Player Chapter 22. The Truth Chamber
They went inside together.
The temple doors shut behind them with a heavy, dramatic thud that would have been far more intimidating if Riven hadn't immediately glanced around like he was checking whether there were hidden speakers playing ominous background music.
The Truth Chamber was circular. White stone. High ceiling. A faint glowing sigil carved into the floor, intricate lines weaving into a divine circle that pulsed softly like a heartbeat. There were no chains. No spikes. No medieval aesthetic whatsoever.
Disappointing.
They tied the fake vampire to the central pillar. Frost restraints removed. Replaced with sanctified light bindings that hummed faintly when the captive tried to move.
Riven stepped back, rolled his shoulders once, cracked his knuckles.
He grinned.
Actually grinned.
"Okay," he said cheerfully. "Now we start! Where's the whip?"
Silence.
Elena and the prince, apparently, both turned their heads toward him at the exact same time.
The look.
It was the look you give someone who just casually asked for barbecue sauce in a library.
"Uh…" Elena blinked slowly. "We don't need that."
Eric frowned slightly. "This is the Truth Chamber."
Riven looked between them. "…And?"
"No need to torment him," Elena continued gently. "Just ask questions here. The chamber forces alignment between soul and speech. He will say the truth."
The words hit him.
Harder than any attack earlier.
No torture needed.
He staggered back a step like she had just rejected his heartfelt proposal.
"What?" he breathed. "No torture needed?"
Eric added calmly, "Besides, you can't just use violence in the temple."
Riven blinked twice.
His soul left his body.
It exited through the ceiling.
Floated upward.
And quietly reconsidered existence.
Eric leaned slightly toward Elena and whispered, not very subtly, "Why does he look disappointed?"
Elena whispered back, equally subtle, "I… don't know."
Riven heard both.
He inhaled. Exhaled. Composed himself. "Fine," he muttered. "Ask your questions." He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall like a sulking final boss denied his villain monologue.
Elena stepped forward, expression calm again, Saint mode activated. Eric stood beside her, posture straight, presence authoritative but controlled.
The fake vampire swallowed. The glowing circle beneath him pulsed brighter.
Eric began. "State your name."
The captive tried to resist. His jaw tightened. The sigil flared. His body jerked violently.
"R–Ralen," he gasped. "Ralen Dov."
The chamber hummed softly. No distortion. No backlash.
Truth.
Elena's heart pounded faintly. This worked. Good.
"Who ordered the attack on the caravan?" she asked steadily.
Ralen's face twisted. His lips trembled. The sigil brightened again.
"The Saint… of Dawn Temple."
Silence fell heavy.
Riven's eyes sharpened instantly.
Eric's jaw tightened. "Clarify."
"She… she said the world is corrupt. Weak. That compromise is rot." His breathing grew labored. "She said darkness must be eradicated completely. No mercy."
Elena felt something inside her shift.
"Saint of Dawn Temple?" she repeated quietly. "Why have I never heard of it?"
Eric answered under his breath, still watching the captive. "It's a small temple. Independent. Not under The Light Temple authorities."
Elena's brows knit. "Independent?"
"It was established about a year ago."
A year.
The number hit her like a quiet bell ringing in memory.
One year ago.
The Empress stopped attacking then continued the attack worse than before. The war escalated. The four heroes died. Public morale shifted.
Her stomach dropped.
'Wait… they said the four heroes already got their blessings from a royal priest. What if… it was false information?'
She stepped closer to Ralen. "The one who blessed the four heroes… was it her?"
Ralen's face went pale, the real pale this time.
"Yes."
The chamber flared bright. Truth confirmed.
"She went with them… to the Dark Tower… to kill the Empress."
Elena staggered half a step back.
That was her supposed role.
She was the Holy Saint recognized by the Light Temple. She was meant to support the heroes.
But instead…
A different Saint did.
Riven didn't say anything.
He was very, very still.
'Oh. This is interesting.' Clearly, someone just wrecked the game plotline.
Eric's voice hardened. "And the kidnapping incidents?"
Ralen squeezed his eyes shut. "Her knight… was the mastermind."
"The knight?" Eric pressed.
"He… he staged it. Kidnapped villagers. Blamed shadows. Created panic. One of them was the hero's sister."
Elena's chest tightened painfully. "Why?" she demanded softly.
"To push the heroes." Ralen's voice shook violently. "To force them to move. To go to the Tower. To act before hesitation could grow."
Eric's hands clenched at his sides.
"And why didn't they take Elena?" he asked.
Ralen whimpered as the sigil pulsed. "The knight made fake rumors. Said Saint Elena was unstable. That she couldn't control her power. That her level wasn't high enough. Not ready. Not worthy."
The chamber hummed again.
Truth.
Elena felt it like a slap.
Unstable.
Not enough level.
Not ready.
Her fingers trembled slightly around her staff.
She remembered the whispers. The subtle shift in public faith. The way certain officials had gently suggested she "observe" instead of "lead."
It wasn't random.
It was orchestrated.
Eric's voice lowered. "A year ago, the empress didn't even make a move. Why did she push the heroes?"
Ralen's eyes darted. "She… she believes the Empress should never have been spared."
Riven's gaze flicked up.
Spared.
Ralen continued, voice breaking. "She believes the world decayed the moment mercy was shown. That allowing darkness to retreat instead of annihilating it was weakness."
Elena's breath caught. "The Empress stopped attacking," she whispered. "The bloodshed ended."
Ralen shook his head violently. "She said evil that survives will return stronger."
Riven's lips curved faintly.
That logic wasn't entirely irrational.
Dangerous. But not irrational.
But he knew the reason why the empress didn't make a move.
Eric stepped closer. "So she created new evil?"
Ralen nodded weakly. "Yes."
"To justify crusade."
"Yes."
The chamber dimmed slightly.
Silence expanded between the three of them.
Elena felt like the ground had tilted beneath her. A new Saint. A crusade mentality. A knight manipulating public narrative. A staged massacre.
And all built on the idea that mercy was weakness.
She swallowed.
That idea… wasn't entirely foreign to her either.