The crow of a rooster.
I heard it. Daybreak.
Chains on my hands and feet. Today, I face it—my fate.
For a crime I committed. Yes, I did it.
Remorse? I felt none.
For everything I did... I did it for Peter.
Footsteps.
The knights. They approached my cell.
It was time.
Time to stand before the High Bishop of Ostina.
"Steady, lad," said the prison guard.
"Today, your fate awaits you at the end of the passage. Any last words?"
I smiled. "F*ck you."
That did it. A fist met my jaw.
Another. Then another.
He continued until I bled. The edge of my right eye split open.
Still, I stared.
Piercing he's soul.
The kind of stare a predator gives its prey.
Fear flooded his eyes.
He stepped back—hands on his chest, like he'd seen a ghost.
Or a lion ready to feast.
"What was that aura...?" he whispered.
"You're something special, boy."
---
"Elina... Elina... Elina!"
"Yeah, Mom!" I called back.
She kept calling. I was exhausted.
Ever since my brother left for the Castle Academy, all the chores fell to me.
Knock knock.
Creeeaak.
The door opened.
It was... Bishop Cornelius.
I ran to tell Mother. She rushed to the door, delighted to see him.
I noticed it, he's face, bishop's face... it looked as though he carried the weight of the world.
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
She noticed too. Her expression shifted.
Still, she welcomed him, offered him tea.
I waited... for what he'd say.
"It's about your son," the bishop began.
"What about him?" Mother asked.
"Your son is a good boy. Maybe... too good for these desperate times. He fought for what he believed was right," he said solemnly.
Then he said the name.
"Peter Packson."
Mother's brows furrowed. "What about him?"
"He's dead."
Mother gasped—hands covering her mouth.
But me?
It was like the heavens collapsed.
Peter... Peter Packson. That young, elegant man.
His words—like honey. His steps—echoes of chivalry.
The way he treated women—with respect.
He was like a brother to me.
I couldn't take it.
I ran. To my room.
My bed was soaked—my tears fell endlessly.
I cried for Peter. Cried hard.
I thought... that was the only news.
I was wrong.
SCREAMS.
"Mother!" I rushed downstairs.
She was on the floor, weeping. Clothes torn. Madness in her eyes.
Then I heard it.
The words that shattered me.
"Your brother... he will be sentenced to death today."
I don't remember much after that.
Just that I ran. Out of the house. Into the streets.
I didn't know where I was going. I just followed my instinct.
When I stopped, I was there.
At the Holy Cathedral Garden.
Doors closed. Windows shut.
Something or someone important was inside.
---
The chains bound my neck, my wrists.
Knights escorted me into the altar room—turned courtroom.
And for the first time... I saw him.
The High Bishop.
I'd heard stories.
Tales I heard.
That he existed.
That he never left his secretive chamber in the palace.
"HAIL HIS GRACE, HIGH GRAND HOLINESS, HIGH BISHOP OF OSTINA, MOUTH OF GOD, BISHOP ZEVRIAL THE SILENT GRACE!" the priest chanted.
The room—unlike any other.
The Bishop sat on a golden stool.
To his left, a golden statue of the First Obedient Man, crowned in rubies.
To his right, a priest swinging incense.
Rows of clergy lined the flanks, seated on golden chairs.
The Bishop...
He looked dead and weak. I couldn't sense mana. Or a soul.
Only Instructor Bale and I were non-clergy. Even the knights had left in haste.
Silence.
A silence so deep, even crickets dared not chirp.
And yet—
A voice.
Not spoken aloud.
But in my mind.
"I preside over this courtroom today."
Strange.
I looked around, everyone's mouth was shut, I wondered what was going on but yet again.
Another voice.
"Let the witness come forward."
Instructor Bale stepped forward.
Then I understood.
The tales were true.
The High Bishop was mute—The Silent Grace.
Yet he spoke directly to the soul.
That's with the title,
The Mouth of God.
A man who both speaks and does not.
What power is this?
Bale testified. From Peter's baptism water turning black...
To my slaying of the three mage knights...
To our battle.
Shock filled the room.
The clergy seethed.
Then the Bishop's voice came to my soul.
"Johannes Frieburg, son of the Frieburg family. Do you plead guilty to all charges presented before you?"
I replied simply: "Yes."
The priests erupted.
"EXECUTE HIM!"
"OFF WITH HIS HEAD!"
Some tore their garments in righteous fury.
The executioner priest stepped forward, drawing the Sword of Judgement from a golden sheath.
He whispered a prayer.
Then beckoned me.
Noble executions were conducted by special priests unlike commoners, which were down by knights.
I knew this was it.
I smiled.
I was glad, I will be free, free from this moral uncertainty, I will be able to reunite with Peter, dine with him, laugh with him, talk with him, here it comes the sword of judgement, I accept your grace.
I closed my eyes.
"STOP!"
It was my father.
"What are you doing here?" I asked.
Murmurs broke out.
"Mathias Frieburg.
One of the strongest knights in the kingdom."
"What madness is this?" he shouted.
"You would kill a child?"
CLANG!
Two swords clashed—my father parrying Bale's sudden strike.
"A child he's not," Bale growled.
"Long time no meet," my father replied.
"Been waiting for this moment, when I face you again" father said
"I hope I didn't keep you waiting " said Bale
"No you didn't" he said
Then came the words.
"Seal Release."
The air shifted.
Golden aura flared from my father.
I used Field Analyzer.
[ Mana Pool: 600,000 Kunts]
From 150,000 to 600,000.
He had quadrupled his mana.
"Going all out, I see," Bale said.
Flashes.
Blurs.
Their speed was unbelievable. I saw only flashes of movement—hundreds of sword strokes exchanged in just a second. My father gained the upper hand when he summoned the Blitz Dagger, a lightning-forged blade in his left hand, doubling his strike rate and pushing Instructor Bale to the edge. Then the executioner priest joined the fray, wielding the Sword of Judgment. Outnumbered, yet my father still had the advantage. Every strike from them, he parried. With Dragon Breath, my father engulfed the room in flames. Then, with immense speed, the Executioner Priest fell—within that short span, my father landed a thousand strikes using the Blitz Dagger. Using my Field Analyser, I tracked the motion: not a single part of the priest's body was spared—head to toe, sword blows rained down. Bale, realizing he was outclassed, shifted into a defensive stance, only parrying my father's attacks. But my father had enough. He doubled his speed again, overwhelming Bale completely. In the next second, I saw it—Bale's hand sliced clean off by my father's strike.
Enough violence.
The Bishop—still seated—did something unimaginable.
Time paused.
Not a spell. Not a chant.
Just pure will.
We were conscious—but frozen.
Then... he descended.
A dagger in his hand.
He aimed to kill my father.
No time to think.
I focused.
Swap Magic.
I switched places with the Bishop.
Then, I used God Time—breaking free.
I grabbed the Sword of Judgement—
And struck him.
Time resumed.
The room gasped.
Did I just... strike the High Bishop?
"Johannes, what have you done?" my father shouted.
The Bishop stumbled.
"How...? How was my Infinity Barrier pierced?"
"Did he... activate the sword? No grimoire. No chant. He used magic—like me."
"This is not good," the Bishop muttered.
My vision blurred.
Everything turned red and tilted.
Pain surged through my neck.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Blood.
My blood.
"Was... was I just struck in the neck...?" I whispered.
My father screamed.
Darkness crept in.