The public trial was held at Nantes Square.
The square was large and spacious enough to accommodate a sizable audience. The execution would take place in front of the ancient statue of the goddess, symbolizing the prosecutor’s office’s impartial justice.
Police officers arrived early to set up cameras and live-streaming equipment. The execution would not only happen in public—it would be broadcast for all to see.
As the lead officer in charge, Fanny wasn’t particularly enthusiastic about the event.
By now, she had arrested hundreds of Omegas in the city. No one understood better than she did that most of the so-called “suspect” Omegas who had been imprisoned were there simply for reading the wrong newspaper, browsing the wrong websites, or because someone maliciously reported them.
When these Omegas were arrested, not a single one resisted. They all quietly put on their handcuffs and shackles, obediently following the officers. The idea that these people had joined the Lightwing resistance or become rebels was something Fanny would never believe—not even if her life depended on it.
The trials had been swift. Within just three days, over two thousand Omegas had been “processed,” and from them, fifty-some “confirmed Lightwing members” were selected for execution at that day’s trial.
No one knew how those two thousand cases had been reviewed in just three days. They only knew one thing—if a family was willing to pay, their loved one would never make it onto that list.
This wasn’t a trial. It was an execution.
But as an ordinary Beta officer, Fanny could do nothing about it.
She sighed, rubbed her hands together, and leaned against a tree near the square. A part of her wished for a sudden storm or heavy snowfall—anything that might force the event to be canceled.
Unfortunately, that day’s weather was perfect. The sky was a brilliant, cloudless blue. There wasn’t even a breeze. Sunlight reflected off the fountain in the square, forming a small rainbow.
As it neared eight o’clock, Fanny saw Luo Hai.
Luo Hai was dressed in a brand-new suit, wearing a deep blue tie. From his shirt to his leather shoes, everything was spotless, and a small badge was pinned to his chest.
He stood tall and rigid, without a trace of the previous days’ uncertainty. The sharp lines of his jaw seemed as if they could cut through the air. Overnight, he had transformed back into the cold-blooded, ruthless prosecutor.
“Luo—” Fanny started to greet him, but her voice faltered when she saw the badge on his chest.
That was the official emblem of the Prosecutor’s Office, a badge not every prosecutor was qualified to wear.
At least for today, every police officer understood that the person wearing that badge represented the Prosecutor’s Office at the assembly, acting as the executioner of the entire trial.
“Director Kliman is ill. I’m taking her place,” Luo Hai said concisely, his tone devoid of emotion. He nodded slightly to Fanny. “Thank you for your hard work.”
For a moment, Fanny was at a loss for words. She felt that the Luo Hai standing before her had changed.
He looked the same as before, yet at the same time, it seemed as though everything about him had changed.
With over an hour left before the public trial began, the square was already packed with people.
Some had brought cigarettes, alcohol, and fireworks, ready to celebrate. Others arrived with their families, even bringing young children, intending to turn the execution into a vivid educational lesson.
The police drove these spectators beyond the security line, but that did nothing to stop them from craning their necks and straining their eager eyes to watch the proceedings.
Luo Hai simply sat quietly below the stage.
He had spent the entire night reading through every report and document from the past half-month, familiarizing himself with the Prosecutor’s Office’s new policies regarding the Lightwing Society and the Omegas. He had memorized the speech he needed to give and the exact steps of the public trial’s proceedings.
One by one, his colleagues from the Prosecutor’s Office arrived. When they noticed the badge on his chest, their eyes filled with surprise and confusion. But none of them dared to ask questions, because Doyle was seated in the front row of the audience, calmly resting with his eyes closed.
Since this was the decision of Chief Prosecutor Doyle, there was no room for doubt.
At 8:30, stirring music began playing through the speakers in the square. The crowd’s energy rose with the music, and people outside the security line grew restless, making noise. Even the prosecutors couldn’t resist whispering among themselves, discussing how the public trial would unfold.
Only Luo Hai remained still, as if everything around him had nothing to do with him. He sat like an ice-carved statue, motionless and indifferent.
But at that moment, a faint, familiar scent drifted into his nose.
Then, a pair of long legs entered his field of vision and stopped in front of him.
Luo Hai looked up.
Standing before him, disguised as Enyouge, was Eugene.
The rousing music continued its endless loop. The flags of Nantes fluttered in the square, and the executioners at the edge of the stage meticulously cleaned their rifles.
Luo Hai looked at Eugene. Eugene looked back at him.
His gaze was unfamiliar, as if he were looking at a stranger. And then Luo Hai realized—it was because he was looking at Eugene in the same way.
Their eyes met briefly, like two strangers brushing past each other on the street, then quickly moved away.
Eugene’s legs disappeared from Luo Hai’s view as he continued walking forward, finally sitting down just behind him.
Luo Hai overheard a few colleagues casually greeting him.
“Yo, Enyouge. Haven’t seen you in a few days—we thought you weren’t coming today.”
“My mom’s been sick. I stayed at the hospital with her for a week. But I had to come today. It’s too big of a day to miss.”
Luo Hai did not turn around, nor did his expression change. His gaze remained fixed on the flag waving above the high platform and on Doyle’s back, standing not far ahead.
Yes, today was a big day.
Everyone had to make a choice today—whether to be a weakling waiting to be slaughtered or to be the butcher wielding the blade.
Kill or be killed. That was the unyielding law of the jungle, devoid of reason or mercy. Only fools held onto hope in such a world.
Doyle was right. He was always right.
Luo Hai had already made his choice. He would not regret it, nor would he have the chance to.
As time passed, the atmosphere in the square grew more and more fervent. The police opened the security barriers, and the crowd surged forward like a tidal wave, filling every available space and staring eagerly at the stage.
The music swelled. Fifty-three Omega prisoners, bound in handcuffs and shackles, were led onto the stage for public display. The noise from the crowd momentarily drowned out the music, forcing the police to repeatedly pause and restore order.
Once the audience had somewhat quieted down, Flock stepped onto the stage and began reading out the prisoners’ crimes, line by line. Though the legal speech was dry and monotonous, the audience showed no boredom—on the contrary, each time a charge was read, a strange chorus of reactions echoed from the crowd.
By the time Flock finished and stepped down from the stage, Luo Hai rose from his seat.
Just then, someone grabbed his wrist.
The grip was tight—tight enough to nearly snap his wrist.
He heard Eugene’s voice come from behind him, very low. “Don’t.”
Luo Hai didn’t speak. He forcefully tried to pull his wrist free.
Strangely enough, even though Eugene had gripped his wrist with such force, the moment Luo Hai struggled, it was as if Eugene had been burned—he abruptly let go.
Luo Hai neither looked at him nor responded. He walked straight onto the stage, stood before the microphone, and looked down at the crowd.
A sea of people stretched before him—workers, white-collar employees, shop owners from his own neighborhood.
Among them were his colleagues from the prosecutor’s office and the police force. Colin was there. Fanny was there. And Eugene, whose expression was unreadable.
Adjusting the microphone, Luo Hai spoke steadily. “We are here today because crime must be punished and filth must be cleansed. Omegas are the tumors of society. They establish terrorist organizations, disrupt order, and plant poisonous ideologies, hoping to gain privileges through terror and violence. But their schemes will not succeed—because we will not allow it. Today, the prosecution stands here, before all the citizens of Nantes, to carry out a just and impartial execution of all Lightwing Society criminals.”
The roar of the crowd surged once more.
Eugene watched Luo Hai step away from the microphone expressionlessly, retreating a step, and watching—still expressionless—as the guards led the fifty-three dirty, submissive Omegas onto the platform.
No one cried. No one resisted. They were like husks of the dead still walking, accepting any ridiculous judgment without reaction.
The first prisoner was forced to kneel at the front, their head pressed down by the guards. Luo Hai stared at the Omega’s thin, trembling back and, very slowly, drew his gun from his holster.
As the host of the assembly and the representative of the prosecution, he was to fire the first shot, signaling the start of the execution. The remaining prisoners would be handled by the executioners waiting nearby, until every crack between the bricks in the square was stained with blood.
The once-clamorous venue had fallen into silence, so still that even the wind could be heard. Everyone held their breath, watching Luo Hai, waiting for him to fire, to set off the first shot of the frenzy.
Luo Hai calmly loaded his gun.
He knew that Doyle was watching from nearby. He knew that those seemingly relaxed, indifferent eyes were, in truth, sharp and piercing—holding the power to decide his life or death in an instant.
But this time, his hands would not shake. Because he had made his choice.
He was no longer lost. He knew what he had to do.
In the briefest instant, as quick as lightning striking, he twisted his wrist and aimed his gun at the executioner standing beside the prisoner.
