"Mother!"

The word tore through the heavy air, sharp and unrestrained.

Deborah’s head snapped toward the voice. Her breath caught, her body going rigid for a split second before instinct took over. Her eyes searched frantically through the gathering crowd until they found him.

A boy. No... not just a boy.

Her son.

He broke away from the people around him, stumbling at first, then running without care. His steps were uneven but desperate. Dust kicked up behind him as he pushed forward, weaving past others who barely had time to react.

"Thomas—!" Deborah’s voice cracked as she rushed toward him.

They met halfway.

She dropped to her knees, pulling him into a tight embrace, her arms wrapping around him as though afraid he might disappear if she loosened her grip. The boy clung to her just as fiercely, his fingers digging into her clothes, his breathing uneven.

"I thought... I thought you were—" His voice faltered.

"I’m here," she whispered quickly, pressing a hand against the back of his head, holding him closer. "I’m here. Mommy is alive."

Her shoulders trembled, the restraint she had maintained until now breaking in small, uneven breaths. She buried her face in his hair, her grip tightening slightly before she forced herself to steady.

Around them, the gathered townspeople watched in silence.

Some looked relieved as they recognized her, glad she was alive.

Others looked confused. They had expected her to be dead, along with the other women who had been ’sacrificed.’

Some appeared hopeful, curious, ready to ask questions. Their parents or loved ones had been taken away, and they wondered if they too were still alive like Deborah.

Yet most looked afraid.

Floki observed the scene without interruption, his expression unreadable. His gaze shifted slowly across the crowd, measuring, weighing. Fear was there, thick and unmistakable, but beneath it... something else flickered.

Uncertainty.

’Good. Fear can control. But uncertainty makes them listen,’ Floki thought, a faint smile touching his lips.

Garrick returned shortly after, walking at the head of a loosely gathered group of guards. Their earlier hostility had vanished, replaced by quiet compliance. None of them spoke as they took their positions along the edges of the arena.

"They’ve all been gathered," Garrick said, stopping beside Floki.

Floki gave a small nod.

His eyes moved past the guards, settling once more on the crowd. Over one hundred families stood close together. Some clutched their belongings tightly. Others held onto one another, as if that alone could offer protection.

No one stepped forward. No one dared to speak as they waited for what would come next.

Floki let out a small exhale and stepped forward.

The movement alone drew every gaze toward him.

"I’ll make this simple," he said, his voice carrying easily across the arena without needing to rise.

"Your Baron has fallen."

A ripple moved through the crowd. Subtle, but unmistakable.

Gasps and whispers followed, but no one dared to deny it.

Floki continued.

"From this point onward, Wayan will not remain as it was."

He paused briefly, allowing the words to settle.

"I am not here to slaughter you."

A few heads lifted at that.

"But I am not here to spare you either."

The tension tightened again, sharper this time.

"You have two choices."

His gaze swept across them, slow and deliberate.

"Follow me... or remain here and share this land’s fate."

Silence followed.

No matter how appealing the first option seemed in that moment, this was still their home. They had grown here, lived by its traditions, shaped by its environment. Letting go was not so simple.

Back in Blackstone, he had used a different approach, one suited to the dynamics there.

Here, he had no such advantage. The only thing they knew was that he had saved some of their women from being sexually assaulted to death by goblins and taken them into his village.

It was not enough.

He needed something stronger. Something that would anchor their emotions, whether through fear or understanding.

He tilted his head toward Garrick.

Garrick nodded, walked down to the crater behind Floki, and dragged out the battered body of Denji, whose eyes were weakly open, his breathing shallow and fading.

The moment his broken body was revealed, the crowd gasped.

Garrick brought him forward. Floki lifted him with ease, as though he weighed nothing, and held him up for all to see.

Then, without pause, Garrick returned and brought out the two women’s corpses.

Their bodies were grotesquely distorted, the result of what Denji had done to grow stronger.

When the corpses were revealed, the gasps grew louder.

Whispers spread. Those who had remained silent began speaking among themselves.

The same questions surfaced again and again. What had happened to the women?

After all, everyone had fled the moment Denji began to transform.

"Your Baron did this to these innocent women."

Floki’s words cut through the rising noise, and the chaos deepened.

"Baron Denji did that? Unbelievable. That looks like something a wild beast would do."

"Have we been living with a monster all these years?"

"Wait. Those sacrifices he talked about... has he been eating them?"

"Damn it, I don’t understand any of this."

"What are we supposed to believe now?"

The discussion spread, growing louder, more fragmented. Rumors formed and multiplied within the confusion. Some of the truths Floki had planned to reveal later surfaced on their own, saving him the effort.

He turned to Deborah, who was still holding her son.

"There is more to this," he said. "You should hear it from one of your own."

At his words, Deborah slowly stood and walked forward, stopping beside him before turning to face the crowd.

Some of the faces were familiar.

A single tear slid down her face as the weight of what could have been pressed into her chest. If Floki had not found that cave that day, she would have been nothing more than a skeleton. No different from the corpses they had seen on the way here.

She steadied herself.

Then she began.

She told them everything.

When she reached the part about the goblins, the reaction was immediate. Shock rippled through the crowd. Even the guards, who still held lingering loyalty to their baron, visibly tensed.

Hatred began to take root.

Men who had willingly given up their loved ones, believing in empty promises, broke down as they heard what had truly happened.

Even the children listened, their expressions hardening with a raw, unfiltered anger.

"Good... just as expected," Floki murmured under his breath.

By the time her story ended,

not a single person looked at their baron the same way.

Voices rose.

"Kill the murderer!"

"Make him pay!"

The chant spread, gaining strength.

Floki released his grip and let Denji drop to the ground.

He opened his inventory and retrieved a mid-grade healing potion along with a rare-grade power-sealing handband.

He secured the inscribed handband around Denji’s wrists before forcing the contents of the potion into his mouth.

The effect took hold almost immediately, right before the crowd’s eyes.

"Why is he healing him?"

"Don’t heal him. Kill him!"

The crowd reacted loudly, but Floki paid them no attention.

Even so, Denji’s injuries were too severe to fully mend. His body remained broken, but his senses returned. His eyes focused. His breathing steadied just enough.

His expression collapsed as he heard the hatred directed at him.

He turned to Floki, his gaze filled with venom.

Floki ignored him.

"You bastard... how dare you!"

Denji tried to rise, but his strength failed him. He could only glare, helpless.

Floki shifted his attention back to the crowd.

"Are there any carpenters here?"

A man hesitated, then raised his hand and stepped forward.

Floki explained what he needed built. The design was simple.

"With the proper materials, I can finish it in less than twenty minutes," the man said.

Without delay, Floki accessed his reserves and produced the required wood. Nails and a hammer followed, purchased from the miscellaneous section of his shop.

The man kept his word.

In less than twenty minutes, the structure was complete.

Floki lifted Denji with ease once more.

He forced him to kneel before the wooden frame, which formed a stunted "Y" shape.

Then he took Denji’s arms and aligned them with the upper "V" of the structure.

One by one, he drove the nails through his hands.

Denji screamed.

But that was only the beginning.

Floki’s gaze remained steady.

He had no intention of stopping there.

He intended to recreate something inspired by an ancient punishment, reshaped into his own design.

The Bloody Falcon.