Chapter 18: Proving innocence

Arthur awoke slowly, his body heavy and sluggish, his limbs aching from exhaustion. As his senses returned, he became aware of the cold, uneven earth beneath him. When he opened his eyes, he expected to see the open night sky, speckled with stars, offering its usual quiet solace.

But of course not. He almost forgot. Life was fucked

 Instead, he was met with something far more foreboding—a towering shadow loomed over him, dark and menacing. Two faint, yellow eyes glittered in the dim light, staring down at him with an intensity that made his stomach drop.

Those eyes weren't friendly.

Before he could fully comprehend what he was seeing, a boot connected with his ribs, sending him skidding across the ground, gasping for air. Pain shot through him as he tried to scramble to his feet, clutching at his side.

"General Thanason..." Arthur croaked, blinking through the haze of pain.

The towering figure stepped into the light, revealing the General, fresh from the battlefield. His face was a mixture of fury and disdain, his jaw set like a stone. He sneered, his voice laced with venom.

"You," he spat. "I should've known. Of course you'd run. A coward like you, a criminal who should've been dead months ago."

Arthur's mind reeled. What was he talking about? He had saved Thanason's life, hadn't he? Then it dawned on him. The General didn't know. He had no idea what Arthur had done in the chaos of the battlefield. To him, Arthur was still the same disgraced noble who had nearly destroyed his life. A man unworthy of trust, let alone redemption.

Thanason took a menacing step forward, his presence suffocating. "The fact that you're alive," he growled, his voice trembling with restrained fury, "is already a damn blessing. You, people like you, are the reason this rebellion happened. Privileged nobles who take everything for granted, leaving the rest of us to pick up the pieces."

Before Arthur could respond, a massive fist collided with his face, snapping his head to the side. The world spun as he fell hard to the ground. A moment later, a steel-tipped boot slammed into his ribs, the crack reverberating through his body. He coughed violently, tasting blood.

The blows didn't stop. They came again and again, each one dragging Arthur back to memories he had tried to bury. Memories of cold prison cells, of Thanason kicking him while he was on the floor struggling with a life he had been forced to accept.

'I'm not that person anymore,' he thought, gritting his teeth, the words repeating in his head like a mantra. 'I'm not that person anymore.'

The next time the General kicked, Arthur caught the leg. His instincts of Reshi flooding back. His body moved on its own, wrapping around the leg into a lock. He heaved. For a moment he thought he had done something as the blows stopped raining down.

Arthur glared up at Thanason, his chest heaving. 'If I'm going to take this beating, you're damn well going to feel something too.'

The General paused, startled by the sudden resistance. His eyes narrowed. Then, without warning, a wave of crushing pressure descended on Arthur. It was overwhelming, like an avalanche bearing down on him. His vision blurred, his ears ringing, and before he could react, his body crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

Thanason stood over him, his fists clenched. His face twisted in a mix of rage and confusion as he stared down at the boy.

'Sleeping on the floor of my base, while my men fought for their lives,' he thought bitterly. 'He must have lied, cheated, and snuck his way out of the battle.'

He raised his hand, preparing to deliver a final, crushing blow. But before he could strike, something collided with his side. He turned to see another boy with green eyes standing defiantly, his fists trembling.

"Hah." Thanason's lips curled into a cruel smile. "You're twenty years too young to take me on, boy."

With a casual flick of his hand, he sent Noah sprawling across the ground. The boy groaned but didn't stay down. Staggering to his feet, he squared his shoulders, glaring at the General with fierce determination.

Noah's heart pounded in his chest, his mind racing. Arthur was unconscious, and the General looked ready to kill him. He couldn't let that happen. Not after everything Arthur had done for him.

"System," Noah muttered under his breath, summoning the translucent blue screen displaying his stats.

NAME: Noah ( )

 AGE: 16 YEARS

RACE: Human

CLASS: Beginner Swordsman LVL 3

SKILLS:

MANA BOOST (lvl1)

MANA SURGE (lvl1)

AURA : LOCKED

BLESSINGS:

Blessing of the sky [locked] (former), Blessing of the sea [locked] (former)

Will of Boreas -

Stage 1 (Son of ice)

AFFINITIES : Ice, wind

STATS -

RANK F+

STRENGTH: E-

AGILITY: F+

STAMINA: E-

INTELLIGENCE: F

MANA CAPACITY: F

CHARM : F-

His eyes darted to the skill section.

WILL OF BOREAS CANNOT BE ACTIVATED DUE TO INSUFFICIENT MANA.

"Shit," he hissed.

He was on his own.

The General's voice cut through his thoughts. "Why do you protect him?" Thanason asked, his tone sharp but curious. "You're no noble. You have nothing to gain. And neither is that brat. He can't threaten you to do his bidding."

Noah spat on the ground, his green eyes blazing. "Threaten? I'm here because he's my friend," he said simply. "And because you have no idea what he's done for you. For all of us."

Thanason stared at the boy in shock. 'Friend?' The word echoed in his mind. It made no sense. How could anyone—especially someone like this—consider Arthur a friend?

The General appeared before Noah in an instant, faster than the boy could react. He flicked him on the forehead, hard enough to knock him unconscious. Noah crumpled into his arms.

Arthur woke with a start, groaning as pain rippled through his battered body. Blinking, he took in his surroundings. Iron bars, cold stone walls.

He sighed heavily. "A prison cell. Again," he muttered. "Twice in less than four months. Great."

A voice came from the corner of the cell. "So, you're finally awake.

Arthur turned, squinting into the shadows. "Noah?"

The figure grunted in acknowledgment, still staying in the corner of the room.

"Why're you sitting there like some sort of supervillain?"

Noah hesitated for a second, then slowly got up, walking out of the shadow and into full view.

His usually handsome face was now marred by a massive, apple-sized lump on his forehead.

Arthur stared for a moment before bursting into laughter. "You...look...like an idiot!" He doubled over, clutching his ribs.

Noah glared, crossing his arms. "Next time, I'm leaving you to die."

Arthur wiped a tear from his eye, grinning. "Sure you are. Now, come here."

He bit into his thumb, drawing blood, and held it out. Noah recoiled. "If you think I'm sucking your thumb, we're about to have another fight."

"Relax," Arthur said, rolling his eyes. "I was planning to pour it in your hands. No need to get all excited.."

Grumbling, Noah relented. As he touched the blood to his lips, the swelling faded, his cuts vanishing.

Arthur watched enviously. "Ain't fair."

"What isn't"

"That I can't heal myself.

"You can't?" Noah asked, surprised.

Arthur shook his head. "It doesn't work on me."

Noah burst out laughing. "You unlucky bastard."

Arthur scowled, leaning back against the cold wall. "Tell me something I don't know

So what happens now, Arthur?" Noah asked, his voice trembling with a hint of fear.

Arthur let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair, his eyes scanning the dimly lit cell.

"Well, since we're alive we must be on trial. . . Let me do the talking. I'll get at least you out of this mess."

Noah nodded silently, a wave of unease washing over him. After a beat, he hesitated, his voice quieter than before. "Why does he hate you?"

Arthur's gaze darkened, and he shook his head, a small, almost regretful smile forming on his lips. "If I told you, you'd hate me too."

"Is that why you're not going to tell me?" Noah asked, frowning.

"Partly," Arthur replied, his voice thick with unspoken emotion. "Partly because I feel ashamed of it. Partly because I want to move on, and… partly because I'm not even sure anymore."

A silence fell between them as Noah looked at him, sensing the weight of something unsaid. Arthur's thoughts drifted, his mind swirling around the memories of his past—the things he'd done, the person he'd been. And then there were those fragmented memories of that night. The more he tried to recall, the more elusive they became, slipping through his grasp like smoke. He had always thought it was due to the alcohol and the drugs, but now… now, he wasn't so sure. What if the truth had been buried deeper? What if he had forced himself to forget?

Or perhaps he wanted there to be something else, so he could finally be rid of this burden.

Noah broke the silence with a nervous laugh. "So, there was a time when you were a complete prick, huh?"

Arthur gave a wistful smile. "Oh, yes. A real piece of work."

An hour passed, the two of them locked in an uncomfortable quiet, the only sound the

distant murmurs of the base. Then, suddenly, the door to the cell swung open with a creak, and a soldier stepped in—a tall, lanky figure with the pale complexion of someone who'd spent too much time indoors. His dark eyes flicked to them as he barked, "Get up."

Noah flinched, but Arthur stood without hesitation, and they both followed the soldier in silence, each step echoing on the stone floor. The soldier didn't bother to cuff them. After all, their collars were a constant reminder: they were prisoners, not soldiers.

They were led through the cold, dimly lit halls of the base, the air thick with the scent of old stone and damp. It wasn't long before they arrived at a newly constructed building, standing out against the worn structures, as if it had been built by magic.

But then again, it probably had.

Inside, the room was vast, the walls lined with dark, imposing banners. Arthur's mind briefly flickered back to the grand courtrooms of his old manor, but this was different. Here, there were no noble faces, no velvet curtains. Instead, soldiers stood at attention, their stern expressions as cold as the stone beneath their boots.

The rebel soldiers stood on one side—dressed in the white and red of their faction, their faces solemn, their eyes distant. The Thoracen Empire soldiers stood on the other, clad in black armor, their eyes sharp and unyielding.

Noah and Arthur were ushered into the center of the room, the weight of the gazes upon them pressing down like an invisible force. At the far end of the room stood General Thanason, his face a mask of stoic indifference.

"Today," Thanason's voice rang out, deep and commanding, "we are to discuss the crimes of the imprisoned rebels and two soldiers of our own army. We'll begin with the rebels."

A single rebel soldier rose from the crowd, his eyes meeting Arthur's for a brief moment before he turned his gaze to the general.

"What's your name, soldier?" Thanason asked, his tone clipped.

"Derrin, sir."

"Derrin, tell me—why were you rebel soldiers imprisoned in your own base's dungeons?"

Derrin's eyes darkened as he spoke, his voice tinged with reverence. "It's because of the Devil of Peace, sir."

Thanason blinked, momentarily thrown off balance. "Who?"

Derrin smiled, but it was a bitter, grim smile. "He's one of you, sir. A soldier of the Thoracen Empire. He saved our lives on the battlefield, and in return, we agreed to stop fighting. But they didn't see it that way. They locked us up, believing we had been corrupted."

Thanason's gaze narrowed. "One of ours healed you, and in return, you refused to fight? Are you telling me you... idolized him?"

Derrin nodded, his voice softer now. "Imagine it, sir. You're lying in the dirt, bleeding out with no one around. The world is slipping away, your breath is short, and all you hear is the gnawing of maggots on the bodies of the fallen. And then, out of nowhere, this figure—this boy—appears. An enemy, and now you feel as though all is lost.

But instead he offers you a chance to live. One chance. That was all. And all he asked in return was that we didn't fight again, so he wouldn't have to see us dead."

His words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. "It felt like a miracle. Like we were touched by something greater than ourselves. How could we fight after that? How could we return to the battlefield after a gift like that? After we had a second chance at life."

General Thanason's brow furrowed as he processed the story, his voice hard. "Do you know who this Devil of Peace is? Do you see him now?"

Derrin didn't hesitate, pointing directly at Arthur. "Yes, sir. He's right there."

Arthur's heart skipped a beat. The Devil of Peace? Him? The name felt strange, too overblown for what he'd done. Was that what they had started calling him? How cringy.

Thanason's yellow eyes fixed on Arthur, the weight of his gaze almost suffocating. For a moment, Arthur felt like a bug under a magnifying glass—exposed, vulnerable.

"Very well," Thanason said, his voice even. "I'll make a decision about you later. But now, let's move on to the next issue." He turned his focus toward Arthur, his gaze hardening. "Criminal Arthur, you are accused of cowardice, of refusing to fight, and now of aiding the enemy. What do you say in your defense?"

Arthur's pulse quickened, but he stepped forward, his voice steady. "Not guilty, General."

Thanason nodded, clearly expecting that answer. "Let's begin with your... 'healing' the soldiers. You say you have a unique ability?"

Arthur took a breath, willing himself to remain calm. "I've developed a skill, sir. When I awakened on the battlefield, I discovered my blood possesses healing properties. It allows others to regenerate temporarily. I used it to save as many as I could—both my men and the rebels. But the truth is, I didn't do it for any reason other than I didn't want good people to die for no reason."

The general's face remained unreadable. "Are you saying you're blessed by Asclepius, the

god of healing?"

Arthur shook his head. "No, sir. I'm not blessed by Asclepius."

"Then who?" Thanason's voice was sharp, the room hanging on his every word.

Arthur paused for a beat, then lifted his head, meeting the general's eyes with a steady gaze. "Hades, sir."

The silence was immediate and absolute. The room seemed to hold its breath, and the eyes of everyone in the hall locked onto Arthur. Thanason stood motionless, his eyes

narrowing in suspicion. A hushed murmur rippled through the audience.

"Prove it," Thanason said after a long pause, his voice tinged with disbelief.

Arthur smiled, a quiet challenge in his expression. "I can't. But I think you should be able to prove it for me."

Thanason regarded him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. "If what you're saying is true, then you're claiming to be a Saint candidate? Is that why you saved them?"

Arthur's laugh was short, almost rueful. "I don't even know what a Saint is. No, I didn't save them for any ulterior motive. I just wanted to help. And I saved you as well, General."

Thanason raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Me? How did you save me?"

Arthur took a step closer, his voice confident. "Your plan to confront Raleigh. It would have failed without my intervention. You didn't comprehend Raleigh's abilities."

The general's eyes flicked to Noah, who shifted uncomfortably under the spotlight. 

"If it wasn't for Noah, you would've paid the price for that" Arthur added, pointing at him.

Noah gulped, feeling every eye in the room turn to him. 

Arthur continued, "Raleigh's ability—it works in a specific way. If your decoy had been killed, Raleigh would've thought the mission was a success. After all, the mission was to eliminate the general overseeing the battlefield. But that wasn't you. You weren't there to be killed. You went to confront him yourself. You had relinquished your role to your decoy. So when you fought Raleigh, the penalty wouldn't have triggered. Without the penalty, you would've died fighting him in those tunnels."

A collective gasp spread through the room, the soldiers' expressions a mixture of shock and awe. Thanason stared at Arthur, his face unreadable.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low and cautious. "How did you know all this? About Raleigh? About the plan?"

Arthur's gaze hardened. "Hades told me. As a gift. He showed me the future." It was the best lie he'd come up with. After all, once they verified he was indeed blessed by Hades, they'd assume him to be telling the truth.

The general snorted in disbelief. "Hades? The god of the underworld told you how to save people?"

Arthur didn't flinch, keeping his voice steady. "Yes. As a gift."

Thanason's eyes narrowed, a flicker of skepticism crossing his face. "So it all comes down to whether or not you really have the blessing of Hades?"

Arthur's smile was small but confident. "I guess it does."

Without another word, Thanason stepped forward, his large hand reaching for Arthur's head. As his fingers made contact, a surge of golden energy erupted from Thanason's palm, enveloping Arthur in a blinding light. Arthur's body tensed as the pain hit—his chest constricted, his head pounded, his lungs burned. The energy felt like it was tearing him apart, ripping through his very soul.

Then, with a jolt, the pain ceased.

Arthur gasped for air, collapsing to the floor, his body trembling. Thanason stepped back, his expression one of astonishment.

"It's true," Thanason said quietly. "You do bear the mark of Hades."

A quiet murmur rippled through the room. Arthur lay on the floor, his breath shallow, his mind racing. Thanason turned slowly, his gaze sweeping over the soldiers from the Thoracen Empire. These were the same men Arthur had saved—men who had been given a second chance because of his actions. They had come here, standing opposite the rebels in order to protest his guilt. They also had a name for him. The Saint of War.

The General's thoughts echoed in his mind: The Saint of War. The Devil of Peace. A blessed of Hades…

And for the first time, Thanason wondered what had happened to the boy who had once seemed weak and fragile. What had changed him in such a short time?