Liberation of The Slaves

Chapter 95 – Judgement In The Arena

— Daisy’s POV —

In the heart of the sunlit garden, beneath the gentle shade of white-blossomed trees, we sat in quiet reverie. The cobblestone beneath our feet was warm from the afternoon sun, and the air smelled faintly of lilac and honeyed tea.

It was just the three of us now—Sis Celes, Madam Sheila, and me.

Madam Sheila sipped from her porcelain teacup, then gently set it down, her eyes not on the tea, but on me. A contemplative pause lingered between us before she spoke.

“Daisy,” she said, her voice calm, yet bearing the weight of something solemn. “Do you want to come to the royal capital… to witness Ronan’s execution?”

The question struck like a drop of ink in clear water—sudden, spreading.

“Madam!” Sis Celes gasped, her voice rising with alarm.

Her brows furrowed, mouth tightening into a line of concern. I could see the memory behind her eyes—the one where she swore to protect me from anything that might trigger my trauma.

But even as her voice hung in the air, my mind had already drifted inward.

<“Do I want to see him?”>

The image of him flashed before me—those eyes, cold and inescapable. His voice, crawling like rot beneath my skin. My hands trembled faintly on my lap, hidden beneath the folds of my dress.

I didn’t want to remember him. I wanted to erase him.

But I knew too well: memories didn’t fade just because we wished them to.

Maybe… maybe watching him die would help. Maybe seeing him helpless—powerless—might make those nights easier to endure. Maybe then I could stop wondering when he would return in my dreams.

<“I want to see that end with my own eyes. I need to.”>

I looked up, my voice soft but certain. “That’s okay, Sis. I want to go.”

Sis Celes blinked, stunned. “Huh?”

I nodded, breathing a little deeper now. “Seeing him die might help me recover. Even if it doesn't… at least it could ease something. Take a weight off me that I’ve carried for too long.”

A soft breeze stirred the petals overhead, scattering them like faint memories across our laps. One landed on my knee, trembling like my heart had just moments ago.

“I see…” Sis Celes finally murmured. Her eyes lingered on mine before she nodded. “Okay then. If that’s what you want.”

*Clap*

Madam Sheila’s hands came together with purpose, breaking the moment’s gravity.

“Then, Celes, you’ll have to wear that dress too.”

“Huh?” Sis Celes blinked. “Which dress?”

Madam Sheila smirked. “The one your parents left for you. Daisy’s already wearing hers. Wouldn’t it be fitting if you wore yours too? Let it mark the end of your pain, and the beginning of something new. That dress was a gift from your parents. This moment… could be your rebirth.”

I turned toward my sister, lightness returning to my voice. “Sis… I want to see you in that dress too!”

She groaned, half-heartedly. “Haaah… Fine. I’ll wear it.”

“Yay!” I reached out eagerly, and Madam Sheila met my hand in a crisp, celebratory high-five.

Sis Celes looked between us, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Since when did you two get so close…?”

We laughed together, the sound weaving into the breeze, rising into the trees above—gentle, warm, and full of promise.

““Whoa…”” Rei and I gasped in unison, eyes wide.

““It’s… so big…”” Sis Celes and Ray murmured at the same time, their voices trailing off in awe.

The teleportation scroll had brought us straight to the royal capital—and now, we stood before it: the Colosseum. A titanic, circular arena that stretched into the sky like a crown of stone and steel. Its towering walls cast long shadows across the plaza, and its archways echoed with the rumble of distant crowds.

It was the first time any of us had seen a structure so vast, so commanding. Even the Earl’s grand mansion in Vale City felt small compared to this.

“Come, children,” Madam Sheila called out gently, already walking ahead.

““Yes!”” we chimed, hurrying after her.

She led us through a side entrance guarded by soldiers in polished armor. Past the outer gates, a split in the walkway guided nobles and commoners to different sections. Our path sloped upward, climbing behind the commoner seats to the higher terraces. These were special—private viewing boxes framed with darkwood and velvet, offering a wide, unobstructed view of the arena below.

“Oh, you five made it.”

The familiar voice drew our attention. The Earl stood at the entrance to one of the noble boxes, dressed in a formal coat with his family crest pinned proudly over his heart.

“Yes, Father,” Ray replied with a respectful nod.

“Dad!” Rei grinned and rushed to him, arms flinging around his waist. He welcomed her embrace and affectionately ruffled her hair.

Inside, the spacious viewing room greeted us with elegance. Marble floors cooled our feet, and velvet seats lined the walls. One wall—the one facing the arena—was only waist-high, allowing a full panoramic view of the battleground below. A small side door was built into it, leading down to the stairs threading between the stands and toward the arena floor.

“Umm… Is it alright for us to sit here?” Sis Celes asked, glancing around the luxurious room.

“That’s fine,” Madam Sheila answered before the Earl could. “This space was reserved by him.”

We found our places, settling between Madam Sheila and the Earl. Plush cushions lined the carved benches, and a light breeze carried the scent of old stone and distant sweat.

“The seats out there are completely packed…” I murmured, gazing over the sea of spectators below.

“There’s so many people…” Rei whispered, her eyes glittering with excitement. She pressed her face slightly over the railing, taking in the sights. She clearly loved the energy of the crowd.

“For most of them,” Madam Sheila said softly, “this is entertainment. Normally, this arena only hosts annual fighting tournaments. Executions, especially of nobles, are rare. That’s why it’s full today.”

“And they’re paying good coin to be here,” the Earl added, glancing out toward the rows upon rows of commoners. “The kingdom profits from all of this. So it’s… mutually beneficial.”

From our high vantage point, the sheer scale of the arena became clear. Tens of thousands of faces stretched into the horizon—an ocean of murmuring voices, banners, and anticipation.

“There,” Ray said suddenly, pointing. “Look—it’s starting.”

All eyes turned toward the arena floor. A silence began to fall over the crowd, like a tide pulling back before the storm.

A hush fell over the arena as the heavy gates at ground level creaked open.

From the shadows beneath the stands, a single man was led into the sunlight—his hands bound tightly with thick ropes, his steps heavy and uneven. Two armored knights flanked him, their faces hidden behind visors, their grip unyielding.

At the center of the arena stood a towering guillotine, its blade gleaming under the late afternoon light. The polished steel caught the sun like a sliver of ice, unmoving but ominously ready.

“...Ronan.” Sis Celes’s voice reached my ears, barely more than a whisper.

I turned to her. Her expression was rigid, her jaw clenched, hands balled into white-knuckled fists on her lap. The hatred in her eyes wasn’t loud—but it was deep, quiet, and unwavering. She wasn’t just watching a criminal. She was witnessing the fall of the man who had hurt me—someone I knew she would never forgive.

And in that silence between us, I loved her more fiercely than I could ever say.

Then came the voice—sudden and booming, echoing through the colossal arena. The host stepped forward atop a platform near the execution site, holding what looked like a crystal orb embedded into a staff—a magic microphone.

“Good evening, everyone!”

He called, his voice ringing across the stands.

“First of all, let us extend our heartfelt thanks to His Majesty the King and Her Majesty the Queen for gracing us with their presence today! And of course, we thank all the nobles and citizens who have gathered here!”

Across the arena, far opposite our viewing box and seated even higher than the nobles, were the royal figures. Though the distance blurred their faces, I could still sense the weight of their presence—their silence was as commanding as their crowns.

“We stand here today to witness justice.”

The host continued, the crowd’s murmurs fading into a collective stillness.

“For within our beloved Zieghart Kingdom, we have uncovered a traitor—one whose crimes have endangered us all.”

He began listing Ronan’s offenses.

One after another, the charges spilled out like venom—espionage, human trafficking, conspiracy to assassinate the first prince and many noble figures. Names I didn’t know. Events I hadn’t heard of. What I thought had been a personal monster turned out to be a national disease. He hadn’t only hurt me—he’d left ruin in every corner of the kingdom.

“His crimes are beyond redemption!”

The host declared, voice growing more heated.

“And today—here, before the eyes of the nation—we will deliver judgment!”

He raised a hand toward the center.

“The criminal’s name… is Ronan Shufillen!”

For a heartbeat, silence.

Then—an eruption.

““Kill him!!””

“He killed my mom!!”

“Bring back my sister!!”

“He kidnapped my child, that bastard!!”

From the mass of commoners below, outrage exploded like firecrackers. Voices full of grief, rage, and pain crashed into one another—an ocean of anger that echoed mine.

“Without further delay, let the main event begin!”

The host’s voice rang out, sharp and final. The knights moved to position Ronan beneath the guillotine. A thick silence fell over the arena, broken only by the creak of wood and the shuffle of armored boots.

Then—

“Wait.”

The single word, spoken with quiet authority, brought everything to a halt.

Gasps rippled through the crowd as all eyes turned toward the elevated royal box. There, the King stood, his presence alone commanding silence across the sea of people. He raised a scepter-like device—another magic amplifier—and began to speak.

“I have heard,” he said, his voice clear and steady, “that the truth of this traitor’s crimes came to light through… unusual circumstances. Earl Xavier Senian—would you honor us by sharing how you came to uncover this web of betrayal?”

The mention of the Earl’s name caught us all off guard. Even Madam Sheila blinked in surprise. But the Earl himself was calm, his composure unshaken. As if expecting this moment, he reached for a magic tool on the table beside him and rose to his feet.

“Yes, Your Majesty.” His voice carried smoothly across the arena. “The story begins with three children, deeply cherished by my younger sister, Earl Sheila Senian. Three years ago, the younger siblings were abducted. Since then, I have aided the eldest sister—known to the world as the Valor of Ocean Flower—in her tireless search.”

A soft murmur ran through the crowd at that title.

“Eventually,” he continued, “we uncovered evidence pointing to one Ronan Shufillen. He had enslaved the younger sister—his own lover’s sibling. But that was only the beginning. Tracing his actions led us to crimes of human trafficking, assassination plots, and treasonous dealings with the Empire. All of it… discovered by chance.”

The arena buzzed with a mixture of shock and outrage. I glanced at Sis Celes. Her lips were tight, her hands clenched in her lap. I could feel her pulse from where I sat beside her.

“I see…” the King said, thoughtfully. Then his voice turned a shade lighter, almost playful. “So, can we say that the unraveling of these heinous crimes is thanks to her and her sister?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” the Earl confirmed with a bow of his head.

“Then,” the King continued, his voice rising again, “as both a reward—and to make this execution more memorable—what say we allow them to carry out the execution themselves?”

““HUHH?!””

Sis Celes and I yelped at once, our voices loud and unfiltered.

Unfortunately, the magic tool picked up our reaction and broadcasted it across the entire arena. A burst of laughter erupted among the nobles and commoners alike, lightening the tension for a brief moment.

A flush crept up my neck as my hands flew to my face. I wished I could vanish into the cushion.

“Oh no…”

Beside me, Sis Celes looked just as mortified, her face frozen in horror. The Earl, ever composed, only smiled faintly—clearly enjoying our misery.

“I regret to say,” he said smoothly to the King, “that I am in no position to make that decision. Perhaps we should ask the individuals themselves—they’re seated right here beside me.”

A wave of excitement rolled through the audience as eyes zeroed in on our booth.

“Oh-ho! The Valor of Ocean Flower!”

The host chimed in enthusiastically.

“A name known far beyond Lavender Town! The heroine who once stood alone against a thousand orcs, who clawed her way from F-Rank to B-Rank in just three years, driven only by the desperate hope of saving her family!”

Even I blinked in surprise. I knew Sis Celes was strong—reliable, brave, and always protecting me. But… famous? That kind of famous? I hadn’t realized her fame had reached even the heart of the royal capital.

I turned toward her slowly, as if seeing her with new eyes.

“Sis… they’re talking about you?” I whispered, wide-eyed.

Sis Celes looked like she wanted to disappear.

Her eyes darted away from me. Her ears turned red first, then her cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink, spreading down her neck. She lowered her head, refusing to meet my gaze or anyone else's.

“D-Don’t look at me like that,” she muttered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the arena. “They’re exaggerating…”

Even Madam Sheila chuckled gently, patting Sis Celes on the back with a grin. “Oh come now, dear. You earned it. Besides, it’s not every day you get cheered on by a hundred thousand people.”

“Stop it…” Sis Celes groaned, burying half her face behind her hand. “This is so embarrassing…”

Sis Celes slumped in her seat, clearly wishing the host would just move on to someone else.

But for me… watching her like that, I felt something warm rise in my chest. Pride. Admiration. And a little guilt, too—because while she’d gone through all that to find me, I hadn’t even known the full weight she was carrying.

I reached out and quietly slipped my hand into hers.

She stiffened for a moment, then squeezed it back—silent, but strong.

“And now.”

The host continued dramatically.

“Having overcome countless trials, she is finally reunited with her beloved sister! A tale of pain and perseverance! Of heroism and heartbreak! A story that—truly—shakes the soul!”

The host paused. Then, he turned toward our viewing box once more.

“Valor of Ocean Flower, daughter of tragedy and triumph—Ronan Shufillen was once your lover, was he not? Would you share with us, here and now, your thoughts? And most of all... do you wish to be the one who ends him?”

A breathless silence fell again.

The host added gently,

“Of course, if you refuse, we all understand, don’t we?”

““That’s right!””

The crowd echoed together, their voices a soft tide of support.

Her expression was unreadable. But I knew—whatever she chose to say now, it would come from the deepest part of her heart.

She held the magic tool in both hands, her trembling fingers betraying the storm beneath her calm face. The entire arena had gone quiet again—no cheers, no whispers, just silence pressing in from all sides. She looked at me once, her eyes flickering with something I couldn’t quite name—pain, maybe… or fear… or the weight of everything she’d endured.

Then she took a breath.

And stood up.

One hundred thousand eyes followed her rise—waiting, silent, expecting judgment from the one he had once called “beloved.”