Glenn wasn’t entirely wrong; sacred relics were never intended to be used carelessly. If they were misused for unjust or personal reasons, they would corrode and decay, eventually losing their divine power.

That was why the candlestick had rusted. However, Tilda had a compelling reason for using it.

“You must know that by making these accusations, you’re also defaming my mother. She was His Holiness’s only daughter.”

Just like the maids at Belmont who beat the laundry with paddles while mocking the dead shamelessly. People had gossiped freely and without remorse.

They said that Celestia, Mumbles Belmont’s wife, should have known what she was getting into. Some even claimed that the goddess had punished the hypocritical couple herself.

But the true reason Tilda had brought the relic and sought to clear her father’s name was because of her mother. She was the only person to have ever loved Tilda deeply and sincerely.

Tilda couldn’t bear to see her memory torn apart by cruel gossip. Her father, on the other hand, had been responsible, but not affectionate.

He stood by and did nothing, even as she withered away before his eyes. Clearing his name was a matter of duty. Nothing more.

“My mother, Celestia, was the one and only daughter of His Holiness the Pope. She’s been insulted even in death. Do you think His Holiness would forbid the use of a relic to defend her name?”

“That’s…”

“Moreover, I believe the goddess would not stand idly by while a member of the House of Vallinea is subjected to a false accusation.”

Glenn Godleaux  had no response. His throat had dried up and he felt as though he were choking on air, with nothing left to say.

“Well then, if you’ve nothing more to say, let the judgement begin.”

She raised the dagger from the Candlestick of Truth and aimed it directly at Glenn. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead.

He had never imagined that Tilda would go so far as to bring a sacred relic let alone one as powerful as the Candlestick of Truth—into the trial.

If she had brought it, it meant that she had nothing to hide. She was prepared to prove her innocence in front of everyone.

But could he say the same?

Would he be willing to stab himself with that blade to prove his innocence?

No — he couldn’t.

Everything he had was based on rumours. He had spoken of witnesses and testimony. But, truthfully, nobody had actually seen Celestia die from Tilda’s divine fever.

As for Mumbles Belmont being abusive, that was just Aklaire’s word for it.

He had walked straight into a trap. If he tried to prove himself with that blade and got hurt—if he was seriously injured, or worse—the thought alone made fear coil tightly around his chest.

Glenn’s pale, cracked lips moved slightly, but no sound came out. His face turned the colour of a corpse.

With great effort, Glenn finally managed to force out a voice.

“I… I think the wrong person is being asked to prove their innocence.”

“What do you mean?”

Tilda asked, still holding the dagger out towards him.

“It was Duchess Aklaire Belmont who claimed that her late husband, Duke Mumbles Belmont, had abused her. So it is Duchess Aklaire Belmont who should reveal the truth.”

In an instant, the arrow shifted, pointing straight at Aklaire. Her expression hardened as she observed the scene.

Tilda lowered the dagger and replied calmly.

“Well, I suppose that’s a fair point.”

Their eyes met across the space between them — Tilda and Aklaire locked in a silent standoff.

“Duchess Aklaire Belmont.”

Even when Tilda pronounced her name clearly and authoritatively, Aklaire didn’t step forward immediately. It was as if she had lead weights chained to her ankles; she moved one step at a time, slowly and heavily.

“You’re doubting an innocent woman.”

Up close, her long, thick lashes quivered faintly. Beneath them, her eyes revealed an unmistakable fury.

“This dagger will decide, if you’re innocent, it won’t hurt you. So there’s no reason to be afraid, is there?”

In an instant, the party hall had transformed into an execution ground. Aklaire slowly reached out and took the dagger that Tilda offered her.

“…”

No one dared to breathe as all eyes locked on the chilling glint of the blade.

At last, Aklaire raised the dagger and aimed it at herself. The point hovered near her lower abdomen.

“You’re aiming at the wrong spot.”

With that, she reached forward and gently pushed the blade upwards, guiding it towards Aklaire’s heart.

Aklaire’s eyes widened as she stared at Tilda in disbelief. Tilda met her gaze with a faint, cold smile.

Her eyes, usually as calm as a still lake, now shimmered with something far more intense. A rush of thrill and anticipation.

Cornered, it seemed as if Aklaire were about to go through with it. But at the last second, she dropped the blade.

Clang!

The dagger hit the floor with a deafening metallic crash that echoed through the vast hall. Aklaire let out a bitter laugh.

“I don’t believe it.”

“…”

“Using a dagger like this to uncover the truth? That’s absurd! There’s no way it could work.”

Tilda bent down and picked up the dagger, which had been carelessly left on the floor.

“To insult a sacred relic… you should repent.”

She said, running her fingers slowly along the blade’s sharp edge. Looking directly at Aklaire, she continued to run her fingers along the sharp edge of the blade.

“If you don’t believe, then shall I prove it myself?”

Aklaire didn’t respond. But Tilda didn’t need an answer.

She was already turning the cold point of the dagger towards her own heart.

“I, Tilda Vallinea, declare here and now that my father never once laid a violent hand on his former wife and my stepmother, Aklaire Belmont.”

“…”

“And though my mother died trying to draw out the fever caused by my divine power, there was someone behind it. Someone who twisted the truth.”

Tilda’s gaze locked unwaveringly with Aklaire’s.

“Soon, I’ll find out who it was. I won’t let even a sliver of injustice cling to the dead.”

It was more than a declaration; it was a warning.

Aklaire’s lips twitched faintly, as if she was trying to hide a crack in her expression. Tilda then closed her eyes and spoke softly.

“By the power of this sacred relic, I offer this truth to the goddess.”

With calm resolve, she raised the dagger high and plunged it directly into her chest. Right where her living, beating heart pulsed beneath the skin.

“…”

The Great Hall was filled with shock. The dagger had clearly pierced Tilda’s chest.

“Had she actually died?”

Everyone held their breath, waiting for her to react. Then, Tilda calmly pulled the dagger from her chest.

Where the blade had struck, not a single drop of blood could be seen.

“That’s impossible!”

“Could something like that really be true?”

The crowd erupted in disbelief.

Tilda lifted the blade and sliced her own finger.

Fresh drops of blood appeared for all to see.

Then, raising her voice so that even those in the farthest corners of the hall could hear, she declared.

“This is a sacred relic that reveals truth. If I had lied, this blade would have been too sharp to turn against myself.”

Her words were directed at Aklaire.

All eyes turned towards her.

“Did this mean that Aklaire Belmont had been lying all along?”

“She was supposed to be the living saint of this era!”

“Even her worn-down thumbnail had once been revered as a symbol of sacrifice.”

And so, the tale of Windsor secretly helping the abused Aklaire Belmont, once held in high regard, no longer seemed quite so noble.

Rumours of their affair could no longer be viewed through rose-tinted glasses.

Aklaire was now the target of piercing gazes.

“…”

She stood frozen in place, glaring at Tilda. Then she slowly turned on her heel and left the hall. Her retreat felt like a silent admission of guilt.

With that, the crowd, unable to hold back any longer, finally let out a collective sigh of relief.

“Oh, heavens!”

Tilda then turned to Glenn, who was still standing like a statue.

“There’s something else you were mistaken about.”

“…”

“There has been a pope without divine power before. The 34th pope, Nanuta, led an era of peace despite not possessing any divine energy.”

Glen felt dizzy as though he might collapse on the spot.

“I have no intention of stepping down as the Pope’s successor. So I accept your statement.”

What she meant was clear. She would accept their declaration and expel every priest who had signed it.

Panic spread through the hall. Several priests who had signed the statement rushed to Tilda’s side in desperation.

“Please forgive us, Lady Tilda! I only signed out of foolishness — it was a terrible mistake!”

“What can we do to earn your forgiveness? I beg of you!”

“I can’t return to my family like this!”

Glenn was no exception.

Shoving past the priests crowding around him, he forced his way to Tilda’s side and got as close as he could.

“Lady Tilda! I was wrong! Please forgive me!”

“Tilda Vallinea! I’ll do anything you ask. Just please don’t strip me of my position as High Priest!”

“Do not disgrace this Holy Flame Day any further.”

But Glenn didn’t back off. Instead, he clung to her arm, his fingers digging in.

“Please… have mercy…”

As Tilda winced under his grip, a shadow moved. Suddenly, Glenn was pulled away.

“Lord Calles!”

Still sitting on the floor, Glenn looked up in shock at Calles, who was now standing like a dark sentinel at Tilda’s side.

“I apologise, today, my duty is to guard Lady Tilda.”

He reached down and helped Glenn to his feet. For a brief moment, their faces came close. In that instant, Calles whispered.

“So…”

“…”

“If you don’t want things to get any uglier, I suggest you leave now. Now.”

His voice was low and chilling, like a blade hidden in velvet.

In that moment, Glenn couldn’t register it as rude. He simply knew—He couldn’t stay.