The King spoke.
He was a man of few words, but every word carried immense weight.
He fixed his piercing gaze on the convict and said,
"You were charged with security.
Not me.
Not the General.
Not the Church.
You.
It was your duty—and yours alone—to identify threats entering the Arena.
If your role was merely to stop someone yelling 'Death to the Empire!' at the gates, we would not need a Security Chief.
You failed.
And now you dare shift the blame onto others?
At first, the price was your life alone.
But your insolence has earned far worse.
Now, your entire family shall pay for this shame.
Your life alone is far too small a price for insulting this court."
With a dismissive wave of his hand, the King turned his face away.
The Security Chief opened his mouth to speak, but his words were strangled by a choking sensation.
From behind the throne, a knight emerged—a figure shrouded in terror.
