Chapter 122: Execution

A large bowl of cold water was splashed onto his face. Legovis shuddered violently and snapped his eyes open, only to find himself tightly bound and locked inside a dim dungeon.

“Your Highness, are you alright?” 

A familiar voice asked nearby.

Legovis turned his head and saw none other than Charles Marcus, son of Duke Marcus—it turned out he had also been captured.

“I’m fine.”

Then Legovis looked straight ahead. Sitting in a chair before him was someone he knew well yet deeply despised—White.

Standing beside the chair was the masked, violet-haired woman—the very assassin who had knocked him unconscious, Night Enchantress.

The only door was tightly shut, and the dungeon was ringed with White’s men. The black-clad assassins guarded every corner with airtight vigilance.

Behind both Legovis and Charles stood two more guards apiece, preventing them from making any sudden moves.

With a mocking smile, White stared at Legovis for a long while before finally speaking:

“Well, well—my dear brother. Ever since you left with the Holy Knights for the Red Sand Fortress last year, it’s been more than four months since we’ve met.”

“Hmph!” 

Legovis snorted coldly. 

“White Wells, is this how you treat your elder brother? Tied up and locked away in a dungeon?”

“It’s not as though I wanted this.”

White spread his hands in feigned helplessness. 

“I clearly wrote to you, asking you to return and accept the territory I granted you. Yet you gathered troops in Fengsui City—plainly preparing to march south against me. How could I simply surrender? I had no choice but to strike back.”

The implication was clear: this miserable predicament was entirely of Legovis’s own making.

“Enough of that.”

Now that he had fallen into enemy hands, there was no point in arguing. Legovis fixed his eyes on White and demanded:

“Father—was it you who schemed to have him killed?”

“How could you think that? I wrote it clearly in my letter. Father contracted a severe illness in winter and passed away, sadly, from it.”

“Lies!” 

Legovis roared. 

“Before I left, Father was as strong and healthy as ever. How could he suddenly fall ill? Even if he did, with so many skilled physicians in the kingdom, none could save him? And he died so quickly? The whole thing reeks of foul play!”

White propped his head with one hand, listening impatiently, but gave no reply.

“And that so-called will—wasn’t it forged by you, White Wells?”

Knowing mere excuses wouldn’t convince his brother, White laughed dryly, rose from his seat, and revealed his malicious expression.

“So what if it was? In your current state, what can you do to resist me?”

He admitted it bluntly. Surrounded by his own loyal men, there was no fear of secrets leaking out.

“As I thought! You bastard—you finally admit it!”

Furious, Legovis tried to surge forward, but the men behind him pressed him down firmly, leaving him unable to move.

“Father treated you so well—why would you kill him?”

“Regicide is a grave crime!” 

Charles also cried out. 

“Your Highness, to seize the throne through such vile means will bring the hatred of the entire kingdom upon you!”

“Hahahaha!”

White burst into raucous laughter.

After a while, he said.

“The common folk couldn’t care less who sits on the throne. As for the nobles—those who defy me, I’ll deal with personally. History is written by the victors. In time, people will remember only that I, White Wells, was the rightful king. And you, Legovis Wells, will go down as the despicable prince who defied Father’s will and sought the throne for yourself!”

“You…!” 

Charles was left speechless from being berated.

Gritting his teeth, Legovis declared:

“Given the chance, I will reveal the truth to everyone!”

“You won’t have that chance.”

White stepped forward, looking down on Legovis as though gazing at an insect. Then he gave his order:

“Men, cut out their tongues. Tomorrow at noon, take them to the square for execution by beheading. Display their heads on the city gates for ten days as a warning.”

Having said this, White turned and left. Behind him, Night Enchantress drew a small knife and slowly approached.

The following day, Legovis, Charles, and several other captured nobles were executed in the square.

When the executioner read out their crimes, Legovis—his tongue already cut out—could no longer speak, only utter muffled groans and cries.

In the end, he died filled with resentment.

Though a large crowd of commoners gathered to watch, no one cared what Legovis had wished to say.

Afterward, some even collected the nobles’ blood, claiming it could cure illnesses.

A few days later, Marquis Layman arrived in the capital escorting Duke Marcus.

When Duke Marcus saw his son’s head hanging on the city gate, he fainted on the spot in grief and rage.

But White showed no mercy toward his enemies. He had Duke Marcus publicly executed as well.

As for Marquis Layman, he received many rewards from White as he had hoped. Already, he was scheming about how to eliminate Count Hogan, who had outlived his usefulness.

The Holy Nation of Caleb lay in the central continent upon the Pars Plateau, a region of highland climate.

Stretching north and south were two rugged mountain ranges: the Chaoge Mountains to the north, and the Shengbai Mountains to the south.

Among them, the main peak of the Bai Holy range—Ellaine Holy Peak—was the highest mountain on the continent.

The Lumichael Church had long sanctified Ellaine Holy Peak, declaring it the dwelling place of the gods. Every day, devout believers paid their respects to it.

At the heart of the Holy Caleb Nation stood its most important city: the Holy City. It was founded six hundred years ago by Rayev, who led his followers to build it by the Holy Bai River, which flowed from the Saint Bai Mountains.

Now, the Holy City had become a vast metropolis, populated almost entirely by the faithful.

At its center rose a magnificent cathedral. At the peak of its highest tower blazed a golden flame.

This was the Flame of Faith.

As long as it burned, it was proof that the gods continued to bless humankind, and faith-based magic remained tied to it.

Although nearly a month had passed since winter ended, the Holy City still carried a deep chill, and its people wore thick garments.

Today marked the return of the Holy Templar Knights. The citizens of the Holy City did not crowd the streets in fervor—perhaps because such sights were familiar to them.

Still, whenever they saw the Templars passing, they stepped politely aside, pressed their hands together, and gave thanks for the knights’ past deeds in service to humanity.

In this way, the Holy Templar Knights returned quietly to their quarters.

Soon after, Grand Commander Orthofen and Second Squadron Captain Bray Gegefer received a summons from the Pope. Without delay, they hurried to the cathedral.

Seated upon the holy throne in the central hall was a stern elder with snow-white hair—the current Pope, Rayev XXIII.

Below him were three cardinals with the right to participate in council.

One was also elderly, with a kindly appearance. Another was a balding middle-aged man. The last was, surprisingly, a young and beautiful woman.

This young woman was none other than Freya Lutis, the so-called “Saint” previously mentioned by Theresa.

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