Chapter 359 - "We Want to Know!"

The square breathed again.

Not calmly—

But in fractured gasps.

The moment the bishop’s command rang out, the frozen tension shattered. Murmurs surged through the crowd like a wave crashing against stone.

"Who is he...?"

"Why is the Saintess holding him—?"

"Did you see that armor—?"

"Is he... protecting her?"

"What are they talking about?"

Confusion spread faster than fear.

The square inhaled.

Then chaos surged back in.

Murmurs erupted as the Divine Guards finally moved, boots scraping hard against marble as discipline overcame hesitation.

"Seize him!"

The command rang out sharp and absolute.

Luca stood.

Slowly.

Carefully.

He helped the Saintess to her feet first, steadying her as her legs trembled. Only once she was standing did he turn.

His gaze lifted.

Steel flashed.

Three guards charged first—experienced, coordinated, moving in practiced formation. One came from the front with a spear leveled at Luca’s chest, another flanked from the right with a halberd, while the third raised a sword high, aiming to strike from above.

Luca did not rush.

He did not tense.

He simply stepped forward.

The moment his foot touched stone, the air seemed to compress.

The spear struck first.

It should have pierced through flesh.

Instead—

CLANG.

The tip skidded harmlessly across his chest armor, sparks exploding outward as the impact rang like a bell. The guard’s eyes widened in disbelief.

Before he could even react—

Luca moved.

A blur.

His left hand snapped out, catching the spear shaft mid-thrust. With a single twist of his wrist, the weapon was ripped free and flung aside as if weightless.

The guard barely had time to gasp before Luca’s knee slammed into his abdomen.

The air was driven from his lungs in a violent wheeze as his body folded, collapsing unconscious at Luca’s feet.

The second guard swung.

Luca pivoted, the blade of his saber glancing off the halberd’s shaft before sliding down its length. He stepped inside the guard’s reach and struck once—clean, precise.

The flat of his blade hit the man’s chest.

Not enough to kill.

More than enough to break his stance.

The guard was launched backward, armor screeching as he slammed into the stone and rolled to a stop, motionless.

The third guard roared and brought his sword down.

Luca looked up.

For a heartbeat, their eyes met.

Then Luca raised his arm.

The sword struck his forearm—

—and bounced off.

The impact echoed across the plaza.

The guard froze.

His sword trembled in his hands.

Luca twisted, stepped in, and drove the pommel of his saber into the side of the man’s helmet.

The guard crumpled instantly.

Silence followed.

Not the peaceful kind.

The kind that follows disaster.

Dust hung in the air as Luca straightened, blades still in hand, armor unmarred. The fallen guards lay scattered around him—alive, breathing, but utterly defeated.

He hadn’t drawn blood.

He hadn’t even looked strained.

The crowd stared in horror and awe.

"He... he didn’t kill them..."

"How is that possible...?"

"Those were Divine Guards..."

Some stepped back.

Others dropped to their knees without realizing it.

Even the executioner stood frozen, weapon trembling in his grasp.

The bishop’s face twisted violently.

His lips pulled back in fury, eyes blazing with something close to panic.

"You—!" he shouted, stepping forward, finger shaking as he pointed at Luca. "You dare raise your weapon against Divine Guards?!"

His voice echoed unnaturally, amplified by holy enchantments.

"In front of the Goddess herself?!"

His chest heaved as he roared, veins bulging with rage.

"Do you have any idea what you’ve done?!"

Luca turned slowly.

The sound of his armor shifting was the only thing that broke the silence.

His crimson eyes locked onto the bishop.

Cold.

Unyielding.

Unimpressed.

Behind him, the Saintess stood trembling—no longer from fear, but from something else entirely.

And for the first time since this execution began...

The power in the square no longer belonged to the Church.

It belonged to him.

The dust hadn’t even finished settling when Luca turned toward the bishop.

His crimson eyes were calm.

Too calm.

He tilted his head slightly, gaze sharp and utterly unimpressed.

"...Are you stupid," he said flatly, "or do you just expect people to stand still while they’re being attacked?"

The words cut through the plaza like a slap.

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd.

The bishop froze.

Then his face twisted violently.

"Y–You insolent—!" he roared, veins bulging across his forehead. "Your Holiness! Are we truly going to allow this blasphemer to insult the Church and the Goddess herself?!"

His arm shot toward Luca as if presenting him as evidence.

"Are we to simply stand by while he disrupts sacred judgment?!"

All eyes turned upward.

The Pope remained seated.

Still.

Unmoving.

For a long moment, he said nothing.

Then slowly—deliberately—he leaned forward, resting his hands upon the armrests of his throne.

"Hm..."

His gaze drifted across the crowd, over the fallen guards, over the trembling Saintess, and finally settled on Luca.

"Young man," the Pope said evenly, "you have made quite the entrance."

His voice carried effortlessly across the square.

"If you believe you have justification for your actions... then speak."

A pause.

"Tell us who you are. And why you stand here."

Luca’s eyes narrowed slightly.

...Is this old bastard helping me?

He didn’t trust it.

But he recognized opportunity when it stood in front of him.

So he stepped forward.

The sound of his boots echoed loudly against the shattered stone.

He raised his voice—not in rage, not in defiance—but with absolute clarity.

"Very well."

His gaze swept across the crowd.

"Citizens of the Holy Kingdom," he said, voice ringing out, "since His Holiness has granted me the chance—then I’ll speak."

The murmurs slowly died.

"My name is Luca Valentine."

A stir ran through the crowd.

"I am a first-year student of Arcadia Academy."

That did it.

Whispers exploded.

"Wait—Arcadia Academy?"

"A first-year?"

"No way... that name—"

"Isn’t that the one who wiped out a cult cell?"

"I heard he fought in the dwarven territories..."

"Wasn’t there a report about a student causing an uproar there?"

"That’s him... I’m sure of it..."

The realization spread like wildfire.

Recognition.

Shock.

Unease.

Even the Divine Guards stiffened.

The bishop’s face darkened visibly as he, too, realized who stood before him.

Luca didn’t stop.

"And yes," he continued, "I am also a classmate of the Saintess you’re about to execute."

Gasps erupted.

The Saintess’s breath caught.

Her eyes widened as she stared at his back—trembling, confused, overwhelmed.

Luca turned slightly, glancing at her just long enough for her to see it.

He was here.

Then he faced the crowd again.

"Now tell me something," he said, voice dropping—quiet, but carrying perfectly.

"Do any of you actually know why she’s being sentenced to death?"

Silence fell.

The bishop’s jaw tightened.

Luca’s eyes scanned the masses.

"Do you know what crime she committed?"

No answer.

"Do you know who accused her?"

Still nothing.

"Or did you all just accept what you were told... because it came from someone wearing gold and standing higher than you?"

Unease spread through the plaza.

People shifted.

Some lowered their heads.

Others exchanged uncertain glances.

The bishop stepped forward sharply.

"That is enough—!"

But Luca didn’t stop.

His voice rose—not in anger, but in sharp, cutting clarity.

"You talk about faith," he said. "About righteousness. About justice."

He gestured toward the Saintess.

"And yet the person who healed your sick, fed your poor, and stood beside you when no one else would—"

His eyes burned.

"—is the one you’re killing."

The crowd stirred violently now.

Some faces paled.

Others clenched their fists.

The bishop’s lips twitched, fury barely restrained.

"You dare—!"

Luca snapped his gaze toward him.

"Tell them," he said coldly. "Tell them why she deserves to die."

A heartbeat of silence.

Then Luca took one more step forward.

"Because I’d very much like to hear it myself."

And in that moment—

Since the execution began—

The power in the square had shifted.

Not to the Church.

Not to the Goddess.

But to the boy standing alone before them all.

The bishop let out a sharp, humorless laugh.

"And why," he sneered, eyes blazing, "should I explain anything to you?"

He took a step forward, robes flaring with restrained fury.

"You are no one here. No rank. No authority. No right to question the judgment of the Holy Kingdom."

Luca didn’t flinch.

He tilted his head slightly, gaze unwavering.

"You’re right," he said calmly. "You don’t owe me an explanation."

Then his voice rose.

"But them?"

He turned, extending an open hand toward the sea of people packed into the square.

"Don’t they deserve to know?"

A murmur rippled through the crowd.

Luca continued, louder now.

"You’re about to execute the woman they prayed to. The one who healed their children. The one who stood beside them when the Church didn’t."

His eyes sharpened.

"If she’s truly guilty... then say it out loud."

The bishop stiffened.

"Tell them what crime she committed."

Silence.

Then—

A voice from the crowd broke through.

"Y-Yeah... tell us!"

Another followed.

"We want to know!"

"What did she do?!"

The murmurs swelled, spreading like wildfire.

"Tell us the truth!"

"If she’s guilty, say it!"

"Why are you killing her?!"

"Let us judge!"

"We want to know!"

"We want to know!"

"We want to know!"

The chant grew louder and louder, echoing off the cathedral walls, shaking the very air of the plaza.

Even the Divine Guards shifted uneasily now.