The Market town in the Draken Duchy was quite as it still 6 in the morning and most of the shopehas yet to open.
But the people has started to wake up and so of them were living their house to work or to open their shops.
Click—!
...And just like that, An old man in his sixty also leave his house while locking the door and started to walked towards the centre plaza.
The old man’s na was Geldar, a retired blacksmith who had once been renowned throughout the Draken Duchy for crafting blades sturdy enough to cut through enchanted steel.
His broad shoulders had rounded with age, and his hands, though calloused and steady, trembled slightly from years of wielding hamr and fla.
Still, every morning without fail, Geldar would rise before the sun and take the sa quiet stroll through the market town toward the central plaza.
It wasn’t out of necessity. He didn’t have a shop to run anymore.
His forge had long grown cold. But old habits die hard, and even in retirent, the rhythm of his days remained tied to the heart of the town—the people, the chatter, the sll of fresh bread from the bakery near the fountain.
As he walked, he nodded at familiar faces—
A young baker’s boy sweeping the front of his family’s shop.
A tired carriage driver lighting his pipe on the corner.
Two sleepy guards yawning at their post near the plaza gates.
"Mornin’, Geldar," one of them called out, voice groggy but friendly.
"Aye, morning," Geldar replied with a grunt, tipping his cap before continuing on his way.
He reached the plaza, where a few vendors were setting up their stalls. The sky was still painted in pale blues and sleepy grays, but the town was slowly waking with the rhythm of life.
For the Geldar, it was supposed to be an ordinary morning but it wasn’t.
At the centre of the plaza, there was a large clock tower.
Geldar, out of habit look at the ti in the clock tower and his whole body frozen in shock with his eyes widened.
His whole body started trembles and soon enough he lost his footing and landed on the ground.
But he was still looking up.
Looking at the clock tower.
...And in the hour hands of clock tower a served head was tied by thick rope.
Geldar’s breath caught in his throat.
For a mont, everything around him seed to vanish—the market stalls, the morning air, even the faint rays of dawn that had just begun to pierce the clouds. All he could see was that head, swaying gently from the hour hand of the clock tower as if mocking ti itself.
His old heart pounded in his chest, louder than it had in years. A low murmur rose behind him as others began to notice.
Footsteps slowed. Conversations halted.
"Ahhhhhhh!"
Then ca the first scream.
A woman near the bakery dropped her basket of bread with a loud thud, hands flying to her mouth.
The sleepy guards who had been leaning on their spears just monts ago were suddenly alert, running toward the base of the tower, shouting orders.
"What in the na of the gods..."
"Is that... is that a person?!"
"It’s a head! A severed head!"
More screams followed. Shop doors slamd. Windows opened above. People rushed out into the plaza, drawn by the noise—and halted in horror at the grueso sight.
Geldar still hadn’t gotten up.
He wasn’t hurt—just stunned. Because he knows the owner of that face.
Bjron the butcher.
Wanted criminal in the Draken Duchy and nearby noble estates.
The Butcher who killed the humans and butcher them and ...eat them later on.
Before becoming wanted criminal Geldar himself has brought at from his shop quite few tis.
....And now he is dead.
Which was good thing but the question still remains who killed him and why they have tied him up here?
Geldar narrowed his slightly as he forced his old eyes to focus on the words the clock tower wall.
Due to sudden shock he hasn’t noticed it before but now he has.
The words were—
I WILL CO FOR YOU ALL. THE SCUMS OF THE NORTH!
The wind picked up, making the severed head sway more violently—like a grim pendulum counting down sothing terrible yet to co.
A chill swept through the crowd, not from the breeze, but from the aning behind those painted words.
"I will co for you all."
"The scums of the north."
The plaza erupted into a mixture of murmurs, gasps, and rising panic.
"Is it a threat?"
"Who did this?"
"Is this... war?"
"Was it the rebels from Frostpine?"
"Or the Ebon Shade cult again?"
"No—no, the cult was wiped out last year! Right?!"
The guards were already cordoning off the clock tower with rope and shouting for everyone to step back. One of them, a younger man who barely looked twenty, rushed over to Geldar and offered a trembling hand.
"Sir—are you alright? Can you stand?"
"I... I’ll manage," Geldar muttered, grasping the guard’s arm and pulling himself upright. His bones ached in protest, but he couldn’t look away from the horrific display.
His lips pressed into a thin line. "Fetch the Captain," he said, his voice firr now. "And the Duke’s head butler. This ain’t so petty criminal’s doing. This is a ssage."
The guard nodded and ran off.
More soldiers were arriving, forming a periter around the clock tower as others began herding civilians away.
Cries of grief, fear, and outrage hung heavy in the air. Shopkeepers who had monts ago been preparing to open were now shuttering their doors. The sleepy town was wide awake.
Geldar finally turned away from the clock tower, casting one last glance at Bjron’s face.
There was no mistaking the expression. Even in death, it was twisted in terror.
Whoever had done this... hadn’t killed him quickly.
And worse—Bjron may not have been the only target.
Geldar’s eyes flicked to the note again. "Scums of the North."
That could an many things. Corrupt rchants? Bandits? Forr nobles? rcenaries? Or even—
His chest tightened.
—Retired blacksmiths with old ties.
He swallowed hard and turned away. He had to warn soone. Soone who still had power.
This wasn’t just about one dead criminal.
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