Lord of Caldera - Chapter 297

Chapter 297: Chapter 297

“A heretic? A heretic of all things!”

At first, Christoph had thought the worst he might face was excommunication. Excommunication, while devastating, wasn’t immediately fatal. Sure, it gave his rivals a golden opportunity to attack him under the guise of purging an outcast from the Goddess’s grace, but at least he would live.

Being declared a heretic, however, was an entirely different matter.

“Is the church truly going to come after me to kill me? Personally?” Christoph’s mind spiraled into panic. A heretic was seen as no different from a demon worshipper or a cultist—a target that had to be eliminated without fail. Worse yet, his own knights and loyal followers would likely turn on him the moment the declaration spread.

‘What do I do? Take hostages? Or maybe kill everyone involved?’ His thoughts raced in desperation. But neither option was feasible. Taking hostages would be an outright admission of guilt, and erasing witnesses was impossible now—too many people already knew.

His world crumbled as the grim reality of his situation set in. Christoph’s eyes rolled back slightly, his mind teetering on the edge of collapse, when Lydia’s calm voice cut through his despair.

“Wait a moment, Sir Matthias.”

“Yes, Saint?” Matthias paused, his stern gaze softening as he turned to Lydia.

“We haven’t yet heard Lord Sylas’s opinion. After all, he is the one who has suffered the most from this ordeal,” Lydia reasoned.

“That is true,” Matthias admitted with a slight frown. Ordinarily, in a case as severe as this, the heretic would face swift punishment without question. But considering Sylas’s connection to both him and Lydia, Matthias could not dismiss his input.

“It’s only right to ask what punishment he deems appropriate—or whether he wishes to grant forgiveness,” Lydia suggested.

Matthias nodded reluctantly. Her point was valid, and Christoph, upon hearing the word “forgiveness,” felt a faint glimmer of hope.

Turning his gaze to Sylas, Christoph realized this was his last chance. The man he had sought to destroy now held his life in his hands.

Sylas met Christoph’s gaze with a faint, chilling smile. “So, we finally meet, Christoph.”

‘Everything’s falling into place better than I expected,’ Sylas thought, glancing briefly at Isaac. The man stood stiffly behind him, his lips twitching uncontrollably as though suppressing a cry of triumph. His face practically glowed with the joy of being freed from his long standing torment.

Isaac’s lack of reaction to the holy water was no miracle; it was the result of Sylas’s calculated suggestion to Lydia.

“Remove the demonic energy? Me?” Lydia had asked, surprised.

“Yes. Do you recall how you once used the energy of the sacred sword? This would be similar. You can draw out the demonic energy and purify it,” Sylas had explained.

“But that worked because you helped me last time…”

Sylas had smiled faintly at her doubt. In truth, he hadn’t assisted much at all during that previous incident—Lydia’s abilities as a descendant of sacred blood had done most of the work.

“Isaac isn’t much different from me,” Sylas had said. “He despises demonic energy. With your power, I’m sure you can remove it easily.”

Lydia, still hesitant, had approached Isaac and activated her ability. The demonic energy, weakened and diluted over generations, had been effortlessly purged, dissipating with a faint popping sound like a cork being pulled from a bottle.

Now, Isaac’s body was free of demonic traces, rendering him immune to the church’s holy relics and investigations. As a result, Matthias had dropped his suspicions, and Christoph, the true conspirator, was trapped.

Sylas turned to Christoph, his voice cool and measured. “Well, then. What should I do now? Was all of this an unfortunate accident? Or perhaps just a series of coincidences?”

A faint, menacing smile played on Sylas’s lips as he spoke, drawing Christoph deeper into his own mental abyss. The man who once thought himself in control now realized he was merely a pawn.

“An unfortunate accident? Coincidences?” Christoph repeated weakly, his voice shaking.

“Yes, that’s what I said,” Sylas replied with a nonchalant shrug. “Although… now that I think about it, was it really accidental? Or was it deliberate? Hard to say.”

Sylas’s casual tone belied the razor sharp edge in his words. To Christoph, it was as if Sylas were toying with him, dangling his fate like a cat playing with a cornered mouse.

‘Should I let you live? Maybe. Maybe not. You did speak informally to me earlier, didn’t you? Should I just decide not to spare you because of that?’ Sylas’s unspoken mockery was clear in his expression.

Swallowing his pride and suppressing his rage, Christoph forced himself to play along. “My apologies, Count. I have a condition that sometimes makes me speak informally without realizing it.”

Sylas tilted his head, feigning curiosity. “A condition, you say? How peculiar. A rare disease, is it?”

“Yes,” Christoph said quickly. “It’s a regional affliction unique to the South. I beg for your understanding, my lord.”

“Ah, I see,” Sylas said, nodding thoughtfully. “A condition like that… well, of course I must understand. It would be unfair not to.”

“Thank you for your boundless mercy, my lord,” Christoph replied, swallowing his humiliation. His face burned with shame, but survival mattered more than dignity.

As the absurd exchange continued, Lydia and Isaac struggled to suppress their laughter. Their faces turned red, and they bit their lips to keep from bursting into hysterics.

Sylas casually tapped his shoulder, as if trying to shake off an itch. “Well then, perhaps we can start by getting me out of this place. If we’re going to debate whether our relationship is one of misunderstanding or enmity, we’ll need a proper conversation, don’t you think?”

“Of course,” Christoph stammered, nodding hurriedly.

“Oh! And now that I think of it, I haven’t seen my retainers in quite some time. Why don’t you call for them as well?” Sylas added, his tone light but sharp.

“That… may take a little time,” Christoph admitted reluctantly.