Chapter 65: The Sentence—Death

“AAAAAAAH—!!!” 

The scream that tore through the room was even more agonizing than before. The wounds that had only just begun to heal were ripped open again, fresh injuries carved into barely mended flesh. The pain of being healed only to be torn apart again was magnified several times over. 

“Heal him,” Nolan said without turning around. 

Kayan understood immediately. A sacred healing decree descended, and Haus’ wounds began to close once more, though the agony did not lessen in the slightest. 

“Third: a noble must be loyal. He must never betray the kingdom, nor collude with foreign enemies.” 

This time, Kayan no longer needed Nolan’s prompting. Holy light fell again, and Baron Haus’ screams resumed. 

Nolan raised his sword once more. “Fourth: a noble must be brave. He must not shrink from battle, nor evade responsibility.” 

“Fifth: a noble must be honest. He must not deceive his sovereign, nor frame the innocent with false testimony.” 

“Sixth: a noble must be selfless. He must not abuse his authority for personal gain, nor ignore the suffering of the poor.” 

“Seventh: a noble must be tolerant. He must not seek vengeance for private grudges, nor persecute those who differ from him.” 

A grotesque and bloody execution unfolded within the luxurious bedroom. One man delivered the cruelest punishment imaginable. Another granted the holiest of healing. The sword fell again and again, flesh splitting apart in sprays of blood as screams echoed ceaselessly through the chamber. Then the holy light would flare, wounds closing, life preserved. 

The scene was so hellish that Baron Haus finally broke. He swayed endlessly between the brink of death and an abyss of unbearable pain. He wanted to faint, yet the holy light always kept him conscious at the precise moment he was about to black out. He wanted to die, yet Nolan’s blade always avoided his vital points. Little by little, beneath the endless torment, his will was crushed into dust. The only sounds in the room were Haus’ shrill screams and Nolan’s calm recitation. 

Rehanna stood nearby with her arms crossed, watching everything unfold. She realized the hatred inside her was slowly being released with every word Nolan carved into the man’s back. This was far more satisfying than killing him with a single strike. 

Her gaze lingered on Nolan’s back. This man always enforced his will in the most unexpected ways. There was nothing gentle about his methods, yet his purpose was utterly pure. In his own way, he was cleansing the filth from this land. 

Vivi no longer felt sick. Supporting the woman named Sherry, she quietly comforted her. 

Sherry had stopped crying. She and her husband huddled together in the corner, staring blankly at the man carrying out the execution. They might not understand the Seven Noble Precepts, but they understood every sentence Nolan spoke. Each one was an accusation against Haus’ crimes. Each one gave voice to the suffering they had endured all these years. The fear in their eyes gradually faded, replaced by a mixture of awe and gratitude. The man who had saved them was now delivering justice for them in a way they could never have imagined. 

Little Donnie had recovered from his initial shock. Clenching his fists tightly, he stared without blinking, feeling his blood boil with excitement. So this was Brother Nolan’s justice? Justice wasn’t only about charging across battlefields after all… a sword could be used like this too. 

Hank still stood silently like a statue, but the scrutiny in his eyes had transformed into complete conviction. Looking at Nolan, he seemed to see his younger self from many years ago, the man who had once dreamed of sweeping away every injustice with the sword in his hand. The difference was that reality had dulled his edges over time. Nolan, however, had turned that same ideal into reality through methods even sharper and more resolute. 

Sweat had begun to bead across Nolan’s forehead. 

This was not merely physical exhaustion. To “write” on a person’s back with such precision while controlling the force carefully enough to maximize pain without killing the victim outright required extraordinary concentration and swordsmanship. More importantly, every word he carved into Haus felt like a matching brand being seared into the depths of his own soul. He knew exactly what he was doing. He was playing the role of judge and executioner alike, using violence to end violence and cruelty to punish cruelty. Once someone stepped onto this path, there was rarely any turning back. 

But he did not regret it. 

In this chaotic age, gentler methods could never restore order. If this kingdom was to be saved, then the rotten roots poisoning it had to be severed with ruthless force. 

Kayan had completely immersed himself in the process. He no longer saw it as torture, but as a sacred rite of exorcism. The holy light shining from his iron staff was no longer a tool for prolonging suffering, but a flame cleansing evil itself. He could even feel a faint new understanding of the Mother Goddess’ teachings dawning within him. The bottleneck that had restrained his power for years had begun to loosen. 

By the time Nolan carved the final stroke, Haus’ entire back had become a grotesque “calligraphic masterpiece” of blood and mangled flesh. 

Nolan looked at his handiwork, then at the heap of quivering fat collapsed at his feet. A trace of exhaustion flickered through his eyes. His body swayed slightly, and he nearly fell before Hank stepped forward to steady him. 

“Is it over?” Hank asked quietly. 

“Not yet.” Nolan shook his head. 

Taking a deep breath, he pulled free from Hank’s grasp and walked toward Baron Haus, who had long since lost all awareness. 

“Haus von Demont. Do you admit your crimes?”

Haus’ eyes were vacant. Saliva dripped from the corner of his mouth as incoherent muttering escaped his lips. It seemed he could no longer even maintain complete consciousness. Nearly half an hour of relentless torment had utterly shattered his mind. 

Nolan grabbed him by the collar and raised Mountain’s Resonance. 

“I’ll take your silence as a confession.” 

Haus’ blood still stained the black blade. 

“Now,” Nolan said, his voice carrying clearly to everyone present, “the judgment is complete.” 

He looked at the couple, at Rehanna and her sister, and at his companions. 

“In the name of all victims, I pronounce the sentence: death.” 

A flash of black light streaked through the air. 

A bloated head flew upward.

Everyone stared at the collapsing corpse, then at the blood-soaked man standing over it with sword in hand. After thirty minutes of screams and torment, it was finally over. The taut string that had held everyone’s nerves together suddenly snapped. 

Rehanna let out a long breath, as though expelling years of bitterness from her chest all at once. She stared at Haus’ corpse with complicated emotions. She knew exactly what they had done. They had executed a landed noble, one of Archduke Demont’s sons. This might very well be a road with no return. But from this day onward, she, her sister, and the surviving brothers of the Fire Fox Mercenary Company could finally lay down the burden they had carried for so long. 

Turning toward Nolan, she thought of how this man had fulfilled her revenge in the most extreme way imaginable. She did not know how she could ever repay such a debt. 

“I’m sorry,” Rehanna said softly as she walked to his side. “I apologize for doubting you before.” 

“I understand. Don’t worry about it.” Nolan flicked the blood from his sword and sheathed it. 

Vivi’s tiger ears drooped slightly as she hurried over to him. Seeing how pale his face had become from exhaustion, she felt an unexpected ache in her chest. She said nothing. She simply reached out and silently supported his swaying body. 

Little Donnie stared blankly at the two severed heads lying on the floor: Yuri and Haus. The two greatest powers in Coldsteel City had both died by their hands in a single day. It felt unreal, like a dream. The hand gripping his sword trembled faintly with excitement. He knew he had taken part in an event worthy of being written into history. 

The instant Haus was beheaded, Kayan lowered his head and stared at his hands, which still glowed faintly with holy light. He fell into a long silence. He knew he had no regrets. The dark clouds hanging over the Elfin Kingdom seemed to have been torn open ever so slightly by a sword wielded by the gods themselves. 

With everything finally over, Nolan’s tightly wound nerves at last relaxed, and it felt as though all strength drained from his body. The repeated overuse of Divine Infusion and Assault, the prolonged strain of maintaining absolute concentration, and his deadly battle against the Gold-rank warrior Yuri had pushed both his body and mind past their limits. A splitting headache pounded through his skull as darkness crept across his vision. Had Vivi not caught him in time, he might have collapsed onto the floor. 

Leaning against Vivi’s soft shoulder, he gasped heavily for breath. The tip of Mountain’s Resonance pressed against the ground, barely keeping him upright. 

“Nolan, how are you?” Vivi’s worried voice sounded beside his ear.