silence.
A deathly silence.
Raymond's indignant expression froze completely, his mouth slightly open, as if an invisible hand was gripping his throat, preventing him from uttering a single word.
His eyes were filled with confusion.
How is this possible?!
He had personally witnessed the battlefield record crystal; the blood-red rose and the scene of devouring life force were absolutely genuine!
But what is this pure holy light before my eyes?!
Alfonso slowly raised his eyelids, his icy gaze like a tempered silver dagger, its undisguised sharpness piercing Raymond's ashen face. His calm voice now sounded like a death knell announcing a final verdict:
"Commander Raymond, what do you have to say now? How is framing a colleague punished under the court's rules?"
After the initial shock, Raymond's hawk-like eyes suddenly flashed with a final, desperate glint of madness.
He stared intently at "Mark," who was enveloped in holy light, as if he wanted to pierce through him.
“No…that’s not right!” Raymond’s voice trembled slightly as he pointed sharply at “Mark,” his knuckles turning white from the force. “The color! The color of the Holy Light is wrong!”
Now that the conflict between him and Alfonso had become irreconcilable, he turned urgently to the two special envoys of the Inquisition, raising his voice:
"Listen to me, everyone! I saw it with my own eyes through the battlefield record crystal! That heretic named Mark uses a strange seven-colored 'holy light'!"
"Twisted and shifting, utterly bizarre! The Holy Light Church has a history of ten thousand years, when has it ever possessed a seven-colored holy light?! This is blatant proof of blasphemy!"
His breathing quickened, his gaze sweeping across Alfonso like lightning, a mixture of anger at being fooled and ecstatic joy at seizing a weakness:
"And this person before me! The holy light he emits is pure, yet it's the most ordinary gold! This is not the same person at all! Alfonso Lin!"
"You are so cunning! You must have hidden the real heretic Mark and his accomplices beforehand, and used an imposter to fool the court!"
"What exactly are you trying to do? Is it really as I suspected, that you've been colluding with those heretics all along, and that this whole incident is a conspiracy you meticulously planned?!"
Alfonso sat as still as a mountain, his silver-grey eyes utterly calm, as if Raymond's roars were nothing more than annoying mosquitoes.
Upon hearing the accusation of "seven-colored holy light," the corners of his mouth twitched upwards very slightly, forming a cold, almost imperceptible chuckle.
"Color?" Alfonso's voice wasn't loud, but it carried a strange penetrating power, clearly overpowering Raymond's lingering words. "Commander Raymond, since when did it become your place to define the form of Holy Light?"
"How dare you arbitrarily define the color of holy light?"
He didn't look at Raymond, who was practically jumping up; his gaze, like two invisible icicles, pierced directly at the two Inquisition envoys across the long table.
There was no explanation, no pleading in those eyes, only a cold, condescending interrogation, as if silently questioning:
"How long will this farce, orchestrated by some of your court's personnel to frame a legendary regimental commander, continue? Are you going to let your fairness and judgment be led by the nose by a furious accuser?"
This silent question is more powerful than any words.
For the first time, the gray-eyed envoy's face, which was covered in icy mist, showed a noticeable change under Alfonso's almost contemptuous gaze.
He was not persuaded by Alfonso, but rather enraged by his undisguised disregard for the authority of the court.
His deep gray pupils contracted, and the icy aura of judgment emanating from him instantly became even more solid and piercing, like a tangible cold current spreading throughout the banquet hall.
“Color may not be enough to judge,” the gray-eyed envoy’s voice was dry and hoarse, yet exceptionally clear, carrying the unquestionable stubbornness of a judge, “but the power of the Holy Light ultimately lies in its essence and efficacy.”
His greyish-white eyes were fixed on Alfonso as he made a seemingly reasonable but deadly request:
"Commander Alfonso, since the holy light within this 'clergyman' is so pure, let him perform a holy light healing spell on the spot. That will immediately reveal the truth and save us a lot of trouble."
He needs irrefutable, direct evidence demonstrating the healing properties of the Holy Light.
This requirement is procedural in itself, but in the current tense situation, and given Raymond's firm belief that "Mark" is a fake, it is actually a fatal test.
The envoy holding the ebony staff frowned slightly, clearly sensing that the grey-eyed envoy's actions carried a competitive undertone stemming from his anger at Alfonso's attitude.
He gently tapped the polished ground with the end of his cane, producing a deep, clear tapping sound that broke the sudden tension. He spoke at the opportune moment, attempting to ease the tension and regain control of the situation:
"Lord Eker's suggestion is reasonable. Commander Alfonso, since he is a member of your ranks, why not ask this priest to demonstrate his skills? Let everyone witness the healing power of such pure holy light."
"This is just a routine verification process. I'm sure that with Captain Alfonso's open-mindedness, there will be no problem with it."
Although he did not dislike Alfonso, he also had no intention of offending his colleagues and the other knight commander, so he pushed the pressure back onto Alfonso.
Meanwhile, at the Thirteenth Holy Knights' camp, Mark's squad was hiding.
Through the shared view of Little M, Mark, Monica, Anna, and Enzo, who were watching everything unfolding in the banquet hall, felt a chill run from their feet to the top of their heads.
"Oh no!" Anna exclaimed, her keen elven intuition instantly realizing the gravity of the situation. "Healing spell! Our puppets can't simulate true Holy Light healing!"
Monica, hidden in the shadows, tensed even more, her eyes flashing with a sharp light: "Damn it! That old fox failed with the color of the holy light, so he resorted to this trick! Our puppets can mimic aura and form, but healing magic is a dynamic energy operation and life guidance. Little M's clone can't imitate the essence, and forcibly casting it will definitely expose the trick!"
Enzo slammed his fist into the stone wall beside him, lava veins churning violently beneath his skin. He cursed in a low voice, "Damn it! These robed old bastards! Boss, what do we do now? Charge out and fuck them?"
Mark's face was grave, but his eyes were unusually calm. He kept a close eye on Alfonso's reaction in M's field of vision, and restrained the restless Enzo: "Don't be impulsive! Trust Captain Alfonso! Since he dared to let Elliott test him, he must have a backup plan... or he may have anticipated this situation. If we make a move, it will only confirm that we have a guilty conscience!"
"A backup plan? Could it be that Commander Alfonso can conjure up a 'Mark' who can heal with true holy light on the spot?" Anna asked worriedly.
“Seven-colored holy light…” Monica murmured to herself, looking at Raymond’s face, which was contorted with the guilt he had instilled in the shared vision. “That idiot was right about at least one thing, Mark, the color of your holy light… is indeed too dazzling.”
She gave a wry smile.
"If we can't get through this crisis, it will probably become our biggest problem in the future."
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