RLQ - Chapter 22
Chapter 22: Above Glory
“How will you prove it?” the old priest demanded sharply. “If you are innocent, why not let the flames prove it?”
Divine Judgment!
Archbishop Rhodri’s face changed drastically.
He instantly understood what the others from the Old God Sect were preparing for their final strike—they wanted to force the Queen to accept Divine Judgment, and the most dangerous kind: trial by fire.
“Absolutely not.”
Archbishop Rhodri cut in before the Queen could answer, his voice sharp and decisive.
He felt gazes from all directions fall upon him, filled with surprise and uncertainty, some with a painful anger and scorn. The old priest confronting him trembled, pointing at him, his eyes seeming to pierce his skull.
“Rhodri…” He was even more furious than when he saw the Queen, his lips moving. “What are you doing?”
Archbishop Rhodri’s hands were clenched tightly beneath his cassock. He faced the man who had guided him onto the path of the gods.
—This aged priest before him was the former Deputy Commander of the Temple Knights, and his…
Mentor.
What was he doing? What had he done? He had to do this.
The Archbishop stood straight before the Queen: “In 1272, at the Council of St. Nade, the Holy Father already declared that trials by fire, cold water, hot iron, and others are against doctrine.”
He was opposing his own mentor, he was becoming a complete and utter traitor…
“Divine Judgment is an invention of fools,” he said, word by word, denying the beliefs he himself had once held dear, feeling the altar deep within his soul cracking, disintegrating. He was falling, just like all those he had once scorned. “If God had ordained Divine Judgment, then He would not have commanded that every city should establish judges and magistrates. Those who deny accusations shall be proven guilty by witnesses. God’s judgment is hidden and cannot be peered into. If all future matters are not yet determined, then attempting to assert them through detestable duels and foolish acts is an astonishing ignorance.”
“You have been led astray, Rhodri.” The former Deputy Commander of the Temple Knights, aged but still sharp-eyed, watched him, speaking slowly. “I know you, as a father knows his child. You would never have spoken for a sorceress before. You have fallen… you are the traitor!”
The wind rustled the Archbishop’s dark cassock, carrying his mentor’s accusations with it.
Beneath his hawk-like brow ridges, his steel-blue eyes fixed on the cross atop the distant cathedral spire. Every line on his face was drawn taut and hard. The wind whipped his dark cassock.
His voice sounded, unfamiliar even to himself.
“Balde, do you dare defy doctrine and place yourself above the authority of the gods?”
“What have you done to him?” The old priest Balde turned his venomous gaze towards Adele. “How dare you seduce a chosen one who should belong to God? Leading him to such degradation?! You are as depraved as your mother…”
“Step aside, Rhodri.”
Adele stepped forward expressionlessly.
Seeing Archbishop Rhodri hesitate for a moment before stepping aside to the left, Balde’s gaze grew even more venomous. However, before he could utter more curses, there was a crisp clang of metal.
A gasp of surprise.
With unexpected speed, the Queen snatched the Sword of State from Count Borluk, who was holding it nearby. The royal sword clanged as it was drawn, its cold light sharp, pointing directly at the old priest Balde.
The curses stopped abruptly.
The heavy Sword of State was held steadily by the Queen, the blade unmoving, its tip aimed directly at the old priest Balde’s throat. Sunlight fell on the long sword, the tip gleaming with a chilling light.
“Are you planning to obscure the truth with a sword?” the old priest said in a low voice.
“No. My sword is only used to protect my people. But if anyone betrays Roland and becomes an enemy of Roland, then he is my enemy. Though I am a woman, I will not hesitate to point my sword at him.” The Queen looked around at the surrounding people, raising her voice. “People, I swear by the gods that I accuse this man of encroaching upon Roland’s interests and being a traitor to the nation!”
“Slander!! Absurd slander!”
The old priest Balde was furious.
“Slander?” The Queen held the sword, shifting her wrist, the tip moving from him to point at the “Brothers John” behind him. “I know you and your brothers consider yourselves pious. Your St. Lorrain Order has already had one hundred and thirteen monasteries join. You worship the Holy Spirit and the Baptismal Spring. Your allied brothers have seized lakes and forbidden commoners from drawing water from them when the rivers run dry. Only by paying a heavy price can one obtain even a tiny bit from the ‘Holy Springs’. Heinrich!”
Heinrich stepped forward.
“How many monasteries belonging to the St. Lorrain Order are there in Horst County?”
“Eleven.”
“How many ‘Holy Springs’?”
“Thirteen.”
“From April until now, how many have died outside the ‘Holy Springs’?”
“Two hundred and seventy-one.”
Between the questions and answers, the previous clamor of the crowd gradually subsided. People’s gazes shifted between the Queen, Balde, Heinrich, and Rhodri.
“This is what you have done for Roland.” The Queen’s sword tip pointed at the last person. “You accuse the drought of being caused by me? I accuse the drought of being caused by you! In the name of God, wantonly claiming ‘Holy Springs’—it is you who have incurred the wrath of the gods!”
“No! This is your lie! The brothers of St. Lorrain vowed eternal chastity and poverty before joining—you are lying!” The old priest Balde stumbled back, shaking his head repeatedly.
The Queen smiled disdainfully: “If that is the case, if the gods also protect you, why do they not grant torrential rain to prove your innocence?”
“Wind, rain, and thunder are all judged by the gods; how dare mortals presume to fathom the will of the gods?” Balde retorted. “You shall not cover up your sins with such sophistry!”
“Sophistry?” The Queen twisted her wrist, plunging the Sword of State fiercely into the hard stone surface. “God chooses His representatives on earth to rule kingdoms for Him. Monarchs are protected by His miracles. My people should not be burdened by your sins—I shall pray to the gods on behalf of my people, to save the land with the water of life.”
Silence fell abruptly all around, even the old priest Balde looked at the Queen in horror.
What was she doing? Had she gone mad?
Archbishop Rhodri looked at the Queen in disbelief. He could barely restrain the anger in his heart—he had clearly paved the safest path for her, not hesitating to betray his former mentor, his former brothers, and bear the accusations of “traitor” and “fallen” in public.
But what had she chosen?! What on earth did she want to do!
Archbishop Rhodri almost questioned her on the spot, almost unable to control his anger and disappointment. But the moment he saw the Queen, all words vanished from his throat.
The wind swept across the Royal Avenue.
Her hands were clasped, resting on the sword symbolizing the Empire. Her long skirt billowed like a battle flag unfurled. Her translucent veil was lifted by the wind, the scattered diamonds on it reflecting light like stars, illuminating those eyes that burned like fire.
“Let the gods judge—
“Who is the sinner!”
……………………
“I don’t know what you’re trying to do!”
Almost as soon as the Queen returned to the Summer Palace, Archbishop Rhodri couldn’t help but argue with her. His face was pale with anger, his voice sounding as if it was being squeezed out of his throat.
“Do you find it amusing? Watching me stand out there like an idiot, like a fool!”
“I don’t find it amusing,” the Queen interrupted him. “In fact, I am very grateful that you stood out there, Rhodri.”
There was no smile on her face, and her tone was a low one he had never heard before.
Archbishop Rhodri’s anger subsided slightly. He sensed that the Queen’s mood was completely different from usual. He stopped, pursing his lips as he watched the Queen standing in the corridor, and noticed that her gaze remained fixed on St. Mary’s Cathedral—a hint of sadness was hidden beneath her calmness.
“Things are not necessarily without room for maneuver.”
Archbishop Rhodri paused, his voice softening involuntarily.
“The Pope is currently troubled by the rebellion in the Free Cities. If you assist the Pope in quelling the rebellion, he would be happy to sign a document for you…”
“They judged her there,” the Queen said suddenly. She closed her eyes, and the image of the black-clad group appeared before her—her mother stripped of her crown, standing beneath the dome, and over a decade later, her daughter stood in the same place, facing a similar fate. “They sentenced her to death, stripping her of her identity and honor.”
The Archbishop stopped speaking. He stood quietly.
He knew who the Queen was talking about.
Sissonia Gray, she was the Queen of Kailailey, a vassal state of Roland. She brought Kailailey with her when she married Edmon III.
She was an outstanding woman, possessing extraordinary wisdom and beauty. At first, Edmon III loved her and was willing to share his royal power with her, listing her name after his own, signing documents together. That period was the most glorious time for the Roland Empire, once known as the “Era of Two Monarchs.”
Until a rebellion occurred in the Kailailey region, and many nobles within the country, dissatisfied with a foreign woman interfering in politics, seized the opportunity to stir up trouble. The Queen was accused of committing “treason,” regarded as the source of the rebellion, and of bewitching the King with witchcraft.
Finally, she died because of it.
The Archbishop suddenly remembered the Queen’s words in the confessional at the Day Palace: “…I am the daughter of two monarchs, the King of Roland.” Queen Sissonia had been dead for so many years, leaving only her daughter stubbornly remembering that glorious “Era of Two Monarchs.”
The sky gradually darkened.
Archbishop Rhodri didn’t know what to say. He could recite every scripture, every doctrine, every law, but he couldn’t recite even a single line written by a minstrel. His throat was dry, and he was at a loss for words.
“I don’t trust the other bishops.”
The Queen turned to look at him, her tone becoming calm and assertive again.
“You will preside over the prayer ceremony.”
“Alright.”
The Archbishop lowered his eyes, saying dryly. He felt as if he had swallowed a ball of bitter, vexing fire.
As they turned a corner, they saw Dalton standing by a slender column, his back to the light, watching them. It was unclear how long he had been standing there. His shadow, along with the stone column, was stretched long by the sunset glow, and he was entirely enveloped in a strange, eerie blood-red light.
Seeing him, the Archbishop was startled and quickly stepped forward, standing in front of the Queen.
During the day, he had finally remembered something. His protection of the Queen during the day might have revealed something… He also knew Dalton, the leader of the New God Sect, knew his capabilities and decisive style. When he saw him protecting the Queen, it was impossible for him not to guess who had betrayed him in the previous rebellion.
The Archbishop’s hand beneath his monk’s cloak rested on the hilt of his sword.
“Your sword is definitely not as fast as my gun.” Dalton slowly raised his head, his face expressionless. “You should be arranging the prayer ceremony, not standing here, Mr. Archbishop.”
“You may go,” Adele instructed.
The Archbishop stood rigidly in place, unmoving, his gaze fixed on the flintlock pistol at Dalton’s waist.
Dalton scoffed, took off the gun that was said to be inseparable from him, and tossed it into the garden on the left side of the corridor with a flick of his wrist: “You should go prepare for other matters, Archbishop.”
“Go.”
Adele repeated.
The Archbishop’s hand slowly moved away from the sword hilt. He walked past Dalton with a cold face and a hint of anger he himself was unaware of.
Only the Queen and Dalton remained in the corridor.
“Your swordsmanship is excellent.” After a moment of silence, Dalton said slowly, his voice as soft as a murmur. “Perhaps you are also exceptionally familiar with the battlefield.”
“I know all the battles Roland has experienced over the past thirty years, when they began and ended, how many participated, how many died, and what kind of weapons were used on the battlefield,” the Queen replied, then asked in return, “Otherwise, why would I have chosen you?”
“You wear no armor, but carry a sword in your heart.”
“Anything else you want to ask?” The Queen looked at him.
“No, nothing else.”
Dalton said.
…This was his own doing. He hated those arrogant nobles who clung to old ways, mocking their outdated tactics, and resented that no one could understand his reforms.
He was wrong.
Someone knew, someone understood, someone shared his views. Yet he, too, like the people he despised, had ignored it with arrogance and prejudice… just like those two documents. If he had received the commission signed on the 15th, instead of the one on the 16th, would things have been completely different?
“Go interrogate those who were arrested.”
The Queen said.
She walked forward without looking back. Dalton watched her retreating shadow, lacking the courage to ask that question.
……………………
The day of prayer finally arrived.
August 28th.
The sky was clear, not a single cloud, not even a wisp of white. The sun baked the ground hot. The road from the Summer Palace to St. Mary’s Cathedral was almost packed with people. As the Queen walked along the stone path, protected by soldiers led by Dalton, she could hear the constant buzzing whispers of the crowd.
“Heretic…”
“Witch… she lied, God did not protect her.”
…
As she passed through the intersection, several people dressed as monks held up scriptures high towards her, reciting passages forbidding women from preaching and demanding women’s obedience.
The Queen remained unmoved, arriving at the cathedral.
Father Balde and the Brothers John were already there. As the Queen brushed past them, she heard low mockery. The cathedral was also packed with people, nobles, ladies, and young women. Everyone watched closely as the Queen walked in through the nave entrance. Archbishop Rhodri waited for her at the altar.
The sun was so bright that even the light filtering through the stained-glass windows of the dome was dazzling.
The structure of the cathedral caused the whispers to echo endlessly. The sun was so bright that almost everyone believed the outcome was already decided.
In those echoes, she heard her mother’s name, linked with “sorceress,” “witch,” and “evil.”
The Queen ascended the altar.
Archbishop Rhodri’s lips moved several times, wanting to say something but unable to. He silently took the cloak the Queen removed. The Queen wore a linen robe, without any jewelry except for a crown.
Amidst the low, noisy murmurs, she knelt before the statue of God.
And began to pray.
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