The Grand Duke's Son Is A Heretic-Chapter 177

"The reports lied," Bishop Emeran snapped, cutting him off. "The northern cell failed to take control. The remains were not secured, and the ritual was interrupted. That power that should have been ours by now had been lost."

He clenched his gloved fist tightly and brought it down on the table with a dull thud. "Damn it!

"All those planning and countless resources..After all this... and it’s still a failure."

A murmur rippled through the room. Tension rose like steam off a forge.

Bishop Emeran’s lips twisted in disdain as he muttered a name with venom. "Veydrins..No especially Kaell... That dog. He interfered again."

The name silenced the rest.

One of the older members, a man with a torn scar across his face, grumbled, "I heard Kael cut down four of our enforcers with no help. He’s a demon on the field."

"Demon or not," Bishop Emeran said, wiping his mouth and spitting to the side, "he’s only one man. But now, because of him—and that botched northern mess—the Duchy has turned its full eye toward us."

He paused, and a flicker of something darker flashed across his eyes.

"And if Kael is involved... then so are the followers of Peru."

The room went still again. Some men swallowed hard. Others exchanged uneasy glances.

Bishop Emeran folded his arms, tone lower now. "They’ve already begun the hunt. I received word last night. That faction wants blood, and if we make noise now, we’ll be surrounded on both sides."

A younger man from the far end, no older than twenty, raised a hand nervously.

"Your Grace... how did we know about the dragon remains in the northern mines in the first place? I mean... who told us something so ancient existed there?"

Everyone turned. The Bishop’s gaze snapped to the boy.

A deep silence followed.

He walked slowly toward him. The air chilled as his boots echoed against the stone.

"That," he said slowly, eyes like steel, "is a secret of the higher circle. You are not permitted to question it."

He leaned closer. "You will do your duty. You will remain silent. And you will keep your hands clean, unless I say otherwise. Understood?"

The young man bowed his head quickly. "Y-Yes, Your Grace."

Bishop Emeran turned back to the table. "From now on, we lay low. No unnecessary movement. Stay in the shadows. Burn all scrolls that carry names and routes. Hide our stock. Mask our symbols. If even one of you is caught and speaks, you will doom us all."

He looked over his followers, eyes burning with suppressed fury.

"We may have lost the North. But this isn’t over. Not by a long shot. They want war? We’ll give them silently.They fear what they can’t find."

He pointed to the door. "Now go. Prepare the seals. Guard the exits. If a knight walks through that tunnel..." he paused, letting the moment hang, "...then may he never walk back out."

And with that, the meeting ended—its final words ringing like iron bars sealing shut.

....

Dreklin, once a quiet mining town nestled between the cold Veydrin hills, was now shrouded under an air of dread. The clang of hooves, the shuffle of armored boots, and the occasional ring of steel against steel echoed through its narrow streets.

The Veydrin Knights, clad in the dark-blue and silver of the Duchy, moved in disciplined formation. Their crests bore the crest of the Iron Oak—the symbol of justice in these lands. Sword at one side, chain-whip at the other, they carried orders not of mercy, but of cleansing.

Sir Aldric, captain of the fifth squad, turned to his men as they reached a small courtyard.

"Check every home. Every cellar, every attic. No door stays closed. If they resist, you break it down. If they lie, you bring them to me."

"Yes, Sir!" his men barked in unison.

People watched from behind windows and cracked-open shutters, their eyes filled with worry—but not defiance. Dreklin’s citizens were used to hardship, but this... this felt different. This was not a routine patrol. This was a purge.

One old man, leaning against his cane, stepped out and raised a hand as the knights approached.

"Sir Knight," he called with a hoarse voice. "You searchin’ for the snake-worshippers, ain’t you?"

Aldric turned, slowing his pace.

"I am."

The man nodded and pointed with a trembling hand. "There’s a house by the western kiln. Hasn’t been lived in for years, but lights been seen at night. Smell of burnt meat, too. Somethin’ ain’t right there."

Aldric gave a tight nod. "Thank you, elder. You’ve done your part."

As the knights passed, others stepped forward too. A woman in worn robes came up with a small scroll in hand.

"My husband works at the mines... he overheard two men talking about ’rituals’ and ’dragons’ in the tunnels beneath the old shaft. Said it didn’t sound right."

Aldric took the scroll and handed it to his scribe. "Noted. Keep your husband close for questioning."

Whispers spread fast, and soon the townsfolk began pointing at alleys, buildings, suspicious movements they’d noticed for months but never thought to report. The Serpent Gang, long hidden in the cracks of the city, had no more shadows left.

At a smithy, one of the knights knocked twice on the heavy door.

"By order of the Duchy, open this door."

The blacksmith, a barrel-chested man covered in soot, opened up and wiped his hands on a cloth.

"You’ll find no snakes here, Sir Knight. But if you need a place to sharpen your blades... the whetstone is yours."

Aldric gave a faint smile, rare in times like these. "Appreciated."

From one end of Dreklin to the other, the cleansing continued. In the city square, a group of captured suspects—hoods over their heads, wrists bound—were lined up in front of a burning pit. One of the knights threw in a bundle of robes stitched with the Serpent sigil. Flames leapt into the night air.

Lord Commander Grant himself rode in soon after, dressed in full ceremonial armor. His horse’s hooves struck the stones like thunder as he made his way to the center.

He raised his voice, loud and firm.

"By decree of the Duke and the ruling court, the Serpent Gang is hereby outlawed in the Duchy of Veydrin. Those who shelter them will be considered traitors. Those who aid in their capture will be rewarded with coin and favor."

Cheers mixed with silence. Hope tangled with fear.

A man stepped forward from the crowd, a butcher with blood on his apron and a hardened look in his eye.

"I lost my son to those bastards," he growled. "He got caught up in their poison... thought they were speakin’ of freedom. I’ll help. I know where some of them meet. I want to see them bleed."

Commander Grant nodded. "Your aid will be noted. And your vengeance—delivered."

As the sun set behind the hills of Veydrin, smoke from torches and burning insignias rose into the sky. The hunt was not over—but the net was closing.

And in the dark places of the world, the Serpent Gang would soon feel the fangs of the law.