CHAPTER 42: THE WHITE BLADE

While Edward was discovering the horrifying truth of his world, a different kind of truth was being forged. In the holy halls of the Inquisition’s high command.

The news of Lord Alaric Duke’s assassination and the catastrophic destruction of his estate had hit the capital like a thunderclap.

More than just the death of a nobleman. A brazen, audacious assault on the established order. A gauntlet thrown at the feet of the kingdom’s ruling class.

And the preliminary reports, a frantic jumble of witness accounts and energy readings, all pointed to one impossible, terrifying source.

The Rankless heretic, Edward Ross.

In the Grand Inquisitor’s private sanctum, a chamber of stark white marble and cold, unforgiving light, the mood was grim. The Grand Inquisitor, a man whose face was a mask of ancient, wrinkled piety, listened as his lieutenants presented their findings.

"The Duke estate has been... unmade," Examiner Jack reported. His voice, for the first time, lacked its usual serene and analytical calm. His arm was in a silver-embroidered sling. A stark reminder of his failure.

"It was not destroyed by conventional magic. The entire structure was subjected to a dungeon genesis event. A localized, catastrophic reality collapse.

The heretic did not just kill Lord Duke. He appears to have consumed him and used the chaotic energy to turn the entire manor into a weapon."

Another Inquisitor, the head of intelligence, stepped forward. "The Crimson Syndicate has gone to ground," she stated. Her voice was sharp and clipped. "Our sources confirm they were the ones who contracted the heretic. They have claimed responsibility. But it is a hollow boast. This was not the work of a guild of mortal assassins.

The Grand Inquisitor listened. The boy known as Edward Ross was no longer just a heretic to be investigated. He was a burgeoning god of chaos. A walking apocalypse. A cancer that had to be excised.

"The boy has made a mockery of this Holy Order," the Grand Inquisitor finally said. His voice was a low, dangerous rumble. "He has eluded our agents. Defied our authority. And now he has allied himself with the filth of the underworld to murder the nobility.

He is not just a threat to the kingdom. He is a blasphemy against the divine order of the Core itself."

He rose from his throne-like chair. His ancient, frail frame suddenly radiated an aura of immense, terrifying power.

"The time for observation is over. The time for subtlety is past. This is no longer an investigation. It is a holy crusade. We will not capture this abomination. We will not judge him. We will erase his existence from this world. And we will burn the den of shadows he calls a home to the ground."

He turned to Jack. "You have failed, Examiner. Your ’puzzles’ and ’assessments’ have allowed this cancer to grow. You are removed from this case." He then turned to the assembled knights. "I am unleashing our ultimate weapon. I am unsheathing the white blade of purification. Summon the Champion."

The order was met with a collective, sharp intake of breath. To summon the Champion was the Inquisition’s final sanction. A measure reserved for threats that could topple kingdoms.

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Hours later, in a secluded, sun-drenched training cloister, a figure stood in perfect, meditative stillness.

A young man. Perhaps only a few years older than Edward. But he carried himself with an ancient, unwavering gravitas. His hair was the color of pure, driven snow. His eyes were a startling, piercing sapphire blue.

He wore no armor. Only a simple, white training tunic. His entire being radiated a palpable, overwhelming aura of pure, concentrated holy power. A warm, brilliant, and utterly uncompromising light.

This was Daniel. The Champion of Purification.

Not just an S-Ranker. One of the few, legendary SS-Rank Paladins in existence. A warrior whose very soul had been blessed and reforged by the Core itself. An instrument of its divine will. The system’s ideal. Its perfect soldier. Its avenging angel.

The door to the cloister opened. A high-ranking priest entered. He bowed low. "Champion Seraphiel," the priest said. His voice was filled with a profound, reverent awe. "The Grand Inquisitor has a mission for you."

Daniel did not move. His eyes were still closed. "Speak it," he said. His voice was a calm, resonant baritone. It hummed with a quiet, restrained power.

"A new threat has emerged. A heretic of the forbidden Soul Devourer class, known as Edward Ross," the priest explained. His voice trembled slightly.

"He has committed high treason. Allied himself with the forces of darkness. And now threatens the stability of the kingdom. He is to be considered a threat of the highest order. The Grand Inquisitor has commanded that you are to hunt him down and erase his existence."

Daniel finally opened his eyes. He turned and walked towards a simple weapon rack. There, resting in a place of singular honor, was his sword.

A magnificent longsword. Its blade was forged from a metal that looked like solidified starlight. Its edge was so fine it was almost invisible. The crossguard was a simple, elegant design of pure silver. Light’s Verdict. A Divine-Grade weapon.

He took the sword in his hand. The moment his fingers closed around the hilt, the blade flared to life. A brilliant, white-gold light that filled the cloister. A light so pure and intense it was almost painful to behold.

To demonstrate his readiness, Daniel was taken to a secure, underground containment unit. Inside, a recently captured A-Rank dungeon boss thrashed against its holy chains. A hulking creature of shadow and corruption.

Daniel entered the chamber alone. The gate was sealed. The monster, seeing fresh prey, broke its chains and charged. A tidal wave of claws, teeth, and pure, unholy malice.

Daniel stood his ground. Light’s Verdict was held in a simple, two-handed guard. An island of calm in a sea of chaos.

He moved.

His movement was not the impossibly fast. Not a single wasted motion. He took one step to the side. The monster’s charge carried it past him. He pivoted. His blade was a single, silent, rising arc of pure, white-gold light.

The sword cut through the monster’s corrupted flesh. Not with a brutal, tearing force. With a clean, effortless precision. As if it were passing through smoke.

The creature’s charge faltered. It stood for a moment, confused. Then it simply... fell apart. Its body dissolved not into dust, but into a cloud of purified, harmless motes of light. Its corrupted soul utterly and completely unmade.

The fight had lasted less than two seconds.

Daniel sheathed his glowing blade. His expression was as calm and as resolute as ever. He had his mission. He had his target. He was the thematic, absolute opposite of Edward Ross.

Where Edward was a whirlwind of daggers, shadows, and brutal, pragmatic survival, Daniel was an immovable wall of holy light, of perfect swordsmanship, and of unwavering, absolute faith.

He was brought to the ruins of the Duke’s estate. The place was a gaping, ugly wound on the landscape. The air itself felt wrong. Corrupted.

Daniel knelt on the blighted ground. He closed his eyes. He gently placed the palm of his hand on the corrupted, blackened earth.

A faint, golden light spread from his hand. A soft, probing pulse of his immense, holy power. He was not just looking. He was tasting the very soul of the land. Seeking the unique, foul signature of the one who had committed this atrocity.

He found it. A faint, lingering trail of pure, soul-devouring corruption. A spiritual scent as unique and unmistakable as a fingerprint.

He rose to his feet. His Daniel eyes burned with a cold, righteous fire. He turned to the squad of elite Inquisitorial knights assembled behind him.

"He cannot hide the stain of his soul," Daniel declared. His voice was a calm, resonant promise of impending judgment. "I can smell his corruption."

He pointed towards the dark, sprawling underbelly of the city. Towards the shadowy, lawless places where a fugitive might seek refuge.

"And I will follow it to the ends of the earth."