Ch 14.2

Reinforcements from Barville Port stormed into the pavilion grounds before the destruction could spread any further.

City guards rushed through collapsing corridors while smoke billowed into the night sky. Some used water-based abilities to smother the flames, while others tore apart burning sections of the structure before the fire could spread deeper into the pavilion. Cries echoed from every direction as injured civilians and sisters were dragged from the wreckage.

Even with their efforts, parts of the pavilion had already been devastated.

Most of the destruction pointed back to one person.

Nosmos.
The grandmaster of the Tooth & Nail Guild.

The very same Nosmos who was supposedly attending the summit at Despora.

Instead, he had appeared in Barville.
And somehow ended up battling Wallus in the middle of the pavilion grounds.

No one understood why.

Following the intervention of the wise Verdant and Old Monk Rugbert, Nosmos offered no resistance and was taken into custody without incident. Once both he and Wallus were detained, the case was immediately referred to the civil court under the jurisdiction of the BRAVE Coalition Guild.

Until both men gave full testimony, no verdict would be issued.
The guildmasters present imposed a strict gag order afterward.

No discussion. No accusations. No public statements.
Anyone spreading rumors before the court ruling would face punishment.

For a brief moment, it almost worked.
Then someone talked.

And by the end of the hour, Barville was drowning in rumors.

---------------------------------

“I knew it,” a beastman growled, slamming his beer mug onto the table. Foam sloshed over the rim and onto his fingers.

Around him, several patrons grunted their agreement.

“We never should've allowed that church diplomat into our town,” another said bitterly.
“Now the whole pavilion's shut down because of them.”

A third man suddenly shoved himself to his feet.
“You idiots are blind or something?” he barked.

The noise in the tavern dipped.
“I was there when it started.”

He pointed toward the nearest window, as though the ruined pavilion still stood outside.

“I saw the fire orbs falling from the sky. I saw the explosions. That was Guildmaster Nosmos's magic.”

Several heads turned.
“I'd recognize that spell anywhere,” he added.

“What a load of crap,” An older adventurer slammed his mug down hard enough to rattle the table, “He wasn't attacking the pavilion.”

The man leaned forward, his face red from drink and outrage.
“As a matter of fact, he was fighting that church mage. I heard a few tales that the church’s mage is a fearsome warrior not to be taken lightly.”

His finger jabbed the air.
“You think Nosmos would betray Barville? Open your eyes. He was stopping whatever those church bastards were planning.”

A murmur spread through the room.

“Exactly!” someone raised their mug.
“Nosmos saved Barville!”

“Instead, they drag him away in chains like a criminal,” another adventurer growled.

The atmosphere soured instantly.

“Yeah, what the hell?”
“That's not right.”
“BRAVE's has no spine.”

A broad-shouldered beastman rose from his chair.
“They arrest one of our own despite the church’s involvement. I say the church folks can all go to hell,”

His words struck a nerve. Several patrons nodded.
The beastman climbed onto a table, towering above the crowd.

“I wonder why the major tribe’s are even entertaining the church diplomats, we should have slaughtered them right on our doors,”

“Don't forget what those church bastards have done to our kind,” another added.

His voice echoed through the room,
“This continent belongs to us.”

Cheers erupted, “This is our homeland!”
More cheers, “Our rules!”

Mugs pounded against tables. “Damn right!”

“They should be thrown out!”
“Throw every last one of them out of Barville!”

The beastman pointed toward the tavern door. “Why stop there?”

A dangerous grin spread across his face.
“Maybe it's time we remind them whose land they're standing on.”

A few drunken patrons laughed.

Others nodded with frightening seriousness.
“The church dogs should hang.”

“Yeah!”
“Hang them!”
“Send them back in coffins!”

The roar that followed shook the rafters.
“Three cheers for Nosmos!”

“Savior of Barville—! HOORAY!”
“HIP HIP—!” “HOORAY!”
“HIP HIP—!” “HOORAY!”

Mugs crashed together. Beer splashed across tables.
Laughter mixed with shouting. Outside, the night remained calm.

Inside, however, anger fed anger.

Few people in the tavern knew what had actually happened at the pavilion.
Fewer still cared. The facts had already lost against something much stronger.
Fear. Pride. And the desire to have someone to blame.

In the shadows of the port, entirely different versions of the night's events had already begun to spread.

One story claimed that Wallus had attempted to assassinate the guildmaster of the Tooth & Nail Guild.

Another insisted Nosmos had attacked the Pavilion sisters without warning.

Others swore they had witnessed undead soldiers pouring from the pavilion grounds, using those sightings as proof that demons had infiltrated Barville itself.

By midnight, truth had become little more than another rumor.

People repeated whichever version best matched the prejudices they already carried.

With every retelling, details changed.
Witnesses exaggerated. Facts disappeared.

New accusations appeared from nowhere.
And before long, most of Barville had already decided who was guilty.

The majority of public sentiment leaned heavily in Nosmos's favor.

He was one of their own.
A respected guildmaster.
A beastman.

To many citizens, the idea that a church diplomat from a foreign power could be innocent while Nosmos stood accused simply felt wrong.

"The church is framing him."

The phrase spread from taverns to marketplaces.

From dockworkers to merchants.
From adventurers to city guards.
No evidence was needed.

The belief alone was enough.

The day after the incident, the pressure mounted, and the local branch of the BRAVE Coalition found itself caught between public outrage and its duty to remain impartial.

Crowds began gathering outside guild buildings.

Petitions appeared. Arguments erupted in the streets.
Everyone demanded answers. Everyone demanded justice. And everyone wanted it immediately.

To prevent accusations of favoritism, the coalition made a decisive move. Rather than allowing local officials to oversee the proceedings, they summoned a judge from another city.

Someone with no ties to Barville. No ties to Nosmos. No ties to the church.

A neutral authority. At least in theory.

The announcement spread quickly.
The trial would begin the next day swiftly.

-------------------------------------------

The incident had shaken the entire town.

The Tranquil Pavilion now stood half-ruined. Sections of its walls had collapsed, entire rooms had been burned beyond recognition, and the central courtyard still bore the scars of the battle between powerful mana users.

Yet the physical destruction was not what horrified the investigators most.

It was what they discovered afterward.

As healers and investigators examined the courtesans, a darker truth gradually emerged. Many of the girls had been living under curses—not simple hexes or temporary afflictions, but parasitic spells, memory-altering curses, and forms of mental tampering.

Several victims displayed signs of prolonged manipulation. Their memories were fragmented, some of their personalities had been altered, and their mana pathways had suffered extensive damage from weeks of abuse.

The discovery sent shockwaves through Barville.

BRAVE immediately requested assistance from the specialists of the Black Fantasmal Guild. Their healers and curse experts arrived shortly after the incident and established a temporary treatment facility on the outskirts of town.

Inside the facility, rows of beds filled the converted halls. Soft blue mana glowed from intricate ritual circles carved into the floor while healers moved constantly between patients.

Some of the girls slept peacefully, their breathing slow and even. Others writhed in agony as dark strands of cursed mana were painstakingly extracted from their bodies.

Nearly half a dozen girls had been living under the effects of these curses without ever knowing it.

The Black Fantasmal Guild worked tirelessly to free them from the afflictions before the damage became irreversible. Fortunately, the guildmaster himself personally oversaw the operation.

After examining the victims, he delivered a reassuring report to BRAVE.

The curses could be removed. Every one of them.
The process would take time, however.

The parasitic spells had rooted themselves deeply within the victims' mana systems. Extracting them without causing permanent damage required patience and precision. Rushing the procedure could destroy the very mana pathways the healers were trying to save.

Most of the girls would be left severely mana-depleted for weeks after treatment. Some might require months before they fully recover.

But they would live. That alone was enough.

In response, BRAVE publicly accepted responsibility for its failure to detect the crimes occurring within the Pavilion and agreed to fund the entire recovery effort.

Among those currently undergoing treatment were Sheila and the other servants rescued from the Pavilion. For now, they remained under constant observation, away from the courtroom, away from the politics, and away from the growing storm of accusations sweeping through Barville.

The revelation of the atrocities only ignited further fury among the populace.

Anger spread through the streets as more details of the Pavilion's suffering became known. Crowds gathered outside administrative buildings, demanding justice and calling for Wallus's execution as retribution for what he had done to their people.

The pressure on the BRAVE administration mounted with every passing moment.
They now had two problems to solve.

The first was ensuring that the victims received swift and impartial justice.

The second was restoring enough order to Barville before the growing outrage, combined with the ongoing mana beast attacks and political unrest, pushed the city into complete chaos.