out well, we would be well rewarded for learning his lesson and paying for his crimes.
Montpellier dreamed of a bright future as the crowds jeered and cursed his name – and his dreams lasted only till then.
“Before execution, this sinner will be beaten a hundred times to reflect the evil that he has done to Leonberg!” the queen ordered this unscheduled beating as she arrived at the execution site. Montpellier figured that this was part of the act, to make the situation more dramatic.
They will pretend to hit me. My role is to play along and act in pain, to be as plausible as possible.
He thought so, but that thought didn’t last long.
‘Dwak!’
Montpellier’s temple suddenly flashed with pain.
“One!” the executioner shouted after striking, and only then did Montpellier realize that he truly was to be beaten without mercy.
“Ach!” he screamed after the second strike of the club crashed into his body.
“Two!”
Montpellier wanted to crouch, hide, close his legs; he had no choice but to take the beating.
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“Ten!”
His flesh began to bruise, then tear under the beatings, and his belief that the current situation was just a facade began to shatter.
“Twelve!”
Are they really going to proceed with the execution?
“Thirteen!”
They probably chose to deal with me and then with the imperial knights.
“Thirty-five!”
So harsh was the unexpected beating that Montpellier gradually became unable to believe in the queen’s promise, and his regret came late. How could he have believed in her word, even being self-confident in this situation? From their point of view, he was just an enemy that had to be dealt with. Indeed, he was embarrassed by his stupidity, thinking that they would accept him as a nobleman of Leonberg once they had dealt with the imperial knights. These were the thoughts flashing through Montpellier’s mind.
His manor would be burned next, once his head fell, and it was clear that his view had been narrow and his body was now paying the price. He had made it easy for those who regarded themselves as his enemies.
“Oh, nobles of the kingdom, I will give you your chance to sate your hunger!” came the queen’s voice, and the executioner withdrew from Montpellier. And as if the nobles of Leonberg had been waiting, they stepped forward as each of them was handed the club in turn.
“My family suffered a lot because of you!”
“You wicked man! Your serpent-like tongue ruined my entire life!”
The nobles were desperate, yet their blows felt like tickles compared to the executioner’s, for they were men who had not truly used their strength in their entire lives.
Montpellier’s hopes flared up again; even if he could not pretend with the first blows, he now figured that he would do so moderately.
And just like that, about thirty strikes of the club came and went.
Marshal Bielefeld’s turn came, and he stepped up.
The old man said that he would rather use the cane he held in his hand instead of the club the executioner offered him. Montpellier sang with delight in his heart, for such an elderly man would not be capable of dishing out a hard beating, and the ambassador figured that he would be spared a painful blow.
Bielefeld took off his coat, and the body that appeared from under it was not that of an old man. Veins protruded from the muscles that bulged tightly in his sleeves.
“Now, wait-“
‘Bwak!’
Bielefeld didn’t even give voice to his grudges; he merely swung his cane.
And after that single beating, Montpellier realized that the Marquis of Bielefeld did not sit in the seat of Great Marshal due to his age and loyalty alone. Montpellier was unsure, but he guessed the old man had some proficiency in swordsmanship.
‘Dwak! Pwak! Dwap!’
Bielefeld hit Montpellier three times in a row, in total silence, and then turned away as he flung his coat over his shoulders.
“Know that it is not only these nobles, but also the royal family who have suffered from your actions. See now how a queen stands with a club before her people,” said the queen as she stepped onto the platform and raised her club – and she started to hit Montpellier.
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“His Majesty has shed tears for countless nights because of you! As well the blood of countless knights! Because of you, the Crown Prince was framed and had to waste five of his years to lust!
“I had to watch the spirit of the north become nothing because of you! The reason my brother went to his death in vain is also because of your fine work! “
“Even if I destroy your flesh and drain your blood, I will never be able to soothe the sorrow in my heart!”
The queen’s beating was as bitter as the tears that flowed from her cheeks.
“It is impossible to count the sins you have committed! And you want to live? You will die, and you will not die in comfort!”
It hurt, and it hurt far too much. It hurt more than the strikes of the executioner and the beating of the great marshal. Despite the pain, Montpellier couldn’t even scream, as his fear was greater than the pain.
The queen’s eyes were so icy. Looking into her eyes was like staring into the north wind, and the inside of Montpellier’s mind turned white. He couldn’t think about the imperial knights, the queen’s promise, or anything else. All he could do was tremble and groan like an animal.
Then, he fainted.
When Montpellier regained his senses, the queen stood upon the platform, looking down at him. Montpellier did not know whether the beating had ceased when he had been stunned, but the executioner now held an iron ax instead of a club.
“Execute the sentence!”
Even now, Montpellier tried to demand that he live, that he would keep his promises. However, he had been beaten to such an extent that his body didn’t have the strength.
“Spare me…” he barely managed to move his lips.
“What?” asked the executioner, who could not hear the words despite being in front of Montpellier’s nose.
“Strike the head off of the guilty Crien de Burgundy Montpellier!” came the queen’s abstracted voice. The executioner put his ax aside, spit into both his hands and took up the ax once more. Then he lifted it above his head, its terrible blade rising into the air.
“Ah?”
‘Montpellier, you fool. Now you finally die miserably, like a dog.’
‘Foosh!’ and the moment Montpellier heard that sharp sound, he instinctively closed his eyes.
However, there was no pain, and there was no pain for some time.
He tentatively opened his eyes. The executioner had been gripping his ax as if he would sever Montpellier’s neck; now, the man had stepped back with an arrow stuck in his forearm.
“I came to save you,” a soft voice spoke into Montpellier’s ear, and he was delighted to hear it.
“Ah!”
It was spoken in clear True Imperial, not the clumsy imperial language spoken by those of Leonberg, but that of those from the mainland of Burgundy.
“I’m sorry for doubting you. We were, in fact, wondering if our ambassador had converted to the kingdom’s cause a little while ago.”
Montpellier’s bonds were loosened, and his body was released and carried away from the pillar to which he had been tied. He saw his savior’s face just before the man placed him on the ground.
It was the same knight Montpellier had first seen on the streets of the capital the day before. The knight supported him, and the sound of imperial knights clashing swords with the capital’s knights came to Montpellier’s ears.
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“Close your eyes for a bit. When you wake up, it will be in the territory of our empire.”
The noise that had disturbed his ears subsided – and so, Montpellier fell unconscious.
Chapter 181
Montpellier! 0h, Montpellier! (2)
When Montpellier first heard the queen’s plan, he thought that it was good. Doubts started creeping in when he was bound and dragged to the plaza like a dog and tied to a wooden post. Then, the new governor of the royal palace announced his public execution, listed his crimes, and spoke of the wickedness of the emperor.
Since it had all worked out so realistically, Montpellier didn’t even have to pretend that he knew it to be a sham. The people of the capital figured that he would not be spared, as they showed no consideration for the prestige of the empire and the emperor’s dignity.
Montpellier could not drink a sip of water during the entire day, but this did not shake him. Everything was going according to the queen’s plan, and his suffering and shame was part of that plan.
“The dirty imperial dog!”
“You’ve been acting like a king! No-good bastard!”
‘Lchook~ Pwa!’
However, even if it was for the sake of a grander purpose, the insult was difficult to bear. The humble common folk who usually never lay their eyes on his person now approached, swearing at Montpellier and spitting in his face.
“How dare he?”
“This pig! Wake up, pig!”
Montpellier was struggling to bear their anger; when he focused his eyes, he saw a woman appear from somewhere and dump a bucket full of shit all over him. Montpellier’s mind was stunned as the stench slammed into his nose.
“Now you’re alert, hey?”
“You’re ugly!”
Montpellier heard the commoners laughing, but he couldn’t even shout out, for he dared not open his mouth in fear that the manure flowing over his face would get stuck on his teeth.
He was treated just like a criminal; the ploy looked realistic.
Yet to Montpellier’s mind, it was all surreal: The soldiers who swore, chuckled and pointed their fingers; the ridicule upon the faces of the royal soldiers and knights who were supposed to protect the sinner, and his shit-soaked clothes.
The night breeze blew in, and unlike the pleasant winds of the empire, it was freezing.
The chill that dug into his body, drenched in waste, was a real problem, and it did not make him feel well. His mind flashed; it felt as if the cold was tearing his skin away.
“Hey, look here. If I stay like this, I will freeze to death. Even if you only give me dry clothes… if that won’t work, please light a fire,” he begged and begged, no longer able to endure.
Neither the soldiers nor the knights gave any heed to his request. Instead, they laughed at him as if he was stupid and told him that he hadn’t realized his situation.
They said that it mattered little if he froze and died. Montpellier had guessed that even if the soldiers didn’t know, at least the knights had to know about the queen’s plan. Still, he surmised that she hid the truth from them to make it confidential. Soon enough, the realization came to Montpellier that he was suffering as mortal saints suffer, and he began to wonder what kind of expression his face had to make for him to look saintly.
He began ignoring the cold and the painful reality of his position. He just waited for the sun to rise and for an end to the farce. The night was deep and long, and now that the crowds who had gathered like flies disappeared, only the knights remained.
While Montpellier endured the cold by clattering his teeth, a man, wrapped in his cloak, approached.
“It’s hard for me not to beat you to death right here! I cannot wait to hear the grinding of your bones as the ax chews into your flesh!”
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Unlike the curses of the anonymous crowd, Montpellier’s eyes widened as he heard the man curse him with such desperate emotion.
‘Ghak~ Pwoo!’ the man spat in his face, turned around, and walked away. Montpellier felt as if he had seen a bit of the man’s face, despite him leaving in a hurry.
I’m sure that’s not the Great Marshal.
Montpellier shook his head to dispel the thought. There was no way that the marshal, who would be overlooking the plans to deal with the imperial knights and soldiers throughout the night, would come to the plaza without an escort. As Montpellier’s dazed eyes looked at nothing in particular, he saw another person appear.
“Since the tears wept by the kingdom because of your deeds are like a sea, I hope tears of blood will come from your eyes. I hope that tomorrow when the sun rises, you will die in pain.”
The curse was spoken in a low voice, but the man’s sharp jawline was revealed for a single moment from under his hood; a beautiful jawline.
The gracefulness of the man and his sibilant voice that tickled the ears made Montpellier think of someone he knew well.
“Are you Kirga-“
‘Schwak’ the man slapped Montpellier through the face before he finished speaking.
“I am not Siorin Kirgayen!” the man said in a stern voice and smacked Montpellier a few more times.
Montpellier didn’t even get the time to ask the man why he had hit him, for the man hurriedly disappeared from the plaza. Similar scenes played out several times after that.
The scoundrels who kept appearing throughout the night all pressed their hoods down, and Montpellier was always amazed by the parts of their faces that he did see; they then got handy with him.
The day dawned bright, and Montpellier had been slapped across the cheeks and kicked in the shins many times.
Citizens of the capital swarmed like bees to honey to view the execution. The nobles were sitting on the terraces around the plaza, viewing proceedings as well.
Only then did Montpellier feel shame, yet, he held it back. The current spectacle was the only way for him to repay the sins he couldn’t confess and for him to convert to the cause of the kingdom. If all worked out well, we would be well rewarded for learning his lesson and paying for his crimes.
Montpellier dreamed of a bright future as the crowds jeered and cursed his name – and his dreams lasted only till then.
“Before execution, this sinner will be beaten a hundred times to reflect the evil that he has done to Leonberg!” the queen ordered this unscheduled beating as she arrived at the execution site. Montpellier figured that this was part of the act, to make the situation more dramatic.
They will pretend to hit me. My role is to play along and act in pain, to be as plausible as possible.
He thought so, but that thought didn’t last long.
‘Dwak!’
Montpellier’s temple suddenly flashed with pain.
“One!” the executioner shouted after striking, and only then did Montpellier realize that he truly was to be beaten without mercy.
“Ach!” he screamed after the second strike of the club crashed into his body.
“Two!”
Montpellier wanted to crouch, hide, close his legs; he had no choice but to take the beating.
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“Ten!”
His flesh began to bruise, then tear under the beatings, and his belief that the current situation was just a facade began to shatter.
“Twelve!”
Are they really going to proceed with the execution?
“Thirteen!”
They probably chose to deal with me and then with the imperial knights.
“Thirty-five!”
So harsh was the unexpected beating that Montpellier gradually became unable to believe in the queen’s promise, and his regret came late. How could he have believed in her word, even being self-confident in this situation? From their point of view, he was just an enemy that had to be dealt with. Indeed, he was embarrassed by his stupidity, thinking that they would accept him as a nobleman of Leonberg once they had dealt with the imperial knights. These were the thoughts flashing through Montpellier’s mind.
His manor would be burned next, once his head fell, and it was clear that his view had been narrow and his body was now paying the price. He had made it easy for those who regarded themselves as his enemies.
“Oh, nobles of the kingdom, I will give you your chance to sate your hunger!” came the queen’s voice, and the executioner withdrew from Montpellier. And as if the nobles of Leonberg had been waiting, they stepped forward as each of them was handed the club in turn.
“My family suffered a lot because of you!”
“You wicked man! Your serpent-like tongue ruined my entire life!”
The nobles were desperate, yet their blows felt like tickles compared to the executioner’s, for they were men who had not truly used their strength in their entire lives.
Montpellier’s hopes flared up again; even if he could not pretend with the first blows, he now figured that he would do so moderately.
And just like that, about thirty strikes of the club came and went.
Marshal Bielefeld’s turn came, and he stepped up.
The old man said that he would rather use the cane he held in his hand instead of the club the executioner offered him. Montpellier sang with delight in his heart, for such an elderly man would not be capable of dishing out a hard beating, and the ambassador figured that he would be spared a painful blow.
Bielefeld took off his coat, and the body that appeared from under it was not that of an old man. Veins protruded from the muscles that bulged tightly in his sleeves.
“Now, wait-“
‘Bwak!’
Bielefeld didn’t even give voice to his grudges; he merely swung his cane.
And after that single beating, Montpellier realized that the Marquis of Bielefeld did not sit in the seat of Great Marshal due to his age and loyalty alone. Montpellier was unsure, but he guessed the old man had some proficiency in swordsmanship.
‘Dwak! Pwak! Dwap!’
Bielefeld hit Montpellier three times in a row, in total silence, and then turned away as he flung his coat over his shoulders.
“Know that it is not only these nobles, but also the royal family who have suffered from your actions. See now how a queen stands with a club before her people,” said the queen as she stepped onto the platform and raised her club – and she started to hit Montpellier.
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“His Majesty has shed tears for countless nights because of you! As well the blood of countless knights! Because of you, the Crown Prince was framed and had to waste five of his years to lust!
“I had to watch the spirit of the north become nothing because of you! The reason my brother went to his death in vain is also because of your fine work! “
“Even if I destroy your flesh and drain your blood, I will never be able to soothe the sorrow in my heart!”
The queen’s beating was as bitter as the tears that flowed from her cheeks.
“It is impossible to count the sins you have committed! And you want to live? You will die, and you will not die in comfort!”
It hurt, and it hurt far too much. It hurt more than the strikes of the executioner and the beating of the great marshal. Despite the pain, Montpellier couldn’t even scream, as his fear was greater than the pain.
The queen’s eyes were so icy. Looking into her eyes was like staring into the north wind, and the inside of Montpellier’s mind turned white. He couldn’t think about the imperial knights, the queen’s promise, or anything else. All he could do was tremble and groan like an animal.
Then, he fainted.
When Montpellier regained his senses, the queen stood upon the platform, looking down at him. Montpellier did not know whether the beating had ceased when he had been stunned, but the executioner now held an iron ax instead of a club.
“Execute the sentence!”
Even now, Montpellier tried to demand that he live, that he would keep his promises. However, he had been beaten to such an extent that his body didn’t have the strength.
“Spare me…” he barely managed to move his lips.
“What?” asked the executioner, who could not hear the words despite being in front of Montpellier’s nose.
“Strike the head off of the guilty Crien de Burgundy Montpellier!” came the queen’s abstracted voice. The executioner put his ax aside, spit into both his hands and took up the ax once more. Then he lifted it above his head, its terrible blade rising into the air.
“Ah?”
‘Montpellier, you fool. Now you finally die miserably, like a dog.’
‘Foosh!’ and the moment Montpellier heard that sharp sound, he instinctively closed his eyes.
However, there was no pain, and there was no pain for some time.
He tentatively opened his eyes. The executioner had been gripping his ax as if he would sever Montpellier’s neck; now, the man had stepped back with an arrow stuck in his forearm.
“I came to save you,” a soft voice spoke into Montpellier’s ear, and he was delighted to hear it.
“Ah!”
It was spoken in clear True Imperial, not the clumsy imperial language spoken by those of Leonberg, but that of those from the mainland of Burgundy.
“I’m sorry for doubting you. We were, in fact, wondering if our ambassador had converted to the kingdom’s cause a little while ago.”
Montpellier’s bonds were loosened, and his body was released and carried away from the pillar to which he had been tied. He saw his savior’s face just before the man placed him on the ground.
It was the same knight Montpellier had first seen on the streets of the capital the day before. The knight supported him, and the sound of imperial knights clashing swords with the capital’s knights came to Montpellier’s ears.
This content is taken from lightnovelworld.com
“Close your eyes for a bit. When you wake up, it will be in the territory of our empire.”
The noise that had disturbed his ears subsided – and so, Montpellier fell unconscious.
