"Not guilty." The judge's gavel cracked like thunder across the quiet courtroom.
Instantly, an old man at the front bench dropped to his knees, tears carving paths through the grime on his face.
"My lord, please…don't let him walk free. My wife and son's blood is on his hands." His voice broke, fracturing into a hoarse whisper filled with raw anguish. "I beg you, give me justice."
The judge gathered his papers, not once looking up. "This case is dismissed." Another merchant trial, another dismissal. The Coin Lords held dominion over the courts, years of purchased justice.
The old man's sobs grew louder and murmurs of outrage now rippled through the damp air, but they died quickly as Merchant Greaves stood.
His crimson robes, trimmed with heavy gold embroidery, caught the fading light from the high windows, his wealth served as armour. He offered the judge a slow, theatrical bow, a twist on his lips betraying his amusement.
The magistrate nodded back quickly and fled through a side door, as if eager to escape the lingering tension.
The merchant then turned sharply toward the exit, his armored guards flanking him. He took two steps before stopping dead in his tracks. The old man had now grabbed onto his leg, his trembling fingers clutching the merchant's fine hem in a final act of desperation.
"What crime did they commit?" His voice strained with grief. "What wrong have I committed to earn your wrath, Greaves?"
The courtroom fell silent, as the air was thick with shock. No one spoke a rich man's name like that, not to his face.
Greaves looked down, a shadow of malice deepened the lines around his eyes. He yanked his leg free with a violent jerk, raised his boot high, then brought it down hard on the old man's hand, the impact resounding like a whip's crack.
The crack of bone echoed through the chamber, sharp and sickening, and the old man screamed, a piercing wail of agony as he cradled his broken fingers, blood beginning to seep from the mangled flesh.
Greaves leaned down, his voice cold. "You dare speak my name? Count yourself fortunate. If your wife and son still lived, I would end them now for your insolence."
One of the merchant's guards rushed forward, seized the old man by his robes with rough hands, and hurled him across the floor.
The man tumbled awkwardly, his body slamming against the cold stone, groaning in pain as he curled up, defeated.
The crowd gasped, horror written on their faces, yet fear kept their mouths shut.
The merchant straightened, adjusted his robes with a dismissive flick, and continued towards the doors. Everyone bowed their heads, as no one dared meet his gaze.
Except one.
At the back of the courtroom, seated alone on the last bench, Kaizen watched intently. He had been there since the trial began, as he'd attended others across the twin cities.
The void always led him to the guilty. He sat there, silent and still, his posture unassuming amid the drama unfolding before him.
A small grin tucked at the corner of his mouth, subtle yet unmistakable, hinting at a deeper knowledge.
In an instant, time seemed to slow as the merchant approached, the world narrowing to that single moment. The noise in the room now faded to a distant hum, as their eyes now locked, a brief but intense connection that carried an undercurrent of unspoken challenge.
And then, Kaizen saw it clearly. The black shade curling in the merchant's eyes like smoke from a hidden fire, twisting and coiling in a way that revealed the truth hidden beneath the surface.
Indeed, he was corrupted, tainted by the divine rot that Kaizen had come to recognize all too well.
Then everything snapped back to normal. The merchant now strode past without a second glance, with his guards following as they finally stepped out the door into the cooling evening air.
People now left the courtroom in a subdued procession, some pausing to help the old man to his feet while he sobbed quietly, his spirit shattered along with his hand.
Kaizen then stood smoothly, his movements purposeful, as he followed the merchant's trail outside, weaving through the dispersing crowd with quiet determination.
Outside, the sun had set, casting long shadows across the courtyard. Greaves reached his chariot, where horses waited with restless hooves.
"Merchant Greaves," Kaizen called out, his voice steady but sharp, cutting through the evening hush like a blade.
Greaves stopped and turned slowly, his posture stiffening. His guards tensed immediately, with their hands now on their swords, fingers gripping the hilts in readiness.
Identify yourself" Greaves demanded, as he eyed the plain young man from head to toe, his gaze appraising and dismissive.
Kaizen stepped closer, the void in his heart pulsed, a hunger demanding to be fed.
"You haven't escaped justice yet," Kaizen said firmly, his words hanging in the air as silence dropped among the gathered men.
Immediately, the guards burst into harsh, mocking laughter, and Greaves chuckled, though his eyes remained cold.
He stepped toward Kaizen, raising his brows.
"How amusing," the merchant said. "But it is justice I just walked away from. Do you not think I... escaped it?" The merchant's statement brought about another eruption of laughter among his guards, their chuckles echoing off the surrounding buildings.
Kaizen did not flinch. His stance remained unwavering.
"Of course, you walk free today," Kaizen replied calmly. "But know that the mark on you still remains."
The merchant's brows dropped immediately, as suspicion flickered in his gaze, sensing a threat he could not name.
He paused for a second, his mind racing to grasp the implication, before waving it off with a forced nonchalance, his tone then turned sharp.
"Out of my sight, imbecile, do not meddle in my business."
A guard moved forward and shoved Kaizen aside roughly, forcing him to take a step backwards, but he did not react.
Greaves then climbed into his chariot with a final glare, the guards mounting theirs swiftly. And with a snap of the reins, the horses pulled them away into the twilight, the wheels rumbling over the cobblestones as they faded into the distance.
And so silence returned to the courtyard.
Kaizen watched them go, his mind focused and clear, his thoughts turning to the task ahead. Another one tainted by the rot, another piece in the broken order that he was destined to mend.
The sun had set fully now, and night had taken over completely, the sky darkened with stars appearing above like scattered diamonds. Kaizen looked up, his gaze drawn inexorably upward.
There, in the dark expanse, the moon which rarely appeared, showed its gibbous phase. not the usual full moon everyone saw, but a special sign in faint, ethereal light, visible only to the corrupted and to him, the bearer of retribution.
It was just a familiar task for him now, another summon.
And with that, the Hollow Blade had marked his target.