Chương 77: Before the Sacred Court's Dock

The Grand Hall of the Inquisitorial Court sat deep beneath the capital's Holy Church, built from unmortared blocks of black stone, radiating a bitter chill. On a judge's platform three meters high, twelve Grand Inquisitors in dark red, black-trimmed robes and pointed hoods sat arranged in a solemn half-circle. Pine-oil torches flickered against the stone walls, casting a dull red glow across statues of angels bearing cold, chained swords.

At the center of the stone hall, Lucian sat in the accused's chair — old, weathered oak — hands in his uniform pockets, head tilted back to look up at the platform. CLACK! The Grand Inquisitor — Cardinal Malachar — slammed an iron gavel down onto the stone dais, his voice booming through the hall.

"Defendant Lucian Vance! Legal representative of the Vance Publishing House! Are you aware of your crime before this sacred court?" Malachar raised a copy of The Elegy of the Nameless Knight, Volume 1, flipping open to page sixty-one.

"The Inquisitorial Court's indictment holds: this work spreads dangerous ideology hostile to divine authority! In chapter eight, the protagonist declares: 'This blade serves no throne, nor kneels before any god!' This is an act of blasphemy against doctrine, inciting the public to doubt the Church's absolute power — and it has directly led to a series of assassination riots in the western territories!" The old Inquisitor narrowed his eyes, grinding out each word.

"By religious law: the Vance Publishing House shall pay a fine of one million gold, and destroy every printed copy across the entire continent!" Lucian sat in the wooden chair, fingers tapping lightly against his knee. A one-million-gold fine? Ting! A Unified System v2. 0 notification appeared before him. [SUPPORT SKILL: 'DREAMWEAVER' ACTIVE!] Tactical communication support: identifies logical weak points in available arguments.

Lucian rose from the accused's chair, straightened the collar of his ash-grey coat, and stepped forward twice. He didn't draw a blade, didn't produce a royal tax exemption. He simply reached into his spatial ring and pulled out a misprinted sample copy, flipping through its pages before raising it high in front of all twelve Grand Inquisitors, speaking with the most sincere, bare-faced tone of his entire life.

"Honored Grand Inquisitors. You've given far too much credit to this garbage." All twelve Inquisitors froze, looking down at once. Lucian pointed at the cited passage, dissecting it line by line with the pained expression of a man baring his own back for the world to see.

"Look at this! This entire plot is a clumsy, half-baked mess written by someone with no talent! The protagonist is reckless, his logic contradicts itself line to line! That line, 'nor kneels before any god'... the author simply hit writer's block that day, couldn't remember the name of any Church deity to plug in, and just scribbled something to hit his word count!" This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

Lucian flipped to chapter fifteen, tapping the page loudly.

"And this scene, jumping off a cliff to find a secret manual! Anyone with basic physics knows falling three thousand meters onto solid rock gets you a pile of mush, not some secret manual! This is nothing but cheap, low-brow, worthless pulp entertainment, written by an ignorant child chasing a few extra coins from readers!" He spread both arms wide, staring straight into Malachar's eyes.

"How could a pile of literary garbage like this possibly qualify as 'heretical ideology'? It's just commercial trash! Fining a heap of garbage one million gold only damages the Sacred Court's own credibility!" The entire hall fell into absolute silence. All twelve Grand Inquisitors, seated on the high platform, stared at Lucian. Grand Inquisitor Malachar slowly removed his spectacles. His eyes suddenly welled up.

He pulled out a white silk handkerchief and dabbed gently at the corner of his eye, his shoulders trembling beneath his purple velvet robes with overwhelming emotion. He looked at Lucian and spoke, voice choked, echoing through the entire chamber.

"Look at that magnificent humility..." Lucian: "... Huh?" Malachar shot to his feet, arms spread wide toward the vaulted ceiling, face turned up to heaven, lamenting.

"Fellow Inquisitors, behold! This young representative is deliberately slandering his own work, deliberately calling himself ignorant... all to protect the purity and reclusive dignity of the great sage who wrote this book! He refuses to accept worldly glory, willingly bearing the label of a cheap pulp writer, so that humanity may freely receive its moral light!" Malachar struck his own chest, tears falling.

"The harder he tries to deny its brilliance, the brighter the work's true greatness shines! The line 'nor kneels before any god' is, in truth, a profound teaching: divinity dwells within the soul of righteousness, not in the hollow ritual of kneeling!" The remaining eleven Inquisitors all rose to their feet at once, wiping their eyes, nodding in admiration.

"Truly the mindset of a sage!"

"Such a noble sacrifice of his own reputation!"

"We nearly condemned a masterpiece of moral instruction by mistake!" Lucian stood frozen in the middle of the hall, arms still spread mid-air, mouth twitching over and over, his mind completely blank. CLACK! CLACK! CLACK! Malachar raised his iron gavel and struck the stone dais three decisive times, delivering the verdict.

"The Supreme Inquisitorial Court unanimously declares: The Elegy of the Nameless Knight is COMPLETELY INNOCENT! It is hereby designated: the Continent's Foremost Work of Moral Cultivation! All clergy, knights, and students across the world are encouraged to study and emulate it!" Swish. The red velvet curtain behind the judge's platform parted. The Pope himself, in pristine white robes, stepped out, smiling warmly, descending the stone steps.

He approached Lucian, took his small hands in both of his, and gently placed a solid gold badge, engraved with the emblem of the sacred flame, into his palm.

"My good child. Thank you for helping the Church understand the profound depth of this work. This is a Doctrinal Clearance and Protected Publisher Badge, personally signed and approved by me. The Elegy of the Nameless Knight is cleared of heresy, and future Vance Commerce publications will receive expedited religious review and a presumption of good standing." Lucian looked down at the gleaming solid gold badge in his hand. Official doctrinal clearance. Not a single copper in fines.

A powerful Protected Publisher credential, issued by the Church itself. He stood frozen in the middle of the grand hall, eyes empty, staring up at the stone ceiling, muttering in absolute, helpless defeat.

"Honestly... nobody's going to believe this..." Ten minutes later. The Church's colossal Golden Gate swung open. Lucian stepped out into the sunlit plaza, gold badge in hand. Astra stood leaning against a magical lamppost waiting for him, a half-eaten strawberry ice cream bar in one hand, waving a freshly printed newspaper, still fragrant with ink, in the other. Seeing Lucian emerge, Astra hurried over, holding out the paper.

"Lucian, you're done? An urgent report just came in from the trade caravans on the western front." Lucian took the paper and looked down at the bold, blood-red headline on the front page.

'Crisis on the Western Border: A young battalion of knights in black cloaks just broke through the beast defense line, chanting the battle cry: THE SKY THAT DAY BLED A DEEP, DARK RED!'