"These men..."
He gestured toward the kneeling prisoners, their chains rattling as they shifted uncomfortably.
"...are responsible for the suffering of thousands. The food shortages. The destruction of homes. The massacres in the streets. The theft of our prosperity..."
The script was perfect. Everything that had ever gone wrong in the entire ducatum? It was their fault now.
It didn't matter whether it was entirely true. What mattered was that the people believed it.
"They sought to divide us. They sought to break us. And for their crimes, they shall answer with their lives."
The roar of approval was deafening. The magistrate nodded once, turning his gaze to the line of prisoners. He gestured to the first group ragged, pale as paper men, their faces stained with dirt and dried tears.
"For those among them who were but mere foot soldiers, thieves, murderers, butchers of the innocent, your punishment shall be service."
A murmur rippled through the crowd, surprise laced with grudging approval.
"You shall be conscripted into the cohorts of the Paratrooper core. You shall serve on the frontlines. You shall fight until your debt to the Imperium is paid in blood."
The crowd laughed. They knew what that meant. These men wouldn't see home again. They were dead already, just walking corpses marching toward their inevitable end.
Some of the sentenced prisoners collapsed in relief, sobbing. Others cursed, spat, screamed. But it didn't matter. The cerberus military police dragged them to their feet, marching them away.
The magistrate's gaze turned to the next group, the men who had led the insurgency, the so called "commanders" and "leaders" of the rebellion.
The true traitors.
"For those who plotted against the Imperium, for those who led our people into ruin, who sought to overthrow the rightful order and bathe this city in blood…"
He exhaled sharply. Then, he spoke the words they had all been waiting for.
"Your sentence is death."
The square erupted in cheers. I didn't react. I simply watched. Cold. Silent. The prisoners, however, reacted exactly as I expected. Some shouted, screaming curses at me, at the court, at the people.
"This is a sham!"
One of them howled, his voice breaking in hysteria.
"You think this is justice?! You're just a tyrant! A butcher wearing a crown!"
I smiled slightly. That was rich coming from the same people who'd blew up a bunch of Innocent people, men, women, children just days prior for their so called "freedom".
Another one, an ex noble, lost it completely. His knees buckled. He tried crawling forward, his shackles clinking as he sobbed.
"Imperator, please! Please! Mercy! I... I was only following orders! I have a family! Children!"
His voice cracked.
"They... they need me!"
I tilted my head slightly, my tone mockingly thoughtful.
"Oh? A family, you say?"
I slowly leaned forward, resting an armored elbow on the throne's armrest.
"And tell me, where was your mercy for the families you butchered? Where was your mercy when you hung men from streetlamps and left them to rot? When you sent bombs into homes, when you slit the throats of sleeping women?"
I asked and I wasnt just pulling s*it out of my ass I wrote them to be like that. The noble collapsed into sobs. I looked away from him. I had already moved on. The magistrate raised his hand.
"Firing squad!"
The paratroopers firing squad snapped to attention, their uniforms crisp, their polished and oiled assault rifles already loaded.
"Ready!"
They raised their weapons.
The condemned screamed, some collapsing to their knees, others bowing their heads in acceptance. The ex noble wept like a child.
"Aim!"
Rifles locked onto their targets. I watched. I waited. The crowd did too. They were hungry for this. I let the silence stretch. Let the weight of the moment press down on the condemned. Then, I gave the order.
"Fire."
The plaza exploded with rifle fire. The first volley of bullets tore through flesh, snapping bodies backward, crimson spraying into the air.
Some slumped immediately, their heads lolling forward, lifeless. Others twitched, choking on their own blood, gurgling weakly before collapsing.
The crowd cheered. They screamed in triumph, roared in celebration.
"JUSTICE!"
"HAIL IMPERATOR!"
"THE TRAITORS ARE DEAD!"
A few of the older citizens wept, not in sadness, but in relief. It was done. The terrorists were dead. And more importantly? The people had their vengeance.
I exhaled, my crimson gaze sweeping over the bloodstained plaza. For the first time in centuries, Nova Roma had order. And I would ensure it stayed that way. No matter what It took afterall I had less than 10 years left to conquer a whole world.
...
A few hours later.
The faint scent of medicinal herbs and alcohol lingered in the air, mixing with the faint traces of smoke and blood still clinging to my pale skin.
The bedroom was dimly lit, a few lamps casting a warm glow over the deep crimson and gold decor.
The Imperial Court's best medics scurried around me, their hands careful yet efficient as they applied ointments to my bruises, cleaned my gunshot wounds, and re dressed the fresh bandages.
"Unbelievable…"
One of the younger medics muttered under his breath, shaking his head as he dabbed a salve onto my shoulder.
"A normal man would be bedridden for weeks after sustaining this much damage."
"The bruising is already fading faster than it should,"
Another added, his fingers tracing the edges of the deep purple and yellow blotches marring my skin.
"And the cuts from dented armor… they should still be bleeding, but they're already closing."
I ignored them. Their chatter was irritating, but I had grown used to it. They were like crows, fascinated by something beyond their understanding, murmuring to each other as if trying to make sense of it. I didn't care. I had more important things to deal with.
The door opened, and Zero One stepped inside, his towering frame rigid with discipline. Behind him, the mother and child entered hesitantly. The woman still in her simple, slightly worn dress looked as though she was about to die from fear.
Her entire body trembled, her hands clutched tightly around her daughter's small shoulders. The little girl, in stark contrast, looked around the room with wide, curious eyes, completely unbothered by the heavy atmosphere.
I waved my hand dismissively.
"Leave."
The oldest medic hesitated, his mouth opening as if to protest.
"But, Imperator, we're not finished..."
I turned my gaze on him. Cold. Absolute.
He gulped audibly, his face draining of color. Without another word, he hastily packed his instruments, motioning for the rest of his team to follow.
The room emptied within seconds, leaving only me, my death squad troopers, and the trembling woman clutching her child.
I stood, stretching slightly, feeling the dull pull of my stiff muscles. I walked toward the small bar at the side of the room and poured myself a glass of dark amber liquor. As I lifted it to my lips, I gestured toward the fur covered couch in front of me.
"Have a seat."
The mother hesitated, her eyes darting between me and my men, but she obeyed, guiding her daughter onto the couch and sitting stiffly beside her.
"Anything to drink?"
I asked, tilting my head slightly.
The woman swallowed hard.
"No, Imperator. Thank you."
Before I could respond, the little girl's voice rang out, bright and eager.
"Orange juice!"
I stared at her for a moment, then glanced at my collection of strong spirits. Right. Like I had orange juice just lying around. I snapped my fingers.
"Zero One, get the noble lady her orange juice."
Zero One didn't hesitate. He snapped a sharp salute.
"Yes, Imperator."
Then, without another word, he turned and strode out of the room.
I walked back to my armchair and sank into it, crossing one leg over the other as I studied the woman. She kept her gaze lowered, her hands clenched tightly together in her lap.
"What's your name?"
I asked.
Her voice was barely above a whisper.
"Lucilla, Imperator."
I nodded.
"And what do you do for a living?"
A flicker of shame crossed her face. Her hands tightened even further.
"I… I work in the R*d... Light District."
I didn't respond immediately. I just stared at her, absorbing that information. It seemed that even if I didnt focus on details that much then writing the worlds background, it still mirrored reality.
No matter the era, no matter the empire, there would always be women forced into these circumstances.
I exhaled slowly, rolling the glass in my hands.
"And the father?"
I asked, my eyes flickering to the little girl, who was busy inspecting the intricate carvings on the couch's armrest.
Lucilla's face tightened.
"I… I don't know. One of the clients, most likely."
I let out another slow breath. Of course. The girl was a child born into uncertainty, into a life with no stability, no future.
If things continued as they were, there was a high chance that she would have no other choice but to follow in her mother's footsteps.