Chapter 498: The Public Trial

In Luan City, the square before the cathedral district was packed with a sea of people.

Two days had passed since the unprecedented battle, yet the entire city still simmered with an intense, almost feverish atmosphere. For the citizens of Luan, this was the first time they had fought with their own hands to secure the right to live another day. For the volunteers and common folk who had come from all corners of the southern territories, this was the first time they had gathered regardless of birth or status, ignoring the lash of lords’ whips and the edge of their swords, united by a single, grand purpose. And today was the day their efforts bore fruit.

The crowd filled the square, faces alight with hope and fervor, all eyes fixed on the raised platform at the front. Bound atop it were the once untouchable, arrogant priests who had wielded power with impunity.

The judges had become the judged. Setting aside all notions of justice and morality, this alone was enough to stir excitement in many hearts.

This was a trial—but unlike the countless heresy trials Luan City had seen before, its procedures and format were unfamiliar, even bewildering, to the locals. The verdict would not be handed down by a high-ranking cleric, but by a three-person tribunal: a White Knight, a Cecil judge, and an arbitration advisor. Beyond the tribunal, many others sat beside the platform as jurors.

Some wore priestly robes—recognizable as clergy from Luan’s small chapels, who had once stood alongside commoners in punishment during heresy trials and had even allied with the rebels during the assault on the cathedral. Though priests, they now earned many friendly glances. Others were ordinary citizens, dressed neatly, respected elders chosen from among Luan’s populace, familiar faces to many. Lastly, there were clerks from Cecil.

These jurors were witnesses and overseers of the trial, representatives of all social strata who had experienced the events firsthand.

This strange and complex form of trial was new to the people of Luan, but it radiated an undeniable aura of fairness and reliability. The judge could not rule arbitrarily; all laws were read aloud in court; and representatives from every class supervised the entire process. For a people who had only ever known “heresy trials,” this new “rule” from Cecil was almost shocking.

For the priests bound on the platform, however, the feeling was far less pleasant.

Those who had survived until now looked down at the square with terror, at the very people they had once forced to crawl in the dirt. They felt the heat in the crowd’s gaze, as if it could burn them alive right there.

They had not been stoned to death by the enraged mob two days ago, nor slain on the spot by the White Knights and volunteer mercenaries. Now, they finally understood—they had survived not by luck, but because they had “a use.”

The Cecilians had kept them alive only to have them executed today.

“Silence! The public trial is now in session.”

The “judge” beside the platform spoke—a middle-aged official from Cecil, once a somewhat renowned scholar in the Kant region. Now, acting in the name of Duke Gawain and the people of the southern territories, he was to judge the representatives of the Holy Light Church in the south. His face was taut with tension, striving to mask all nervousness beneath a solemn, dignified expression.

After introducing the parties, tribunal members, and jurors according to Cecil law, the judge turned to the White Knight leader seated beside him. Since this trial involved the church, Leight, the new patriarch of the reformed faith, had personally come to the tribunal. Noticing the judge’s signal, the tall, armored White Knight slowly rose.

A ripple of murmurs swept through the square. Many had seen this White Knight during the “Battle of Dawn” two days prior—nearly two meters tall, clad in majestic white armor, radiating holy light. His imposing presence had left a deep impression on the citizens of Luan.

Leight raised a hand in greeting to the crowd, then looked toward the priests on the platform. He noticed the fear and tension in their eyes but showed no change in expression.

Placing his hand over his chest, he solemnly swore, “I am Leight, Patriarch of the Holy Light Reformed Church. In the name of the Holy Light, I swear to ensure this trial’s fairness and truthfulness, to uphold the sacred laws of Cecil. The people will oversee all my words and actions here.”

Thus began the public trial destined to be recorded in history.

Many had initially expected a swift, brutal spectacle of punishment—an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth—imagining the Luan priests would be tied to the stake and burned alive, just as they had done to countless innocents. But in reality, the trial strictly followed Cecil law.

The judges and tribunal members clearly laid out each charge against the Luan priests: embezzlement of public property, cruelty to innocents, deceiving the people, blasphemy against the Holy Light… One by one, familiar or unfamiliar commoners were brought before the court by Cecil soldiers to testify, confirming the accusations. The tribunal presented ledgers, archives, and correspondence seized from the cathedral, especially the “Heretic Purge Orders” from the northern church, to verify the crimes.

The crowd watched with a strange mix of emotions. At first, they had been eager to see the priests burned immediately—a simple, raw desire for revenge. But as the trial moved into the testimony phase, a deeper, more powerful feeling took hold.

They wanted to see the priests convicted, their crimes confirmed, and their names forever nailed to the pillar of shame.

They wanted to hear the judges declare that those who had been burned without trial were innocent, that the friends and family who had been whipped, mutilated, or branded were blameless.

They didn’t just want to vent anger or seek revenge—they wanted justice.

For common folk in this world, justice was the hardest thing to come by.

A woman with a broken leg, injured by the church knights, was helped onto the platform. She showed the crowd her deformed limb, accusing the cruel knights of inflicting such harm simply because she had accidentally stepped on a priest’s robe.

An elderly woman brought her son forward—he could not speak, for the priests had ordered his tongue cut out, accusing him of “blasphemously interpreting the sacred words of the Holy Light scriptures”…

This trial was destined to last the entire day.

At the edge of the square, atop the high walls of the cathedral district, Gawain and Amber watched the proceedings.

“What sentence will those priests receive in the end?” Amber asked, curious. “The charges and evidence seem really complicated…”

Gawain replied casually, “All of them will be hanged. No pardons.”

“…All hanged?” Amber stared at him in surprise. “So it was decided from the start?”

“According to Cecil law, even the lightest crimes warrant double hanging. And to promote the Reformed Church and completely eradicate the old church’s influence, these diehards cannot be spared.”

Amber pondered for a moment. “…You kept them alive until today just for this trial, didn’t you?”

“Exactly,” Gawain nodded slightly. “And not only must there be a trial, but it must be strict and fair. Even if every charge is enough to kill them many times over, they must die only after the trial concludes.”

Amber quickly grasped his intent. “It’s about establishing ‘order,’ isn’t it?”

“Precisely,” Gawain exhaled softly. “Letting the priests be beaten to death by the people or White Knights, or simply burning them during the trial, might be the easiest and most satisfying way to handle it. But if we did that, it would be no different from the ‘heresy trials’—this great battle would become a senseless atrocity. No matter what, we must use the rebuilding of order in Luan City to convey some of Cecil’s principles to everyone, to show them that we are different from the Holy Light Church—that the old heresy trial system must be completely discarded.”

A voice came from behind Gawain and Amber. “So those priests and clerics must die, but only after a fair trial—that’s the rule you set, isn’t it?”

Amber turned to see who spoke, raising a hand in greeting. “Hey there, priest.”

Gawain looked at the tall, slender middle-aged cleric in white robes and nodded slightly. “You’re Priest Seventry, right? Thank you very much for your help in this operation.”

Before them stood the leader of the small chapel district, Seventry.

He had not appeared beside the trial platform but had come here, seemingly just to meet Gawain.

“The Holy Light guides us,” the tall, thin priest traced the symbol of the holy seal over his chest. His gaze toward Gawain was curious. “You’re not quite what I imagined.”

Gawain smiled at the priest praised by Leight. “How so?”

Seventry answered frankly, “After hearing Amber’s description, I thought you’d be a darker, colder, more ruthless ruler—someone who would sacrifice ‘justice’ entirely for the greater good. But now it seems… though your methods are firm, you still have your own moral code.”

Gawain thought for a moment, then glanced at Amber. “…What exactly did you tell him?”

Amber had tried to slip away halfway through Seventry’s speech, but knowing Gawain might catch her by the collar and toss her off the wall, she stayed put and immediately protested, “I wasn’t lying! You’re the one who taught me all that! I think this priest just has a problem with comprehension and imagination…”

“Learn from Rebecca then—your intelligence hasn’t improved much, but your stubbornness grows by the day,” Gawain shot back bluntly, then turned to Seventry. “Whatever you took from Amber’s words, I want you to understand this: I’m working for a better tomorrow for this land and its people. On that foundation, I bear no ill will toward the Holy Light.”

“Leight told me the same, and I trust his judgment—and my own eyes now,” Seventry bowed his head before Gawain. “Thank you for arranging this trial. You have shown me your ‘justice,’ and it is no contradiction to the Holy Light.”

Gawain accepted the cleric’s assessment calmly. Then he turned around, gazing at the spires and towers that crowded the cathedral district. “We’ll be leaving soon, but this city… will remain a city of the Holy Light. Lyte and I have already discussed it—we’ll designate this place as the training and research center for the new Holy Light faith. It holds the largest collection of sacred texts and boasts the best magical environment. It’s a ready-made holy city. Since Lyte will spend most of his time in Cecil, he wants you to manage the church here on his behalf. Of course, the city’s governance will change significantly. The church will no longer be the highest authority. I’ll appoint officials to establish a civic administration office here, responsible for the city’s operations and development. Your duties will be limited to church affairs and related facilities.”

Seventree nodded. “As long as the Holy Light continues to spread, I have no objections.”

“Good,” Gawain exhaled softly. “I’ll gradually relocate the White Knights’ training facilities here. I hope you and your colleagues will cooperate fully. As for the great cathedral…”

He paused, his eyes fixed on the cathedral’s sunlit spire shimmering in the distance. After a moment, he spoke slowly, “Let’s give it a new name… The Holy Light Academy. It will serve to educate the public on the new doctrines and the knowledge of the Holy Light. From now on, all institutions dedicated to researching and teaching the Holy Light should be called academies, to distinguish them from churches, which focus on spreading doctrine and providing community and neighborhood services.”

Seventree’s expression shifted subtly, and he instinctively repeated the word Gawain had used: “…Academy…”

Gawain smiled gently, meeting the cleric’s gaze. “Exactly. Since it’s a place for spreading knowledge, it should be called an academy.”

Seventree returned his look, and in that moment, Gawain sensed the deeper meaning behind it all—

A process of desacralization.

The Holy Light is knowledge; faith in the Holy Light is culture. The church will become a purely service-oriented institution. And as for belief in the Holy Light deity…

Will it become just another history lesson in the academy?

After a few seconds, Seventree’s expression grew serene. It was as if he had finally laid down a heavy burden, or made a life-altering decision. He bowed his head again. “I will follow your arrangements.”

The tall, slender cleric departed, leaving only Gawain and Amber atop the city walls. Below, the public trial of the Luan cleric continued.

Gawain didn’t press Amber about her behind-the-scenes “slandering” of him. Yet the half-elf clearly seemed troubled. After several attempts to speak, she finally broke the silence. “By the way… that cleric said you have your own moral code!”

Hearing Amber’s obvious fishing for conversation, Gawain couldn’t help but smirk. He glanced at her. “That’s obvious—who doesn’t have a moral code?”

Amber scratched her head—unfortunately, she wasn’t Rebecca, so no brilliant ideas came to her. She just admitted her thoughts plainly. “You once told me that the so-called ‘noble spirit’ is a hypocritical, outdated notion; that the knightly code no longer fits the times; and that every church’s ‘doctrinal virtues’ reek of money and power… You’ve discarded all that. So what exactly is your idea of justice?”

Gawain looked at Amber, at those amber-colored eyes shimmering with an inexplicable light in the sun. He realized that despite her usual annoyance and fussiness, this wild, untamed half-elf had changed a little after the Luan trip. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but it seemed she was finally starting to take her work seriously—and to think seriously about his cause.

That was a good thing.

“Look over there, at the people in the square. See them?”

Amber nodded. “I see them.”

“When everyone is well-fed and warmly clothed, that is the greatest justice.”

…

This is a city without end, vast beyond measure, standing in a distant, unreachable place—now, in the past, and forever in the future.

The magnificent Holy Light is the city’s bricks and foundation, its sky above and earth beneath. Every stone, every wall, every tower and gate is suffused with radiance, filled with endless sanctity.

As Saint Dumont once said:

I saw a great city, boundless and vast, with light streaming from between its stones, as if the entire city were forged from light.

At the heart of this city of light stands a grand plaza, impossible to measure with mortal eyes. Countless streams of light surge from the distant horizon, converging above a colossal crystal that constantly shifts its form.

This brilliant, sacred crystal turns silently, ruling the city of light unchanged for centuries. It radiates the truths it embodies—tranquility, illumination, peace, protection—spreading them outward. The streams of light gathering from all directions are both the source of its power and the channels through which it exerts its influence.

Yet today, the eternal order of this city of light has shifted slightly. Among the streams converging from all corners, some have quietly changed color and course. They have grown clearer, and as if uncontrollable, they flow past the central crystal, drifting freely into the sky beyond…

The crystal continues its timeless rotation, surrounded by a chime like wind bells—ethereal and holy, yet chaotic and without melody or pattern. Amid this sacred chaos, the crystal changes its shape once more, seemingly indifferent to the altered streams above, unconcerned by these minor “losses”…

(End of chapter)