Chapter 382: Chapter 382 – Unfolding the Darkness!

The square felt suffocating.

The afternoon sun hung high above the cathedral spires, its bright light pouring down over the execution plaza. Yet despite the warmth of the day, the air felt cold.

Heavy.

Tense.

Thousands of people stood packed shoulder to shoulder across the square, but no one dared raise their voice above a murmur.

Because something far more terrifying than an execution was unfolding before their eyes.

A Holy Bishop was being accused.

And not just of corruption—

But of colluding with cultists.

The murmurs spread like wildfire through the crowd.

“What is he talking about…?”

“An old woman?”

“Who is this old healer?”

“Did the bishop really torture someone?”

“That can’t be true…”

“But the Saintess herself accused him…”

People glanced nervously toward the clergy.

Others whispered anxiously among themselves.

“Could it really be true?”

“Is the church hiding something?”

The tension climbed higher with every passing second.

Even the clergy themselves were no longer calm.

Several bishops had begun quietly whispering to one another, their expressions uneasy.

Because if this accusation turned out to be real—

It would shake the entire Holy Kingdom.

High above the crowd—

The Pope’s expression slowly changed.

The faint amusement he had carried earlier faded.

His gaze sharpened.

Serious.

Calculating.

His eyes moved slowly from Luca—

To the Saintess—

Then to the trembling Bishop Truce.

Below him—

The bishop forced out a laugh.

A hollow one.

His hands trembled slightly at his sides, but he quickly hid them within the sleeves of his robe.

“What nonsense is this?” he snapped.

His voice rose loudly across the square.

“You dare accuse a Holy Bishop with nothing but rumors and baseless claims?!”

He pointed a furious finger toward Luca.

“This brat is filling the Saintess’ mind with lies!”

His voice cracked slightly despite his effort to sound confident.

“This is outrageous!”

But the Pope did not react to his outburst.

Instead—

He leaned slightly forward in his throne.

His ancient eyes settled calmly upon Luca.

“Child.”

His voice carried easily across the entire plaza.

“You are accusing a bishop of something very serious.”

A pause.

His gaze sharpened slightly.

“Do you have proof?”

The entire square fell silent again.

All eyes shifted toward Luca.

Beside him—

The Saintess slowly turned her head.

Their gazes met briefly.

No words were exchanged.

But they both nodded.

Then—

The Saintess stepped forward.

Her golden aura shimmered faintly in the sunlight as she lifted her head toward the Pope.

“Your Holiness.”

Her voice was calm.

Steady.

But carried the authority of divine judgment.

“Order your personal Divine Guards to search Bishop Truce’s mansion.”

A ripple passed through the clergy.

But the Saintess was not finished.

Her golden eyes hardened.

“And tell them…”

She paused deliberately.

“…to inspect the underground chambers.”

The words struck like lightning.

Bishop Truce’s entire body froze.

The color drained instantly from his face.

His pupils shrank.

Underground chambers.

How—

How did she know about that?!

For the first time since the accusations began—

True fear appeared in his eyes.

He turned frantically toward the Pope.

“Y-your Holiness!”

His voice cracked.

“You cannot do this!”

He stepped forward desperately.

“Just because some brat made a claim and filled the Saintess’ mind with nonsense—!”

His breathing grew erratic.

“You cannot disgrace a Holy Bishop like this!”

But the Pope did not even look at him.

Instead—

The old man calmly turned his head slightly.

Standing beside his throne was one of his personal Divine Guards.

A warrior clad in radiant white armor engraved with golden scripture.

The Pope leaned slightly toward him.

And whispered something quietly into his ear.

The guard’s eyes widened slightly.

Then—

He bowed.

And stepped forward to carry out the order.

The order had been given.

The Pope’s personal Divine Guards departed the square with swift, disciplined movements, their polished armor catching the afternoon sunlight as they pushed through the crowd and disappeared into the distant streets of the Holy Kingdom.

And with their departure—

The waiting began.

The execution platform remained filled with tension so thick that it seemed to press against every breath taken in the plaza. Thousands of eyes shifted between the Saintess, Luca, Bishop Truce, and the Pope seated above them, each person silently wondering what truth would emerge from the bishop’s mansion.

Time moved slowly.

Uncomfortably slowly.

During that uneasy silence, Luca’s friends began moving toward him and the Saintess.

Kyle was the first to approach, leaning his spear over his shoulder while casting an uneasy glance toward the clergy gathered at the far end of the stage. Aiden followed closely behind, his golden eyes calm but focused, while Sylthara slipped quietly to Luca’s side like a shadow. Selena descended from above as her Ice Phoenix circled once more before fading into mist behind her.

But it was Aurelia who spoke first.

She stepped forward, her crimson hair swaying slightly in the breeze as she fixed Luca with a steady, searching look. Her brows were drawn together in confusion, concern flickering clearly across her face.

“Luca,” she asked quietly, though the tension in her voice betrayed the urgency of the question, “what exactly is happening?”

Behind her, the others looked at him as well.

Kyle.

Aiden.

Selena.

Sylthara.

Even Professor Seraphina and Professor Halreth had approached close enough now that they stood within earshot of the conversation, their gazes sharp and attentive as they studied the young man who seemed to have triggered the entire storm engulfing the square.

Everyone was waiting.

Waiting for an explanation.

Luca looked at them for a brief moment, his crimson eyes calm despite the storm unfolding around them.

Then he answered simply.

“I had a vision.”

The words were quiet.

But they carried weight.

Every one of them understood what that meant.

Their pupils shifted slightly.

Questions clearly rose within them.

But none of them asked.

Because they already knew Luca well enough to understand one thing—

If it were something he could explain, he already would have.

Aurelia’s gaze lingered on him for a second longer before she slowly nodded and stepped back beside the others, accepting the answer without pushing further.

Just then—

The air behind them distorted slightly.

The Dean of Arcadia Academy appeared without warning.

One moment he was absent.

The next—

He stood directly in front of Luca.

The old man’s robes fluttered gently as the residual mana from his movement settled around him. His ancient eyes studied Luca carefully, as though weighing something invisible that only he could perceive.

“Are you certain,” the dean asked calmly, his voice carrying the quiet authority of someone who had lived long enough to understand the consequences of reckless actions, “about what you are doing, boy?”

His gaze briefly shifted toward the Saintess standing beside Luca.

Her divine power had returned.

And it was radiating with undeniable strength.

Then his eyes returned to Luca.

Luca met the old man’s gaze without hesitation.

He nodded.

“Yes.”

The dean watched him for another silent moment.

Then—

He nodded as well.

No further questions.

No lectures.

He simply stepped back, allowing the events to unfold.

Time continued to pass.

The sun drifted slightly across the sky.

The murmurs of the crowd never fully stopped.

And then—

Movement stirred near the edge of the square.

The Divine Guards had returned.

But they were not alone.

Two armored soldiers pushed through the gathering crowd while supporting the fragile figure between them.

An old woman.

Her appearance caused an immediate ripple through the plaza.

She looked barely capable of standing.

Her body was thin and fragile, wrapped in torn and blood-stained cloth. Bruises covered her arms and neck, dark purple and black marks telling a clear story of prolonged suffering. Her hair, once gray, now hung in tangled strands across her face, and her breathing came in shallow, painful gasps.

The marks of torture were unmistakable.

Even from a distance.

A horrified murmur spread across the crowd.

The guards slowly guided her up the stone steps of the execution platform.

Step by painful step.

The old healer trembled with each movement, her frail legs threatening to collapse beneath her.

Finally—

They reached the top.

One of the Pope’s personal Divine Guards stepped forward and ascended the final steps toward the elevated throne where the Pope sat waiting.

He bowed deeply.

Then leaned close to the Pope’s ear.

And quietly whispered what they had discovered inside Bishop Truce’s mansion.

As the report continued—

The Pope’s expression slowly darkened.

His fingers tightened around the carved armrest of his throne.

The wood creaked faintly beneath the pressure of his grip.

His knuckles whitened as he listened to the guard’s words in silence.

The murmur that had been spreading through the square slowly died down as the old healer woman was finally brought onto the execution platform.

The two Divine Guards who supported her moved carefully, almost cautiously now, as if even they had begun to understand the gravity of what they had uncovered beneath Bishop Truce’s mansion.

She looked frail.

More frail than anyone had expected.

Her body seemed little more than bones wrapped in torn cloth, and every visible inch of her skin bore the marks of cruelty. Dark bruises bloomed across her arms and neck like wilted flowers, and faint scars—old and new—ran along her wrists and shoulders.

But the most disturbing detail was her eyes.

They were open.

Yet unfocused.

Empty.

The cloudy film over them made it painfully clear—

She could no longer see.

The old woman’s head tilted slightly as she tried to orient herself in the bright open air. Her lips trembled faintly as if the sunlight itself was unfamiliar to her after so long buried in darkness.

A ripple of uneasy whispers spread through the crowd.

“That woman…”

“She looks half dead…”

“Was she truly imprisoned under the bishop’s mansion…?”

On the raised throne above them, the Pope watched in silence.

His earlier composure had vanished.

Below him—

Bishop Truce’s face had grown ghostly pale.

At the center of the stage, the Saintess slowly stepped forward.

The golden light surrounding her softened slightly as she approached the fragile figure standing between the guards.

Every step she took felt heavy.

Her heart pounded in her chest.

Because she recognized her.

Even though twenty years had passed.

Even though time had ravaged her body.

Even though the old woman could no longer see the world—

The Saintess knew.

The healer who had once stood beneath the moonlight…

The one who had protected her mother.

The one who had saved her life.

The Saintess stopped directly before her.

For a moment, she said nothing.

Her hands trembled faintly at her sides.

Then slowly—

Very gently—

She reached forward.

Her fingers closed around the healer’s hands.

The old woman flinched instinctively at the sudden contact.

Her fragile body trembled slightly, as if bracing for pain.

Years of torment had taught her that touch rarely brought kindness.

But the Saintess did not let go.

Her hands tightened softly around the healer’s wrinkled fingers, holding them with a warmth that had not existed in the dark chambers where she had been imprisoned.

The old woman’s trembling slowly stilled.

She tilted her head slightly toward the direction of the voice standing before her.

The Saintess swallowed.

Her voice came out softer than she intended.

Barely louder than a whisper.

“Do…”

Her fingers trembled against the old woman’s skin.

“…you remember me, grandma?”

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