"Bring him up."

With that order, two sheriffs burst out from the crowd, seizing the man from both sides and dragging him onto the stage.

"Do you have anything else to say?"

"My Lord! It wasn't me, it was them, they forced me..."

"Don't call me Lord, I have no subjects like you."

The man tried to plead, but Lance watched his performance with a heart as still as water, for his mercy had its value.

The Mendicant Monk and comrades were spared because the living were more useful than the dead.

It was clear that this fellow's only value was to demonstrate the price of betrayal.

"Since you seek purification, I will grant it," Lance said enigmatically, nodding to indicate, "Light the fire."

Then, under the gaze of the crowd, a pyre was quickly set up in the square, and the arsonist was tied to a cross.

At this moment, the man was trembling like a vibrating stick, unable to utter a word, a clear indication by the smell wafting forth that he had urinated in fear.

"I suppose with such piety, the Holy Flame will bless you."

Without further ado, Lance tossed the torch in his hand toward the pile of wood.

Lance didn't even add an accelerant, for it wouldn't be as entertaining if the flames erupted and consumed him instantly.

He wanted the man to watch the fire grow larger and closer, to fully feel the heat, to experience that sensation of being trapped in a fire with no escape.

Lance didn't care about the purpose of the punishment, he only knew the righteous should live, and the wicked should die.

From begging to cursing, the man struggled with every method he could muster, shaking even the stake.

But soon his efforts were drowned out by agonizing screams, as the flames had reached his feet, licking his skin and slowly consuming his flesh.

In no time, the flames completely engulfed him, even causing the square to echo with his harrowing howls, which quickly ceased, leaving only a rigid silhouette barely visible within the fire.

Burning someone alive might elicit accusations of human rights violations in modern times, but in this world rife with church barbecue and corrupt nobility killing commoners at will, such a justified trial would be met with acclaim.

Perhaps the woman and other townsfolk felt a sense of vindicated wrath, but Lance remained calm, offering only an offhand quip.

"It seems he wasn't devout enough, for the Holy Flame did not favor him~"

In Lance's view, burning such people was a waste of firewood; they should be sent to an asylum to make the most of their remaining value before being sacrificed.

At this moment, someone approached and whispered a few words to Lance, then handed him a blood-stained short sword.

Listening to this, Lance's expression altered slightly; he disliked this feeling, yet someone had to face the truth.

Immediately, he took up the short sword and turned to find the woman along with her two children.

"Madame, your husband was a hero."

With those words, the woman seemed to understand, subconsciously covering her mouth, her body trembling, her eyes welling up with tears.

The military has its own management system; usually, to confirm a death, one must find a body or other evidence, otherwise, it can only be listed as missing.

Due to the chaos of the battlefield and the final surge, many didn't even have complete bodies, and those that did were scattered by the tide, making posthumous identification incredibly difficult, often relying on personal effects.

Notifications were to be sent out in batches, and now it was this family's turn.

They might have thought the husband, father was stationed at the port, but now the news was confirmed, and he was on the sacrifice list.

Lance originally believed he could remain calm because he controlled the situation, having even defeated the Church's legendary monk.

But…this was an unforeseen circumstance for Lance, his oversight allowed a mob to set fire to a martyr's family home, nearly killing them.

"He stood in the way of the monsters with his own body, but unfortunately perished on the battlefield," Lance said, handing the short sword to the boy, "This is the reward for your father's valor; with this short sword, he slew many powerful foes. Now, it is yours. May you inherit his courage and protect your mother and brother well."

The boy accepted the short sword, staring at the long-dried blood stains, completely stunned.

"Please, accept my condolences. He sacrificed himself to protect Hamlet, and we will never forget you. The pension will be delivered monthly, and the two children will be sent to school, all expenses covered by me until they reach adulthood."

Lance comforted the grief-stricken mother, publicly reaffirming the military's promise before everyone present.

Instead of plunging the scene into despair, this news reignited it.

Men need not worry that their deaths in battle would doom their families to hardship, for the Lord stood behind them, and Hamlet was their home.

But some weren't so lucky.

Lance no longer had the patience to judge these people one by one; he had too many matters to handle.

"Strip them of all rights, send them all to labor camps; if they have family holding government posts, resign them, if they have children in school, expel them."

Lance paused for a moment, scanning the crowd, emphasizing, "Remember! This is not my choice, but yours. You live because enough blood has been shed in Hamlet; I do not wish for humanity to continue this cycle of mutual slaughter."