She was still wearing her faded, coarse linen gown, her hands and feet bound by heavy anti-magic shackles, each step producing a faint clang of metal.
But her back was held perfectly straight, her steps composed, as if she were not walking towards a pyre, but towards a sacred altar for a sermon.
The thin morning light fell upon her, seemingly making her glow with a faint radiance.
There was no fear, anger, or humiliation on her face, only an almost inhuman serenity.
The guards roughly pushed her onto the pyre and tied her to the central stake.
The coarse ropes bit into her arms, but she didn't even flinch.
Her gaze calmly swept over the formidable military formation below, finally resting on the rebel army, dressed in rags but with burning eyes.
The crowd instantly stirred; suppressed whimpers and angry growls spread among them.
Rielian's heart sank into an abyss, almost stopping.
He stared intently at the figure on the platform, his body unconsciously tensing with nervousness, his hands clenched into fists, fingernails digging into his palms.
Liriel's lips curved upward ever so slightly, forming an almost imperceptible arc.
She spoke, her voice not loud, yet it strangely pierced through the clamor of the entire plaza, clearly reaching everyone's ears:
"Do not fear parting."
"Nor fear the flames before you."
"For within the flames, you shall find the answer."
These brief words stirred a great ripple in the hearts of the faithful.
They did not understand, yet they instinctively felt an indescribable solace and strength.
However, an even stronger emotion was a deep fear of losing their Saintess.
"Saintess—what does this mean?"
"Stop them quickly!"
"Are we just going to watch?"
"No—!" Rielian could no longer restrain himself, letting out a beast-like roar, his body lunging forward, wanting to pounce towards the pyre about to ignite!
"Stop him!" Asulate barked in a low voice, and two Dracthyrs disguised as commoners from the Blackguard immediately held Rielian's shoulders firmly, with such strength that he could not move.
Rielian struggled fiercely, his eyes bloodshot as he looked at the pyre.
In that instant, his gaze met Liriel's in the air.
In the depths of those calm eyes, there was no plea, no despair, only a clear, all-knowing lucidity and—resolve.
There were no words, but in that moment of intersecting gazes, Rielian felt as if struck by lightning, instantly understanding her choice—she had never expected to be saved; her journey here was part of the plan.
A profound sorrow and a sense of powerlessness, crushed by fate, instantly overwhelmed him.
The executioner expressionlessly raised the torch.
The dry pyre instantly ignited!
The flames greedily licked at the wood, crackling loudly, as thick smoke mixed with sparks rose, rapidly enveloping and consuming Liriel's figure.
In an instant, a deathly silence fell over the plaza.
There were no screams, no wails of sorrow.
Only the heart-pounding roar of the burning flames.
Through the swirling inferno and thick smoke, the bound figure was vaguely visible, still standing tall, head slightly raised, as if gazing at the sky.
Time seemed to freeze.
Even many of the cold Rangers and Mages instinctively averted their eyes or bowed their heads.
The smell of burning fat permeated the air.
Rielian stopped struggling, allowing his companions to hold him, his knees hitting the cold, hard flagstones with a heavy thud.
He watched the blurred, upright figure in the flames, feeling as if his own soul was being cast into the inferno to burn.
Despair, like a cold viper, coiled around his heart, constricting him until he couldn't breathe.
He suddenly threw his head back and, facing the sky obscured by thick smoke, let out a heart-wrenching, blood-curdling roar:
"Why—?! You watch her! You watch all of this! Why—don't you save her—?!"
This desperate roar was like a stone thrown into an abyss, without echo.
However, in the instant that roar faded—from the depths of the surging, blazing inferno, a point of pure golden-red light suddenly ignited!
Immediately after, an indescribable, vast, and majestic aura suddenly spread from the center of the flames, sweeping across the entire execution plaza!
The flames seemed to be endowed with life; they were no longer a symbol of destruction, but an extension of some higher will.
In the dancing golden-red light, a massive, majestic phantom of a Dragon, composed of pure light and flame, flashed into existence and then vanished!
It was not a physical entity, yet it carried the will of one who overlooked all living beings!
Divine Grace descended!
Among the crowd, one Elf after another began to glow with a faint golden-red light.
The blacksmith's hammer was enveloped in a soft halo, sacred flames danced at the apprentice's fingertips, and resolute fire burned in the warrior's eyes. Low prayers, gasps of surprise, and incredulous whispers rapidly spread through the crowd.
"Priest—I understand—" A weaver trembled, stroking her golden-glowing hands.
"Oath of Power," a young warrior murmured, looking at the mark that appeared on his palm.
And Rielian, kneeling on the ground, felt it most intensely!
A burning and immense power instantly washed away all his despair and sorrow, forcefully pouring into his body!
Intense pain accompanied an indescribable sense of fullness, sweeping through his entire being.
He grunted, his body tensing uncontrollably.
The power of a Paladin awakened and surged within him.
Divine Grace poured a vast amount of information into his mind, and one oath after another manifested before him—
But there could be no other possibility.
At this moment, Rielian had only one thought—revenge!
And so, that cold and resolute oath resounded in the depths of his soul—the Oath of Vengeance!
He suddenly broke free from his companions' restraints and stood up abruptly!
His simple leather armor could not conceal the sharp aura and sacred majesty now emanating from him.
Without any words, all the rebels who had received Divine Grace, all the Elves stunned by the miracle before them, focused their gaze on Rielian.
Their eyes changed; fear was replaced by fanatical belief, despair ignited by surging battle intent!
"Emberglow Dragon!" Someone shrieked first.
"Emberglow Dragon—!" The next moment, the roars of nearly a thousand people converged into an earth-shattering torrent, scattering all suppressed emotions. Rielian's gaze swept over the enemies stunned by the miracle, swept over the pyre that had consumed the Saintess yet bestowed Divine Grace.
He drew the not-so-sharp machete from his waist, its tip pointing towards the Pale Tower, his voice like rolling thunder, echoing across the plaza:
"By fire, I swear—
"Today! We shall break the chains—!"
"Charge—!!!"
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