Chapter 4
Julian pulled the heavy sword back up, the steel hissing softly as it cleared the dirt. The crowd inhaled sharply, believing the moment of execution had finally arrived. The woman who had shouted earlier—now identified by her frantic posture as Cassian’s daughter, standing just beyond the perimeter guard line—pressed her hands against her face, stifling a sob. Julian saw her reflection in the polished flat of his blade. He thought of his own family, lost years ago to the very systemic corruption Cassian was whispering about.
Instead of swinging toward Cassian’s neck, Julian pivoted sharply, planting the tip of his sword directly into the wooden planks at the base of the cross. He reached out with his free hand, gripping the thick hemp rope that bound Cassian’s torso to the timber. With a sudden, explosive surge of his muscular arm, Julian severed the primary binding with a sharp tug, letting the upper half of Cassian’s body slump forward into his arms.
Chaos erupted in the plaza. The Roman centurion roared in fury, charging forward with his spear leveled at Julian’s back. "Traitor! Seize him!"
The guards surged inward, their heavy sandals pounding against the stone. Julian caught Cassian’s weight, bracing the old man against his armored leather chest. With his free hand, Julian drew a hidden dagger from his belt and parried the centurion’s spear thrust with practiced ease, spinning the attacker around and sending him sprawling onto the sun-baked stones. The crowd scattered in panic, screaming and running toward the narrow alleys leading out of the plaza, leaving an open circle of dust and tension around the executioner and his prisoner.
The High Priestess stared in utter disbelief from her cross, her composed facade completely shattered. "You are destroying us all, Julian!" she cried out, her voice losing its regal poise.
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"No," Julian replied, his breathing heavy but controlled as he hoisted Cassian over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. "I am finally doing justice."
Bullets of sweat rolled down Julian's forehead as he backed away from the cross, keeping his broadsword in hand to ward off the remaining guards. He knew there was no turning back now. He was an enemy of the state, hunted in the very city he had sworn to protect, carrying a dying man whose secrets were now his own death warrant.
