Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king-Chapter 605: Holy Tribunal(2)

Archon Vesperian set aside the vellum he had been reading, its edges curling slightly from the handling. He lifted his staff once more, tapping it twice against the stone floor—a sound sharp and final.

"The Tribunal," he declared, "having heard the accused’s testimony regarding the matter of arson, and finding no new evidence to be presented at this time, shall set aside judgment on that charge for now. And pass to the next"

Not like we have a lack of them, he mused as a slight murmur, like a ripple through stagnant water, passed among the assembled priests, but the archon pressed on without pause.

"We shall proceed," he continued, his voice gaining a cold gravity, "to the next indictment: Rebellion. Bearing arms against the rightful Crown of Yarzat. Leading armed men into battle. All these acts, committed while bound by sacred oaths to forswear the sword and shield."

He leaned forward slightly, the deep lines of his face casting shadows in the torchlight.

"You," he said, the staff raised to point at Elyos like the finger of Judgment itself, "who once knelt before the altar and swore before the Gods themselves to abandon all instruments of worldly violence, have marched at the head of men. You have raised banners. You have given commands. You have spilled blood, or so you are accused of."

His voice, though never loud, resonated with a terrible weight.

"And still even if you did not organize this rebellion," he added, "then you most certainly partook of it—stood shoulder to shoulder with lords who raised sword against the sovereign of Yarzat.We have many testimonry of that’’

The words fell like hammer blows against the already broken figure on the stool.

Vesperian lowered his staff with solemn finality.

"Tell this Tribunal, Elyos, Voice no longer of the Faithful: Do you also declare yourself innocent of these charges—despite the testimony of captured knights, priests, and lords? Despite the bloodied fields and burned villages?"

At the accusation Elyos lifted his chin. His hollow eyes—sunken yet burning with some tattered remnant of pride—met the gaze of the Archon.

"I do," he said, voice steady as stone. "I declare myself innocent of all that I am accused of."

For a heartbeat, silence reigned.

Then came the muttering.

It began low, barely above a whisper—a rustle like dry leaves blown across a tomb—but it quickly grew into a susurrus that filled the vastness of the hall.

"Blasphemy..." hissed one priest, fingers worrying the beads of his prayer chain.

"Lying before the gaze of the Gods themselves," muttered another, his voice quivering with anger.

"Treacherous tongue," spat a third, his hand clenched into a fist over his heart.

Across the Tribunal, heads shook, brows furrowed, and voices rose and fell in a wave of holy indignation. Some priests looked to the Archon, silently pleading for swift judgment. Others merely stared at Elyos with the cold disdain reserved for oathbreakers and apostates.

Of course, the reason why they were so quick to point finger was that many of them were the ones who gave their monetary support to the cause, and were now showing their loyalty to the crown by giving support for the guilty party in the tribunal.

Still the murmuring had scarcely died when Elyos, seated upon the hard and humble stool, raised his voice once more. Though hollowed by defeat and chains, a shard of his former fervor gleamed beneath his words.

"I am accused of rebellion," he said, his voice cutting through the tribunal’s low growl, "but to rebel... one must first be bound."

A ripple of confusion flickered among the tribunal. Elyos pressed on, his words sharp and deliberate:

"Tell me, Revered Fathers: since when do priests swear oaths to princes and kings?" His gaze swept the assembled judges, daring them to meet his eyes. "Is it not the Gods alone to whom we bend the knee? Are we now to bind ourselves not only to the heavens but to men as well?"

Vesperian’s staff tapped the floor once, a sound like a gavel striking a tomb.

"You twist the truth, Brother Elyos," the Archon said, his voice level. "You know well that the charge before you is not rebellion against the Prince of Yarzat—for whom you indeed swore no oath—but rebellion against the Pontifex himself.

Against the Church, whose anointing hand you once accepted and whose authority you chose to defy.You were not given any permission from the great Ecclesiast himself for such a thing, which made your war illegal and unlawful."

Elyos bowed his head slightly, as if acknowledging the blow—but when he looked up, the fire was still there.

"You pose your accusation," he said, his voice calm but edged like a knife honed on stone, "as though I had launched a rebellion. As though I had swung a sword, or thrust a lance into the ranks of the faithful."

He spread his thin, scarred hands before him—a gesture of stark, naked defense.

"But I never bore arms. I never ordered a charge. I never split skull or shed blood. All I did was lead Mass, celebrate the holy feasts, and give final rites to those who fell."

His voice grew stronger, surer, the words landing like stones cast into a still pond.

"Tell me, Fathers—is it forbidden for a priest to walk among soldiers? To offer them the last mercy as they bleed upon the earth?"He leaned forward slightly on the stool, the carved star at his throat swinging with the motion."Do not all armies have priests in their ranks, to bless the banners, to shrive the dying, to bury the dead?"

A few of the older priests shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Some averted their eyes.

But Vesperian did not move. His gaze was steady, unmoved by the plea.

"You are not accused," the Archon said, voice like grinding stone, "of doing such honorable and dutiful work."He leaned forward slightly, the shadows deepening the hollows of his aged face."You are accused of leading men into battle. Of giving orders not in the name of the Most High, but in the name of rebellion."

The staff struck the ground again.

"Answer plainly: do you deny giving counsel to the soldiers? Do you deny instructing them in their deeds?"

The hall held its breath.

Elyos closed his eyes for a brief moment, gathering what strength remained in him, before answering:

"I deny giving them orders of war," he said, steady as a mountain wind. "They took their commands from other men—lords, captains, knights. As for me, I gave only what a priest may give to the uncertain: counsel. I offered prayer, I soothed doubts, I spoke of righteousness and courage in the face of death."

He opened his eyes again, and they burned not with arrogance but with a weary, battered dignity.

"Nothing more."

Another low murmur rippled through the tribunal—some voices scoffing, others uneasy.

’’Lies!’’ A priest even shouted

’’SILENCE IN THE TRIBUNAL’’ Vesperian bellowed back , demanding for absolute quiet and looking at the decrepit priest so sharply that he caused the elder man to bow, all the while trying to take refuge behind the back of the rest of the testimonies.

As soon as silence came again, Vesperian remained still a moment longer, staring at Elyos as if weighing the truth of him against the accusations stacked like stones around his soul.

"For this head of accusation," he intoned, "we have the testimony of witnesses who may aid this tribunal in arriving at the truth."

A pause followed, heavy and expectant.

"The first witness may be brought forth."

At his signal, one of the great doors at the rear of the hall groaned open once more. The noise echoed through the silent chamber like the breath of some ancient beast stirring in its lair.

From the shadowed threshold emerged a figure—young, slight, and leaning heavily on a plain wooden cane. He could not have been more than twenty summers old, his frame thin and pale beneath simple garments. Every step he took was careful, painful; his limp was pronounced, dragging his right foot behind him as if he had stacked stones behind.

The hall watched in silence, and with pity, as the youth made his slow, laborious way forward, the sound of his cane tapping against the stone floor joining the hollow acoustics of the chamber.

When he reached the center of the hall, he bowed low to the tribunal—first to the priests seated in judgment, then to Archon Vesperian himself, and lastly, with a marked formality, to the Prince Consort, who regarded him with the same detached curiosity he had shown Elyos.

Guards flanked the boy, guiding him gently to the designated place for witnesses—a modest dais slightly elevated to give clear view to all present.

The young man placed his cane carefully against the railing, keeping one hand braced upon it even as he straightened himself, standing as tall as his battered body would allow.

Through all of this, he never once looked at Elyos.

Not even a glance.

Elyos watched him in silence.

The youth, when finally settled, kept his gaze locked forward, not on the accused, but on the Archon and the tribunal who looked like they were ready to draw the truth from him like blood from a wound.

The tribunal priests leaned forward, their faces eager, expectant, like vultures scenting fresh meat.

Vesperian’s voice broke the silence once again, grim and cold:

"You may now give your testimony."

The young man drew a deep, shuddering breath before speaking, his voice trembling slightly, though whether from anger or pain it was impossible to tell.

"May I ask a question of the accused before we begin, Your lordship?" he said bowing his head respectfully toward the Archon, mistaking his title,which however, was let pass since he was at the end of the day , just a peasant.

Vesperian raised a single thin eyebrow, visibly surprised by the request. A few heartbeats passed in tense silence before he gave a slow, measured nod, realizing there was no lawful cause to deny it.

The young man turned then — for the first time — to face Elyos.

Their eyes locked.

The youth’s gaze was raw.

His voice, when it came, cracked under the weight of it:

"Tell me, " he said, each syllable falling like a hammer upon the anvil of the hall, "do you truly deny — here, before the Tribunal and before the very Gods — that you led one of the armies of the rebellion?That you led us?"

A silence fell heavy and absolute across the tribunal. The breath of every priest, every witness, seemed caught in their throats.

Elyos, calm as still water, answered without hesitation.

"I do deny it," he said evenly. "I never gave any order of war. Sir Joshen commanded the host. I offered counsel when asked—nothing more."

He spoke as a man might recite the weather, indifferent to storm or sun.

However, the effect it had on the witness was overwhelming, It was as if his words struck him harder than any blade could have done. His face twisted — not in rage, but in the raw agony of betrayal made manifest.

He bowed stiffly toward the Archon and the tribunal, then turned his face once more toward Elyos, his voice rising, trembling with loathing.

"I beg pardon for wasting your time," he said, the words dragging from him like chains. "I had hoped to find a man there, but instead I only see a snake.

Know this, you bloody cur — no charge against you here, no mortal word will ever be enough to measure the depth of your treachery."

He took a single, faltering step forward, his cane striking the floor with a furious crack.

In his furious rage, he stumbled and fell hard on the ground face-first.

The guards tried to help him, but the young man refused their hands and instead raised himself on his own, as if accepting the help would have weakened his resolve.

"Rot shall have your flesh, and fire shall consume your soul. That alone shall be your due. Not for rebellion. Not for murder. But for the vilest sin of all—the betrayal of everything you claimed to stand for.And everything that we fought for. Through me, hundreds more of voices and hundreds more betrayal from you, shall attest to your lies

We hope you may never know peace as you walk to your death’’

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