Excommunication (2)
I sat in the interrogation room chair. Every time the torch hanging on the wall flickered, the shadows on the ceiling writhed grotesquely.
……Lien.
I chewed my lips thinking of my childhood friend's face. My already dry, cracked lips split open, blood trickling down. The moment I scooped up the collapsed Lien and called her name. The instant she called my name and lost consciousness. A powerful blow to the back of my head, and then blackness. When I opened my eyes, I was already in the interrogation room.
"Holy Knight Elijah Verdin. You stand accused of attempting to rape Saintess Lien. Do you admit to the crime?"
The priest in black robes had said exactly that. Their claims were clear. Knights on night patrol had witnessed me entering Lien's chambers. And during the time I was away at the Cardinal's summons, someone dressed identically to me had been seen standing in front of her chambers.
I desperately protested my innocence.
"I left because the Cardinal summoned me. There was definitely a priest who delivered the message. Mid-forties, small scar under his left eye—"
"No such priest exists in the Church."
"……Ask the Cardinal directly, and he'll confirm it."
"The Cardinal was at his residence that night. There are witnesses."
"Then someone deliberately lured me away! There's no way I would do something like that to Lien—no, to the Saintess!"
"The witnesses have no reason to lie."
"……Ha."
No matter how I argued, the response was always the same. The interrogators weren't here to verify evidence. They wanted a confession from my own mouth. It had all been meticulously planned from the start. The Cardinal's summons, the empty warehouse, the vanishing priest. Everything designed to draw me away. And in the meantime, someone in armor identical to mine had knocked on the Saintess's door. Half-asleep, Lien would have opened it without suspicion….
I ground my teeth. It was all my fault. Pathetic, falling for such a crude trick and leaving my post. Was that the act of a Saintess's guard? Self-loathing burrowed into my bones.
The interrogation dragged on. When did you enter the chambers? What was your purpose? What was your relationship with the Saintess? Rumors said you two were close. Had you approached her with impure intentions?
But I repeated the same answer.
"I did nothing."
That was it. One interrogator slammed his fist on the table; another screamed in my face. I didn't flinch. The Church didn't give me a drop of water. I wasn't even allowed to stand from the chair. Day broke, night fell, day broke again. Still, I refused to admit guilt. No matter the questions, no matter the pressure, I would resist to the end.
But one thing gnawed at me.
Is Lien okay……?
No one told me what happened after I blacked out, or her current condition. I could only pray she was safe.
…
On the morning of the fourth day, the interrogation room door opened. It wasn't an interrogator who entered. Two priests in white robes grabbed my arms and hauled me up.
"The sinner, Elijah Verdin, is to be transported to the Church tribunal."
I rose silently. As I tried to step forward, my legs buckled badly. Three days without proper food or sleep. I clenched my jaw and endured. I wouldn't give the ones who trapped me the satisfaction of seeing me stumble like a fool.
We passed through the corridors and out of the Church building. Cool outside air flooded my lungs.
"……."
The bright sunlight made me squint for a moment. Then my eyes took in the piercing blue sky. Spring was still there. I gazed up briefly, then lowered my head.
A Church carriage waited at the entrance, flanked by lines of holy knights on either side—as if expecting me to flee. They stared at me like I was a revolting insect.
"……Tch."
I sneered coldly and climbed into the carriage slowly.
The light pouring from the tribunal's high ceiling was pale and cold. Nothing like the warm glow filtering through the church's stained glass. My footsteps echoed unnaturally loud against the white marble floor. Was a place of judgment supposed to feel this devoid of warmth? I thought, staring down at my bound hands.
I sat in the defendant's chair, shackled with iron chains.
"……."
I slowly surveyed the room. The gallery was packed tight. High Church priests, nobles, palace officials. The scandal of the Saintess's guard attempting to rape her had set the entire empire ablaze in days. The air thrummed with bloodlust, as if the verdict was already decided.
And Artisia. She sat in the gallery in full formal attire. Her expression was statue-still. For a split second, our eyes met, then hers dropped to her feet. I quietly looked away.
Tang. Tang. Tang.
"—Silence."
The old man on the dais struck the gavel and spoke softly. The murmurs died instantly.
"Holy Knight Elijah Verdin."
Golden cross gleaming over his white Church robes. A benevolent face that revealed nothing. The pinnacle of the empire, outranking even the imperial family. The Pope.
"Do you confess your sins and seek God's mercy?"
"……I do not confess."
My voice came out hoarse and cracked. The gallery stirred; someone muttered a curse.
"That night, I left at the Cardinal's summons. Someone wore my armor and invaded the chambers. The witnesses saw someone else dressed like me. Give me a chance to question the witnesses—"
"Enough."
The Pope's quiet word cut me off. The gallery fell silent.
"Elijah Verdin. This is not a place to hear a sinner's defense."
The Pope spoke calmly.
"Yet you invent a nonexistent culprit to deceive this holy tribunal."
"It's not deception. There was definitely a priest who lured me—"
"That priest is your fabrication as well."
The Pope paused.
"Born in the slums, made a knight by the Saintess's grace."
Slowly, deliberately.
"It pains me that you betrayed that grace and succumbed to lust."
The Pope raised his hand quietly. A white-robed knight from the side stepped forward with a massive iron hammer. Its surface bristled with spikes like a meat tenderizer.
Thud.
A dull rupture echoed through the chamber. Bones shattering, flesh pulping. Dark red blood dripped from the hammer's raised head.
I looked down at my grotesquely mangled left hand. Not a single groan escaped me. I just bit my lips until they burst. The metallic tang of blood filled my mouth. I wouldn't grovel for mercy over this pain.
Retches echoed from the gallery. Some bolted from their seats. I slowly raised my head. At the edge of my vision, Artisia stared, fists clenched white-knuckled.
The Pope, gazing impassively, spoke.
"I ask again. Do you confess your sin?"
"……I do not."
My voice trembled faintly—not from fear, but exhaustion.
Thud.
This time, my right hand. The shock shot up my arm to my shoulder. My torso pitched forward instinctively. I tried to grip the chair arms, but my crushed hands were useless. I clamped my jaw, swallowing the scream.
The tribunal was deathly still. Even the gallery's murmurs hushed. In the suffocating silence, the Pope spoke once more.
"Elijah Verdin. Last chance. Do you confess your sin?"
I stared at my pulverized hands. Blood still poured, soaking the floor. But I wouldn't yield. I altered my answer slightly.
"……I cannot confess."
Thud.
The third rupture came from below. My body collapsed under the chair. Chains rattled.
"……."
I lay sprawled on the marble, gasping. My vision swam red. I needed to stand, but my body wouldn't obey. The Pope watched for a long moment, then rose slowly.
"Guilty."
That single word fell over me.
…
The sentence was merciless. Stripped of all Church positions and expelled from the Holy Knights. And permanent excommunication for Elijah Verdin personally. Considering the Church's dominion over the empire, it was a de facto death sentence.
While the black-robed priest read the verdict aloud, I crawled back to the chair. The priests approached, patching my wounds just enough with divine power to keep me alive and walking. They clicked their tongues and spat curses even as they healed. I said nothing.
As people began filing out one by one, a cautious set of footsteps approached—distinct from the rest.
"……Elijah."
It was Artisia. Ignoring the stares, she knelt before me.
"Don't worry. I'll find a way. I know you didn't do it. So……."
Artisia took my hand. Sensation hadn't fully returned, so her warmth barely registered. But I felt her trembling.
"Just wait a little. I swear. I will."
I lifted my head to meet Artisia's eyes. Faith, resolve, and sorrow swirled in them. I spoke slowly.
"Your Highness."
"……."
"I'll be fine."
A lie. But I couldn't drag her into this mire. With the Pope himself declaring guilt, if a mere imperial princess intervened before she was even emperor's daughter—no, if she stepped in, the imperial family itself could crumble.
Artisia gazed at me wordlessly. Her eyes brimmed, on the verge of tears, but she held them back.
"……I'll find a way. Somehow."