Chapter Sixty-Two: Accusation

Nighttime at the Carter Grand Duke’s estate.

Within the spacious hall, seated around a long table, was a gathering of nobility attired in lavish finery. Each attendee was, at the very least, an earl, holding sway over powerful knightly orders and vast territories. These were the men and women perched atop the kingdom’s pyramid of power. Yet tonight, those who usually prided themselves on elegance and dignity waited in uneasy silence—for one man.

At the far end of the table, the great redwood doors slowly opened, drawing every gaze toward them.

A man with jet-black hair and eyes strode in, clad in a fitted black uniform whose unfamiliar cut accentuated a tall, robust frame. His features were composed and unremarkable, yet the sharpness in his gaze—an instinctive fierceness—could not be concealed.

The Grand Duke of the Eastern Marches.

A deep wariness flickered in the eyes of every noble present. If before, they had been unsettled by his appearance and the terrifying might that had, by rumor, eradicated the Green Goblin plague in a single day, now they feared something more insidious: this man’s silent, all-encompassing influence.

None here were fools. These were the kingdom’s elite, and their investigations had revealed that the recent string of bizarre incidents was a fabrication—most likely orchestrated by the Dawn King and the Eastern Grand Duke themselves. Together, they had conjured the illusion of crisis to flush out heretics, then leveraged the nobles’ resources to sweep through the capital and expose the cultists.

In this elaborate game, only the cultists were real; the rest was mere shadowplay. They could not fathom how their adversary had exerted such subtle control, but the truth was undeniable: they had become pieces on his chessboard, compelled to act according to his will.

The Dawn King lacked such cunning. The mastermind could only be the enigmatic man before them.

The nobles’ expressions shifted again as they beheld those who followed the Grand Duke into the hall.

On his right strode a man of imposing stature in the heavy armor of the Kingdom’s Knights—a presence that radiated authority and command: Mark, Commander of the Kingdom’s Knights.

On his left was a man clad in a mage’s robe, gold-rimmed spectacles perched upon his nose, a faint smile lingering on his lips: Roy, Guildmaster of the Dawn Kingdom’s Hunters. Beside him, the second princess in black armor, her visage cold as winter.

Behind them came a group of black-haired strangers, unknown to any present.

Qin Le walked directly to the head seat at the right end of the table, pulled out the chair, and sat without so much as a nod or courteous word to the assembled nobles—an act that, in times past, would have prompted them to rise in furious protest. But tonight, silence reigned. There was no anger, only a mounting gravity.

Clearly, this man had no intention of negotiating. Did he truly care so little for their power? Did he not need their help to purge the cultists?

Beside the Grand Duke stood two men, each representing a great power: the Dawn King and the Hunter’s Guild. It was apparent that the three factions had reached an understanding behind closed doors, leaving the rest excluded.

The nobles were not surprised to see the Dawn King side with the Grand Duke—the two had been aligned from the very beginning. What shocked and dismayed them was the presence of the Hunter’s Guild. That organization, which had always claimed neutrality and a disinterest in political upheaval, now stood with their adversaries.

Under the scrutiny of so many noble eyes, Roy smiled and explained, “The Hunter’s Guild has always remained neutral, but heresy is the enemy of all civilized races. The Guild has both the duty and the responsibility to eradicate cults.”

At these words, the tension among the nobles eased slightly.

Qin Le’s gaze swept over the assembled lords, finally settling on the man at the opposite head of the table—Grand Duke Carter. “Grand Duke Carter, I have little taste for beating around the bush. The situation is more dire than you imagine, and we have no time for endless squabbling.”

Unlike the approach he took with the Hunter’s Guild, whom he could ally with, Xuan Lü’s attitude toward these nobles—useful only as pawns—was blunt and unyielding. He had no intention of negotiating, for negotiation would only embolden them to ask for more. With the Hunter’s Guild and the Dawn King behind him, he held an overwhelming advantage. The nature of the talks would thus change.

Grand Duke Carter’s expression betrayed nothing as he nodded in agreement. “You are correct. The crisis is urgent; our first priority must be the destruction of the cultists. As lords of the Dawn Kingdom, it is our duty to safeguard the realm. We will not shirk from facing the cultists.”

His formal words reflected the stance of all the nobles—they were willing to set aside their disputes, to unite temporarily against the heretics.

“Such resolve is admirable, Grand Duke,” Qin Le said with feigned reverence, then continued, “But while you may feel this way, I’m not so sure the others share your conviction.”

A flicker of confusion crossed Carter’s face, mirrored by the other nobles.

Then a black-haired man stepped forward, distributing stacks of paper—white as snow—before each noble.

“What is this?” Carter asked, picking up the sheets and scanning the common script within.

One by one, the nobles perused the documents. At first, their faces reflected only puzzlement, but as they turned the pages, their expressions grew grave, even ashen.

At last, Grand Duke Carter finished reading, slowly returning the stack of papers to the table. The calm dignity had drained from his aged face. He looked up at the black-haired man seated at the far end, his eyes filled with wariness and—unexpectedly—a hint of respect. He sighed softly. “Grand Duke of the East, your wisdom and methods are truly awe-inspiring. Very well, I yield.”

The papers, pristine as freshly fallen snow, were filled with intelligence—so detailed as to defy belief, as if a story had been composed from their secrets. Without a word spoken, these fragments had conjured a complete and terrifying narrative in the nobles’ minds.

This was an indictment, sharp as a blade, pressed to their hearts. One misstep would spell their ruin.

Qin Le was mildly surprised that Grand Duke Carter did not panic, but it did not disrupt his performance.

“Nobles of the Dawn Kingdom—you have wantonly oppressed the people, colluded with heresy, provided shelter and resources to cultists. What, exactly, are you plotting?” Qin Le’s voice was calm, almost conversational.

Yet this very calmness made every noble’s hair stand on end, their hearts nearly ceasing. They opened their mouths to protest, but the words stuck in their throats.

Grand Duke Carter gave a bitter smile. “If I were to say we truly did not know our actions would aid the cultists, would you believe me?”

For their own amusement, they had executed a few insolent commoners—routine behavior for a noble. They ran underground fighting pits—a lucrative venture and a source of entertainment. The vile dried-meat markets, frequented by peasants who could not afford proper meat, bore their shadow, though such operations were run by their underlings, not themselves. Nor did they know these trades would feed the undead.

They operated brothels, forced, abused, even killed countless women—yet saw nothing amiss. These women were, after all, their property, bought (by force or otherwise), most of them their own serfs. How they managed their property, the kingdom had no right to interfere.

They had obstructed investigations by the Kingdom’s Knights and the Hunter’s Guild—another unspoken rule. Everyone kept their secrets and minded their own affairs. It was tacitly accepted, even by the Knights and Hunters. In the past, their misdeeds went unpunished; tonight, however, they were being called to account.

Qin Le slammed the table with a thunderous bang, making all the nobles jump.

His icy gaze swept over the assembled lords—these were no better than ghouls, who had devoured far more lives than any corpse-eater.

“The current crisis is largely your doing. Whether by intent or neglect, you must bear responsibility. Tonight, each of you will explain yourselves—or lose your heads!”

Mark, the Knight Commander, and Roy, the Guildmaster, stepped forward in silent accord, unleashing a wave of oppressive power over the nobles.

They knew these nobles were unlikely to have consciously allied with the cultists; it served them no purpose. But their actions had enabled heresy. Only outcomes mattered. Since they were culpable, they would pay the price.

Children argue over causes; adults care only for results.