Chapter 6: The Pyre of the Soul-Stealer

Though it was the cusp of winter, the air was bitingly cold, capable of freezing everything instantly. Low-slung clouds had swallowed the sun, casting the sky in a dismal, ashen hue.

A sharp wind, sweeping in from the north, cut through the densely packed crowd, ruffling their garments and chilling them to the bone.

Despite the pervasive cold, which made everyone clutch their coats tighter, not a soul dared to move from their place.

From early morning, the central plaza was already packed, leaving no room to even set foot. An unusually heavy atmosphere permeated the space, though the murmur of the crowd grew louder towards the plaza’s periphery.

With flushed faces, several individuals chattered amongst themselves, remarking that the cold, desolate weather perfectly suited the cruel punishment about to unfold.

In their eyes, emotions more potent than mere fear were intertwined.

A complex mix of curiosity and revulsion, the relief and self-comfort that it wasn’t them ascending the pyre, and a cruel anticipation buried deep beneath their piety.

“They say she’s beautiful enough to steal one’s soul. I’ll finally get to see her.”

“That’s precisely why she must be a witch. How dared a mere commoner bewitch His Imperial Majesty and try to harm him?”

Selonia, known as the Emperor’s lover or mistress, was a name secretly famous even among the common citizens of the Empire.

The scandalous tale of a humble count’s illegitimate daughter seizing a place beside the Emperor was one that would naturally pique anyone’s interest.

Those who had admired her, dreaming of becoming a second Selonia, now found themselves in agreement with her detractors.

Even those who had scorned her, pointing out she couldn’t even become the Emperor’s fiancée, let alone Empress, shared a similar sentiment.

For today, all had arrived at the same conclusion, including those who had pitied her, believing a naive girl was being toyed with by the Emperor.

Selonia Brienne was a witch?

Since the Archbishop of the Grand Cathedral had personally announced it, there could be no doubt.

It was rumored that even during this, His Imperial Majesty could not escape the witch’s influence, allowing her to reside in a luxurious palace instead of a dungeon until the trial’s conclusion.

What sinister sorcery must she have wielded to ensnare even a member of the Imperial family, who were said to be blessed by the gods? She was undoubtedly a witch of unprecedented notoriety.

“Still, the gods haven’t abandoned the Ardian Empire yet.”

“Exactly. What if that witch had actually become Empress?”

Women who accumulated magical power by draining the life force of innocent people were called witches.

Not everyone who used magic was a witch; the Ministry of Magic, after all, had its share of licensed female mages. The crucial difference lay in the magical power flowing within their bodies.

‘Women cannot possess magical power.’ This axiom had existed since Ardian ascended to an Empire. Consequently, female mages learned magic by utilizing magic stones capable of containing magical power.

This was also why the majority of female mages in the Ministry of Magic held research positions, as without a vessel to contain magical power within their bodies, they faced difficulties in wielding it effectively in the field.

Therefore, for a woman to possess magical power meant it had been artificially injected, not something she was born with.

The Grand Cathedral declared that the only way to artificially generate magical power was by converting human life force into magic, thus labeling those who engaged in such acts as heretics.

Witches were deemed descendants of the evil god Ranesh and were not treated as human, meaning no one mourned their deaths.

“It seems… it’s about to begin.”

Someone in the front row of the plaza murmured, observing the bustling activity around the pyre.

Those who had come to witness the witch’s demise ceased their chatter, turning their gazes forward, fearful of missing a single moment.

At the center of the plaza, a pyre had already been erected.

The ground beneath had been firmly packed with a mixture of water, mud, stones, and sand to prevent the flames from spreading, and a thick stake stood in the center.

Around the stake, layers of thoroughly dried firewood were stacked, ready to catch fire easily.

At the very bottom lay thick, well-dried logs, while the middle layers were interspersed with straw coated in pine resin to ensure quick ignition.

The sight of oil-soaked rags draped around the top of the wood clearly revealed the Grand Cathedral’s unwavering resolve to cleanse the witch’s original sin with purifying flames.

Soon, Holy Knights encircled the pyre, standing guard. In front of the pyre, where the crowds gathered, Imperial Knights were densely arrayed, prepared for any potential unrest.

Several priests then ascended the pyre and tilted the buckets they carried, causing an unknown, dark liquid to stream over the firewood.

‘Was the execution truly about to begin?’ Breaking the icy silence, murmurs rippled through the crowd once more. ‘What face would the witch show?’

Not all who were found guilty in a witch trial faced execution by fire. It would be a grave matter if such ceremonies were held daily in the central plaza.

Therefore, only those deemed exceptionally wicked or evil were condemned to the pyre, while the majority of witches were merely imprisoned for life in the Grand Cathedral’s underground dungeons.

As such events were rare, whenever an execution by fire was announced, citizens from all walks of life flocked to witness the witch’s final moments.

While some condemned it as a cruel act or couldn’t bear to watch the burning, such small voices inevitably lost their power and were quickly drowned out by the public’s frenzy.

Witches condemned to the pyre presented varied appearances. Some shrieked curses at those before them, while others wailed, pleading for their lives and insisting they were not witches.

‘What would this one be like?’ Just as the murmurs of speculation were about to escalate into a fervent buzz, the clamorous atmosphere shattered like thin ice, broken by the sudden clatter of chains.

“The witch is coming out…!”

With the expectant cry of someone in the front row, the crowd gathered to the right of the pyre began to shift, making way.

Two Holy Knights in white armor were dragging a woman through the opening, advancing towards the pyre. The woman struggled to move, dragging the chains fastened to her skeletal ankles.

Selonia silently gazed up at the gloomy sky, which seemed to mirror her own somber heart.

The rough ropes binding her wrists chafed her skin with every movement, and by now, blood had begun to seep through.

The chains on her ankles had already torn through her flesh multiple times, leaving no intact skin. Despite the biting cold, all she was permitted was a thin, white linen dress provided by the Grand Cathedral.

The chill seemed to pierce her very bones and flesh, yet at some point, all sensation had ceased, as if her senses were completely shut off.

On the day she learned of Alix’s betrayal, Holy Knights had stormed into her room immediately after she regained consciousness from fainting.

After that, she was forcibly changed, gagged, and dragged here. She had heard the execution was set for the day after tomorrow, meaning she had spent all her precious remaining life unconscious.

‘If only I had known this would happen, I would have at least clawed at his face that night.’ After she came to and recalled Alix’s atrocities, she had hurled curses and insults at the Emperor and the Grand Cathedral.

However, with a gag in her mouth, her words could not reach them. Her belated regrets were utterly meaningless.

“Move along, without delay.”

Though her body was in a state where she could collapse and die at any moment, the Holy Knights impatiently urged her forward with forceful commands.

Her body swayed and stumbled as if she might trip, yet she refused to kneel. Selonia gritted her teeth, mustering her last reserves of strength to take another step.

The Holy Knights roughly dragged her towards the stake in the center.

Standing before the stake, which appeared about half a span taller than a robust adult man, she silently looked down. Her light pink hair fluttered, curling in the cold wind.

“Is that person… a witch?”

Those who had been ready to condemn her were momentarily dumbfounded, speechless. The witch appeared far more delicate and frail than they had imagined.

Her arms and legs, reddened by the biting wind, were so thin they seemed ready to snap, and her long, slender neck looked as though a strong man could break it with a mere squeeze.

Her face, pale and haggard with illness, nevertheless failed to diminish her striking beauty.

Her luscious pink hair was so lovely it seemed poised to transform into flower petals, evoking the very essence of spring, while her plain white dress, made of thin linen, made her appear angelic.

When her clear, sky-blue eyes met theirs, some people flinched, their ears reddening as they turned their heads away.

Her appearance was such that anyone could understand why Emperor Alix had fallen so deeply for her.

“Selonia Brienne.”

Perhaps sensing the shift in the crowd’s mood, a figure emerged from behind the pyre and called her name in a loud voice. Imbued with divine power, his voice carried significant authority, instantly drawing everyone’s attention.

The man, holding a holy book in one hand and staring at her with piercing eyes that seemed incongruous with his bulging belly and sagging jowls, was Ludwig, the Pope of the Grand Cathedral.