I Died and Became a Noble's Heir

Chapter 893: Execute that man!

The heat of the Holy Pyre radiated across the marble dais in rolling waves of pale white and gold, washing over the front pews and driving away the lingering mountain chill.

Four hundred nobles watched in breathless silence as Jack closed the distance between himself and the sacred flames.

Duke Asher stood with arms crossed, a cruel, smug curl returning to his lip. Beside him, Earl Mortaine leaned his weight onto his silver-headed cane, watching with cold certainty.

To Asher’s faction, the young heir’s brazen arrogance was the final misstep. Laurence Bale was tied to dark power, and Jack’s open defense of the boy meant the pyre would detect the taint immediately.

When the flames flushed crimson, the Inquisition’s steel would drop, and House Kaiser’s legendary authority would fracture before the eyes of the realm.

In the northern pews, Viscount Kale nervously wiped beads of sweat from his forehead with a silk kerchief, murmuring prayers to the Sun to see the ordeal done.

Vance sat hollow-eyed, staring blankly at the marble steps, terrified that whatever violence erupted next would tear down Phallanax Solutions along with the southern dukedom. Earl Vex clutched his useless parchment against his chest, praying the church fire would avenge the humiliation of the bank ledger.

Across the grand aisle, the western lords held their ground like an iron palisade. Celeste set her crystal goblet down onto the wooden bench, her golden eyes fixed on her brother’s back with razor-sharp intensity. The easy, drunken warmth was gone, replaced by the lethal focus of a true daughter of House Kaiser.

Octavia sat completely rigid, her magenta gaze tracking every step he took across the flagstones, her fingers resting lightly over the pommel of her sidearm.

Only Aurora Sunblade leaned forward with a look of pure, breathless ecstasy.

Her plush lips parted, her hands pressing against her lap as her lavender-rose eyes drank in the sight. She did not fear for him; she knew what he was.

To her, watching mortals attempt to judge Jack with church fire was like watching field mice attempt to challenge the sun. A quiet, adoring hum vibrated in her chest, her voluptuous frame leaning closer to the aisle as if yearning to join the flames.

Up in the royal box, Aurelius placed a hand on his jeweled broadsword, his yellow hair gleaming beneath the chandeliers as he prepared to call the royal arbiters the moment the fire turned.

Beside him, Sera gripped the balcony railing, her crimson eyes wide with feral amusement. She didn’t blink. She knew Jack wasn’t a fool, and she wanted to see the exact moment the parlor trick exploded.

High in the western gallery, Prince Rhys of Caerloria leaned forward against the carved balustrade.

The elven prince looked down upon Jack with a subtle, knowing smirk. It was no secret among the high nobility that House Kaiser had backed Rhys during his years at the academy, but the deeper truth was known to almost none.

Through Jack’s secret arrangements, Rhys had undergone brutal, transformative training under demons, bound directly to Jack by an underlying soul contract. The four members of the Elven Royal Guard remained stoic with their hands on their sabers, entirely unmoved by the Inquisition’s theatrical display.

Jack stopped directly before the massive bronze brazier on the left.

The roaring column of consecrated fire rose eight feet into the air, its white-hot core crackling with concentrated spiritual salt. The intense heat singed the air, causing the space above the brazier to distort and ripple like water.

High Inquisitor Mel stepped forward, raising her blessed estoc toward the platform. “Step into the circle of judgment, Jack Kaiser. The Sun does not forgive apostasy.”

Jack did not step into the circle.

He simply raised his right hand.

Without hesitation, without shielding his skin in visible mana, and without uttering a single prayer, Jack thrust his bare hand directly into the white-hot core of the Holy Pyre.

A collective shriek of horror ripped through the pews. Viscount Kale jumped half out of his seat, while several noblewomen covered their eyes, expecting the sickening smell of charred flesh and the sound of cracking bone.

None came.

Jack’s fingers spread inside the heart of the roaring flame. His tailored midnight-blue velvet cuff remained untouched, not a single silver thread singing beneath the blistering heat. His Fire Immunity, forged through sovereign pacts far older than the Sun Church, absorbed the thermal pressure effortlessly.

Beneath his boots, the ancient abyssal granite of St. Valeria’s foundation began to hum. It was a deep, primordial resonance.

The sleeping elven wards carved into the roots of the mountain a century ago stirred to life, answering the true authority of the dark core pulsing within his chest.

Mel’s hawkish face hardened. “The fire tests the soul, boy! Your parlor tricks will not hide the rot!”

She leaned forward, her heart racing as she waited for the telltale sign Warren had promised her in the dark of the cloister. When the ritual ignites, watch the light… a crimson light will burst through the flames, marking the unholy corruption.

Duke Asher took half a step forward, his steel-blue eyes wide, waiting for the red glow to begin the slaughter.

The flames shuddered.

A violent tremor ripped through the brazier. The crackling white fire suddenly collapsed inward, compressing into a dense, silent vortex of pure heat that swirled around Jack’s wrist like an obedient serpent.

Then, the pyre detonated with light.

It was not crimson.

There was no blood-red taint, no smoky black ash, and no scent of brimstone.

A blinding, celestial golden light exploded from the center of the brazier. It burst outward in a brilliant shockwave of radiant amber and liquid sun, blasting away every shadow clinging to the cathedral’s vaulted ceiling.

The light washed over the abyssal granite pillars, igniting the dust motes in the air until the entire nave looked as though it were carved from solid, polished gold.

The flame bowed.

The roaring pillar of fire bent toward Jack, lowering itself beneath his palm like a tamed hound submitting to its rightful master.

Jack curled his fingers, and ribbons of that dazzling golden flame detached from the brazier, coiling peacefully around his forearm before dividing across the sanctuary.

One golden streamer drifted over the marble steps toward the altar, washing gently over Laurence Bale. It enveloped Laurence and Victoria in a soft, shimmering halo of immaculate, sacred warmth.

At the exact same instant, another arc of brilliant golden luminescence surged upward toward the high gallery.

Gasps rippled across the upper tiers as the golden light wrapped directly around Prince Rhys of Caerloria. The elven prince did not flinch; he simply smiled as the radiant energy resonated with the soul contract binding his core, bathing him in the identical divine halo.

The entire assembly witnessed it: Laurence, Jack, and the Caerlorian royal prince standing united in the blinding golden judgment of the heavens.

Mel’s breath caught in her throat. Her estoc dipped, the tip scraping against the marble flagstones with a harsh screech.

The blood drained from her face, leaving her hawkish features as white as her vestments. The words she had revered in the western corridor thundered in her mind like the toll of a death knell:

Golden light signifies absolute divine purity… An incorruptible soul favored by the heavens.

“No…” Mel whispered, her voice trembling for the first time since she had entered the cathedral. “No… that is…”

The High Priest behind the altar dropped his jewel-encrusted tome. The heavy leather book crashed onto the carpet as the elder cleric threw himself to his knees, his trembling hands clasped in front of his face. “A divine manifestation! The Sun has spoken! They are pure! They are blessed by the heavens!”

Murmurs of awe and terror erupted through the four hundred nobles. Men crossed themselves frantically; others bowed their heads, terrified of meeting the golden glare illuminating the nave.

In the royal box, Aurelius slammed his gauntleted fists onto the railing, his breath hitching. The pompous composure that had defined the Crown’s observer vanished completely.

His yellow hair hung loose over his pale, horrified face. He had staked royal authority on the Inquisition’s grievance, citing the Purge of Shadows to validate an audit.

Now, the sacred altar had declared Laurence and Jack blessed by divine decree, with the foreign prince sharing in the sanctified light. To question it now was to question the Sun itself and invite a diplomatic nightmare with Caerloria.

Beside him, Sera burst into a sharp, unrestrained laugh. “Look at you, golden boy,” she cackled under her breath, watching Aurelius sweat. “You backed a dead horse. The pretty boy just stole the whole damn church.”

Across the aisle, Duke Asher’s face was frozen in an expression of absolute horror.

His trap had not merely failed; it had inverted completely. He had invoked the Church’s most sacred, indisputable trial, using the presence of the royal observers to ensure there would be no appeal.

And now, the highest legal and religious authority in the northern provinces had just declared Laurence Bale and Jack Kaiser to be divinely immaculate.

“This is madness!” Earl Vex shrieked, clutching his head in the aisle. “He used a trick! A western talisman! It cannot be gold!”

Jack slowly drew his hand out from the brazier. The golden flame flared one final time before settling back into a quiet, warm hearth-glow atop the bronze basin.

Jack turned around. His white hair drifted slightly across his forehead, and his eyes, still burning with that terrifying, abyssal purple, bore into Mel with cold, sovereign mockery.

He stepped down off the marble platform, his boots clicking softly against the stone, stopping three paces from the paralyzed High Inquisitor.

“You have your verdict, High Inquisitor,” Jack said, his voice smooth, clear, and ringing across every corner of the vast nave. “The Holy Pyre has burned. The light was golden. By your own sacred doctrine, Laurence Bale stands clean of heresy before the eyes of the gods.”

Jack’s gaze shifted slowly from Mel to the pale, sweating form of Duke Asher.

“Which leaves only one remaining matter for the Inquisition,” Jack continued, the temperature around him dropping back into an icy chill that made the golden light feel suffocating.

Jack pointed a single, dismissive finger toward Duke Asher.

“You assembled twenty-four arbiters of the cloth,” Jack said, his voice hardening into steel. “You interrupted a sacred consecration before an altar of the Sun. And you brought a false, slanderous accusation of heresy against a pure noble house to steal an Earldom.”

Jack looked back into Mel’s wide, terrified eyes.

“That is sacrilege, High Inquisitor,” Jack commanded, his purple eyes flaring with lethal intent. “That is blasphemy on the holy stone. So do your duty. Execute the man who lied to your god.”

Mel stood frozen, her estoc trembling violently in her grip as she slowly, mechanically turned her head toward Duke Asher.

High above in the shadows of the cloister gallery, hidden behind the high stone colonnade, a stooped old man leaned heavily upon a vulture-topped cane.

Ren rested his skeletal fingers against the silver skull, watching the chaos unfold below as a quiet, raspy chuckle escaped his withered lips.