In response to Muxuan’s words, Theodore’s mind turned like rusty gears.
Huh?
So the Pope is the Saintess’s… subordinate? And her grandfather wants to lead the Watkan Tribe in pledging allegiance to Her Highness the Saintess?
Thinking this, excitement surged in Theodore’s heart.
Did this mean she could stay in the Church forever!
Imagining the light in the Church’s grounds, the sweet air, and the rich goat milk, Theodore couldn’t suppress the excitement spreading across her face.
“Grandfather! Does that mean we can move to the Church from now on?”
Watching Theodore silently, her gaze full of expectation, the Great Artisan God nodded.
After receiving his affirmative answer, Theodore immediately stood up, instinctively wanting to run toward Muxuan, but the Great Artisan God’s broad hand pressed down on her shoulder.
The Great Artisan God rose slowly, his bronze-skinned face showing a complex mix of emotions—the relief of a settled decision and a trace of deep worry.
“Don’t rush.”
He looked toward Muxuan, who was being carefully supported by Qiansitelin.
The girl’s face was still pale as paper, the red marks on her neck and wrists not yet faded, and the light in her golden eyes carried clear fatigue.
But the pure radiance and dignity belonging to the Saintess were even clearer now that her true face was revealed.
“Your Highness, please follow me.”
These were all his problems… If his guess was correct, those nine men had all come from the Kanoqiesi Forest.
The anomalies in that forest made even him wary, so Muxuan and her companions couldn’t have come through without heavy losses.
After Her Highness had exhausted herself so much, letting her walk into danger was indeed his fault.
As a descendant of Kalibo, he wouldn’t shirk responsibility for his mistake.
The “War Rampart” had already been activated, and the holy relic left by the Great Artisan Kalibo concerning the Goddess lay within the War Rampart.
The atmosphere in the camp was now very heavy.
Armed guards were constantly escorting shackled prisoners to the square in front of the church.
There, knights stood ready in formation, guarding a wooden platform with solemn expressions.
The citizens were kept at a distance, some with heads bowed in silence, others emotionally agitated, and some showing devout repentance.
When the prisoners were brought to the square, many among the crowd immediately cursed—
“Traitors! Scum who defile the Light!”
“Look at what you’ve done! You almost got us all killed!”
“Lord Beikeze! Punish them severely!”
The waves of anger crashed like tangible fists onto the chained prisoners.
Most kept their heads low, their bodies trembling slightly, afraid to meet the blazing eyes around them.
Several were ashen-faced.
On the platform, Beikeze stood tall, his hair gleaming with a cold luster under the dim sky.
Little emotion showed on his face, only his deep gray eyes, sharp as blades, slowly swept across every prisoner’s face, finally stopping at the center of the square—where Naar’s staff stood, once soaked in Buzhaqi’s blood.
“Silence.”
His voice wasn’t loud, but it clearly overpowered all the noise with an unquestionable authority.
The boiling square instantly fell silent, leaving only heavy breathing and the faint clink of chains.
Beikeze stepped forward, looking down at the crowd.
“Today, the judgment is not merely for the crime of destroying the nodes.”
His voice was slow, cold, each word dropping like a heavy stone.
“It is for betrayal. Betraying the light His Holiness rekindled, betraying the vows of the Church’s protection, betraying… all of our brothers and sisters struggling for survival in the darkness.”
His gaze swept over the prisoners again, pausing briefly on an elderly man with a hunched back and shifty eyes.
“Your stupidity and greed nearly dragged the Church—all of us—into an abyss of endless ruin.”
“Look beneath your feet! This land purified anew by His Holiness’s holy light! And look outside at the Black Mist—it roars endlessly, thirsting to devour this last ray of light! And you!”
He swung his hand sharply, his finger almost pointing into the prisoners’ faces.
“With your filthy hands, you tried to extinguish this only torch!”
The crowd’s fury ignited completely.
Suppressed fear and despair for the future turned into overwhelming hatred for the “traitors.”
“Burn them!”
“Let their blood wash away the defilement!”
“Lord Beikeze! Purify them!”
Roars erupted, and the crowd surged forward.
If the wall of knights hadn’t held firm, the prisoners would have been torn apart in an instant.
Beikeze slightly raised his hand to calm the wildest clamor, but his gaze was more oppressive than any anger.
He slowly stepped down from the platform, his footsteps on the cold stone producing clear, chilling echoes.
He walked directly to the elderly man.
The old man’s cloudy eyes were filled with despair and a trace of barely concealed malice.
His lips quivered.
“Be… Beikeze… you—”
The old man suddenly looked up, a final glimmer bursting in his murky eyes, as if he wanted to shout something.
But the next moment, Beikeze’s finger had already touched his chest.
Light flared.
The old man’s body convulsed violently twice, and the rest of his words were forever stuck in his throat.
The last light in his eyes went out completely, leaving only hollow, dead gray.
The guards holding the prisoner shuddered, but more than fear, they felt satisfaction at the traitor’s execution.
They had all witnessed His Holiness’s great power.
Without him, they would still be struggling in the Black Mist and wouldn’t have such a peaceful life now.
“A defiled soul has returned to the darkness.”
Beikeze’s voice returned to its previous resonance and solemnity, as if he had just completed a sacred Purification Ritual.
He withdrew his finger, his gaze sweeping over the other prisoners, their faces bloodless.
“The Church’s light tolerates no stain! They have been corrupted by the pollution, their souls reduced to minions of darkness!”
He suddenly raised the Sacred Canon high.
This time, a dark golden light gathered in his hand—not dazzling, but unusually heavy, carrying the weight of Judgment.
“Now, in the name of the Light—Judgment!”
A golden force, laced with a hint of black energy, surged from the Sacred Canon and pierced through the chests of all the prisoners in an instant.
No blood spilled.
After silent, agonized cries, the prisoners all lost consciousness.
“Burn the remains of these defilers, traitors, shells fully corroded by darkness.”
Beikeze’s voice rang clearly across the square, each word hammering into the hearts of the people.
Heavy footsteps sounded as the knights stepped forward expressionlessly, dragging the still-warm bodies off the square like discarded sacks.
Watching this, the gathered citizens silently made way, their expressions complex.
After the initial fury was vented, a deeper oppression set in, along with fear of Beikeze’s iron hand.
Some wore looks of satisfaction, gritting their teeth in approval.