Chapter 124: The Iron Rules of the Inquisition

Within the Imperial Capital’s Inquisition, deep in the Iron Prison of Divine Wrath, Jeanne Decker sat leaning against the cold wall of her cell, her eyes closed in meditation.

The dungeon was shrouded in profound darkness, save for a faint flicker of torchlight that pierced through the small window on the iron door facing the corridor.

Within these confines, she had lost all sense of day and night. She could only vaguely guess it was around noon, having received two meals already.

Yet, even this was uncertain, as she had heard that the Inquisition’s prison served meals at irregular intervals.

The door suddenly swung open. Jeanne Decker had heard no footsteps preceding it, for the Inquisitors here always moved with unnerving silence.

“Jeanne Decker, come out.” The Inquisitor, wearing an iron mask, called out Jeanne Decker’s full name in a formal, detached tone.

Jeanne Decker rose, stepping out of her cell and following the Inquisitor’s silent command. She knew she was to be interrogated.

Upon being led into the interrogation room, the Inquisitor gestured for her to sit down.

The interrogation room was sparsely furnished: two chairs and an iron table. Across from Jeanne Decker, on the other side of the table, sat a Senior Inquisitor clad in black robes.

Behind Jeanne Decker, a grey-robed executioner stood, clutching a shield.

No sooner had she settled than the Senior Inquisitor snapped her fingers, causing the oil lamp on the table to extinguish itself.

The room plunged into sudden darkness. As Jeanne Decker felt a surge of confusion, the executioner’s shield flared with an intense light, shining directly into her eyes.

Jeanne Decker’s face was bleached ghastly white by the glare. The powerful light forced her to avert her gaze, yet she remained deeply uncomfortable, unable to turn away while seated.

She immediately realized this was a tactic to pressure prisoners.

“Feeling distressed?” the Senior Inquisitor chuckled from across the table. “Don’t feel wronged. We’ve already given you special treatment, out of consideration for your adoptive father and your other supporters.

Most prisoners are strung up during interrogation.”

Jeanne Decker believed this was a cruel jest. The Inquisition’s severity was infamous throughout the entire empire.

The most terrifying prospect in the empire was not a fatal illness, but rather being ‘invited for tea’ by an Inquisitor to the Iron Prison of Divine Wrath.

Few who entered those iron gates ever walked out again. And those who did were usually tortured beyond recognition.

“Ask whatever you wish. I will cooperate,” Jeanne Decker stated.

“If your attitude had been this cooperative yesterday, you wouldn’t be locked up now. By my voice, you probably can’t tell, but I am the Inquisitor who witnessed your transgression firsthand yesterday,” the interrogator revealed. “Let me be blunt with you, adopted daughter of the Alençon family. You’re in deep trouble.”

“I wish to be given a chance to explain,” Jeanne Decker replied.

“There’s actually not much to explain; we’ve largely pieced things together. The blasphemer you protected at the scene yesterday, the one you reported previously for attempting to apprehend the Killer, was indeed the witch, wasn’t she?” the Inquisitor inquired.

“Yes,” Jeanne Decker answered honestly.

“Because two blasphemers were fighting amongst themselves, you considered one of them ‘your own’? How incredibly foolish,” the Inquisitor sneered. “Are you truly not colluding with that witch’s organization?”

“No, I swear it,” Jeanne Decker affirmed earnestly.

“There are countless criminals who lie under oath. You had best not casually defile the name of the Most High God when swearing, for that will only hasten your demise here,” the Inquisitor’s voice grew increasingly cold. “Then how do you explain risking your life to save that witch? I saw it clearly with my own two eyes: you let her go.”

“At that moment, she was holding the hostage I intended to save. The Killer had tampered with the hostage, causing her body to manifest demonic characteristics. The witch claimed she could save her.

At the time, the Knights seemed to mistake the witch for the Killer and were preparing to strike a fatal blow. Regardless, I believed that hostage was innocent…”

“Hmph,” the Inquisitor suddenly scoffed. “That is the most idiotic excuse I have ever heard.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“It’s not a matter of belief. Even if your excuse were true, it wouldn’t in any way mitigate the crimes you’ve committed. Let me tell you something first.

An ordinary person cannot become a demon, no matter how hard they try. To gain demonic power, the prerequisite is to become a blasphemer who worships the Abyss Cult!”

The Inquisitor rapped on the iron table. “Blasphemers are heretics, and heretics are never innocent!”

“She was originally just an ordinary person! I can prove it! At the time, she and her sister were both kidnapped, and she was blackmailed by the Killer with her sister’s life to—”

“Does that matter?” the Inquisitor coldly interrupted her.

Jeanne Decker’s eyes widened, and for a moment, she was utterly at a loss for words.

“You, a formally canonized Holy Knight of the Church, even chosen to be a Standard-Bearer Saintess, are actually so muddled about such matters?” the Inquisitor chastised righteously. “A heretic is a heretic—have you forgotten the Church’s iron rule for purging heresy?”

Jeanne Decker froze.

This was indeed an iron rule of the Church: a heretic was a heretic. Anyone who embraced a heretical religion or was tainted by heretical power, regardless of the reason, was guilty of heresy.

For the first time, Jeanne Decker realized how inhumane, even utterly unreasonable, this cruel iron rule was.

“You assisted two heretical blasphemers in escaping; that is no small crime,” the Inquisitor stated, fixing Jeanne Decker with a stare. “However, we will apprehend all of them and send them to where they belong.”

“What do you intend to do with Martha once you catch her?” Jeanne Decker’s eyes widened.

“Blasphemers are usually executed, though lifelong imprisonment is not out of the question. You must understand that becoming a blasphemer is irreversible,” the Inquisitor calmly replied.

“Wait, Martha was indeed forced into becoming a heretic, but she only agreed to the Killer’s terms to protect her sister! She is undeniably innocent!” Jeanne Decker couldn’t help but argue. “To inflict such a grave punishment upon an innocent person—that is absolutely not justice!”

“Whether she is innocent or not is for us to judge, but once someone becomes a heretic, the possibility of innocence is virtually nonexistent in our eyes,” the Inquisitor’s voice remained devoid of warmth. “Our duty is not to uphold the kind of glamorous justice you perceive; we only uphold the Ecclesiastical Law. And the Ecclesiastical Law has only taught us to eliminate all heresy! Speaking of which,” the Inquisitor continued, flipping through some documents, “the hostage you mentioned, she has family, right? Let me see… a sister studying at the Cathedral Academy? Do you know her?”

“Know her? What about her?” Jeanne Decker asked, puzzled.

The Senior Inquisitor ignored her, instead picking up the documents and showing them to the executioner behind her, pointing a finger at Leah’s name. “Notify the Enforcement Department. Find the person mentioned in these records and carry out the arrest.”

“You’re going to arrest Leah? She has nothing to do with this!” Jeanne Decker exclaimed, startled.

“Heretics like this might seek help from family members to hide. It is our custom to conduct thorough interrogations and screenings of a heretic’s family,” the Inquisitor said, casually setting the documents down.

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