By afternoon, the velmoryns had begun to gather in the center of Eriavel to witness the execution of the demon. The area was completely covered by the bright scarlet leaves of the red oak, faintly rustling in the weak gusts of early summer.
It was a majestic sight. Truly.
But that wasn’t why I had been watching. Nor was I interested in the execution itself. Originally, my plan had been to pull the demon velmoryn into my realm and question him, or even use my divinity to extract the information I needed. But after trying that on the woman, I was convinced it would be futile. Bringing another demon into my dominion and allowing more of the Night God’s divinity to enter it was not something I was willing to do. Not again.
My goal was to prevent the catastrophe if Noah tried to use the demon as a medium to attack Eriavel. That was the only reason I waited for the execution.
Still, that didn’t mean I was only watching.
So far, I had dedicated three of my five threads of mind to Aurelion, Avenor, and Amon. I was monitoring them at all times, both to ensure they weren’t in danger and because Aurelion and Avenor were handling important tasks, while Amon, with his strange obsession with magic, was constantly inventing something new. Watching him had become a good way to learn.
Now, I had added one more. Amon teaching Gundir about bombs had convinced me I needed to push velmoryn technology forward as much as possible. My knowledge of engineering was amateur at best, but I still believed I could come up with something useful. So I dedicated one thread to recalling and organizing everything I still remembered from Earth. Even if I failed, at the very least, it would help me preserve those memories, because I was slowly starting to forget my past life.
As the gathered crowd split and made way for Lyle and the two other velmoryns who were pulling a cart filled with the mangled bodies of their fallen kin, I immediately realized this would turn the execution into something far more.
At first, the velmoryns were confused by the sight. Only a few knew what had happened to Lyle’s group. But once they saw the black blood on her armor and face, and the corpses on the cart, they understood.
Instead of sorrow appearing on their faces, it was anger. Hatred. And both quickly found their target—the demon.
Lyle, unlike the others, had no emotion to spare. Borrowing my power, then witnessing what had happened to the woman who entered my realm, had drained her. She didn’t join the rising wave of hatred that swept through the crowd.
She walked toward the temple in silence, ignoring the voices that grew louder like a sea slowly turning more violent.
“We want revenge! Proper revenge!”“Torture him first!”“Let the beasts feast on him!”…
Despite the demands, the only one who could change anything was Tekla. And she was now stepping out of the temple, drawn by the noise.
Seeing Lyle and the cart, she pursed her lips.
“Praise be to High Father,” Lyle murmured as Tekla’s pale eyes fell on her. She traced my symbol on her chest with her index and middle fingers. Her fingertips lingered for a long moment as she lost herself in thoughts. Then she whispered, “I failed them. All the power I was given, and yet… I failed to save even one of them.”
Tekla opened her mouth a few times, still looking at Lyle, who stared at the ground. She hesitated, searching for words. But longer the silence stretched, fiercer her gaze became.
“Lyle, no mortal is beyond mistakes. I will not tell you the fault is not yours, for that would not help you. But answer me this—should a sword be cast aside once it fails to cut, or tempered and sharpened?” Tekla spoke firmly, her voice lacking its usual warmth.
“Still…”
“No. I will not allow the sword our Lord chose to grow dull. Raise your head, accept your mistakes, and make sure they are your last.”
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With that, Tekla moved past Lyle without another glance.
She kept walking until she was only a step away from the two velmoryns. The fierceness in her eyes faded, replaced by sorrow as she looked at the cart.
“Please, carry them inside. The sisters will cleanse them.”
“As you command, Priestess.” The two velmoryns nodded eagerly.
Tekla moved toward the crowd.
When she reached the place where Mirion and a few warriors he had chosen stood in a circle around the demon, keeping the crowd back, Othrien was already trying to calm the gathered people.
“We must never forget that we are velmoryns. We follow our customs. We obey the rules our ancestors set for us,” Othrien said, tapping the ground with his staff.
“Our ancestors did not know these creatures! Look at this… fiend.” a man from the crowd shot back. But when Othrien’s gaze fell on him, he stepped back.
Seeing the crowd grow more restless, Othrien tried a different approach.
“Have I ever passed an unfair judgment? Have I ever shown mercy to those who deserved punishment? We must wait until the council…”
“We do not know you! Nor is this about you!” a woman shouted from the crowd, one of the Blue Tribe survivors. The velmoryns obeyed the council, but they still favored those who had been their Vaels before. Even Othrien, one of the most respected leaders in Eriavel, held little influence beyond the Green Tribe.
Her words caught him off guard. He hadn’t expected that.
“How dare you disrespect our Vael?” a man stepped toward the woman, but those between them held him back.
“She is right! There are no Vaels! We have no leaders to obey! We follow only High Father!” another shouted.
“True, we have no Vaels.”
“Then move so we can kill that filth!” a man stepped forward confidently, but after a few steps, he stopped when no one followed.
“This is not how people of Eriavel should treat members of the council.”
A cold, calm voice cut through the noise. The crowd parted, giving Tekla a path.
The moment the velmoryns realized the priestess had arrived, they fell silent.
The silence was so absolute that even the rustle of red leaves beneath Tekla’s bare feet could be heard.
“Is this who we are? Is this why Father created Eriavel? The first disagreement we face is already enough to divide us, and we turn to violence.”
She approached the man who had tried to lead the crowd but failed. As Tekla passed him, he lowered his head.
“Each council member was chosen by me. To disrespect them is to disrespect me.”
When she reached Othrien, she turned toward the crowd. Her voice softened as she extended a hand, as though pleading.
“I am certain you meant no harm. You mourn your fallen kin. It is pain that drives you, not ambition, or ill will toward Othrien. I cannot fault you for the anger you carry, nor for the hatred you feel toward this creature.”
Murmurs spread through the crowd. Some nodded. Others agreed aloud. They would’ve accepted anything that would allow them to step away from conflict with the priestess. Not only because of her authority, but because of how much they loved her.
“Emotions must not guide us. Not anger. Not hatred. We must remember the role our mana plays in our judgment. Remember why these rules were set in place. Why we chose to follow them.”
Othrien glanced at her. This wasn’t the speech he had expected.
“High Father forbids us from harming our own. He forbade duels. Now, when a velmoryn commits a crime, it is the council that passes judgment. Only the council holds the right to judge the criminal.”
Othrien nodded. A faint smirk escaped him as those who had opposed him just a moment ago lowered their heads, avoiding his gaze.
Tekla continued.
“I ask that every resident of Eriavel show respect to the council and to the order we are building. We must all look after our people.” She paused, taking a deep breath. “But this…”
She pointed toward the demon without turning.
“Is this a matter for the council? Is this a criminal whose fate must be weighed?”
The velmoryns raised their heads, a fire in their eyes.
“NO! This is a sinner. One who has betrayed Father, betrayed his kin, and betrayed us all. And for what? To become a disfigured monster? To become akin to a beast?”
The crowd erupted. Voices rose. Emotion spilled over.
Tekla turned and walked toward the demon.
The guards stepped aside without waiting for Mirion’s command. The man also watched, stunned, as his daughter passed him. Others might not have noticed, but he could see it clearly. She was angry, angrier than ever.
Still, he could do nothing but watch as Tekla unsheathed a dagger from one of the guard’s waist.
“Today, I, the Priestess of Eriavel, declare these fiends to be sinners. No demon shall be shown mercy. None are to be taken alive. Kill them all for death can be their only punishment. They are our enemies. Enemies of our Father.”
She drove the dagger into the demon’s chest.
The weakened, restrained man could not resist as the blade pierced his heart. A wet breath escaped him.
The last he would ever draw.