Tyrant? No, I am the Villain
Chapter 25: The Butcher

Chapter 25: The Butcher

The right choice. That was what they were told to make. But it didn’t go the way Frejlurd had hoped.

He watched, disappointed, as many of the guards immediately walked to the left, choosing to reject the Baron’s rule. Some did walk toward the right side, showing their allegiance, but many remained frozen in place, caught in fearful contemplation. When they looked at the corpses on display, the choice became less a matter of belief and more a matter of survival.

Out of the 919 City Guards present that day, 500 choose the right. The remaining 419 stood to the left, openly rejecting the Baron. Another 81 were still outside on duty, unable to return in time due to being stationed across the city.

Frejlurd took a deep breath and addressed them one final time. "You were given a choice. That was your right. But there will be no second chance. I hope none of you regret your decision." His words carried the weight of a strong warning of a possible punishment over their decision.

With the declaration complete, the guards were dismissed. Frejlurd returned to his new office, the same one once used by the now-dead commander. He stood in silence before the desk, staring down at the surface. It feels heavier now. The responsibility of leading the Guard weighed on his chest like armor he wasn’t yet ready to wear.

He was shaking inside his armour, both his arms and legs. He was afraid of the things he had to do for the sake of this City.

But there was no time for him to even think about it as a knock echoed at the door. Frejlurd straightened. "Come in."

His newly appointed aides entered, those who would make sure his orders were received by his officers.

Without hesitation, he began. "My first order: Those who chose to stand on the left, have them relinquish their weapons and armor. Those are the property of the Guard, not personal possessions of traitors."

The aides nodded and took notes. "Afterward, gather them in the courtyard." He added. "Also, summon the highest-ranking loyalists. I have another task for them."

Some time later, a handful of senior loyalists entered the office. Frejlurd didn’t waste time.

"Prepare the men." He told them immediately.

One of them asked, "For what, Commander?"

Frejlurd looked them in the eyes. "A mass execution."

The room fell into silence. Faces went pale. Some looked at one another with hesitation, as if unsure they’d heard correctly.

"I know what you’re thinking." Frejlurd said. "These are our comrades. But are they truly our comrades? They stood behind a corrupt man, a man who took bribes from criminals while our city bled. They’ve chosen to follow his shadow instead of the Baron who seeks to cleanse Rammstein and give it a better future."

The loyalists exchanged grim looks, but none argued. "This is the only way." He continued. "It will be bloody, it will be cruel, but if we do nothing, this city will collapse under its own filth. We must save it, for our families, for our people, for our future."

They nodded, reluctantly but firmly. "We understand, Commander." One said. "It shall be done."

When they left, Frejlurd leaned over the desk, gripping the edge tightly. "This is for the better." He muttered, trying to suppress the doubt clawing at his chest.

Hours later, the 419 disarmed guards gathered in the courtyard. None of them suspected what was coming.

Most assumed they would be dismissed honorably. Many carried bags, expecting a speech and formal farewell. The mood was casual, low murmurs, some laughter, even indifference.

Some were talking about how they will return to their families, while others were discussing joining as henchmen for the gangs since Lutis needs more manpower for punishing others.

Then Frejlurd appeared at the pavilion, he said nothing at first. He simply stared at them. "You’ve chosen this path." He said finally. "There is no second chance. This is your farewell."

His words sparked unease. A few jeered. Others still wore mocking expressions.

Then he raised his hand, seeing this their expressions all of a sudden change as some of them realised it. The meaning behind the pose of Frejlurd, they knew it.

Dozens of archers emerged atop the surrounding walls, previously hidden, now revealed with bows drawn and aimed, it was clear now. Estefan has ordered for all them to be executed for not standing with him. Before anyone could react, Frejlurd dropped his hand.

A volley of arrows rained down, there were no screams at first, just the sound of arrows whistling through the air, then tearing into flesh. Panic erupted. Those unarmored had no protection. Blood sprayed, bodies fell, cries echoed.

Some tried to flee, but the courtyard gates burst open. Dozens of swordsmen, clad in full gear, charged in. The massacre began.

Steel met flesh with no resistance. This wasn’t a battle, it was slaughter.

Those who executed the order felt their arms grow heavy with each strike. Fatigue settled into their bones, not just from the exertion, but from the emotional toll of cutting down former comrades.

Some of them couldn’t strike their former comrades but they were told to close their eyes in case they felt bad. Due to this most of the attacks either miss or end up badly for the ones who are getting slaughtered mercilessly.

It did not end there, after slicing down all those who were standing was over. They began to check for any one alive and hiding with the corpses.

Thrusting their swords down on every corpse individually but they did in fact find some who were not fully dead, those people met death through sword piercing through bodies.

Hours passed. Everybody was checked. Every breathless traitor confirmed.

But it wasn’t over, the 81 guards who hadn’t returned earlier were deemed untrustworthy by default. They were hunted across the city, one by one. Some were captured. Others resisted. All were eliminated.

The story spread fast, on how a new ruler had emerged in Rammstein. A ruler who gave no second chances. A ruler who would cleanse the city in blood if that was what it took to save it.

And thus, the people gave him a name, the Bloody Baron.

[To be Continued]

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