Louis had not returned to the village for days. His steps had led him to the neighboring town, where Étienne, his cousin, lived. Étienne, one year older, had always been a free spirit — a man who refused to bow before injustice.
When Louis told him what had happened — the capture of the villagers, Mylova's death... — Étienne remained silent for a few moments. Then, he placed a firm hand on his cousin's shoulder.
— If we strike, we strike together. There's no way you carry this alone.
They spent the night drafting a precise plan. Louis would take care of distracting the main abbot, the one guarding the entrance. Meanwhile, Étienne would slip inside, retrieve the keys, and free the prisoners.
The next day, Louis, dressed in a faded old shirt and a worn-out coat, walked into the abbey. He moved slowly, shoulders hunched, like a man weighed down by his sins.
— Father... I wish to confess.
The grand abbot, intrigued, invited him to sit in the confessional. The grille separated their faces, but their voices could cross in the silence.
Louis began calmly, his voice almost hesitant:
— I have... at times, stolen an apple from the market. I have had bad thoughts against my neighbors. I have disrespected my parents, and...
He listed a series of small sins, trivial, almost ridiculous. The abbot, slightly irritated by the lightness of the confessions, sighed.
Then Louis paused, and his voice grew darker.
— But forgive me, Father... for the greatest sin, I have just committed a moment ago. All my life, I have lied... and that is exactly what I have just done with you.
The abbot frowned.
— What do you mean?
Louis leaned slightly forward.
He stared at the abbot through the grille of the confessional.
— While we speak, a man is walking through your halls... unlocking each door you thought was secured. And... just a few minutes ago, I deliberately poured gasoline at your feet, to send you back where you came from... Hell.
A heavy silence fell. The abbot recoiled, horrified. But before he could react, Louis calmly stepped out of the confessional, pulled a match from his pocket, and struck it with precision.
At that very moment, in the corridors, Étienne moved like a shadow. The keys stolen from a distracted guard jingled softly in his palm. One by one, the locks gave way. The villagers, surprised and wary, stepped out in silence.
Mr. Dumas grabbed Étienne's arm.
— What is happening? Where is Louis?
— He's giving you a gift, Étienne replied. Your freedom. But we must hurry.
They also freed the children, who ran to the adults, eyes wide but full of hope.
The first flames licked the dry wooden beams. The abbot shouted for an alarm, and the clergy rushed to save what they could. But it was already too late. Étienne had led the prisoners outside, far from the blaze.
Louis, his eyes fixed on the flames, saw nothing else. Everything was red. Red like the mark on Mylova's shoulder. Red like the rage in his heart. Red like the vengeance he was finally fulfilling.
The abbey burned all night. And not a single abbot emerged alive from the ashes.