<Chapter 67>
Those who witnessed the scene murmured in disbelief, whispering that such a thing was impossible.
Melody was confined to a small room adjoining the hall where the trial would be held. When she looked out the window, the sky was as clear and bright as the day before.
“Please eat this and rest here until the trial begins. No one here distrusts you, Lady Melody. Many would sooner believe you a saint.”
While she nibbled on the snacks the knights brought her, waiting for the summons to the trial, someone entered without even knocking.
It was Ryan.
He would be the presiding judge today. Yet his face looked strangely deflated. Perhaps he had not slept—his skin was dull, his lips dry, and the hair he always kept sleek was slightly disheveled.
“Are you unharmed?”
“Yes, I’m alright. Thank you for worrying, Your Highness.”
“I see. The reason I didn’t visit you yesterday… is because I was busy.”
Then he suddenly said something absurd. When she looked at him, puzzled, he frowned, lips twitching awkwardly.
“While I was wrestling with mere toads… that man brought back something like a bear…”
He cut himself off, shaking his head and staring at the floor.
“In any case, I did not refrain from visiting you because I didn’t wish to welcome your return.”
At last, Melody understood his state of mind. He had simply stood and watched as she was taken away as a criminal. But that was only natural for the crown prince. They were not close enough for him to intervene.
“Yes, Your Highness.”
Judging by his concern for her feelings, the matter of taking her from Deonis was still not fully settled. It seemed he intended to continue his resistance.
Lost in wondering whether Lihelin and Ryan had already met, Melody failed to notice the flicker of worry in his eyes. Ryan glanced down at her.
“I will be presiding over your trial. So there is no need for you to tremble.”
Suddenly, strength entered his voice.
“I have already resolved the issue of the plague. There should be no cause for concern.”
“That the plague spread because of a magic tool… What exactly happened here?”
Melody had been aching to ask. Ryan retrieved a shriveled herb from his cloak—Shadowwort.
“Several knights fell ill with the same disease as the boy from before. I recognized it immediately.”
“There was someone with demonization sickness inside the expedition?!”
Melody’s eyes widened. In the novel, those afflicted had always been impoverished city-dwellers.
“That sickness has a name? Demonization sickness? They only said it was a strange disease. The High Priest claimed it was Mahak poisoning—and that your water-gathering tool might have spread the impurity.”
Melody clenched her fists hard enough to hurt.
“No. The slums already had demonization sickness long before I arrived.”
Ryan turned away, muttering something in irritation. Then abruptly, he flinched and spoke.
“I never doubted you.”
His face bore the look of someone quietly wounded.
“You thought I suspected the one who saved my life?”
“But… it was the High Priest who said it. I only thought it couldn’t be helped if you misunderstood…”
His tone, unmistakably offended, startled Melody. It was only natural—yet Ryan clearly did not think so. He let out a sharp breath, still not looking at her.
“No, I suppose you think that’s all I am. A crown prince too unreliable to even hunt monsters properly.”
“Your Highness, I…”
Ryan snatched up the cloak he had set aside, then strode out without another word. The door slammed shut. Melody sighed.
She had hurt Ryan.
For someone who should have cared for her only to provoke Deonis, his reaction had been far too raw, too sincere.
Confusion clouded her eyes.
The makeshift courtroom was fashioned from the great hall. At the center stood a raised seat for the crown prince, and below it, in a semicircle, were seats for the High Priest and the noble observers.
“The trial will begin.”
At Ryan’s lowered voice, the idle murmuring fell into a weighted hush. Many in the audience were still drunk from the previous night’s feast. Not one truly believed Melody would be punished.
Melody stood upon the central platform, looking at the faces before her. Awhin was nowhere among the knights.
When the bell tolled twelve, the High Priest rose.
“In accordance with the goddess’s will, we must now reveal the truth.”
The hall quieted. Hands clasped, head lowered, the High Priest then slowly lifted his face.
“Today’s trial will decide one person’s life and honor. A magic tool has taken a knight’s life, and because the temple has become entangled in this matter, it now borders upon a sin against the will of the divine. Recall whom all these tragedies surrounded—the monster attacks, the mysterious plague. Consider who, in that tainted land, dared to test an unverified magic tool and brought harm to many.”
“Before that—can you say you bear no guilt for accusing an innocent person?”
It was Deonis, cutting sharply across the High Priest’s words from his seat above.
“I merely… trusted the testimony of a man who survived!”
“The man who—according to you—whispered his last words only to you before dying?”
Deonis’s cold retort silenced him. Yet since the witness was dead, no one but the High Priest could prove the truth of his claim.
“But that is not the heart of this trial. The plague spread throughout the territory after drinking water purified by her magic tool.”
With no immediate rebuttal, he pressed on.
“It is highly likely that Mahak’s impurity seeped into that water. Not purification—but corruption. It is clear the magic-tool maker acted with malice, Your Highness. Until she left for the forest, not a single case of the disease existed.”
“That is your speculation.”
“I have proof.”
At his words, the hall erupted in murmurs. Soon after, a corpse was brought in. The stench of decay clawed at the nose.
“Look upon the reaction. The distinctive blackened eyes of those poisoned by Mahak remain plainly visible.”
When a priest lifted the cloth, a mummified corpse lay beneath. People groaned at the sight. A knight inspected the body, then shook his head toward Ryan.
“There are no signs of Mahak poisoning. The eyes are yellowed, but far from pitch-black.”
“What? Impossible!”
The High Priest leapt down from his seat. One glance at the corpse drained the color from his face.
“This cannot be. I saw it myself—the eyes were blackened!”
Deonis descended and examined the corpse, lifting one brow.
“Does the effect of Mahak poisoning diminish with time?”
“No. It darkens further, until even the skin grows pitch-black.”
“So, it seems not.”
