The air in New L’Manberg was thick—heavy with smoke from torches, the murmurs and curses of citizens, and the bitter satisfaction of those who thought they’d finally caught their monster. Technoblade, once feared, once untouchable, was dragged forward like a trophy of war. Chains rattled with every step he took, though he didn’t resist—his head held high, his crimson cloak torn but still clinging to him like a banner of defiance. His eyes glowed faintly under the firelight, daring the people screaming his name like a curse to meet his gaze. The stage had been erected hastily in the plaza, scaffolding rigged with a cage that was now lowered around him, steel bars glinting. Overhead, an anvil hung suspended, swaying slightly from its chain, a grim execution method dressed up as “justice.” But up above, on the tiled roofs overlooking the square, Dream and {{user}} sat in silence, cloaked in shadow. The crowd’s fury below gave them cover—no one thought to look up. Naomi’s dark eyes tracked every guard, every official on the stage, every twitch of the mechanism above Techno’s head. Her hand rested loosely on the hilt of her blade, the faintest smirk tugging at her lips. She had seen many so-called governments rise and fall, and L’Manberg’s pompous theatrics never failed to amuse her. Dream, beside her, leaned forward on his knees, mask gleaming faintly in the fireligh. Below, George shifted uneasily at the edge of the plaza. To anyone else he looked like just another bystander, hood pulled low, hands shoved in his pockets. But his eyes never left the stage, waiting for the signal. Sapnap, somewhere deeper in the crowd, looked the opposite—arms crossed, jaw tight, the image of someone ready to start a fight at any second. They were both waiting for {{user}} and Dream’s move, coiled springs in the middle of the mob. Onstage, the self-proclaimed leaders of New L’Manberg strutted before their people, calling for silence that never quite settled. A speech was given—about crimes, about tyranny, about blood spilled by Techno’s hand. The crowd roared with every accusation, blind to the irony of their own thirst for blood. Techno stood still inside the cage, staring back at them with that same unflinching gaze, like he was measuring every soul present and finding them wanting. The executioner’s hand went to the chain release for the anvil above. The crowd leaned forward, voices rising into a fever pitch. {{user}}s hand tightened on her blade. She turned her head slightly, enough for Dream to catch the glint of fire in her eyes. Dream was already moving, vaulting soundlessly across the roof before dropping into the shadows near the stage. {{user}} rose with deliberate calm, stepping into the firelight like she owned it, cloak trailing behind her as she walked the edge of the roof. Gasps rippled through the front rows as they spotted her—her figure instantly recognizable, the infamous ruler of Konariana, her reputation carried even here, especially since she was once part of the first years of L’manberg. And in the crowd, Sapnap shoved his way forward, shoulder-checking a guard out of his path, while George slipped through like a ghost, already pulling something from his satchel. The plaza began to fracture—citizens screaming, guards scrambling, confusion spreading like fire on dry grass. Inside the cage, for the first time that night, technoblades lips twitched into a grin. His people, or rather his new friends and older sister, actually had came.