The atmosphere in the central plaza of Gimle remained shrouded in rigid silence.
The three thugs who had acted arrogantly earlier now lay sprawled helplessly on a pile of snow, groaning in pain with missing teeth and fractured ribs.
Edward stood tall in the middle of the snow, his breathing not even the slightest bit ragged.However, as the flash of anger in his eyes subsided, common sense and his frontier aristocratic upbringing immediately took over.He blinked, realizing that he had just caused a massive commotion on their very first day of arrival in the capital.
”Ah…” Edward let out a soft snort, one hand rubbing the back of his neck with an awkward expression.
Without wasting any time, the genius young man quickly strode toward the debris of the Frost-Berry Skewer cart that had been smashed to pieces by his impact.
The elderly merchant looked terrified, cowering beside his broken cart wheel.
With a politeness unusually uncharacteristic of a fierce combatant, Edward bowed halfway.
He reached into his robe pocket and pulled out a large pouch of pure gold coins, then placed it upon the wooden ruins.
“Forgive my audacity for destroying your place of business, Sir,” Edward said in a calm yet firm voice full of remorse.
“This coin is more than enough to cover the entire loss of your cart, as well as capital to build a much larger shop.
Once again, I apologize for this chaos.
“The elderly merchant stared wide-eyed at the stack of gold coins before him, then hurriedly bowed deeply while trembling, expressing endless gratitude.
After finishing his business with the merchant, Edward turned around and walked quickly toward Duchess Freya, who was still tightly holding little Aiden.
Edward lowered his gaze, concealing the guilt behind his firm jawline.
“Mother… I’m sorry,” Edward said softly, his voice laden with regret.
“I let my emotions get the better of me and broke your warning not to cause trouble on our first day in Gimle.
“Duchess Freya sighed softly.
She loosened her embrace—which had just buried Aiden’s face against her plump chest—and lowered her hand to stroke the black hair of her youngest son with utmost gentleness, before extending her right hand to pat her eldest son’s shoulder with deep affection.
“You certainly acted rashly, Edward,” Freya reproached in a soft yet firm voice, though the corners of her lips curled into an understanding smile.
“But a mother will never blame her son for protecting the family’s honor. Take this as a lesson to exercise self-control in the capital’s snake pit.”
Before Edward could reply, the sound of rhythmic clanking steel-plated boots broke the silence of the plaza.
Clank…
clank…
clank…
Dozens of pairs of citizens’ eyes instantly parted, making wide berths as they watched the column of God’s Punishing Legion clad in silver armor patrolling with a chilling, oppressive aura.
However, what drew the most attention was the figure at the very front row.Inquisitor Isolde Nachtigall walked with stiff, ice-statue posture.
In the cradle of her iron-gloved arms, Elena sat calmly in the elegant pose of a royal princess—her face wearing an innocent, blameless expression, while one of her arms rested casually around the silver-armored inquisitor’s neck.
Edward immediately assumed a defensive stance.
However, before tension could erupt, Elena waved her tiny hand cheerfully toward her family. New chapters come out on g.com first.
“Mother! Brother Edward! Look, I found a great holy hero!”
Elena exclaimed with a convincingly childish tone.
Isolde stopped dead in her tracks right before Duchess Freya and Edward.Behind her flat silver mask, the inquisitor’s sharp gaze swept over the three thugs sprawled in the snow, before finally landing on the pile of gold coins and the ruined cart.
”House of Silver,” Isolde’s voice sounded muffled yet authoritative from behind her metal mask.
She gently lowered Elena until she stood beside her brother.”The God’s Punishing Legion received an emergency report from the Young Miss about cult activity and cursed artifacts in this area.
Where is the perpetrator?
“Before Edward or Freya could open their mouths, Elena stepped forward with a small stride, her innocent face blanketed by feigned anxiety.”
Lord Inquisitor, the culprit just ran that way!
Elena exclaimed, pointing straight toward a narrow alley not far from the corner of the plaza.
At the end of that alley, a man could be glimpsed briefly with the distinctive feature of gaping magical burn scars around his eyes—one of the captured, panicking minions of the Vallière faction and a third-generation descendant of gods attempting to flee.Instantly, Isolde’s rigid posture tensed.
“God’s Punishing Legion, hear my command!” her voice boomed coldly, piercing the capital’s cold air.
“Split the troops into two! Half follow me to surround and capture the target in that alley alive! The rest, secure these three downed thugs and take them to the inquisitorial headquarters for a total interrogation!”
”Ready, General!”
the silver-armored troops shouted in unison.Most of the troops immediately sprinted through the alley pointed out by Elena under Isolde’s direct command, while several other holy guards handcuffed the three unfortunate thugs still groaning in pain on the snow.
The atmosphere around Duchess Freya suddenly grew much more serene.Isolde, who had intentionally slowed her pace or lingered slightly behind the pursuing vanguard, turned back toward Duchess Freya.
She stopped right in front of the duchess.Behind the expressionless silver mask reflecting the falling snow, the murderous aura of a ruthless inquisitor was entirely gone.
The atmosphere between them turned quiet, as though the world around them had slowed down.Isolde slightly lowered her head, moving her body closer to Freya, then whispered softly—so softly it was barely more than friction against the winter wind, ensuring no other soldiers or bystanders could hear her.
“Sister… Father is deeply sorry for what happened in the past…”Those two short sentences slipped out from behind the silver mask of the inquisitor.
Though spoken in a stifled, cold voice, the effect of those words was like a bolt from the blue to certain individuals.
Duchess Freya was momentarily stunned, her body stiffening rigidly, while her blue gaze trembled violently as she fought back the storm of past emotions she had buried deep within for years.
And safely cradled in her mother’s warmth, Aiden—who had been pretending to be a passive baby all along—suddenly opened his eyes wide.
Thump!
The old soul’s heart inside Aiden hammered fiercely within the toddler’s small chest.
Wait…
what?!
Father?
The past?
What kind of relationship is hidden between this elite Inquisitor of the God’s Punishing Legion and Mother, and the grandfather who was never spoken of?!Sometime later…Night crept down, blanketing the capital of Gimle with a thick sheet of snow and a bone-chilling night wind.
Inside the VIP guest suite of the Central Palace, the flames of the fireplace crackled warmly, casting orange light dancing across the stone walls.
Duchess Freya sat alone by the large window overlooking the quiet city streets.She held a cup of herbal tea that had already gone cold, yet her fingers trembled slightly.
The whispered words in the plaza earlier that day kept spinning in her mind, tearing at the emotional defense she had spent years building.That stifled voice… Follow the newest chapters on novelping.com.
Freya knew precisely whose it was.
It belonged to her younger sister, Isolde.
They shared the same blood, the sole remaining family besides her father after the past incident with him—an event that drove Freya to choose to leave her family and venture out until she met Duke Richard, while Isolde chose to stay behind, accompany their father, and dedicate herself to wearing the silver mask of the Holy Inquisition Board.A deep yearning and past heartache mingled painfully in her chest.
Unable to hold it back any longer, a warm tear broke free from her eyelid, sliding slowly down the cheek of the northern noblewoman who usually appeared so resilient and cold to others.
Far from the palace’s luxury, within the gloomy, blood-odor dungeon of the Holy Inquisition headquarters, the atmosphere was far from tranquil.
The pursuit in the narrow alley that afternoon had ended in a dead end; the target successfully escaped using high-level teleportation magic.
That frustration was vented fully upon the three thugs secured within headquarters.
The dungeon chamber of the Holy Inquisition was lit by a single flickering torch, casting dark red light against the damp stone walls.
In the corner of the room, Isolde stood tall in her gold-embroidered white robes and flat silver mask, coldly observing the investigation from afar.
In the center of the room, the three hired thugs were tightly bound to iron chairs, their bodies already battered with bruises from prior impacts.However, it was not the elite inquisitor who soiled her hands.
Standing before the captives was a hulking, heavily built executioner clad in all-black robes and attire, complete with a dark cloth mask concealing his entire face save for a pair of cruel, bloodlust-glinting eyes.
That specialized executioner was the most feared interrogation specialist under the inquisition’s command.The executioner stepped forward slowly, his massive shadow blocking the torchlight and instantly instilling psychological terror.
He leaned his face close to the ear of one of the thugs, whispering in a hoarse, terrifying voice.”You claim your group is part of a cult?”
the executioner’s voice sounded flat, yet held an extraordinarily cold and forced murderous pressure.
“Or did you deliberately choose to die in the most painful way possible to conceal who your real masters—the true cult leaders—are?”The first thug, his lips split and stained with blood, shook his head in panic, struggling weakly against his chair until the iron chains rattled harshly.
“W-We aren’t cultists, Lord Executioner!
I swear to the gods, we were just hired!
Don’t torture us anymore!”Without waiting for further cues from the inquisitor, the massive executioner seized the thug’s jaw with an iron-gloved hand, forcing the victim’s mouth wide open.”Open your filthy mouth and name them, or I’ll pull out your teeth one by one!” the executioner growled mercilessly.
When the thug shook his head in desperate terror, the executioner immediately carried out his threat.
With a merciless motion—Crack!—he forcefully ripped a tooth straight out of the thug’s mouth.
Hysterical screams piercing the dungeon silence echoed instantly, accompanied by fresh blood splattering across the stone floor.The brutal punishments followed without pause.
An iron-thorn whip channeled with torturous energy lashed repeatedly across the thighs and chests of the wretched thugs, tearing their skin and exposing their bones.Under the brutal torture surpassing human endurance, the mental fortitude of the three thugs completely collapsed.
They screamed hysterically for mercy, weeping blood, until one by one they ran out of breath and died upon the iron chairs.
Yet even in their final moments approaching death, the desperate cries escaping their throats were no longer about a cult, but a single, identical name
“We aren’t cultists… we were just pawns… hired by House Vallière…! Have mercy…!”The three of them slumped limply, drawing their last breaths with glazed-white eyes—leaving behind tear tracks mixed with blood and sweat on their shattered cheeks, leaving behind a heavy silence reeking of foul blood in the underground torture chamber.Isolde stood frozen, gazing at the battered corpses beneath the shadows of her silver mask.
Her jaw clenched tightly.
So, the southern faction House Vallière was playing with fire, attempting to frame the House of Silver while testing the Inquisition’s limits.
Turning around to walk away from the blood-stained room, Isolde looked up at the night sky of Gimle through a small iron ventilation grate, softly chanting an ancient poem into the darkness.
“Justice belongs not to those who swear sacred oaths,but to those who bare their swords above blood and thorns.”