Chapter 644: The Human Heart
Outside the small chapel, a crowd had gathered. A sudden, spreading rumor shook everyone to their core. Nobles and soldiers alike were stunned. Even those who had vaguely suspected some truth were utterly shocked when they learned the full details—
The king, in order to eliminate the nobles who had once opposed him, to frame Duke Gawain Cecil, to secure his own throne, and to prevent the Cecil family from regaining power in the kingdom, had orchestrated the horrific massacre on Crow’s Plateau.
This was no mere rumor. There was solid evidence and witnesses—a secret letter that should have been destroyed was discovered, and several palace attendants unwilling to stay silent stepped forward to accuse the king. Outside the chapel, the portly Earl of Barin waved the letter angrily in the air. “This is a conspiracy! The king deceived Duke Cecil with false news, making him believe Crow’s Plateau was overrun by monsters. The king then slaughtered over a hundred nobles and their knights—all because they once opposed him!”
The knights surrounding the chapel stirred uneasily, and the murmurs soon grew into loud shouts. Some of the palace nobles, shocked and fearful, quickly joined the chorus of condemnation. Only a handful remained eerily silent, while a small group of nobles looked bewildered, as if suddenly losing their footing, unable to comprehend where the world had gone wrong.
More and more people were stirred up. A wave of betrayal and anger spread through the crowd.
“The king we supported is a tyrant?!”
“If he can kill a hundred opposing nobles today, he can kill us tomorrow!”
“He was crowned on a throne of blood! We should have known from the start!”
Voices rose, hoarse and desperate. At first, only a few shouted, but somehow the fervor swept through nearly everyone. Some demanded the king come out of the chapel; others, feeling deeply betrayed, glared furiously at the chapel doors. If not for the last guard standing watch, they might have stormed inside.
Then, the chapel doors were pushed open. Wales Morn appeared before them.
“The king is coming out!” “He’s coming…”
The crowd instinctively took a step back, but then surged forward again, voices clamoring from all sides, demanding the king explain the letter’s contents. Earl Barin stood at the forefront, waving the letter and shouting, “Your Majesty! Please explain—why did you write to Duke Cecil claiming Crow’s Plateau was overrun by monsters?!”
The stout earl’s face flushed red, as if every word drained his strength.
Wales Morn stared silently at Earl Barin for a few seconds. When the crowd quieted, he spoke clearly: “I merely removed the rot from the kingdom.”
It was a tacit admission. The crowd erupted in uproar.
Just as the noise reached its peak, silence suddenly fell again.
A tall figure stepped out from the chapel’s shadow. Gawain emerged, expressionless, standing beside Wales.
“To be honest,” Gawain said, glancing at the king, “since I rose from the grave, I’ve met many—some who tried to oppose me, some who thought they opposed me, some allies, and some who believed they were allies. But you—neither opponent nor ally—are the first to truly surprise me, to catch me off guard.”
“That is my greatest honor,” Wales smiled faintly, voice low. “Now, there is only one thing left for you to do—condemn me.”
No one caught their whispered exchange, but all saw the two men communicating. A noble in a deep blue cloak shouted, “Duke Cecil, you’ve been deceived by this ‘king’! He wants to trap you in injustice!”
Gawain glanced at the shouting noble and quietly told Wales, “This one is loyal to you.”
Before Wales could reply, Gawain added, “But unfortunately, the stage you set doesn’t suit my style.”
Surprise flickered across Wales’s face, but before he could respond, Gawain stepped forward and addressed the gathered nobles and soldiers: “Don’t doubt it—I know what happened on Crow’s Plateau.”
The square before the chapel fell silent. Everyone was stunned into speechlessness. Some gasped after a moment; others instinctively scanned their surroundings—
The soldiers and war machines of the Cecil Legion were arrayed around the clearing. Those cold instruments of war watched impassively, neither joyful nor sorrowful, disciplined and orderly.
“That letter is real. The bombing of Crow’s Plateau is real. But before we debate justice, I have something to show you.”
As Gawain spoke, he reached out. People noticed a short half-elf clad in tight black leather armor standing nearby—his stealth so impressive it had startled the gifted among them. The half-elf handed Gawain a stack of printed papers covered in text and images.
Gawain took the documents, flipped through them casually, then read aloud:
“Count Uriel, a royal noble with lands west of Saint Suniel, planned to defect on the 58th of last month. He packed twelve wagons with goods, including three wagons of stolen city defense supplies and several warhorses… but canceled the escape after noticing unusual movements by the royal knights.
“Viscount Hodicor, a palace noble, also planned to defect, bribing guards to move large amounts of royal property… he too canceled his flight upon receiving intelligence, then feigned loyalty to the new king to cover his crimes.
“Viscount Balgar and his brother attempted to flee through the North Gate, killing an honest knight who tried to warn Silverkeep, disguising the death as an accident.
“This one is even more damning: Countess Hopkinna’s attempted escape. I have a magical snapshot of her carriage rushing toward the North Gate—”
Gawain held up a page showing a noble carriage with its crest erased, heading toward the city gate. A slender-faced woman peered nervously at the street, the familiar northern walls of Saint Suniel looming behind.
“I have many more documents—many, many more.”
His voice roused many from their stupor. But as they awoke, a chill spread through their hearts.
The duke’s gaze swept over them all—even from the southern lands, his eyes seemed to cover the northern capital.
These documents, these words and images, presented a disquieting perspective, filled with terrifying detail. For a moment, the nobles in the square felt as if they were utterly exposed beneath Cecil’s watchful eyes—every guest at every feast, every guard on every porch, every passerby on every street corner, every moment, observed by a pair of eyes belonging to Cecil.
But Gawain knew better. Despite over two years of effort, the intelligence agency had only limited surveillance within Saint Suniel. The defecting nobles had simply been unlucky—or too focused on Silverkeep’s watch, neglecting the countless eyes hidden among commoners and alleyways. Many had slipped up.
On the other hand, the evidence was partly fabricated—but who cared now?
“In times of national crisis, attempting to defect, stealing military supplies, sabotaging defenses, even murdering city guards—these are grave acts of treason,” Gawain said calmly, setting down the papers. “What happened on Crow’s Plateau was simply law enforcement.”
This was Gawain’s style—he openly admitted ordering the bombardment. He wanted to purge the nobles, and he made no pretense about it. Just as he had done in the southern lands, he was direct and unyielding when dealing with the old nobility.
After all, the order he sought to impose was not a mere deviation from the old aristocratic order—it was a direct confrontation. Since they were fundamentally incompatible, it was better to be straightforward.
He had no need to leave himself an escape route among the old nobles. On the contrary, if he played along with this farce today, that hypocrisy would become a stain in the eyes of the people tomorrow.
“I’m done,” he said coolly. “Who wishes to speak?”
Silence fell over the chapel square. But this silence was not just from tension or fear—it was a tangled, conflicted feeling gripping everyone. Except for the soldiers and low-ranking knights with simpler loyalties, the nobles present all understood the difficulty of the situation:
Treason was utterly detestable—no question. Most here had truly defended the capital and despised the defectors. After seeing the evidence, they could accept, to some degree, what happened on Crow’s Plateau.
But Gawain Cecil’s methods unsettled them. The thunderous bombardment had left a deep mark of fear.
The king had indeed purged the kingdom’s “rot,” but undeniably, he had used such means to eliminate rivals. Whether or not Duke Cecil knew the truth of Crow’s Plateau, the king’s letter was real, and so was his motive…
This overwhelming contradiction and near-absurd division left everyone at a loss for words. It seemed no one should support either side—but they had to support someone…
This unbearable silence stretched for several long minutes before it was broken.
The crowd before the chapel suddenly parted. Duke Berdewin Franklin stepped forward, draped in his ducal cloak, exuding refined grace.
In his hands, he held an object that puzzled onlookers—a metal plate made of mythril.
Seeing the plate, Gawain showed no surprise. He merely tilted his head slightly toward Victoria, the northern duchess, whose complex gaze shifted from solemn to relieved.
Berdewin Franklin approached Gawain and Wales, exchanged a deep look with Wales, then turned to face the crowd:
“No matter what, it’s undeniable that the king, through Duke Cecil, has ruthlessly eliminated his political opponents. His motives are steeped in selfishness and a terrifying abuse of power. This undeniable fact proves one thing: Wales Morn is no longer fit to be our king. He must step down and abdicate in favor of a worthy successor.
“Duke Cecil’s bombardment of Raven’s Plateau was a thunderous strike against traitors. Being far from the capital’s power center, he had no personal motive to purge dissenters. Though harsh, this decision was a necessary measure in a time of national crisis—that is my judgment.”
Behind Gawain, a figure hidden from the crowd’s view murmured softly, “How absurd…”
Gawain replied quietly, “Yes, utterly absurd.”
Burden’s words were riddled with points open to debate, as if deliberately magnifying one side’s faults while ignoring the other’s truly horrific actions. It was Gawain who had fired the first shot, yet everyone was expected to overlook that fact.
But the most absurd thing was that after Burden finished speaking, not a single person in the square dared to voice a rebuttal.
A brief silence fell. Then, exchanging glances, the crowd, bound by some unspoken understanding, began to nod one by one.
Burden turned to meet Wales’s eyes. “Your Majesty, do you have any objections to this conclusion?”
Wales smiled, visibly relaxed. At last, things were unfolding exactly as he had planned.
“I have no objections.”
“Then, Your Majesty, please relinquish the throne.”
(End of chapter)