Han Xin tightened his grip on the hilt of Bloodreaver, the blade glinting ominously. "Xiang Lin," he called out, his voice resonating in the cold air.
"For your treasonous acts against the late imperial Lord of the Republic and his imperial empress, I hereby sentence you to death. Your body will be incinerated, and your ashes will be scattered in the lower city junkyard. There will be no grave, no mound for you to be remembered by. You will forever be forgotten."
He didn't care to ask if Xiang Lin had any last words. The air felt heavy with anticipation, tension crackling like a live wire. Xiang Lin sat slumped against the wall, his eyes vacant, as a tear traced its way down his weathered face.
