“Alright, alright, everyone calm down,” Eileen said crisply and calmly, her voice reaching every ear. “Since the Church officials believe there’s a misunderstanding, then let’s go and ‘clarify’ it. The innocent have nothing to fear, right?”
Turning to the angry villagers and guards, she smiled brightly: “Don’t worry, I’m only going to ‘visit’ for a few days. Both Commander Janess and Lady Ingrid are well-known for their ‘fairness’ in the Church. They’ll surely clear my name. You all must guard your homes well and wait for my return. Don’t cause trouble for Captain Ansel.”
Her tone was so light, as if she were really going to an ordinary banquet. Her smile was infectious and miraculously calmed some of the enraged crowd.
Ansel and Serena looked at her with complicated expressions. They knew Eileen too well; that smile was far from simple ease beneath the surface.
Claret’s eyes flickered with a barely noticeable cold light as she stared at the two knight commanders.
As for Layla, she wanted to stop Eileen but couldn’t find the words, her lips moving slightly before turning into a silent sigh.
Eileen gave one last deep look at Rita, tears streaming down her face, filled with guilt and fear, before stepping forward toward Janess, holding out her hands.
“Let’s go, Commander. Aren’t you ‘inviting’ me to Saint City?”
Janess looked at Eileen’s eerily calm expression, her brow barely twitching but she said nothing.
She signaled her subordinates forward to place special shackles on Eileen.
Ingrid watched Eileen excitedly, already imagining how she would “entertain” this special “guest.”
Under countless eyes filled with anger, worry, or confusion, Eileen and Rita were escorted by Church knights, leaving the Raven Domain behind and beginning the cold journey toward the underground prison of Sol City.
Eileen’s seemingly light smile convinced everyone seeing them off that this was the Saint they had been hoping for.
And the Church was the true evil!
Eileen didn’t know that this scene at the Raven border would spread throughout the entire kingdom in the days to come.
*****
Sol City, Underground Prison
In the dark, damp corridor reeking of rust and despair, a solitary torture chamber lay deep within.
“Are you afraid?”
The rough leather whip sliced through the air with a piercing shriek, lashing fiercely against the cold stone wall, sending sparks flying.
Ingrid held the whip, her face twisted with uncontrollable sadistic pleasure as she stepped closer to Eileen, who was bound in chains to a wooden frame.
“Saint of Salvation? Hmm?” Ingrid’s voice was sweet yet deadly as she leaned close to Eileen’s ear, breath warm against the side of her neck. “What a ridiculous title. Here, you are nothing. Tell me, how did you conspire with that little witch? And how did you cruelly kill the hero? Say it, and maybe… I’ll make your suffering a little easier.”
Though chained and somewhat disheveled, Eileen showed no fear on her face.
She even slightly turned her head and looked at Ingrid with a gaze bordering on pity, a faint mocking smile lingering at the corners of her mouth as if watching a foolish jester.
“Hero? You mean that lowborn creature?”
This look enraged Ingrid completely.
“What are you laughing at?!” she screamed, raising the whip again, her eyes wild with madness. “I’ll make you suffer so you understand your place!”
The whip cracked through the air, ready to strike Eileen—but Eileen remained calm.
“Stop!”
A gentle yet commanding voice suddenly echoed from the entrance of the torture chamber.
Ingrid’s movements froze, the whip hanging midair.
She turned in shock, and upon recognizing the newcomer, her ferocious expression vanished, replaced with a fawning respect as she hurriedly saluted: “Y-Your… Your Eminence, Grand Archbishop!”
Standing at the door was a middle-aged man in splendid archbishop robes.
His face was kind and plump, his eyes warm, shining with a divine compassion that seemed to pity all beings. He was the Grand Archbishop of this diocese, one of the few powerful figures ranked just below the Pope.
His catchphrase was “What you love is your life.”
Behind him were several silent clerics.
The Grand Archbishop didn’t even glance at Ingrid, fixing his eyes on Eileen with a slight frown and a tone full of just sorrow and reprimand:
“Commander Ingrid! What are you doing? Is this how you treat a noble lady, someone wrongfully accused? This is madness! You’ve disgraced the Church’s dignity!”
“But, Your Eminence, she harbored a witch and killed the hero…” Ingrid tried to defend herself. “This was signed by High Priest Heinrich himself…”
“Where is the evidence? Heinrich is simply confused. The Supreme Pontiff is far away in the Holy City and unaware of the frontline situation!” The Grand Archbishop interrupted gently but firmly. “You use baseless accusations and unverified rumors to torture a noble marquis’s daughter? The Supreme Pontiff advocates justice and mercy—not abuse and violence! Release Miss Eileen at once!”
“I have already investigated; this is all a misunderstanding! I will personally speak with Heinrich later and clarify everything with the Pope!”
Ingrid’s face went pale and then flushed, but in the face of the Grand Archbishop’s authority, she dared not disobey. She grudgingly motioned for her subordinates to remove Eileen’s shackles.
The Grand Archbishop stepped forward, his face apologetic and caring: “Miss Eileen, I am truly sorry. It was the recklessness of our subordinates that frightened you. This is entirely a misunderstanding. The Church would never wrong an innocent person.”
He personally loosened the last restraints on Eileen’s wrists.
Eileen flexed her wrists, red marks appearing where the chains had bitten, then gracefully bowed with an impeccable noble smile: “Thank you, Your Eminence, for your discernment. I knew the upper echelons of the Church would be just.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Ingrid’s expression—twisted, almost burning with rage yet forced to suppress it. Her inward contempt deepened.
That old fox had readily accepted the huge “donation” Claret had sent through secret channels.
With enough money, anything could be arranged!
“Of course, of course,” the Grand Archbishop said with a pleasant smile, as if the unpleasantness had never happened. “Miss Eileen’s innocence is beyond doubt. You are free to leave. For the inconvenience caused, the Church will provide proper compensation.”
Eileen was filled with disdain for the hypocritical Grand Archbishop, but maintained perfect composure: “Compensation is unnecessary. Being cleared is already a great blessing.”
She changed the subject, her tone tinged with appropriate concern: “By the way, Your Eminence, what of Miss Rita, who was arrested with me…”
“Oh, that girl,” the Grand Archbishop waved his hand, still smiling warmly. “A misunderstanding, purely a misunderstanding. After preliminary investigation, she’s just an ordinary orphan with no connection to any ‘witch.’ Our people have already released her. She should be waiting outside now.”
Eileen’s heart sank sharply.
Released? Just like that? She suppressed her doubts and thanked the Grand Archbishop again: “Thank you, Your Eminence, for upholding justice.”
“It’s my duty,” he replied with a smile, signaling the clerics to escort Eileen out.
Only after Eileen left did the Grand Archbishop wipe cold sweat from his brow and glare fiercely at a stunned Ingrid.
“You almost messed up, you stupid woman!”
At that moment, as Eileen was locked in the dungeon, the Grand Archbishop had already received two secret letters, causing cold sweat to break out on his forehead.
The first was from the kingdom’s crown prince, the future heir, strongly protesting the Church’s baseless persecution!
The second was even more terrifying—signed by the Empress of the Empire, Frederica, bearing her exclusive steel seal, accompanied by a substantial sum of money, making her intentions very clear.
Yet the order to arrest the witch was personally approved by the Pope, putting the Grand Archbishop in a difficult position.
Just then, the interrogation of the witch made unprecedented progress—proving it was all a misunderstanding.
Since it was a misunderstanding, and having received benefits, why not use the opportunity to do a favor for both sides? That way, future relations would remain smooth.
Perhaps even the Pope would thank him one day.
*****
Emerging from the dark torture chamber and passing through the cold stone corridor, the exit to the surface was just ahead, with faint light seeping in.
Eileen let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding—but her steps suddenly stopped.
In the light and shadow of the exit stood a small, solitary figure—Rita.
But Rita’s state caused Eileen’s heart to sink instantly.
The girl hung her head, shoulders trembling slightly, her hands gripping the hem of her clothes so tightly her knuckles were white.
She didn’t rush forward as Eileen had expected but stood like a soulless statue, enveloped in an overwhelming sadness and guilt that seemed impossible to dispel.
“Rita?” Eileen hurried forward, her voice softening. “It’s alright now, we…”
Her words caught in her throat.
Rita suddenly lifted her head, her face streaked with tears yet swollen and red. Those usually clear blue eyes were filled with immense pain, fear, and… deep remorse.
She looked at Eileen, lips trembling violently as if squeezing out broken words with all her strength:
“I… I’m sorry… Eileen… sob… I’m sorry… I… I…”
She choked back sobs, barely able to form sentences, crushed by overwhelming guilt.
“I don’t want to die… I’m really scared… sob sob…”
She recalled the cold, scrutinizing gaze of Commander Janess in another torture chamber, the terrifying gleam of the instruments she had calmly displayed, the pitiful screams of the victims, caught between life and death…
In that moment, all the courage she had mustered for Princess Roswither and her grandfather’s plan shattered completely.
The terror of facing death washed over her like icy waves, drowning her utterly.
“So… so I told her…” Rita’s voice was barely audible, full of self-loathing. “I told Commander Janess everything… I said… I’m not the real witch… I’m just… just a substitute for Princess Roswither… The real target, the so-called witch, is actually the true Saint… is… Roswither…”
“The Church has fallen…”
Like a thunderclap, the revelation exploded in Eileen’s mind!
Substitute? Roswither? The true target?
In an instant, countless scattered clues violently connected in her mind: Winston’s unusual protection and estrangement toward Rita, the Church’s obsession with labeling Rita a “witch,” and even Eileen’s sudden rise as “Saint of Salvation…”
A huge, dark truth’s outline suddenly became clear!
And all of it revolved around one person—Roswither! Her former teammate!
Eileen’s heart sank to the bottom of a valley, a wave of anger and chill washed over her—felt completely deceived, used as a pawn.
She looked at Rita before her—betrayed by fear and drowning in pain—without immediate blame.
Survival was instinct; she understood.
But being toyed with like a fool in someone else’s game made her furious!
These people deliberately spread rumors that she was the Saint, probably to use her!
Just then, two figures hurried out from the shadows on the other side of the corridor.
They were the dust-covered, anxious-faced Chris, and beside her, a refined but deeply worried elderly man—the bishop known as Winston, alias Eisenhart!
They must have received the news and rushed here regardless of the risks.
Winston’s gaze immediately fixed on the lost, broken Rita, filled with sorrow and complex, unspoken feelings.
Then he looked at Eileen: “Miss Eileen! Are you alright? We…”
“Enough!”
Eileen raised her hand sharply, cutting off Winston’s words.
Her voice was colder than ever, like tempered ice.
Her eyes, sharp as knives, swept over the guilt-ridden Rita, then bore into Winston and Chris with a gaze that seemed to pierce their souls, exposing all hidden darkness.
“Tell me,” Eileen said slowly and clearly, her voice reverberating in the cold dungeon corridor with undeniable accusation, “why did you go to such lengths to push me onto this position of ‘Saint’?”
“Roswither, substitute, what does it all mean?!”
“Tell me everything—the whole truth—”
“Now! Right now! Tell me!”
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