Chapter 147 - 142: Everyone is in Danger
Zelheim, the Judicial Court of the Eternal Radiance Church, the Confession Chamber.
The heavy doors closed behind him, cutting off all outside light.
The middle-aged Judge knelt on one knee, his head bowed low.
Before him was a vast space composed of shadows.
The only glimmer of light came from the golden sun emblem hanging from the dome. It radiated a cold light, like the indifferent gaze of a deity.
Within the shadows, a larger figure sat enthroned upon a seat carved from Obsidian.
He did not speak.
The silence itself was a form of judgment.
Fine beads of sweat broke out on the middle-aged Judge’s forehead, rolling down the bridge of his nose and dripping onto the floor tiles.
"Lord Chief Judge, Leman Klein... I have failed. I was unable to bring him here."
The figure in the shadows stirred.
"I anticipated this."
The Chief Judge’s voice echoed through the vast, empty hall.
"An old fox who has lived for over forty years won’t walk so easily into such a trap."
He paused.
"How are the preparations for the Noble Court’s jury?"
A monk emerged from the shadows on the other side, bowing low.
"Everything is proceeding according to plan, Lord Chief Judge."
"Of the fifty names on the preliminary list, thirty-seven have close ties with the Church or are mortal business enemies of the Klein Clan."
"No matter which twelve are ultimately chosen, we will hold an absolute advantage."
The Chief Judge nodded, somewhat satisfied.
His gaze turned to the middle-aged Judge kneeling on the floor.
"Viscount Ferrier. Has he confessed?"
The Judge’s body trembled slightly.
"Not yet, Your Excellency. He’s tougher than we expected."
"Oh?" A hint of interest crept into the Chief Judge’s voice. "Is the torture not severe enough?"
"We’ve kept it strictly within the ’acceptable range,’ but he hasn’t said a word."
The Chief Judge fell silent for a moment.
"Continue the torture, maintain the current intensity, and do not let him die."
"Even if he still hasn’t confessed after three days, it won’t affect the overall situation."
’He was running the calculations in his mind.’
’Once the verdict is guilty, all of Leman’s assets in the Royal Capital—those lucrative shops and Magic Potion workshops—will be seized by the Church.’
’More importantly, there is the formula for the Magic Potion that allows the nobility to continue their bloodlines.’
’A man like Leman would never entrust the formula to anyone.’
’But once I strip him of his title and have a worthless son take his place, prying the secret from a fool’s lips will be child’s play.’
The Chief Judge had already gamed it all out in his mind.
This Magic Potion formula would be the finest gift he could offer His Holiness the Pope.
It was also his ticket out of this nation of false believers.
...
The Rose Hall of Marchioness Alicia’s estate, where crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow.
Tonight was the Marchioness’s autumn salon, and the most distinguished nobles of the Royal Capital were gathered together.
The men, dressed in finely tailored tailcoats, discussed politics and business by the fireplace.
The ladies, clad in splendid gowns, exchanged the latest court gossip around the tea tables.
Lilia, dressed in a pale purple silk gown, held a glass of champagne.
Lady Audrey was busy sharing the latest gossip with her friends and had no need of Lilia’s services, so she had permitted her to pass the time in the salon.
She wove through the crowd, her gaze appearing casual, but she was in fact searching for the right opportunity.
"Miss Lilia, you look especially captivating tonight." A young nobleman raised his glass to her.
"You flatter me, Sir Drake," Lilia replied with a faint smile, her gaze sweeping toward several ladies whispering nearby.
She had heard the keyword: Ferrier.
Lilia slowly approached, just in time to hear Lady Brighton speaking in a hushed voice.
"Poor Lady Ferrier. I hear she’s with child."
"What?" Madam Lawson beside her covered her mouth in astonishment. "At a time like this?"
Lilia, feigning to have overheard, joined the conversation.
"Are you ladies discussing Lady Ferrier? I just returned from the eastern district of the Royal Capital, and I heard something."
The ladies immediately turned their attention to her. Lady Brighton asked eagerly,
"What did you hear, child?"
Lilia put on an innocent, confused expression. "I don’t really understand it, but I heard that Lady Ferrier is indeed pregnant. It was confirmed by a master from the School of Life at the Royal Capital Mage Academy. But the Church announced..."
She paused deliberately and bit her lip. "They announced that children conceived using that kind of potion have no right of inheritance."
"What?!" Madam Lawson’s champagne flute nearly slipped from her grasp. "How is that possible?"
"And," Lilia continued, her tone still uncertain, "I heard...that all of the Ferrier family’s property will be inherited by his brother. As for Lady Ferrier, she is to be sent to the Holy Convent..."
She left the sentence unfinished, but everyone knew what the Holy Convent implied. It was a place for imprisoning "sinful" women, and few who entered ever came out alive.
The color drained from Lady Brighton’s face.
Her hand instinctively moved to her own lower abdomen, a flicker of fear in her eyes.
"Th-that’s impossible!" another lady stammered. "The child is innocent!"
"But the Church calls them ’children of blasphemy’."
Lilia added softly, "I don’t understand why it’s happening either."
The news spread like wildfire. In less than half an hour, the entire salon was abuzz with the topic.
The men paused their political debates, and the ladies abandoned their courtly gossip.
"Absurd!" a bearded Count slammed his fist on the table. "By what right does the Church get to decide noble succession?"
"But they have the Bloodline Purity Act to back them up," a Marquis nearby said, shaking his head. "From a legal standpoint, they’re on solid ground."
Several older nobles gathered by the fireplace, their expressions grim.
"If this precedent is set," the silver-haired Prince Winston began slowly, "which of us old men can guarantee our own heirs won’t be called into question?"
"This is precisely the effect the Church is aiming for," another Marquis said, his voice low. "They’ll make an example of Leman first, then pick us off one by one."
The ladies’ concerns were even more direct.
"My heavens!" one lady exclaimed, tightly gripping her friend’s hand. "If my child were to be stripped of their inheritance, our family’s legacy of several hundred years..."
"Stop," another lady said, her face fraught with worry. "If we keep talking about this, I fear I won’t sleep a wink tonight."
Lilia stood quietly in a corner, watching the panic ripple through the crowd.
She recalled her brother’s instructions: state the "facts."
’Fear is more powerful than any incitement.’
"Everyone, please!" The Marchioness clapped her hands, attempting to defuse the tension. "Perhaps we should change the subject..."
"Change the subject to what?" Lady Brighton shot to her feet, agitated. "Alicia, you don’t understand! If the Church really goes through with this, we are all in danger!"
"Today they can use this excuse to seize the Ferrier family’s assets; tomorrow, they could use any other excuse to come after us!"
Her words were met with nods of agreement from most of those present.
The men nodded in affirmation, while the ladies’ faces were etched with worry.
From a corner, an old Count who rarely spoke suddenly said, "Leman Klein’s trial begins in two days."
The entire hall fell instantly silent.
"If he is convicted," the old Count continued, "the Church will have its perfect legal precedent. After that, none of us will be safe."
For a time, the salon was quiet.
Everyone was pondering the same question: if Leman lost, how much longer would any of them be safe?
Lilia quietly slipped away from the crowd and stepped out onto the terrace.
The night breeze caressed her cheeks, carrying the subtle fragrance of the rose garden.
She gazed out at the Royal Capital in the distance, a city crisscrossed by the glow of Magic.
’She felt a sense of exhilaration. So this was politics. This was society.’