Pardon

My anointing... the sword... that strike—it touched my anointing. He truly activated the Sword of Judgment. He performed magecraft without a grimoire. It's him. He's the GOD HAND—an essence of God's power.

"Am I about to die?" I said aloud.

I saw him—Peter.

He stretched his hand out, ready to embrace me. But I was shoved away. I heard his voice:

"It's not time for us to reunite."

My neck—barely still attached—throbbed with searing pain.

In a split second, I summoned healing magic. My neck reattached itself to my body; it was like watching tissues reconstruct themselves.

The High Bishop looked on, shocked—amazed that I could wield such high-level magic with ease.

Still holding the Sword of Judgment, I lunged forward, aiming to finish him.

"Crimson Blast!" I roared.

The courtroom was engulfed in flames.

I moved too fast for the High Bishop to react. But grace favored him.

My father parried the attack, redirecting the flames to the side.

Clergy members were caught in it. Their bodies burned, endlessly. The flames were eternal. The sword had given my magic a divine boost.

"What are you doing, son?" my father said.

"Don't let your emotions consume you."

"How? How is this possible? Why are you this strong, Mathias?!" Bale shouted.

"It hurts! My hand—the bleeding won't stop!" he cried.

I heard breathing—harsh, strained—from the High Bishop.

Then his voice… it echoed within my soul.

"Aura Rain."

The room shimmered as mana rained from the heavens.

Wounds healed. Bale's hand regrew. The flames were extinguished. Even my father's injuries closed up.

"So this is the power… of the High Bishop," I muttered.

And again, the voice.

"Johannes Freiburg, your crimes surpass the bounds of pardon… but the power you've displayed—you're an asset to the Ostinian Kingdom.

Under my authority, you are hereby pardoned."

My father's face lit up with joy and disbelief.

He was glad I had been pardoned—yet stunned. He had heard the voice too, yet no lips moved. It had spoken to our souls.

But then came the protests.

"But we lost some of us!"the clergy cried.

"What about the attack on you?" others questioned.

Bale stepped forward.

"I will respect the ruling… but I will not accept it. Mathias, stay on guard—for our duel is paused, not finished."

My father embraced me. Relief surged through me like a crashing tide.

We made it out alive.

---

Later...

We walked through the cathedral garden, laughing, talking—alive.

Then we saw her.

Elina.

She ran toward us, tears streaming, and embraced us both tightly.

"I was so worried! Mom too!" she cried.

She checked us for wounds. "But I heard the explosions, the battle… yet no cuts or bruises?"

I chuckled.

"Johannes," my father said.

"Yes, father?"

"That sword… that's the Sword of Judgment. Used only by the Executioner Priest."

I nodded slowly.

"Why are you still holding it?" he asked.

"I don't know why… but a voice keeps calling. Hand of God, wield my soul. It's like an itch I can't ignore," I admitted.

He gave me a strange look, confused by my words.

"That's… a crazy explanation," he said.

---

Elsewhere...

I never thought the Hand of God would be Ostinian. My anointing is under threat. I could lose my power. What will the Man say?

"Your Grand Holiness," a priest said, bowing.

"The Freiburg family has left the premises."

"Bale," I said.

"Yes, Your Holiness?" Bale replied.

"Watch that boy. He could disrupt the system."

The Sword of Judgment... once activated, it cannot leave its master. A relic of the First Obedient Man.

How careless I was to let that boy take hold of it.

How will I explain this to the man?

---

Door creaks

"Mathias... Johannes!" cried my mother.

"I was so worried. The thought of losing either of you was too much to bear," she said.

Wiping her tears, she added, "Bishop Cornelius..."

"Bishop," my father greeted.

They embraced each other.

"I was concerned about Elina and Mrs. Frieburg, so I came to offer a comforting hand," said the bishop.

When he turned to me, his eyes widened—he saw it. The Sword of Judgment. He was terrified, wondering why someone like me was holding such a weapon.

"Johannes, where did you get that sword?" the bishop asked.

"Hand it over. I'll do the proper reporting for such a relic," he said.

He reached out to take it.

I leaped back—but to my shock, faster than light, the bishop was suddenly behind me instead of in front.

"Such speed... is that even possible?" I shouted.

"Don't be stubborn, Johannes," said the bishop.

With one hand, he flipped me over and grabbed the sword—but to my astonishment, as though the blade held the weight of a god-star, his hand crashed to the ground. The entire mansion trembled—my house shook violently, as if struck by an earthquake.

Stuck, the bishop couldn't lift the sword. He tried with all his might, but it wouldn't budge.

"Johannes," the bishop muttered.

If he can lift the sword, then he is the Hand of God.

"I know I told you not to hold onto the sword," the bishop continued, "but if you can lift it from that spot—you can have it."

Everyone was watching—household servants, maids, my mother, father, sister, cousins—all eyes on me, waiting for what would happen next.

Then I heard the voice:

Hand of God, wield my soul.

I whispered, "The voice... the sword... it's calling to me—begging me to touch it, to embrace it."

With nothing but simple strength, I lifted the sword from the ground. Gasps echoed around me. Everyone was shocked—especially the bishop.

"What does this mean, Bishop?" asked my father.

"Your son is no ordinary man," the bishop said. "He is the Hand of God, wielding His judgment—piercing the hearts of both men and monsters. A child of prophecy, you might say. But I'm not certain. This tale isn't found in the scriptures, but rather in lore—passed down from generation to generation."

"I will take my leave now," said the bishop.

The sword, I held it with a mighty grip , the hand of God I said to myself,

who am I truly?

Questions I need to find answers to