"Who are you to accuse me of using witchcraft as a false charge?" Brenda's voice was sharp, but her heart trembled. When Sister Pamela uttered the words "witch's blood," it felt as though someone had clamped icy fingers around her heart.
It was no joke—she herself had only learned of that term from that terrifying person. Yet this woman before her not only knew it but also spoke of past cases involving false witch accusations. Clearly, this was no ordinary nun.
Still, Brenda's title and reputation were at stake. She gritted her teeth and decided to gamble—betting that the power backing her would shield her from any consequences.
Before Pamela could respond, Brenda quickly cut in, her tone hard: "You, madam, are not from the Kingdom of Selphis, are you?"
Pamela blinked, momentarily startled, then gave a slight nod.
That single motion made Brenda exhale in relief. Good. As long as this woman wasn't a noble of Selphis, she had no authority here. After all, Brenda was a Selphis noble. Even if she had erred, only the King of Selphis could punish her.
And that king—her dear cousin—had worked too hard to bring her under control. There was no way she'd allow Brenda to be condemned for framing another noble.
"In that case," Brenda said, voice gaining confidence, "since you are not of Selphis, you have no right to meddle in Selphis' internal affairs."
"Internal affairs?" Pamela repeated softly. She shook her head, refusing to argue further, and turned to Knight Pablo instead.
She knew Brenda was just a noisy fool—the real power here was the man standing before her: the Knight of the Holy Tribunal.
"It's been a while, Knight Pablo."
"Indeed," Pablo replied with a polite nod. "Didn't expect we'd meet again, Sister Pamela. Last time was in the Land of Humility, wasn't it? Thanks to your help, we captured that Metal Witch without much trouble."
"I'm glad you remember," Pamela said, stepping up the platform. She walked past the frozen Brenda—whose face had gone pale the moment Pamela's identity became clear—and stopped before Hel and Pablo.
"I'm here on behalf of the Church," Pamela announced, "to deliver the Church's commendation to Count Hel Heim. But the moment I arrived, I encountered something truly outrageous—a devout follower of the Church being slandered by a deceitful noble."
Her sharp gaze cut toward Brenda, then returned to Pablo. "I believe, Knight Pablo, you understand the gravity of this situation."
"You're right, Sister Pamela." Pablo's tone was even, though inside he cursed Brenda as a complete idiot.
Outwardly, he smiled kindly and said, "However, rules are rules. The Holy Tribunal acts according to law. We cannot close this case based solely on your assumptions."
Pamela didn't back down. "Then, to prevent the possibility that those 'tested positive' might merely be tainted by witch's blood, I propose that we detain any suspects for one year—until the effects of the witch's blood wear off. Surely that's a reasonable compromise?"
Her words were measured, but her heart still tightened. The Tribunal was notorious for its ruthless methods—she wasn't sure they'd agree so easily.
But to her surprise, Pablo nodded almost immediately. "That's perfectly acceptable. The law doesn't forbid such an arrangement. And as an old friend, I'm happy to grant you that courtesy."
He smiled warmly and stepped aside.
"In that case," he said, "shall we proceed with the testing?"
"Of course." Pamela nodded, then turned to Hel with a hint of apology. "My apologies, Count Hel. I fear I arrived a little late."
"Not at all, Sister," Hel replied with a small smile. "If not for your intervention, I'm afraid today's matter would've been much harder to resolve."
Hel stepped back with Pamela, making room for Lily and the others to continue the tests.
Meanwhile, Knight Pablo approached Brenda, his tone suddenly turning cold. "Duke Mandrake, please step back. The matter will proceed lawfully. If a witch truly exists here, we will not shield Count Hel out of favoritism. But if the suspect is merely an unfortunate soul tainted by witch's blood, then we will not spare anyone who dares to deceive the Holy Tribunal."
With that, he walked past her toward the rear of the platform.
But the moment he brushed by, Brenda's despair gave way to a flicker of hope.
Because in that instant, a faint thread of spiritual energy entered her mind—carrying a single chilling sentence:
"The dead don't need to prove their innocence."
Of course! If those identified as "witch-tainted" were supposed to be detained for a year—then what if the suspect died immediately after being identified?
Would the Church really keep a corpse for an entire year to see if the witch's blood faded? Even if they could preserve the body that long, who could prove that the eventual disappearance of the witch's aura wasn't simply the result of death itself?
And the one who had sent her that message—was none other than the captain of the Holy Tribunal Knights. A man who knew witches better than anyone else.
If he said so, then he must have a plan.
A slow smile crept onto Brenda's face. The captain of the Tribunal and she now shared the same goal—just like bribing the judge before a trial. Victory was all but guaranteed.
But on the other side of the platform, Hel noticed that faint smirk and sneered inwardly.
"The dead don't need to prove their innocence, huh? Very well, Holy Knight. I'll remember this."
Her eyes glinted coldly.
"You dare use soul transmission within Heim City? Did you really think the undead insects spread across my city were just for decoration?"