In the direction of the Hall of Faith, the young female believer who had been the first to kneel was still bracing herself against the ground with both hands.
Her tears had dried, leaving two faint tracks on her face.
She raised her head and looked toward that jet-black figure.
Strangely enough, she felt no fear.
She should have been afraid.
After all, that person had just purged the temple she had devoted half her life to with the bloodiest of methods.
Those dignitaries she had respectfully saluted during morning prayers had been slaughtered like livestock before her eyes.
Yet she was not afraid.
She only felt that something which had clogged her chest for many years had suddenly cleared.
The people beside her were raising their heads as well.
One after another.
Their expressions varied.
Some were bewildered, some silent, and some still had red-rimmed eyes.
But not a single pair of eyes held hatred.
Because they had all heard it.
They had heard Izisha say those words herself.
Fabricating evidence, framing the Holy Son.
Abducting divine souls, brutalizing orphaned children.
And every name among those who had been executed, when spoken aloud, came with a string of vile deeds sickening enough to make one retch.
They had traded in faith.
They had used the temple as a cover.
Under the prestigious name of holy judgment, they had executed the most loyal people of this sacred mountain!
A Silver Moon Knight suddenly stood up.
He did not know why he was standing.
Should he shout a slogan? Kneel in worship? He had not thought of anything.
He only felt something surging in his chest, pushing against him, forcing him to rise.
Then the second rose, then the third...
No one commanded them, and no one took the lead, yet