Harold understood the situation perfectly. The moment he spotted the Baron approaching, he slipped through the half-open window, lit a candle, and sat calmly on his bed.
Knock, knock, knock!
It didn't take long before the Baron pounded on the door.
"Who is it?"
"It's the Baron, Sir Knight. May I have a moment of your time?"
[Did they let him come? Maybe they allowed it because they know he can't reveal anything to me…]
Harold opened the wooden door. The Baron stood in the dimly lit hallway, forcing a smile. Two guards flanked him, their long swords held rigidly at their sides.
Then, without warning, the Baron dropped to his knees.
"Your Excellency! Please, forgive this humble servant!"
Harold's gaze flickered to the knights. Without hesitation, he grabbed the Baron's arm and pulled him to his feet.
"Stand. This behavior doesn't suit you."
"But, sir—"
"Inside. Now."
The Baron hesitated before stepping in. He sat stiffly on the bed while Harold took a seat across from him in a chair.
"Your Excellency…"
"Shh."
The Baron froze.
Harold snapped his fingers, and a mana barrier pulsed into existence. His golden eyes glowed, casting flickering light across the walls. His overwhelming aura surged like an inferno, pressing down on the room.
The Baron paled. "Y-Y-Your E-Excellency…"
His voice trembled with fear.
Harold spoke in a quiet, commanding tone. "Do you even understand what you've done?"
Boom!
The wooden chair splintered beneath the force of his aura.
"The sorcerer's apprentice, abducted. People, vanishing. A military coup. Werewolves. Poverty. Corruption. Debauchery." His voice was sharp as a blade. "I should execute you where you stand."
He raised his hand. The sacred sword stirred in response, rising into the air as if summoned by his very will.
The Baron's breath hitched. Sweat poured down his face.
"Y-Your Excellency!!!"
"Silence!"
The Baron flinched.
"Tell me everything. No lies, no omissions. I want the full truth."
With wide, trembling eyes, the Baron stared at Harold Golden Shrine. Just that morning, the knight had seemed composed, even amicable. Now, he looked like the angel of death.
Harold lifted his hand, summoning the Scales of Justice—the pride of every holy knight.
The sacred sword hovered, glowing with divine radiance. Golden particles swirled around it, shifting and coalescing into a balance scale.
"You now stand before the Goddess of Judgment," Harold declared. "Lie, and the scale of your sins will tip. If your guilt surpasses the limit…"
The sword gleamed ominously.
"The divine will shall mete out the harshest punishment."
His gaze bore into the Baron.
"This is the will of the gods."
The Baron, eyes brimming with tears and hands shaking, collapsed to the floor in prostration before the embodiment of justice. His breath came in ragged gasps as he darted a glance toward the wooden door—just beyond it, his two guards stood, oblivious and indifferent.
[Damn it! In the presence of the gods, I have no choice but to confess everything! But if I do…]
He bit his lip, his face draining of color. The veins on his temples bulged, his body trembling under the crushing weight of Harold's divine aura.
Harold watched him with cold detachment. He already knew—the Baron wouldn't reveal the full truth.
"Confess your sins, wrongdoer," Harold commanded.
"I... I… confess…" The Baron choked on his words, struggling against the suffocating pressure pressing down on him.
"You colluded with the rebels, didn't you?"
The Baron tried to lift his head, but Harold's aura bore down even harder.
"Answer!"
"Yes…"
The right pan of the Scales of Justice grew heavier.
"You weren't conspiring to rebel against the Holy Temple, were you?"
"No…"
Again, the right pan sank lower.
Harold leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper. "You sheltered the heretics within your territory, didn't you?"
"Your Excellency… which—"
"The Prince of Darkness!" Harold cut him off.
The Baron's eyes went wide. The whites of his eyes darkened, his pupils dilating in terror. His body buckled—his mortal frame couldn't withstand the pressure any longer. Blood spewed from his mouth as he collapsed to the floor, writhing in agony.
Harold's gaze flicked to the scale. The time for final judgment had come.
In an instant, the balance shifted. A new order was set.
The sacred sword hovered before him, its radiant blade gleaming with divine will. Ancient script burned into the steel, the final verdict etched in light:
GUILTY. THE HERETICS MUST BE EXECUTED.
Harold knelt, fingers curling around the hilt. Without hesitation, he raised the sword high—
—and in a single, merciless stroke, severed the Baron's head.
Blood splattered across the stone floor, pooling in dark rivulets. Yet, even as the Baron's lifeless body slumped, the sacred inscription on the blade remained unchanged.
Harold exhaled, his voice barely above a murmur.
"Heretics…" His grip tightened on the sword. "So this is the Goddess's will… They all must die."