The misgivings about Renea remained, but the energy to address it today, in this inquisition, had vanished.

The question then, was this: if not their Saintess, then had their high marshal been behind the attacks on the castle? The attempt to kill the young master Ailn?

Ennieux’s affirmation that Aldous was Sophie’s father lent revived credence to Ailn’s theory, while Aldous’s rage as he told the story of Celine’s death made it clear he held a grudge against Renea, at least.

The man himself was inscrutable right now. Silent, clearly deep in thought, but not quite as intense as before.

In the aftermath of his wrath—and its sudden quelling by Renea’s revelation—more than a few knights were now convinced by Ailn’s theory.

But not enough to vote Aldous guilty.

And Kylian, acting as bailiff, was well-aware of that. Sitting at the bailiff’s desk, his mind working fast, he struggled with questions of intellect, intuition, and bias.

He was certain of Aldous’s guilt. His behavior today was nonsensical otherwise.

Yet, supposing Aldous truly was guilty, as Kylian felt strongly in his sinew… If they were to then vote him guilty, but on the basis of weak evidence, would this be a miscarriage of justice?

It was a moot point, because if they took a vote right now, Kylian was certain they’d miss their mark.

He stood up, trying to shake his doubts. Having given the abbey—and himself—time to deliberate, it was time to bring these proceedings to a close. However they may end.

“Sir Aldous,” Kylian said, his voice weary. “I believe you know as well as I that with Lady Ennieux’s prior testimony, the burden of suspicion rests yet again on your shoulders.”

Aldous turned his head lightly in Kylian’s direction, unbothered. He took his time responding, as if the inquisition waited at his leisure.

“I would think you’d know better than I, Kylian, that not a single thing incriminates me,” Aldous said. He spoke prudently, as if in a tricky negotiation. “The young master has told a fantastic tale.”

Aldous continued: “And Lady Ennieux is entitled to her imagination as well. I find it curious you’d regard her words so unquestioningly—has it not occurred to you that the wed woman who’s so openly courted you is projecting the guilt of her own infidelity?”

Kylian reined in any outward physical response—though frankly, he wished he had something cold right now to place against his temple.

He glanced at the woman in question.

Ennieux held her arm protectively, her eyes darting to her children, her head lowering in a futile attempt to hide her face which was turning furiously red. She’d always had a sharper tongue than she had thick skin—but her attire certainly wasn’t providing her any more defense.

Right now, Ennieux was afraid.

The meld of truth and malice in Aldous’s insulting rebuttal would normally prompt a sharp retort. But the crisis had passed and the adrenaline had faded. The abbey’s mood had turned sterile, cold enough to douse her fiery personality in ice water.

She was a woman in a bathrobe, in front of an abbey of knights, sitting a few feet away from a killer who seemed to delight in revealing her improprieties to her own children.

“Celine and Aldous… were sweethearts in their childhood,” Ennieux said uneasily. “Even after her marriage to Duke Henry, I had caught whispers and glances between them that went beyond camaraderie.”

She took a deep breath. “And the two spent… a great deal of time together, protecting the northern wall.” Her eyes fretted with the scrunch of guilt, as she openly revealed the damning particulars of her sister’s sin. “I don’t… wish to speak of it further.”

“It would appear,” Aldous said coldly, “that Lady Ennieux has misunderstood my relationship with her sister, the Saintess Celine… Perhaps because she herself has never had a true friend.”

“Enough, Aldous.” Kylian dropped the pretense of Aldous’s honorific—yet Aldous continued to stare expressionlessly at Ennieux.

She shivered, saying nothing. His insult was cutting, almost surgical in how precisely it was aimed. That made it scarier.

Ennieux never had an especially keen sense of danger. That’s why she stayed well out of its way, and never let it come to her doorstep.

What she could sense, with remarkable sharpness, was who disliked her. She knew who thought her an idiot, and who thought her a boor. She understood very well every shade of contempt sent her way because they followed her like phantoms, even when she was alone.

Hence, she’d known since she was a little girl how worthless Aldous thought her.

He was frightening because he hid it so amiably. And if that scorn never hurt anyone, only ever manifesting as smiles a hint too slow, she might have even considered his ability to disguise it a virtue.

Ennieux looked away fearfully, refusing to meet his eye.

It was Sophie, rather, who could no longer sit by.

“Are you truly this miserable of a man?” Sophie snarled. “Do you imagine you look honorable as you flail and grab at others while the millstone of your own sins drowns you?”

Sophie hated him.

She was never as forgiving as Renea. But she realized she had never truly known the word hate until today.

The viciousness with which he’d lived his life, and all the people he’d hurt, and the gall with which he conducted himself in the face of his own iniquities—she had never seen anyone so vile.

And to think he was her father.

Would this man go to the gallows denying her? She didn’t care if he did. She didn’t want him as a father either. She simply found it ironic that the high marshal should have so little integrity. How desperate was he to cling to life?

“…It appears the maid is oblivious to the weight clasped around her own neck,” Aldous’s voice stayed so impudently calm. “Assuming your tale holds any truth, of course. I find it rather implausible myself.”

“What?” Sophie asked, perplexed and angry.

“Allow me to play the devil’s advocate,” Aldous said, the faintest hint of a wry smile curling his lips. “Imagine a girl so apathetic and shameless, she should hide the holy talent given by God, simply so she could shirk her own duties.”

The smile disappeared immediately. An empty look on his face, voice completely dry, he continued: “She lets her talentless sister stand before the weight of the duty she ignored, like a cripple left in the path of a boulder, only intervening with the minimum of effort to make sure she’s never crushed.”

He stopped, meeting Sophie’s eyes unerringly, his next utterance cold: “Then the boulder rolls over their mother.”

Sophie’s hateful glare kept growing more intense as Aldous spoke. The lines on her face deepening, her teeth gritting with ever greater force.

With that, Aldous's expression settled back to its usual calm, and his tone was once again neutral: “Difficult to believe, is it not? The holy maid strikes me as a character a whit too oblivious to the consequences of her own lies.” And finally, even he had to cast his eyes to the side, a slight smirk acknowledging the irony of his own words. “As unbelievable as the knight from the young master’s tale, really.”

Her hatred reached a turning point.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

Sophie’s face was now twisting with the intensity of her emotions, crumpling up around her eyes which began to glisten. Her nostrils were flaring. The whites of her teeth were revealing themselves like the fangs of a predator.

Then, Aldous met her eyes once more, his face completely impassive. And he finished with a statement so provocative it was beyond belief.

“Perhaps you really are my daughter.”

A blinding white flash filled the room.

If Aldous’s aura had been like a dragon twisting through the room, then Sophie’s holy aura was like the sun itself. For all its intensity, it lacked the violent sound of energy surging and crackling.

Rather, it almost sounded musical. It was ferociously loud, but it was beautiful.

“How… dare you…” the words came almost bleating out of her throat.

She wanted to kill him.

She was going to kill him.

Sophie could crush the man in front of her with her aura right now. No one could stop her if she truly wanted to do it.

Why shouldn’t she?

That arrogant look in his eyes was inviting her violence. The knight had a death wish. He was a mentally twisted man who needed to be put down, and if he served as an example then all the better.

The only thing that stopped her was her sister’s hand.

Her holy aura disappeared all at once, because of a simple firm and disapproving grasp of her wrist.

“Sophie …” Renea started.

“It’s fine. It deserves no discussion,” Sophie said. She tried to sound calm.

Sophie forced herself to let go. She didn’t want to think about it, and she didn’t let herself see him. Because if she thought about it a second more, she truly may kill him.

And if this inquisition failed to catch him, she would.

“Aldous,” Kylian gave a weary glance toward the high marshal, whose actions had only grown increasingly impudent, “your behavior only serves to incriminate you. I fail to understand what you’re hoping to achieve. Do you not suppose if I put the knights to vote right now, you could be declared guilty?”

“On what basis do you assert this, Kylian?” Aldous inquired, his voice tinged with genuine incredulity. “Assume for a moment that Sophie is indeed my daughter. What then? We, father and daughter, merely had a disagreement within these sacred walls.” His brows furrowed as he continued more pointedly. “And suppose I did cast blame upon Lady Renea for Celine’s untimely demise. How do you draw any credible connection from that to the assault on the young master?”

Aldous sighed with frustration, as if he were dealing with a dimwitted apprentice. When he spoke next, his tone was regretful and stern.

“What, then, constitutes your case? Antagonistic behavior towards those who have levied accusations against me?” Aldous asked gruffly. “Kindly elucidate for all present in the abbey, Kylian. I implore you.”

Truthfully, Kylian did not have a response.

Judging by the anxious looks on the knights’ faces, despite reservations and suspicions abounding—for both Aldous and Lady Renea, frankly—they would most likely lean toward preserving the status quo.

They wished to turn a blind eye to it. Their Saintess had likely lied to them. Their high marshal had perhaps tried to kill the young master Ailn.

The ambiguity in the situation made it easy to give into temptation, so long as it had plausible justification: if neither Lady Renea nor Aldous are voted guilty, then perhaps, with execution avoided, things could go back to the way they were. Or as close of a semblance as possible.

Things looked hopeless. But Kylian realized something.

Ailn had been silent for a while now. And at a glance it was clear he was deep in thought.

Among Kylian’s many instincts, right now one felt stronger than the rest—his gut feeling that he needed to trust in Ailn.

He was loath to let the needless bickering unfold before him, when they had nothing to do with the inquisition itself, but he’d felt some relief that it gave them some time.

The problem was that Aldous was dragging anyone who’d respond into a mud wrestling match. The more he badgered, the more yelling there was, and the more everyone at the center of the proceedings looked like messy and mindless pigs.

“...Lady Renea has shown that she has no divine blessing,” Kylian said calmly.

This was not a particularly strong argument. Kylian knew this. It was patently clear to every knight in the abbey by now that absence of evidence was not the same thing as evidence of absence.

The maid who they had assumed a normal girl for seventeen years just gave the most stunning display of holy aura they’d ever seen.

“And does that strike you as convincing proof Kylian? If the murder weapon were a sword, and the suspect swore they could not use one, would you similarly take them at face value?” Aldous asked. Then he continued pointedly: “Especially when you have presumed them capable for nine years?”

Kylian tightened his expression on purpose.

He didn’t want Aldous to catch on to the fact that he’d just freely bitten onto the bait that Kylian had laid out.

"Miss Sophie’s mastery of the divine blessing was such that it lends credence to their shared claim," Kylian asserted. "It is akin to a priceless blade—so distinct and formidable that I imagine every knight present in this abbey recognized it instinctively.”

He added: “...Much the same as one learns to recognize the unique marks of a peerless sword."

Kylian did actually believe this, though he’d typically be averse to resting his point on such a nebulous intuition.

But he made his point, and kept it short. He wouldn’t get caught in emotional arguments. He’d let Aldous trip himself.

Aldous seemed to at least partially catch on to Kylian’s intentions, because he gave his next words careful consideration. It seemed as if he saw the current direction of discussion as a fair trade: lucid and unemotional was just fine.

At the end of the day, it would lead to the knights hesitating to proclaim guilt.

Then, Kylian could see it. Aldous’s eyes had sharpened.

There was an instinct Aldous had. He was the same with his blade. Kylian knew, because he had been Aldous’s direct student. Perfectly capable on the backfoot, swift and adaptable in a way that seemed incongruous with his monstrous build and strength, Aldous nonetheless held no squeamishness toward risk and aggression.

Defense was his forte, but not his penchant. And when given the chance, Aldous would never choose a certain and unsatisfying victory over a decisive and dominating one.

The old knight seemed to catch sight of that decisive counterstroke.

And Kylian hoped that meant Aldous was duly feinted.

There was one thing that still tugged at his mind. One piece of evidence. So, he was doing his best to give Ailn one last chance to prove what the young scion had so adamantly asserted about the truth.

‘Whatever happened, happened. There’s only one world where all the facts can co-exist, and it’s the one we already live in.’

Aldous began speaking.

“... Only Lady Renea could have killed the young master Ailn,” Aldous started dryly. His eyes searched for Renea, who’d tried to fade into the background of the proceedings. “It was certainly none of the knights.”

She’d evidently had enough of being the star of the show.

At his latest claim, she only gave a pained look. “Is that so, Aldous?” Renea asked, sounding exhausted.

Renea couldn’t forgive Aldous.

That much was obvious. Not just for what he’d done to Ailn, but how he treated Sophie. No, for betraying the principles of Varant so thoroughly when he was once its greatest knight.

Aldous had never been Renea’s world, nor her guiding light. But he had always been her rock, the reliable and sincere man that she could believe in when she couldn’t believe in herself.

She was still falling in her own mind, while the rest of this inquisition played out. Its outcome wouldn’t change that the earth had been pulled from under her feet.

Her brother’s voice had convinced her she needed to grab hold—to find those hands that had reached out to her and grasp them. Because if she didn’t… she would just keep spiraling down and down until she hit dirt.

Renea wanted to survive.

She wanted to go back to her bed and sleep and hope Aldous would one day leave her thoughts so she’d never have to think of him again. Watching him like this pained her. He’d become such a twisted and… filthy person.

It was as if, after decades of fighting the darkness encroaching from above, he’d lost to it. As if the resplendent and mighty dragon that was his aura had soared into that dark cloud hanging over the northern sky, never able to overcome no matter how it cracked and boomed, swallowed whole by the miasma—even as it let out its last pitiful roar.

“Do you… still want revenge on me, Sir Aldous?” Renea asked him honestly.

He was expressionless in response. And he deigned not to reply, moving on simply to the point he was prepared to make.

“Whoever had tried to kill the young master shattered his sword,” Aldous said coldly. “...After shattering his sword, they proceeded to use their exceptional holy aura. In spite of the fact that it would have strongly incriminated them—by limiting the pool of suspects severely.”

He met Renea’s blue eyes.

His were unflinching, even though at this moment he was telling another lie.

“What need would there be to kill the young master with holy aura if they’d had their sword?” Aldous asked. “The only credible culprit would be someone… who could not have used a sword—and only had the divine blessing to use as a weapon.”

Aldous’s eyes never left Renea’s.

“Someone such as yourself, Lady Renea,” Aldous said.

Why did he have to keep doing this to her? Renea’s blue eyes started welling up with tears again.

She had never been hated like this before. Not this intensely. Not this profoundly. Aldous cared more about hurting her than walking free of his crime.

Was it religious? Was he so convinced of her demonic origins he felt what he was doing was just?

Was it just revenge? Did Aldous love her mother that much?

“What happened to you, Aldous?” Renea whispered, the tears now dripping down her face.

Then, someone’s finger snapped.

Ailn was back. Mentally. And he was staring at Aldous.

“I’ve got it. The smoking… no, what’s a phrase that would fit Varant. How about: I’ve got the bloody sword?”