“Why, why are you doing this… Ian hasn’t done anything wrong… It’s all my fault. I was lacking… I, I’ve committed a sin worthy of death! So, please!”
It was a scream squeezed out with all her might.
The sincerity contained within possessed a persuasiveness beyond logic. The Saint on the battlefield, the judges standing atop the sheer cliff-like heights, and even the crowds numbering in the tens of thousands.
The reason they couldn’t bring themselves to utter a single word was surely not unrelated to this.
“Kill me! Rather, hang me up, throw stones at me, and then burn me to death with fire! That’s, that’s what you all want, isn’t itttt!”
By the end, it had become a plea close to a shriek.
Panting for breath, the Saintess, who had wrung out every bit of air from her lungs, sorrowfully closed her eyelids.
Drip, drip.
Clear dew drops formed and fell.
“So, let Ian go… Why, why does that person have to…