novel bin Chapter 830 - 451: Inquisition (Part 2)
Chapter 830 - 451: Inquisition (Part 2)
That scene was like a pair of invisible eyes weeping.
Among the onlookers, those old nobility who hadn’t been accounted for lost all color in their faces instantly.
Some staggered backward, others covered their mouths tightly, afraid of making even the slightest sound, becoming the next target.
......
Just two streets away.
In front of Duke Calvin’s Mansion, there was a stark silence, contrasting the plaza.
The heavy ironwood door was tightly shut, like an enormous sealed mouth, rejecting all sound.
On the stone stairs, knelt more than a dozen figures.
They were all relatives and allies of the condemned Count.
Their foreheads were already bruised and bloodied, with blood flowing down the cracks of the stone steps, staining the Calvin Clan’s wolf head emblem embedded in the ground.
Leading them was the one-armed Baron Cas.
The missing arm was the price he paid thirty years ago, blocking a stab meant for the Duke.
At this moment, with his remaining hand, he clutched the iron gate of the mansion, roaring toward the inside, with a voice hoarse and near breaking:
"My Lord Duke! Open the door! He’s been your brother for forty years! He’s the Count Green who carried you out from a pile of corpses!"
His voice echoed down the empty street, yet received no response.
"I don’t ask you to save them..."
As he roared, his voice suddenly dropped, as if something caught his throat, leaving only humble and desperate pleading.
"I know the Church Court is powerful... at least... at least ask the bishop for mercy, give them a swift death...
Don’t burn them... I beg you, don’t burn them..."
All that answered him was the faint sound of screams from afar.
The sound, torn to shreds by the wind, pierced into the heart of everyone kneeling on the steps like rusty nails.
The knights of the Duke’s Mansion stood straight at the door.
Their armor was fine, and their spears long, supposedly the most reliable protectors of this city.
Yet at this moment, their heads were bowed, none dared to meet the one-armed Baron’s eyes.
A young knight’s hand trembled slightly, tears welling up in his eyes, but never falling.
Until the flames in the square gradually died down, and the terrifying screams ceased entirely.
The gates of the Duke’s Mansion still did not open.
The one-armed Baron Cas slowly released his grip on the railing.
He stood, his movements stiff, and the light in his eyes faded.
He spat a mouthful of bloody saliva at the tightly closed door.
Then turned and left.
......
The heavy curtains were tightly drawn.
No sunlight ever entered the master bedroom, the air murky and dense, the bitterness of repeatedly boiled herbs mixed with the unique decay of the elderly, lingering in every breath and stubbornly refusing to disperse.
Seldon stood behind a screen on one side of the room.
Nominally, he was there to visit his father’s illness.
In truth, he resembled a patient hyena, lingering by the carrion, waiting for the final confirmation.
In his hand, he clutched a blood-stained letter just delivered from outside.
The pages were soaked in blood, clearly pressed repeatedly with a wounded finger.
Every line bore familiar surnames, familiar pledges, familiar pleas.
He didn’t even need to unfold it to know what it said.
Seldon had no intention of handing over this letter.
Duke Calvin lay in a reclining chair covered with a thick plush blanket.
His body had visibly thinned, yet didn’t appear disheveled.
The large robe was meticulously arranged, the shoulders still straight but looking much emptier.
Sunken eye sockets and skin with the pallor peculiar to the long-ailing, yet retaining a degree of the old nobility’s restraint and composure.
Outside the window, vague heart-wrenching cries drifted in.
It was the voice of the one-armed Baron.
The man who once blocked blades on the battlefield for the Duke, once hailed as the "loyal dog" by the whole Calvin Family.
That voice, hoarse and broken, crashed repeatedly against the thick walls of the Duke’s Mansion, only to be bounced back.
The old man in the recliner was not entirely unresponsive; his eyelashes quivered slightly, yet he ultimately said nothing.
His eyes remained half-open, half-closed, gaze muddy and profound, as if seeing beyond the window’s cries and into dusty memories.
Seldon initially had a sliver of worry.
He feared his father would suddenly awaken, rise in defiance, make some foolish yet honor-driven decision in keeping with the old times.
But now he was completely reassured, and completely disappointed.
He stepped out from behind the screen, treading lightly, standing by the recliner with a slight bow, maintaining a demeanor without a hint of disrespect.
"Father." He spoke in a low voice, the tone deferential, like a son fulfilling his duty at the bedside, "It’s a bit noisy outside."
He reached to straighten the edges of the Duke’s blanket, his movements skilled and patient, as if practiced countless times.
"It’s the old subordinates... losing control of their emotions. I’ve already told people to calm them, you won’t be disturbed again."
The old man in the recliner gave no response.
Seldon straightened up, still maintaining that impeccable demeanor, as though everything before was just everyday routine.
In his heart, however, another voice emerged, cold and somber.
Did you hear?
The old man outside who has fought for you half his life, is crying and begging.
You were once called the "Fox of the Southeast," whose name even the Emperor weighed carefully.
And now, you can’t even muster the strength to open your eyes and make a choice.
These thoughts rippled through him like cold waves, expanding in circles, quickly settling again into silence.
Seldon straightened up.
He took a last glance at his father in the recliner, confirming that steady, restrained breathing remained unchanged, then turned and walked toward the door.
Before opening the door, he paused, leaned toward the waiting old servant beside him, and whispered: "Keep two men on watch tonight, father sleeps lightly."
The door closed quietly behind him, sealing the dimly lit bedroom away.
It wasn’t until he walked through the corridor, back to his bedroom, ensuring no one else could see him, that Seldon stopped.
He retrieved the blood-stained letter from his sleeve, glanced at it, and gently rubbed a finger over the dried bloodstains.
Then he crumpled the paper into a ball.
The flames in the fireplace were burning vigorously.
Seldon threw the ball of paper in.
The flames immediately consumed the bloodstains, the paper curling, blackening, turning to ash.
The flickering firelight cast on his face, distorting the already cold and hard visage.
Outside, the cries continued.
......
At the very top of the cathedral bell tower.
The fierce wind battered the exposed stone walls, enough to cast an ordinary person down from such great heights.
The whole city’s clamor, prayers, and cries were torn apart by the wind, becoming a distant and chaotic noise.
Bishop Salomon, however, stood at the edge of the bell tower.
His red robe billowed fiercely in the wind, like an unfurled battle flag, yet his body remained immobile, feet planted firmly on the stone, as if he stood not in the high air but upon the carpet in his own study.
He held a slender crystal wine glass in his hand.
The pale golden liquid inside remained unperturbed by the wind, reflecting the firelight dancing in the square below, the residual warmth of the golden strange fire not yet fully extinguished.
Salomon looked down, thousands writhed, knelt, cheered in the square, falling into fleeting, hollow silence after the pyres extinguished.
His lips held no smile, his gaze was one of cold detachment.
Behind him stood a Church Knight donned in a white cloak with platinum emblems.
The fierce wind forced the knight into a slight bow, yet he maintained a standard posture of austerity, eyes beneath the helmet not daring to surpass the bishop’s silhouette by even an inch.
Salomon swirled the wineglass, finally turning around.
"Inform Seldon Calvin." His voice was not loud, yet pierced clearly through the wind, as if the command held its own weight, "Have him come up."
He paused a moment, his gaze cast once more to the distant smoke-yellowed sky.
"There are things I need to discuss with him in person."
The knight instantly knelt on one knee, responded in a low voice, then turned and retreated into the shadows of the bell tower.