Reincarnated in a novel: I am the villain!-Chapter 328: Trial

[Timeline: One Month Earlier – The Surface World]

[Location: The Grand Cathedral, Inner Sanctum]

The splintered adamantite doors slammed shut, sealing them inside the ancient chamber.

Outside, the muffled, thunderous impacts of the Pope’s *[Sanctuary of the Absolute Sun]* hammered against the thick walls, shaking the very foundations of the Cathedral. But inside the inner sanctum, the chaos was abruptly cut off.

The air was perfectly still, smelling of ancient dust and ozone.

Lukas collapsed against the barricaded doors, sliding down to the floor as his Magitech Gauntlets hissed, venting scalding steam. Beside him, Elena lay on her back, gasping for air, her pristine white uniform scorched and her mana core completely wrung dry from the sheer terror of bending a 7th-Order Domain.

"We’re in," Lukas wheezed, his metallic fingers twitching. "But those doors won’t hold an angry Pope forever. Do it, Alaric. Hurry."

Alaric didn’t answer.

He was staring straight ahead.

In the center of the dim, circular chamber, bathed in a solitary shaft of pale golden light, sat a simple, unadorned stone pedestal.

And driven deep into the stone was the Sword of Heroes.

It didn’t look like the extravagant, jewel-encrusted ceremonial weapons the Paladins wielded. It was a longsword of flawless, untarnished silver, elegant and terrifyingly simple. It radiated a pure, dense holy mana that felt entirely different from the Pope’s suffocating fanaticism. It felt ancient. It felt like the very concept of salvation.

*THUMP-THUMP. THUMP-THUMP.*

The Titan’s Capacitor fused to Alaric’s sternum began to beat erratically. The heavy iron sphere, an engine designed to convert ambient mana into pure kinetic violence, was reacting aggressively to the absolute purity of the divine artifact. It felt like two opposing magnets being forced together.

Alaric reached over his shoulder and unbuckled the heavy leather strap.

*CRASH.*

The Anvil, his four-hundred-pound slab of grey mythril, hit the stone floor, gouging a crater into the ancient tiles. He needed both hands for this. He needed everything he had.

He walked up the three small steps to the dais. His breathing was heavy, the adrenaline of the heist mixing with the sheer, biological awe of standing before his bloodline’s greatest legacy..

He reached out.

His calloused, scarred hands wrapped around the silver hilt of the sword.

*VW00000MMM.*

The physical world vanished.

The sound of Lukas’s panting, the thudding of the Pope’s attacks against the door, the dim light of the sanctum, all of it was instantly erased, replaced by an endless, measureless expanse of blinding white.

Alaric found himself standing on a floor of glass that reflected a sky devoid of clouds or suns.

"Who approaches the altar of the First?"

The voice didn’t come from a person; it resonated from the light itself, echoing with the absolute, unyielding authority of a bygone era.

Slowly, the light in front of Alaric coalesced into a towering, spectral figure. It was a man clad in pristine, glowing armor, his face obscured by a helm of pure radiance.

The lingering spirit of the First Hero. The man who had wielded this very blade against the Demon King Azazel in the First Era.

"I am Alaric Ironheart," Alaric said, planting his feet firmly on the glass, refusing to bow under the immense spiritual pressure. "Your descendant. I came to claim the sword."

The towering figure of light stepped forward. He didn’t draw a weapon; he simply reached out and placed a spectral hand against Alaric’s chest, right over the Titan’s Capacitor.

"I feel my blood in your veins," the Ancestor’s voice rumbled, a sound filled with profound sorrow and rising judgment. "But I do not feel my spirit."

The white world around them began to shift, acting as a mirror to Alaric’s soul. Images of his past sixteen years projected into the empty space.

The sword was evaluating him.

It saw his fighting style. It didn’t see the elegant, righteous swordsmanship of a holy knight. It saw a brute using raw, destructive physics.

It saw him using the blunt force of a four-hundred-pound iron slab to shatter Golems from the inside out. It saw him treating magic not as a divine gift, but as a resource to be crushed.

*"You fight like a beast of the earth,"* the Ancestor’s voice boomed in disgust. *"Your heart is an engine of violence, grafted with a machine of the Void’s design."*

The images shifted again.

It showed Alaric standing in the mud of the Outer Rim, wearing a crude black mask. It showed him bowing to a man in a silver half-mask.

It showed Damien Voss, the man the Church called the Anti-Christ, the terrorist known as Zero.

The holy light in the mindscape suddenly turned violent, flaring with absolute rejection.

*"You follow a shadow!"* the Ancestor roared, the weight of the judgment forcing Alaric to his knees. *"You have sworn your loyalty to a villain who mocks the Light! You harbor darkness, greed, and pragmatic cruelty in your soul!"*

In the physical world, the reaction was instantaneous.

"Alaric!" Lukas screamed from the door.

The Sword of Heroes began to reject him violently. The pristine silver hilt turned white-hot. Golden fire erupted from the crossguard, wrapping around Alaric’s hands and forearms.

It wasn’t a normal burn. It was a conceptual purge. The holy fire was attempting to incinerate the "impurities" in his soul, attacking his skin, his muscles, and the mechanical iron heart beating in his chest.

*HISSSSSS.*

The smell of searing flesh filled the sanctum. Alaric gritted his teeth, the veins in his neck bulging as the agony threatened to rip his consciousness apart.

Back in the mindscape, the towering figure of the First Hero looked down at Alaric with cold, divine absolute.

*"The blade of salvation cannot be wielded by a servant of darkness,"* the Ancestor decreed. *"Release the hilt, boy. Or burn."*

Alaric trembled, the kinetic energy in his chest fighting a losing battle against the overwhelming holy purification.

*"Renounce him,"* the sword’s spirit demanded, the pressure increasing tenfold. *"Renounce the Heretic Zero. Cleanse your heart of his teachings. Swear your life solely to the Goddess and the Light, and the power of the First Era shall be yours."*

The golden fire in the real world surged higher, creeping up to his shoulders. The pain was absolute, a searing agony that demanded submission. It was the easy way out. All he had to do was let go, or say the words. All he had to do was betray the man who had saved him.

Alaric, kneeling on the glass floor of his own soul, slowly raised his head.

His grey eyes, usually tired and stoic, burned with a terrifying, gritty defiance. He looked at the perfect, pristine spirit of the First Hero.

"No."

Authors note

To my incredible readers, I find myself sitting down today with a heart full of genuine gratitude. Writing is often a solitary journey, a quiet process of weaving thoughts into narratives, but you have transformed that experience into a vibrant, shared adventure. Your consistent support, insightful comments, and unwavering enthusiasm serve as the fuel for every sentence I craft.

Without your presence, these characters would simply be ink on a page; it is your imagination that breathes life into them.

I am thrilled to announce that the wait for a major update is nearly over. Please mark your calendars for the 26th, as I am preparing a mass release that will significantly push our journey forward.

I have been working tirelessly behind the scenes to ensure that these upcoming Chapters are packed with the intensity, development, and surprises you deserve. This release is my way of celebrating our milestones together and rewarding the patience you have shown during the quieter periods of the creative process.

In addition to the scheduled release, I want to emphasize how much your active engagement impacts the frequency of our updates. In our community, Golden Tickets and gifts are more than just digital tokens; they are tangible signals of your passion.

These contributions act as a powerful motivator, directly correlating to the speed of my output. Simply put: more Golden Tickets and gifts mean more Chapters. When I see that surge of support, it provides the extra spark needed to pull those late-night writing sessions and deliver bonus content ahead of schedule.

As we approach the 26th, I encourage you to keep sharing your theories and reactions. Reading your feedback is the highlight of my day, and it often inspires new nuances within the plot.

We have so many mountains to climb and mysteries to unravel in the coming arcs, and I am honored to have such a dedicated audience by my side.

Thank you once again for being the best part of this literary endeavor. Your loyalty is never taken for granted, and I am counting down the days until we can dive into the new material together. Get ready for an epic surge of content very soon. Let’s make this upcoming mass release our biggest moment yet, fueled by your incredible energy and those game-changing Golden Tickets. The best is truly yet to come.