Chapter 35: Feast.
The whole place went dead silent.
The suggestion had cut through the air like a knife.
Every man in the group—no matter how furious they had just been at Veran—flinched. Some instinctively reached down to guard their own balls, as if they were the ones being sentenced.
Even Elias, who was on the second floor of his building, watching and listening through the window, felt an invisible chill run down his spine. His hand reflexively dropped to protect himself, and his face twisted in discomfort.
"That woman..." he muttered, eyes wide. "A ball has fallen."
Among men, it was an unspoken truth—even the cruelest enemies rarely wished for that kind of punishment. The balls were sacred. Off-limits. But Veran’s crimes had gone far beyond forgiveness, especially against the women.
So no one objected.
But no man stepped forward to do the deed either. That task belonged to the women.
Moments later, a gut-wrenching scream tore through the air. Veran’s cry sliced through every man’s soul. It echoed like a war horn, loud and sharp, the sound of a man losing what made him a man.
From the sidelines, the men watched in frozen horror. Some winced while others made mental notes never to cross any of the women present.
Elias, still by the window, took that note very seriously.