Chapter 528: An Impending Closure
A new day broke over the city of Gantz, the light of dawn spilling across rooftops and cobblestones.
The plaza, normally alive with merchants, customers, and the bustle of trade, was hushed, its calm solemnity weighing heavier than the morning mist.
At the heart of the square stood a stage, not raised for festivity or ceremony but for punishment. Word had spread swiftly from the palace.
Today, the Knights of Abinair would face beheading, condemned for slander against the Knights of Gerhard and the grievous crimes of m*rder and r*pe.
The charges were grave, and the evidence undeniable. After a thorough investigation, justice had spoken.
The air of tension was not confined to the plaza. At court, whispers had spread like wildfire after Lord James and his allies were dismissed. Yet when Kyren delivered Anna’s will to the palace, the murmurs ceased almost at once.
The empress’s word was final. Even absent from sight, none dared oppose her, for the ministers and nobles in the court had witnessed how she wielded Ramios and how ruthless her wrath could be.
Still, Anna’s judgments were not without mercy. Though her fury had flared in the royal court, she tempered it with wisdom. As Khasif, she chose leniency where others would demand blood. It was a decision many called benevolent, sparing lives while safeguarding justice.
The bells tolled across the city, drawing people in waves to the plaza. The crowd pressed closer as Athillia stepped onto the stage, flanked by Matthew, Marquess of Roland.
She was finally introduced formally as the Bargesian Princess, descendant of the northern warrior Aram Silas and niece of the Marquess of Roland.
With a bold decree, asylum was granted to Athillia. For her part in Cassian’s victory, she was recognised as the primary contributor and accepted as a citizen of high noble rank, following her blood ties to the Marquess of Roland. Although she was of mixed royal Barges descent, the seal of protection from King Kyden, confirmed by Anna herself, put an end to the city’s concerns.
Next came the pardoning of Sarah and the former ladies-in-waiting. Their offences against the Khasif had been severe, yet instead of execution, they were sent as tribute to Cilleon—an act wrapped in diplomacy but understood by all as exile in disguise.
At last, the town crier’s voice fell to the darkest announcement: the execution of the Knights of Abinair.
Justice would be carried out before the people, both as retribution and as a warning. No one could mistake the message—Cassian’s law would not bend, and the royal house, tied to the imperial Ro’an line through Kyren and Anna, was not to be defied.
In the crowd stood the Knights of Gerhard, alongside Kiev and his consort. All were composed, save for Elis, whose hand trembled against her husband’s.
The Mederian Prince leaned close and whispered, "We can leave, if this is too much for you."
"No, Kiev." Elis’s voice was steady, though her eyes betrayed the storm within. "I want to watch this."
Kiev pressed his lips thin, the worry etched into his face unmistakable. Yet he knew better than to argue. In her blue eyes, he saw resolve. Perhaps this was the closure she had long sought.
Meanwhile, Eli’s gaze drifted to Athillia, who had stepped down from the stage to stand beside Matthew.
For a fleeting moment, their eyes met. Words unspoken crowded his mind, weighed with guilt and regret.
The grand duke’s revelations the night before still burned within him, but the chance to speak had slipped away. By the time he sought her chambers, she was gone to sleep, and this morning, she was already summoned for the declaration.
Now, as she turned away from him, the moment was lost once more. Would another ever come?
The tolling ceased. Silence fell over the plaza like a shroud.
They were led forward, their wrists tied, their faces pale, revealing a mix of defiance and fear. The knights’ armour had been taken from them, leaving only plain tunics, a harsh contrast to the honour they had once held.
The perpetrators were forced to their knees. Their cries muffled within their sealed mouths. Even with their eyes closed, fear haunted them for what was coming.
The executioner stepped onto the stage—broad, masked, and clad in black. In his hands gleamed a massive axe, its edge catching the morning light, cold and merciless.
A murmur swept through the crowd, then hushed again as the town crier unfurled the final decree. His clear and unyielding voice carried over the square.
"By order of His Majesty King Kyden, justice is rendered this day. The Knights of Abinair, guilty of slander and unspeakable crimes, shall pay with their lives. Let all who hear and see bear witness that the law of Cassian is not to be mocked."
The crowd stirred, some nodding grimly, others averting their eyes. Mothers shielded children. Old veterans clenched their fists around their walking sticks.
The first knight was shoved forward to the block. His jaw was set, though his shoulders trembled. A monk muttered a brief prayer over him, then stepped back.
The axe rose.
A breathless stillness hung over the square.
Then it fell— ’Zapp!’ ...swift, and brutal.
The thud of blade meeting flesh echoed like thunder, followed by the crack as the head tumbled to the ground. Gasps rippled through the crowd, though none dared cry out. Blood darkened the wood beneath the block.
Elis flinched, her hand gripping Kiev’s arm until her knuckles whitened, but her eyes never left the stage.
One by one, the knights fell. Each strike echoed like a tolling bell, and every blade that dropped drew a sombre gasp from the crowd. By the time the last body slumped, the plaza was shrouded in silence.
Elis nearly collapsed when her knees gave way at the sight of gore spilling from the stage to the ground. But Kiev’s arms were swift, catching her before she fell, and pulling her trembling body into the safety of his embrace. Tears streamed from her eyes as he shielded her from the bloodstained platform.
"It’s over now," he murmured, steady though his own chest ached for her pain.
Garin stepped closer, his expression tight with concern.
"Perhaps it would be best to take her home to rest, Your Highness."
Kiev gave a firm nod, already considering it, but Elis lifted her tear-stricken face, her voice breaking through the silence.
"Can we... can we stop by the cemetery first? I want to see my sister, please."
Kiev’s brow furrowed in reluctance, but her pleading gaze undid his hesitation. After a pause, he exhaled and nodded.
"I’ll come with you," Garin said quietly, offering support.
"Very well. Let’s go now," Kiev agreed, guiding Elis gently as they left the square, with the knight walking at their side.
Following the town crier’s speech, which carried King Kyden’s message urging people to respect the law and confirming the sentence was now fulfilled, Eli broke away from his comrades, his eyes fixed on Athillia.
She stood with Matthew, speaking quietly with her uncle. Without hesitation, he rushed forward, pushing through the dispersing crowd.
"Ah, Sir Henderson. You’ve arrived just in time," Matthew said, spotting the young knight. "Please escort my niece back to the Gerhard mansion. I must return to the palace for another meeting with His Majesty, Sir Ashburne, and His Grace, the Duke of Greene. Athillia said she needed time to pack her belongings."
"P-pack?" Eli stammered, his eyes widening as he turned to Athillia. "Where are you going, my lady?"
"Where else?" she replied flatly. "My uncle has taken guardianship of me. Naturally, I will be returning to his march."
The young knight’s face darkened as the weight of her words sank into him. She would be leaving... The decision somehow felt painful.
Matthew’s voice cut through his thoughts.
"My meetings may take some time. There are matters regarding Ardel, particularly the remnants of King Ronan’s supporters, that must be resolved. Sir Ashburne has raised several issues, and they require careful handling. I may be occupied for the whole day. Athillia, will you wait for me and get ready in the meantime?"
"Yes, uncle. I will," the Bargesian Princess answered obediently, her tone calm though her eyes seemed distant. "Don’t worry about me. Attend to what you must."
The Marquess of Roland smiled, softly patting his niece’s head as he promised to fetch her as soon as he could. He then excused himself, heading off to duty after reminding the knight to look after his niece.
Eli took a step forward, his gaze fixed on her.
"Can we talk?" he asked quietly.
"No," Athillia replied firmly with a stern face. "Lead me to the mansion. I’m too tired for any discussion."
Her words struck like a dagger to the knight’s chest. Yet as her escort, he could not defy her. Athillia was now a noble lady of high rank in Cassian, as bestowed by the king.
"Yes, my lady."
Eli bowed in deference, concealing his disappointment.
***
Elis knelt on the ground, her hand brushing against the cold ashlar. The grave that once bore the "Anonymous Woman" inscription now had a proper carving of a name—Erika Canton.
After her sister’s identification, Kiev, with the help of Eric and the mansion’s household, had transformed the lonely burial site into a rightful resting place. The old marker was replaced with a true tombstone, its base now secured with neat slabs and kerbing.
"Sorry it took me so long to find you again, Erika," Elis whispered tremblingly.
Her eyes, red and swollen, could only gaze on the silent headstone with a grieving look.
The sorrow that gripped her chest was suffocating, almost too heavy to swallow. From the moment she learned of her sister’s horrific end, the princess consort hadn’t been able to set foot on this burial ground.
Not because she couldn’t accept the truth—but because the truth itself was unbearable.
Erika hadn’t simply died. She had been deceived by the Knights of Abinair, and in those men’s wretched hands, they had defiled and murdered her mercilessly to frame an innocent man.
For Elis, stepping onto this soil meant reliving the nightmare she too had endured and facing the cruelty that had stripped Erika of her dignity and life. Yet, with the bit of strength she had, kneeling before the grave, she could finally let her heart be heard.
Behind her, Kiev’s hands clenched at his sides. He wanted to pull her into his arms, to tell her she had done nothing wrong—that her promise was never broken, for she had found her sister, even if too late.
But he knew this wasn’t the moment for persuasion. What Elis needed now was not comfort, but release. So he swallowed his words, standing guard in silence, though his heart twisted at the sight of her grief.
Further back, Garin also held his tongue. It was as if the two men had reached an unspoken agreement to let Elis pour out the sorrow she had carried alone for so long.
"Please forgive me, my sweet sister," Elis murmured. "Rest now... and wait for me. One day, we’ll be together again."
As the princess consort closed her eyes, she wiped away the tears that welled up, sniffing back her runny nose. Her severed heart might take a lifetime to heal, but even so, a sense of relief flooded over her, knowing that Erika would never be hurt again.
Staggeringly, Elis mustered the strength to stand up. Kiev’s arms came swiftly like a saviour, steadying her.
The princess consort turned. Even in sadness, her lips formed a smile at him—the very person who was always there for her when she faced her fear.
"Let’s go home. You need to rest. It’s been too much for you," said Kiev in his gentle voice.
"I’m all right, Kiev. I can face all this. I am much stronger now with you by my side," she said softly. "I can live with this."
But as she spoke, the Mederian Prince’s crimson eyes searched hers, seeing past the fragile smile.
Beneath her words, a sorrow too deep to ignore persisted, a pain that had not released its hold. His chest clenched with frustration—not at her, but at the injustice still haunting her soul.
"Don’t lie. I know you’re hiding your true feelings within, and I hate it when you do that."
Elis’s smile wavered, slipping away as her lips quivered at his remarks. She didn’t need to say it out loud because Kiev could already read her as though her silence was a confession.
Slowly, she lowered her gaze, unable to meet his eyes, not because he already knew, but because she was afraid to admit she was still broken and haunted inside.
Kiev gently cupped her face, lifting her chin so she couldn’t escape his eyes.
"Your sister has her closure now... but what about you?" His thumb brushed against her damp cheek. "Can we truly be happy when the fire of vengeance still burns inside you?"
Elis pushed his hands away and looked away.
"Let it be, Kiev. It won’t change anything," she said, her voice low but strained.
She wanted so badly to move on... to bury the memories and leave them in the past. Yet, something deep within her still clung tightly, refusing to loosen its grip no matter how hard she tried.
Kiev’s gaze did not waver.
"No, Elis. You can’t let it go. I know you can’t. The slave market where you and Erika were sold like cattle... the Count’s mansion where your life was turned into torment... the townsfolk who turned their backs on you... All of it still stands. How can you find peace while those shadows still hold you?"
Her breath caught at his question.
"Then what do you expect me to do?" she cried. "I can’t even lift a sword to strike back at them! Even if indignation consumes me, I’m powerless to make them pay for what they did! I can’t do anything!"
"You don’t have to," Kiev said, voice steady. "I’ve already planned to go."
"What?!" Elis stared at him in disbelief. "Going where? What are you planning to do?" she asked, alarm rising.
"To those places where you had suffered. I’ll make them learn their lesson for badly treating you," he replied, determination hardening his tone. "In a few days, I will depart."
The princess consort shook her head in fear.
"No!" she cried. "You promised you wouldn’t leave me!"
"I’m not leaving you, Elis. I’m only going for a while to take revenge on your behalf. I’ll be back before you know it."
The Mederian Prince’s resolve was fixed, and Elis knew him well enough to understand he would never retreat once he had made up his mind.
That knowledge tore at her more than it comforted her. She could not bear the thought of him being hurt.
Not again.
Not after watching him suffer in agony when his mana drained, saving Anna. The memory alone still haunted her, threatening to undo her completely.
"You can’t go! You’ve only just recovered. And... to face them all?" Her voice rose as panic crept across her face. "No! I won’t let you!"
"I won’t be going alone. The Knights of Gerhard will be with me. The Grand Duke himself approved their order to accompany me," Kiev explained.
Elis gasped, stunned. Never had she imagined her husband, Kyren, and the knights would make such a plan behind her back. Her eyes, shimmering with betrayal, turned to Garin.
"You—you knew about this?"
The burly knight stepped forward, his expression grave as he met his sister’s gaze.
"It was decided and agreed with His Highness the Grand Duke. Please rest assured, I will personally guard His Highness Prince Kiev. I swear he will be unharmed throughout the expedition."
Her heart dropped to the ground, shattering. Tears blurred her vision as she turned back to Kiev, wounded beyond words.
"How could you? How could you decide something so grave without telling me?" Her voice quivered, raw with hurt.
"Please understand, Elis," Kiev pleaded, reaching out to her.
"No!" She shoved him away. "Why are you doing this? Why are you pushing yourself to such danger because of me?!"
She was consumed by the smouldering fury that gnawed at her from within rather than the anger she felt for him.
If not for her past, Kiev would never have been drawn into this path.
If not for her scars, he wouldn’t have to risk himself and drag the knights into danger.
Because of her, they would all suffer. The guilt overwhelmed her, suffocating her more than her tears.
Kiev’s sigh was heavy, his eyes shadowed with pain.
"I’m doing this not just for you, but for us both. If I cannot shield you from the shadows of your past, then what worth is my vow to you?" he said, resolute in his stand.
However, Elis shut her ears to him. Shaking her head, she refused to let another word slip through, sobbing, "I hate you! I hate both of you!"
And before either man could stop her, she turned and fled to the carriage, clutching her sorrow like a wound too deep to mend.