Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king-Chapter 606: Holy Tribunal(3)

"The witness is urged to inform the judges of his testimony," the Archon intoned, his voice firm as a gavel striking stone. "And to cease engaging in conversation with the accused."

The rebuke struck the young soldier like a blow. He winced, seeming only now to remember where he was and before whom he stood. With a stiff bow, he lowered his head.

"My apologies, I will proceed."

But before he turned fully, he cast one last glance at Elyos — a glance not of hatred, but of deep, aching disappointment. It was a look that struck harder than any curse, and even Elyos, for a fleeting instant, seemed unsettled.

The young man straightened, grasping his cane tightly, and began his testimony in a clear, if heavy, voice: freewёbnoνel.com

"It was three years past when I first laid eyes on the accused," he said, the memory seeming to paint itself before him as he spoke. "Then, he was but a priest wandering the wilds, gathering a few hundred followers around him. They came to our village when we were desperate — harried by bandits, our stores pillaged, our fields burned."

He paused, glancing briefly toward the assembled priests, and then continued.

"The accused, Elyos, offered us help. His followers aided in rebuilding what they could; they stood watch at night, drove off the raiders who had plagued us. And he —" here the young man’s voice dropped, almost reverently, "he spoke mass each day, preached hope and resilience to those of us too battered to believe in either."

"In gratitude, the village gave what little they could — food, shelter, loyalty."

He shifted uncomfortably, as if the weight of the memory itself was too much to bear.

"I was the third son of seven," he said quietly. "And as is custom for those unlikely to inherit land, my father urged me — and two of my brothers — to seek a life under the cloth, hoping that perhaps one of us might one day serve in the temples."

He paused, his gaze flickering again toward the tribunal, his voice tinged with regret.

"But the life of the cloth was not for me. Nor for my brothers. The sword called to us, not the sermon. We became part of Elyos’ guard — one of many. What began as a small flock grew larger with each passing month. And we marched, and we served, and we believed."

A shadow crossed his face, and he drew a slow, trembling breath, as if steeling himself against the pain of the memory that followed.

"And when Elyos founded the settlement of Elioth... we thought we were building a new home. A place where the Divine’s light would shine unmarred."

He closed his eyes for a moment, as though seeing once again the smoke and ruin, the flame devouring all that they had built after the war tore through it.

When he opened them again, there was a hollow sorrow there — the kind that no testimony, no judgment, could ever undo.

The young man shifted his weight, his hand tightening around his cane as he continued, his voice sharper now, edged with something bitter:

"It was after the death of Priest Samiel — struck down by heretics sheltered under the very banner of the Crown — that everything changed." His words hung heavy in the great hall.

He cast a searing glance at Elyos before continuing:"The accused... he gave sermons, day after day. He spoke of justice, of vengeance. He told us it was our sacred duty to avenge our brother’s murder — that we could not let the blood of a priest be forgotten, not while the wicked lived under the prince’s protection."

The young man’s voice trembled, not from fear, but from the force of his own outrage:"An army was raised. Men left their homes, their families, their livelihoods. We marched — marched alongside the rebels, marched to punish those heretics who mocked the gods and the cloth alike."

A heavy silence settled over the tribunal after his words.

The Archon, his face a mask of unreadable stone, finally leaned forward slightly, addressing the accused in a calm, heavy voice:"Accused, do you deny the testimony that has just been given?"

Elyos, standing firm and expressionless, shook his head slowly."I deny nothing of what he has spoken," he said, voice steady. "It is the truth that Brother Samiel was murdered by heretics and that I preached against it. It is the truth that I spoke of the injustice done to a brother of the cloth."He raised his hands slightly, almost in supplication."But I swear before the gods and this tribunal: I never led the army. I gave no order of battle. I called only for remembrance — for justice — not for war."

At those words, the young soldier nearly lost all restraint. His voice tore from him like a sword from its scabbard:

"How can you say that, just to save your own skin!" he shouted, his face red with anger.

The Archon’s voice cracked like thunder through the chamber:"Order in the tribunal!"

The outburst died immediately. Shamed, the young man bowed low, his cane tapping the floor as he knelt slightly.

"My deepest apologies, Your Illustriousness," he said hoarsely.

The Archon, after a brief pause, allowed the silence to settle before speaking again:"Very well. Does the witness have anything else he wishes to add to his testimony?"

The young man straightened, the pain of his limp seeming momentarily forgotten under the weight of what he still wished to say. He bowed once more.

"If it please the tribunal," he said, his voice controlled but carrying a deep weight, "I would ask permission to pose one single question — a question I believe will be of great use to these proceedings."

The Archon considered him for a moment, then nodded curtly.

"You may proceed."

The young soldier drew a long, steady breath, his cane tapping softly on the stone as he planted himself firm before the tribunal. His eyes locked once again on Elyos, burning with a mixture of sorrow and scorn.

"During the final battle that ended the war," he began, his voice hard but trembling at the edges, "when the royal host pressed us on all sides... you took up your staff and cried out to us. You shouted that we must fight for the dead, that cowardice would stain our souls, and that the brave would find their reward in the next life.

You spoke of the Crown’s infamy, and how we fought for a cause blessed by the gods themselves."He paused, his jaw clenching."Do you deny this?" he asked sharply.

Elyos shook his head, unwavering."I do not."

The soldier pressed further, his voice rising with each word:"Do you deny urging us to fight to the death?"

Again, Elyos answered without hesitation:"I do not."

"Do you deny standing as witness when our commander, Sir Joshen, fell in battle? Do you deny preaching courage and valor in the face of certain death? A cause that cost me my two brothers, my legs..." his voice cracked but he forced himself onward, "...and the lives of half the citizens of Elioth?"

Elyos bowed his head slightly."I do not."

The young man took a staggering step forward, as if he could barely stand under the weight of it all. His next words were almost spat, thick with disgust:"Then why are you still here?We all died in one way or the other and yet you still walk among the living."

His voice dropped, raw and scathing, as he looked upon Elyos as one might look upon a snake:"You should have perished alongside the soldiers you urged to die with courage. When I was summoned to this tribunal, I thought I would look upon the face of a man who fought for what he believed was good — a man who bore his fate with honor and dignity." He shook his head slowly, his expression twisted with bitter disappointment."But all I see is a coward... denouncing himself, and the sacrifices of the fallen, just to save his own wretched skin."

Finished, he turned stiffly, bowing first to the Archon, then to the priests, and lastly to the Crown.

"My testimony is given," he said in a strained, formal tone.

The Archon inclined his head gravely."Very well. We thank you for your testimony. You may leave."

And so, with a final hollow gaze at Elyos, the young man turned and limped out of the hall, the echo of his cane against the stone floor lingering long after he was gone.

The Archon straightened upon his seat, preparing to call forth the next witness, when a voice, firm , broke through the heavy silence of the tribunal.

"I would like to speak," said Elyos.

The Archon’s hand froze mid-gesture, and he raised a sharp brow in visible surprise. Even the Prince himself, who until now had watched the proceedings with cold detachment, shifted forward slightly in his throne, his gaze narrowing.

Elyos stood unflinching before them all, his voice carrying clearly across the stone hall."I deny," he said, "that I ever led men into battle. I deny commanding them as a general commands his host."He paused, letting the words hang in the heavy air, before continuing with solemn gravity:"But I will not deny that I called them to arms. I will not deny that I preached fire into their hearts and urged them to rise. Nor will I deny that, in all my deeds, I sought with every breath to see their cause triumph."

He turned slightly, as if to address not only the tribunal, but the very memory of those he had once led."I confess," he said, his voice steady as a funeral bell, "to having taken part in a war unblessed by the Pontifex, a war waged without the benediction of the Church . For this, I am guilty. As for the other charges — of treason, of leading armies in defiance of my sacred vows — I proclaim my innocence."

The hall was silent save for the faint crackle of distant torches. The Archon let out a slow, measured sigh, as though the weight of judgment itself were a stone upon his shoulders.

"Then by your own words, and the evidence laid before us," the Archon intoned, his voice rich with ritual finality, "there is enough proof to find you guilty, which the court hereby finds you.

And as punishment, as it dictacted for such crimes, you shall be cleansed by the flame of the gods until death. May the heavens have mercy upon your soul."

Elyos closed his eyes for a brief moment, as if offering a silent prayer. When he opened them, he turned — not to the priests, nor to the judges, but to the young soldier who had testified against him.

The young man, who had once looked upon him with venomous disgust, now met his gaze, and for the first time, there was no hatred in his eyes. .

Elyos inclined his head in a slow, dignified nod, a gesture not of apology, but of farewell.The soldier, leaning heavily on his cane, returned the nod with solemn gravity, and without another word, turned to limp away, his retreating figure seeming to carry with it the last breath of hope and sorrow from the chamber.

Thus was judgment rendered, and with the sentence awaiting to be given

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