The Inquisitor and the Templar Knights
The village square was packed; everyone had gathered to witness the execution. Young Wolf's group rode closer to see what the commotion was about—and who was about to be put to death.
The executioners were none other than a female Inquisitor from the Holy City, flanked by eight Templar Knights standing in formation. Beneath the gallows stood five women of varying ages: an old crone, three adult women, and a little girl whose face was badly burned.
The villagers had accused them of witchcraft after the Inquisitor declared she had come by order of the Holy City to purge the village of evil. As Young Wolf's group approached, the crowd parted at the sight of their armor and the wolf crest. The Inquisitor's gaze immediately locked onto the Wolfwood emblem—and then onto the golden hero's crest on Eris's armor.
"Knights from the neighboring Kingdom of Riel," the Inquisitor addressed them. "What business brings you here?"
"We were invited to the Gladiator Tournament in the city of Ferenz," Andras replied calmly.
"Very well," the Inquisitor nodded. "Then bear witness to the execution of these witches, condemned to death in the name of Goddess Neptuna."
Andras stepped forward, his voice ringing with authority.
"In the presence of Neptuna's chosen Hero, Eris Scarlett, we will take over the execution."
Eris nearly jumped.
"What? I—yes, my name is Eris Scarlett, I am the Hero… but I don't actually have to execute these women, right?"
The Inquisitor narrowed her eyes and stepped closer.
"Is that truly the hero's crest? Is it genuine? A crest alone proves nothing. The Hero is the only one in the world who wields the light element. Show us the divine light granted to you by Goddess Neptuna."
Eris drew her sword and channeled the light element into the blade. It burst into brilliance—pure, blinding radiance that illuminated the entire square. The Templars and the Inquisitor dropped to their knees as if beholding a divine apparition. Eris blinked in confusion, utterly lost as to why they were acting as though a queen had descended among them.
"Neptuna's chosen Hero is our guiding light as well," the Inquisitor said, bowing her head. "Command us, chosen one."
"Well… I… uh…" Eris stammered, completely overwhelmed.
Andras stepped forward and took control.
"First, we will examine the condemned one by one. Each case will be retried. Now that the Hero is here, the sword of truth will fall where it must."
The crowd fell silent.
The Templars lifted their heads.
The Inquisitor stepped back, yielding the space.
The fate of the execution now rested in the hands of Young Wolf and his companions.
The First Accused — The Herbalist
Young Wolf, Ironclaw, and Eris stepped toward the condemned. The others watched from a short distance, ready to intervene at a moment's notice.
The first in line was an old woman—stooped, wrinkled, yet her eyes held a clear, weary wisdom. Andras examined her with his magical sight. He sensed no darkness, no corruption. Just an elderly herbalist who had spent her life healing.
"Who accused this herbalist of witchcraft?" Andras asked, his voice calm but firm.
A village woman stepped forward from the crowd. Her face was twisted with anger and grief, her voice trembling as she shouted:
"This old witch killed my son!"
The herbalist lowered her head. When she finally spoke, her voice was raspy but sincere.
"Many children have died in my care over my long life. But far more have lived because of me. It has always been this way… those who healed thanked me. Those who did not survive— their families always wanted to kill me in revenge. That never changed. I am too old for this now… I no longer have the strength to defend myself."
Andras stepped closer, and his voice softened unexpectedly.
"Your time has not yet ended, old healer. Even if you save just one more child, your life still has purpose."
The herbalist's eyes filled with tears. The droplets trembled in the wrinkles of her face, as if she were releasing decades of guilt.
"You cannot imagine how happy it makes me to hear this from the mouths of Heroes. I always blamed myself for every life I could not save. I could never forgive myself… But if the Goddess has forgiven me, then I swear before the Heroes: as long as these old bones can move, I will heal."
Andras nodded.
"Take a young girl from the village as your apprentice. Pass on your knowledge. Do not let it die with you."
The Inquisitor stepped forward and raised her hand.
"The herbalist is innocent. Release her!"
The Templar Knights immediately began untying the ropes. The crowd erupted in cheers, relief washing over the villagers like a breaking storm.
Only the grieving mother collapsed to her knees, sobbing into her hands.
The herbalist approached her gently and touched her shoulder—no anger, only endless sorrow and compassion.
Silence fell over the square.
The first accused had been saved.
The Second and Third Accused
The next condemned was a young girl—no older than seventeen. She trembled with fear, but when her eyes met Young Wolf's, a spark of anger and wounded pride flashed within them.
Andras stepped forward.
"Who accused this simple village girl of witchcraft?"
The young woman burst to the crowd, her face twisted with fury and desperation.
"It was that filthy old man—the village chief!" she shouted. "He called me a witch because I refused to marry him! I won't be bought like some whore! He should be the one hanging here! But now he'll get what he deserves… the Heroes are here!"
The village chief turned pale as Andras looked his way.
"Any last words?" the young mage asked.
The man collapsed to his knees.
"Have mercy! I didn't mean to call her a witch… I was afraid of the Templars, I didn't dare tell the truth. Please… forgive me."
Andras's voice was cold as a blade.
"You are no longer the village chief. You will divide your wealth fairly among the villagers. Then you will leave this place with nothing but the clothes on your back—and you will never return."
"What?!" the man gasped. "This is injustice!"
"And sending an innocent girl to her death would have been justice?"
The man scrambled to bargain.
"But that's my money! You can't take it all… take half! Take half my wealth!"
Andras flicked his hand dismissively.
"Bargain with the devil in the underworld. Take him."
The Templar Knights seized the man. The crowd murmured, stunned, as the man wailed and begged, but there was no mercy. The Templars dragged him to the gallows, and the villagers watched in heavy silence as his fate was sealed.
The young girl was released; she collapsed to her knees, crying—but these were tears of relief.
Before the third accused—a woman in her thirties—could be examined, another woman rushed forward and fell to her knees before Young Wolf's group.
"I'm sorry… please, forgive me," she sobbed.
Andras looked at her sternly.
"Confess your crimes, and your punishment will be lighter."
The woman trembled as she spoke.
"My sister is not a witch. I put that straw doll under her pillow… so the Templars would take her away. But I didn't know they would hang her."
"And why would you do that to your own sister?" Andras asked.
The woman collapsed completely.
"My sister was always so happy with her husband… and I was always jealous. I thought if the Templars took her, I could have her husband for myself…"
Andras turned his head away in disgust.
"Even hearing this is unpleasant. Anita—she's yours."
Anita approached slowly, while the woman begged more desperately with every step.
"I confessed everything… you won't hang me, right? You promised mercy!"
Anita said nothing. With one swift, precise strike, she delivered a blow—not fatal, but strong enough to leave a mark the woman would carry for the rest of her life.
Andras spoke quietly, but with iron in his voice.
"From now on, whenever you look in the mirror, you will remember what you did to your sister."
The thirty‑year‑old woman was released. As she passed her sister, she looked at her as though she were a filthy rat—and walked on without a word.
Silence fell over the crowd.
The third accused had been saved.
The Fourth Accused — The Bandit
Young Wolf turned to the fourth condemned woman, around twenty‑three years old. His magical sight immediately told him: she wasn't a witch, but the stench of crime clung to her soul. A bandit stood before him, not an innocent villager.
Andras whistled toward Ironclaw, who instantly perked up.
"Bandit!" she shouted, as if she had just scented prey.
Andras crossed his arms and looked the woman over.
"Well, well… a filthy bandit on the witches' gallows. How did you end up here?"
The woman snorted tiredly.
"Damn it… of course I'm the one who won't get away. What does it matter why you're hanging me?"
"It matters," Andras replied calmly. "Because where there's one bandit, there are more. And I'd much rather see several bandits hanging than just one."
The woman clenched her jaw stubbornly.
"I won't betray my crew. I'd rather die!"
Andras smiled.
"Well now. A brave bandit. Rare sight. It's been a long time since we had to tear off a bandit's fingers one by one to make them talk."
He tilted his head.
"Ironclaw, start removing her fingers."
"With pleasure, Master!" the earth‑wolf bestial girl replied, already growing her claws into massive, stone‑like talons.
The bandit woman went pale at the sight of the enormous claws. She didn't wait for the first finger to be touched.
"Wait! I'll talk!" she screamed in panic. "Just spare me! If I tell you where my crew is hiding… will you let me live?"
Andras nodded.
"You have my word that the Hero will spare you."
The woman blurted out the words in a rush:
"Follow the river's current… three miles down there's an abandoned fishing hut. That's where the others are."
"And how many of you are there in total?"
"Six besides me. Now will you let me go?"
Andras smiled again.
"Indeed. Since I gave my word that the Hero would spare you… the Inquisitor will be the one to hang you."
The woman's face twisted in horror.
"What?! But you promised!"
"Yes, I promised that we wouldn't hang you. I never said the Templars wouldn't."
The Templar Knights burst into laughter, seized the woman, and dragged her toward the gallows. She screamed and begged, but the Templars knew no mercy. The rope tightened, and the crowd watched in heavy silence.
Andras then turned to the Inquisitor.
"The Hero has greater monsters to face. Surely a handful of miserable bandits can be entrusted to you, Inquisitor?"
The Inquisitor bowed her head.
"We are honored to assist the Hero. Move out, boys! The bandits are hiding along the river. Only six of them—easy prey!"
The Templars and the Inquisitor didn't even wait for the final verdict. Weapons in hand, they marched toward the river to hunt down the bandits.
Silence settled over the square once more.
Young Wolf turned to the fifth and final condemned:
a ten‑year‑old girl with a badly burned face.