The charge of murdering a regional bishop was no trivial matter. True, the Church of the Divine Light was not the state religion of Wester, but it boasted a massive following and wielded enormous influence. Even those who resented the church only dared to grumble in private; no one had ever dared to openly attack a member of the clergy—until now. The very idea of someone killing a regional bishop left the crowd reeling in shock, but also stirred a flicker of doubt in their minds. Such a heinous crime should have sent shockwaves through the kingdom, yet word of it had never reached the capital. Many of the nobles present were long-term residents of the royal city—how could they have heard nothing about it until the church inquisitors spoke up? It seemed far too suspicious.
"How dare you!"
A Royal Capital Guard soldier stepped forward, his voice thundering with rage.
"Lord Blake is here by His Majesty's command to deliver critical military intelligence! He is under the protection of the Royal Capital Guard! Even the Church of the Divine Light has no right to arrest him arbitrarily! If you wish to take him into custody, produce a royal warrant first!"
As expected, the surrounding nobles frowned at the inquisitors' audacity. While many of them were devout churchgoers, their loyalty lay first and foremost with their noble status. They would never turn against their own kind. If this young noble lord—here on the king's orders—were to be publicly seized, it would deal a crippling blow to the royal family's authority. This was the royal capital, after all! If the crown could not even prevent other factions from arresting people within its own walls, what use was it? A monarchy that could not control its own capital was no monarchy at all.
"We act on the direct orders of the Archbishop," one of the four inquisitors replied coldly, showing no sign of backing down. He lifted his head, his gaze fixed on the guard.
"The Archbishop's commands are absolute. No matter what obstacles we face today, we will take this man back to the church to stand trial before the Holy Mana!"
Tension crackled through the air the moment the words left his mouth. The nobles stared at the four inquisitors in alarm, their hearts sinking. Could it be that the Church of the Divine Light was truly daring to challenge the royal family's authority at a time like this?
"Don't even dream of it!"
The Royal Capital Guard soldiers bristled with anger, their eyes blazing with fury. They were accustomed to being treated with deference in the capital—when had they ever been subjected to such arrogance? At their captain's signal, the station guards quickly closed ranks, forming a protective barrier around Blake and Ophelia. This was no longer just about protecting two individuals; it was about defending the honor of the royal family. The guards might not have cared much for Blake personally, but they would not tolerate the church's blatant insult to the crown.
"Those who defy the Archbishop's orders shall face severe divine punishment!"
Seeing the soldiers closing in, the four clergymen raised their sacred staffs in unison. The crystals embedded in the staffs blazed with a soft, holy light, and a powerful aura—charged with divine energy—rippled outward from the four men, pressing down on everyone present.
That's incredible power!
As the situation spiraled out of control, the nobles scrambled to the sidelines, eager to avoid being caught in the crossfire. Neither the Royal Capital Guard nor the Church of the Divine Light was a force to be trifled with; it was far safer to watch from a distance. Meanwhile, the more well-informed nobles turned curious eyes to Blake, who stood calmly at the center of the guards' protective circle.
At this moment, Blake was the most famous stranger in the entire royal capital.
Stranger, because almost none of the nobles had ever laid eyes on him before. Famous, because his exploits had spread like wildfire through the capital in the short time since his arrival. Rumor had it that he commanded several powerful subordinates—and not long ago, in a conflict with the Mobius family, he had dispatched a squadron of dragon riders to annihilate the Mobius private army!
Before this incident, the nobles had dismissed the stories about the young lord as exaggerated gossip. But after the Mobius debacle, they could no longer afford to ignore him. Many of them had sent troops to join the noble coalition, and it had been easy to confirm the details of the battle from their own men. The Mobius family's subsequent rage had only served to validate the rumors further. In the aftermath, numerous great nobles had scrambled to gather intelligence on this mysterious young lord. After all, while Blake's status as a noble lord paled in comparison to theirs, the sheer strength of his forces—including knights and even dragon riders—was unmatched by any other great noble in the kingdom.
So why had the king summoned him to the capital?
With this thought in mind, the nobles watched Blake even more intently, eager to see how he would respond. They were all acutely aware of the precarious situation on the kingdom's borders—the Sith Empire's armies were massed just beyond the frontier, and no one knew if Wester's defenses would hold. If this young lord were to clash with the king, it would only create another enemy for the kingdom—a scenario no noble wished to see. Thus, it made perfect sense to observe the young lord's temperament now, to plan for whatever might come next.
Sensing the nobles' curious gazes, a faint, triumphant smile tugged at the corner of Blake's lips.
This wasn't the ideal opening he'd hoped for, but it would do. In fact, this might be the perfect opportunity to stir the pot…
He tilted his head slightly, then turned to Ophelia with a casual smile.
"Lady Ophelia," he asked, his voice calm yet loud enough for everyone to hear, "is the Church of the Divine Light permitted to arrest people arbitrarily within the royal capital?"
The younger onlookers paid little heed to his question, but the older nobles exchanged uneasy glances, their expressions suddenly clouded with doubt. Their eyes darted to the slender figure cloaked in black beside Blake, a vague sense of unease stirring in their hearts—though none of them could say exactly why.
Ophelia's breath hitched at Blake's words. She knew full well that he was not asking for a simple answer. She lifted her head, meeting his gaze, then fell silent for a moment before letting out a soft sigh.
"According to the **Barbarossa Treaty** signed between the kingdom and the church," she began, her voice clear and unwavering, "the Church of the Divine Light may not arrest any citizen of Wester within the royal capital—for any reason, or by any means—without first submitting a formal request to His Majesty the King. Only after receiving royal approval, and in the presence of a senior military officer of the crown, may such an arrest be carried out. Otherwise…"
With that, Ophelia pulled back the hood of her cloak, revealing her face to the crowd.
"…it shall be deemed a violation of royal law, punishable by the full extent of the kingdom's justice, with no leniency whatsoever."
A collective gasp swept through the onlookers at the sight of her face.
Those who did not recognize her were stunned by her beauty and courage. Those who *did* recognize her felt as if a bolt of lightning had struck them.
By the Divine Light! That was Princess Ophelia! Was she not supposed to have died thirty years ago?
For a long moment, no one spoke. The crowd stared at her in disbelief, exchanging bewildered glances, desperate to find some explanation in the faces of those around them. But there could be no mistaking her. The young woman before them looked, spoke, and carried herself exactly like the kingdom's beloved "Flower of Wester" from thirty years ago—and her violet hair, that unmistakable symbol of royal blood, was proof positive of her identity. But the princess was supposed to be dead! How could she be standing here now?
Some of the more astute nobles quickly began to piece together the clues in their minds. After all, no one had ever seen Princess Ophelia's body after her supposed death; only an empty coffin had been buried, with the official announcement claiming she had died in an accident. Even at the time, many in the kingdom had refused to believe the story. Several great nobles had even banded together to petition the crown for a full investigation. But then, a series of upheavals had shaken the kingdom: the old king had passed away, and the new king had ascended the throne. The investigation had been quietly dropped, and the case had faded into an unsolved mystery. Now, seeing this young woman who bore an uncanny resemblance to the late princess, the seeds of doubt they had buried all those years ago began to sprout once more.
But even if Princess Ophelia had somehow survived, she would be well past her youth by now. The woman standing before them looked exactly like the princess—but her age simply did not add up.
What on earth was going on here?
"Spurious arguments!"
The four inquisitors stared at Ophelia in surprise. While they might not have been familiar with the rumors surrounding the former princess, her words were backed by the letter of the law—the Barbarossa Treaty *did* exist. It had just been so long since the treaty had been invoked that most people had forgotten its specific provisions, including many of those who had been involved in drafting it. How did this young woman know about it? And that hair color… royal blood? This was suddenly becoming far more complicated than they had anticipated.
Three of the inquisitors turned to their leader, the man standing in the center—clearly, he would make the final decision.
"Pay her no mind," the leader said dismissively, showing no sign of being swayed by Ophelia's words.
"What does a mere girl know of such matters? By the Divine Light, we act on the bishop's orders! All for the glory of the Holy Mana!"
"By the Divine Light!" the other three echoed, their resolve hardening now that their leader had spoken.
Watching the situation escalate once more, the captain of the Royal Capital Guard gritted his teeth, his patience exhausted.
"You dogs of the church! You dare run amok in the royal capital? You're not even worthy to lick our boots! Men, ready the signal flares!"
In an instant, the two sides were locked in a tense standoff, the air thick with the promise of violence. Every man on both sides watched their leader intently, waiting for the order to strike. The onlookers fell completely silent, their eyes fixed on the dangerous scene unfolding before them, too stunned to move.
But just then, a streak of blue flame shot down from the sky, landing precisely between the two factions. It erupted into a towering wall of fire, its searing heat forcing both sides to stumble backward.
A deep, authoritative voice boomed down from above.
"Who dares to run riot in the royal capital?!"
The crowd looked up, their eyes widening in shock. Three figures clad in black robes, their forms shrouded in shadow, hovered in the air, gazing coldly down at the chaos below. When the crowd spotted the golden trim embroidered on their robes, a collective gasp went up.
The **Royal Mage Guard**?!
This was about to get *a lot* more complicated.
Everyone present immediately realized the implications. It was common knowledge that the Mage's Guild and the Church of the Divine Light were bitter rivals. While the Royal Mage Guard was not officially part of the guild, they represented the arcane power of the kingdom—and thus, they harbored no love for the church. The Church of the Divine Light derived its immense influence from its popularity among the common people; the ruling class dared not move against it, lest it incite a popular uprising that threatened their grip on power. The Mage's Guild, by contrast, wielded influence among the upper echelons of society. Of the three great powers in the kingdom—the crown, the mages, and the church—the crown and the mages had always been close allies, united by their mutual distrust of the church. The reason was simple: the Mage's Guild provided the crown with advanced magical technology that strengthened the kingdom's defenses. The Church of the Divine Light, however, contributed nothing of substance beyond spouting empty rhetoric about "equality for all" and "the blessings of the Holy Mana." Worse still, it collected tithes from its followers without paying a single coin to the royal treasury. There was no overlap in interests between the crown and the church; given the chance, the crown would gladly wipe the church from the face of the kingdom.
But things were not that simple.
While the church's influence among the nobility was limited, its hold over the common people was absolute. To move against it would risk plunging the kingdom into chaos and even destruction. What was more, the Church of the Divine Light still retained the ability to "create" Divine Light Knights. Though these knights were not as powerful as true knights, their strength exceeded what most other factions could handle. What was more, the church was the only organization on the continent capable of fielding knight orders on a large scale. Taking it down would be no easy feat.
The mages, for their part, faced a different dilemma: while they were favored by the upper classes, the common people feared them as dangerous, unearthly beings. Thus, they too dared not take direct action against the church.
The crown held the power; the mages held the might. Together, they formed an uneasy alliance against the common threat posed by the church. This dynamic played out in kingdoms across the continent.
Under normal circumstances, the arrival of the Royal Mage Guard would have been a relief. After all, if the enemy was the church, the mages would undoubtedly side with the crown. But the situation today was anything but normal. This young noble lord was no ordinary man—he was the one who had annihilated the Mobius family's private army. The Mobius family had long supplied mages to the royal court, and their relationship with the crown was deeply entrenched. There was no doubt that the Mobius family would never stand up for Blake. So where did the Royal Mage Guard stand in all this?
"We are the Royal Capital Guard!" the captain called up to the mages, stepping forward. The church inquisitors, predictably, remained silent.
"We are currently executing His Majesty's orders to escort honored guests to the palace!"
"I see," one of the mages replied, nodding slowly. The three figures descended from the sky, landing gracefully before the guards. They studied Blake and Ophelia intently for a moment, then nodded to Blake.
"Greetings, Mr. Blake Felix. We are the Royal Mage Guard. We have been sent to escort you and your companion to the Mage's Guild."
The crowd was left speechless. Those who looked at Blake did so with a mixture of awe and confusion. What on earth had this young noble done to attract the attention of *all three* of the kingdom's great powers? What in the world was happening here?
But the mage's next words left the crowd utterly stunned.
"This is a direct order from **Archmage Lariboide**."
At the mention of Archmage Lariboide's name, the Royal Capital Guard soldiers who had been bristling with anger immediately fell silent. Lariboide was a national hero of Wester and the leader of the Royal Mage Guard. While the guard and the army were separate branches of the crown, they both served the king. If Lariboide himself had ordered them to take Blake into custody, there was nothing the guards could do to oppose it.
"Lariboide wants to see me?" Blake asked, a faint smile playing on his lips. He paused for a moment, pretending to consider the offer.
"Very well. I will go with you. I do hope you have prepared a comfortable journey for me."
"Naturally," the mage replied with a slight bow.
The two men exchanged words as if the church inquisitors were not even there, completely ignoring them. When the inquisitors saw that Blake was about to leave with the mages, they could no longer contain their rage. They stepped forward, blocking the way.
"You have no right to take him! He is a dangerous fugitive wanted by the Church of the Divine Light!"
"We have no quarrel with the Church of the Divine Light," the mage replied coldly, turning to face the inquisitors. "Your affairs are of no concern to us."
But just then, Blake made a move that took everyone by surprise.
He held up a hand, motioning for the mages to stand back. Then, wearing that same elegant, gentle smile, he walked toward the four inquisitors.
"Taking me to stand trial… this is truly the Archbishop's order?" he asked, his voice soft.
"Of course it is! What else would it be?!" one of the inquisitors snapped, his face contorted with anger.
"Good. Very good," Blake nodded, a mysterious glint flashing in his eyes.
"To be honest, I've never liked the term 'suspect'."
The crowd exchanged confused glances, completely baffled by the sudden shift in the young lord's tone. Only Ophelia sighed softly, lowering her head in resignation.
"It implies that you are merely *accused* of a crime, not proven guilty," Blake continued, his voice growing colder. "But I hate being suspected—especially when the suspicion is completely unfounded… so…"
He lifted his head, his smile vanishing, replaced by a look of icy indifference.
"Since you've already leveled the charge, I would be happy to make it *true*."
The words had barely left his mouth when a streak of black light flashed from his waist, faster than lightning, slicing toward the four inquisitors.
Blake had struck!
The four clergymen were caught completely off guard. They had never imagined that this young noble would dare to attack them in broad daylight, in front of hundreds of witnesses—without the slightest hesitation. By the time they registered the danger, a brilliant white sword light was already streaking toward their chests.
"ROAR!"
But these were no ordinary clergymen—they were Holy Tribunal Inquisitors, and they possessed considerable power. The moment Blake's sword light erupted, the four men roared in unison, and a faint, shimmering barrier flared to life around them, intercepting the sudden attack.
Unfortunately for them, this was merely an illusion.
In the blink of an eye, the streaking sword light split apart, transforming into a storm of countless tiny blades that rained down on the inquisitors. Their barrier, once thought impenetrable, shattered like a fragile eggshell the moment it collided with the onslaught of blade light.
"GAAH!"
With their barrier gone, the four inquisitors were defenseless. Screams of agony rang out as three of them fell to the ground in an instant, their bodies reduced to bloody pulp. The sole survivor had both his hands hacked off; his body was covered in horrific wounds, and he lay crumpled on the ground, his face ashen with terror. He looked up at Blake, his eyes filled with unadulterated fear.
He was not alone. The Royal Capital Guard soldiers, the watching nobles, and even the Royal Mage Guard mages stared at Blake in stunned silence. He had attacked without warning—and killed three men and maimed a fourth in the blink of an eye! These were no ordinary priests; they were Holy Tribunal Inquisitors, each with the power of at least a **Mid-Circle Mage**. And yet, they had fallen so easily? By the Divine Light—these men were not made of paper!
Just what kind of power did this man possess? And who *was* he, really?
"Go back and tell your Archbishop," Blake said, his fingers brushing the hilt of his pitch-black sword as if it had never been drawn. His voice was calm and gentle, as if he were greeting an old friend.
"I have no desire to deal with such trivial nuisances again. If anything like this happens once more, I will not hesitate to pay the Archbishop a personal visit. I think he knows what that would mean. If he has forgotten… I will be happy to refresh his memory."
With that, Blake turned to the elderly mage beside him, once again wearing that elegant, aristocratic smile.
"Now, if you would be so kind—lead the way, Mage."