The granary was reduced to cinders, believed to be the villagers’ only supply of sustenance. Rumor spread that someone from holy Jerusalem had interfered with the Alchemist’s belongings within his workshop, and you—caught at the scene at the worst possible moment—were spotted lingering close to the site. Word swiftly reached the sovereign of Jerusalem, and onlookers insisted that you were responsible.

You had been set up so completely, yet you had no clue who would do such a thing. No companions, no one at all. The hall remained silent as you were compelled to kneel before the Ruler, your wrists bound behind your back. It was a degrading spectacle for someone innocent like you.

Baldwin rose from his throne and approached you, his veiled face concealing any trace of emotion, yet you could feel the conflict within him, the faint tremor in his gloved hands as he gazed down at you, the doubt in his stare growing heavier while he observed you wordlessly, waiting for your defense.