CHAPTER 81: A SWORD FOR EVERY SIN

[Temple of the Holy Light – Inner Sanctum | Midnight]

The temple air was thick with incense and arrogance.

The sacred inner sanctum glowed with unnatural golden light—etched in gold, draped in velvet, drowning in centuries of piety and power. The scent of sandalwood curled through the air like a lie.

But even the holy candles seemed to flicker nervously.

And at the center of it all, robed in layers of ceremonial white and gold, stood High Priest Caldric, fury twisting every line of his aged face.

He raised his hand—SLAP!

The sharp crack of flesh-on-flesh echoed through the hallowed hall. A junior priest staggered back, lip bleeding, eyes wide in terror.

"USELESS," Caldric spat, his voice a venom-laced thunderclap. "You had ONE task—ONE! Bring me the child! That blessed child, born under the crescent comet, born under prophecy! And you—you—come back empty-handed?!"

The priest bowed low, trembling. "W-We tried, Your Holiness... but the estate was heavily guarded and... and the maid got caught. We didn’t expect—"

"Didn’t expect?!" Caldric shrieked, voice cracking under divine fury. "You didn’t expect resistance from the grand duke’s estate?! Did you think the child would be left in a basket at the door?! Did you forget she’s the only heir born in a century—a girl! The first in the Rynthall bloodline since the founding of the empire?!"

He wheezed, enraged, before thrusting a finger toward the shrine.

"But...she belongs HERE! With us! Under the eyes of the gods—not being coddled by that brat omega and his alpha husband!"

"When kings forget their place, it is the Temple’s duty to remind them," he snarled. "When the heavens give a gift, we do not ask permission—we take what is divine."

The room fell silent.

Until—

CLANG.

The sacred bronze doors of the temple—

—burst open.

No, they didn’t open.

They exploded.

The hinges flew from their sockets, slamming against the stone walls with a sound like thunder striking a cathedral. The priests jumped. Candles flickered. Statues cracked.

And through the swirling smoke—

A figure emerged.

Cloak torn at the edges. Boots soaked in mud and fury. Sword drawn, gleaming like vengeance kissed by moonlight.

Hair silver and wild.

Eyes burning.

Grand Duke Silas Rynthall.

Every priest went still—like prey beneath the gaze of a god.

Caldric took a shaky step back.

"G-Grand Duke," he choked, his voice suddenly small. "Why... why are you here? And with... with a sword?"

He forced a trembling smile.

"This is the Holy Temple of Light—you cannot bring violence here. You of all people should know that! To bring steel into this sacred place—it’s sacrilege!"

Silas took another step forward. The marble beneath his boots cracked.

The air warped with power.

"Sacrilege," Silas whispered, his voice velvet over flame. "You want to talk to me about sacrilege?"

He raised his sword—slowly, deliberately—until the point hovered between Caldric’s wide eyes.

"You broke into my home."

"You sent spies into my child’s nursery."

"You dared to take what is mine—and then you dare preach about holiness?!"

Caldric’s throat bobbed. "T-The child... she is the chosen one—she was born under divine—"

"She," Silas cut in, stepping even closer, "was born from my blood. From my bond. From the omega who survived death to bring her into this world."

"She is our daughter, not your prophecy. And...when you touched her... when you thought you could take her from us without consequence—"

He smiled, but it was all teeth.

"You invited the storm."

"So here I am."

The golden lanterns shook as Silas’s alpha pheromones rushed across the room like wildfire, coating every inch in fury and dominance and war.

The lesser priests fell to their knees. The air grew thick. Unbreathable.

"This temple was built by men," Silas said, voice dropping to a growl. "And men who threaten my child don’t get sermons."

"They get slaughtered."

Caldric’s voice trembled. "Y-You wouldn’t—!"

"Try me," Silas said, lowering his sword just enough to smile again. "And see how far I go."

"I was going to wait until morning," he added softly, "but your arrogance... your audacity...It has removed all mercy from me."

Just then—BOOM.

The back doors slammed open and the Imperial Royal Guard poured in.

Blades drawn.

Eyes blazing.

And behind them—Emperor Adrien, draped in battle-black, crown tilted, fury in his stride.

"You lunatics," Adrien hissed to Caldric, "have officially gone too far."

He turned to Silas. "We attack. Now."

Silas didn’t smile.

He nodded.

"Yes, no more prayers. Only fire."

The torches cracked. The air snapped. Power pressed against the marble like a storm caged within sacred walls.

Caldric, still holding onto his tattered robes of arrogance, straightened his spine and smiled—too wide, too forced.

"You can’t do this," he said, his voice trembling beneath the illusion of calm. "You may hold power, Grand Duke... but the people—the believers—they will turn on you. You spill blood here tonight, and the empire will bleed with you."

He took a step forward, robes dragging behind like the tail of a rat.

"You raise your sword in a sacred place? The temples across the continent will rise. The nobles, the foreign courts, the masses... they will tear down your name. They will say you defied the gods."

He smiled like a wolf hiding its fangs in silk.

"They will not see a father protecting his child. They’ll see a heretic. A blasphemer. A tyrant."

There was silence.

And then—

Emperor Adrien chuckled.

Low. Dry. Dangerous.

"Oh, Caldric... You poor, deluded relic."

Caldric blinked. Silas stepped forward then, his boots clicking against the marble floor like the toll of judgment bells.

"Do you really think," Silas began, voice cold as steel dipped in frost, "we came here just because you tried to steal my child?"

His eyes gleamed. "You think this entire army was assembled at midnight... all for one attempted kidnapping?"

Caldric’s smile faltered. "W-What else could possibly—"

Silas unsheathed a scroll.

Parchment, golden-sealed.

It unfurled with a single flick of his wrist and landed on the polished floor with a thud that felt like prophecy.

"Shall I read it aloud, your holiness?" Silas asked mockingly. "Or would you prefer I carve it into the temple walls?"

Caldric stepped back. "What... is that?"

The Grand Duke’s voice dropped, silken and lethal.

"This... is your undoing."

He gestured toward the scroll.

"Ledgers. Confessions. Witness accounts. Dozens of them. Stamped, signed, and sealed by your very own clergy. Some bought, some broken. Some... are just tired of your filth."

"We have records of your embezzlement from orphan funds, money siphoned from temple donations to build your private villas, and sending your bastard sons to foreign academies under false names."

Caldric paled.

"We found the burial ground beneath your summer chapel," Silas went on, his voice a knife. "The one filled with ’miracle patients’ who came for healing but never returned. Coincidence, of course."

The emperor took a step forward, his golden crown catching the light.

"You said the gods were angry?" Adrien asked, smiling cruelly. "Well, we checked the books. Turns out it was you all along."

Caldric’s legs wobbled.

Silas didn’t stop.

"Human trafficking. Blood taxes from mountain villages. A ritual chamber disguised as a wine cellar. You’ve committed more sins than the devils you preach against."

"You told your priests the child was a saintess," Silas spat, eyes flashing, "but what you really wanted was a pawn. A divine hostage to boost your failing influence."

Caldric’s voice cracked. "Lies—"

"—Truths," Silas cut in, slicing through the word. "Documented. Delivered. Ready to be read in every square of the empire by sunrise."

"You will not be remembered as a man of God," Adrien added. "You’ll be remembered as the stain the temple couldn’t cleanse."

Caldric’s robes seemed to sag around him. He looked smaller now. Wilted. Wilted like a dying vulture losing its perch.

He rasped, "You... you planned this..."

Silas tilted his head.

And smiled.

"The moment you dared to touch what’s mine... I knew what you were. And now?" He raised his sword. "Now, I show the world."

The sacred bells tolled.

The sky cracked open with thunder, a jagged scream across the heavens.

The air trembled, heavy with judgment.

Silas raised his sword—cold steel gleaming beneath flickering torchlight. One swing, one breath, and justice would be served—

And then...

He stopped.

Mid-motion. Eyes narrowing.

The sword hovered in the air.

"...Ah. Damn it," Silas muttered.

Emperor Adrien blinked. "What now?"

Silas slowly lowered his sword, brows furrowed like a man who just remembered he left the stove on.

"I... forgot something."

"Silas," Adrien said patiently, "you’re in the middle of a righteous fury. What could you possibly have forgotten?"

Silas ran a hand down his face.

"Lucein."

"What about him?"

Silas exhaled, sword lowering fully now.

"He said—and I quote—’If you dare kill that crusty holy mosquito without me, I will poison your tea for a year and set your favorite books on fire while you sleep.’"

Adrien raised a brow. "...Sounds like him."

Silas nodded gravely. "He’s serious, too. He once threatened to hex my hair into frizz for touching his almond cookies."

The emperor winced. "Oh gods. Not the hair."

Silas looked down at Caldric, now trembling like a sanctimonious leaf.

"As much as I want to gut you and paint the altar red..." he sighed. "My husband would murder me if I ruined his revenge."

"So," Adrien concluded, "we let Lucien have his turn."

"Exactly."

The emperor straightened his cape and turned to his royal guard.

"Take this glorified worm to the imperial dungeon. Chain him, gag him, strip the robes, and for heaven’s sake—no baths. Let him smell like his own guilt."

Caldric screamed, "You can’t do this! I AM THE VOICE OF THE GODS!"

Silas yanked him up by the collar.

"Then tell your gods I said hi."

He turned to Adrien with a solemn nod.

"Time for me to go home."

"To check on Lucien?" the emperor asked.

"To stop him from turning the estate into a burning effigy of vengeance and glitter." Silas sighed. "I cannot let him kill Caldric first. The man needs to suffer."

"Fair," Adrien muttered. "Also, tell him if he wants to set anything on fire... maybe not the treasure room."

"No promises."

And with that, the Grand Duke of the Empire stormed out of the temple, dragging the disgraced high priest behind him like a sack of holy regrets—heading home to the only being in the empire more terrifying than him:

His furious, glitter-cloaked, postnatal husband.

And thus...

The empire was spared a holy war.

But Caldric?

He wouldn’t be spared anything.