Revealed

Four years passed in the blink of an eye.

The word “novice” attached to Sister had disappeared, and Lyset had now become a full-fledged nun.

And this was her first winter as an official Sister.

With the most important event of the year—Holy Nativity—approaching, the Cathedral’s priests and the convent’s nuns were absorbed in preparing ceremonies and celebratory Masses.

Now a confident full nun, Lyset was chosen alongside Roze for the special choir, spending much of her days practicing hymns for the Nativity in the Grand Chapel.

“My little Lord lays His body there~ receiving praise from the countless stars,”

As the harmonies blended, Lyset and three other nuns of her age stepped forward at the first refrain, singing with clear, beautiful voices.

“All creation celebrates His birth~!”

The choir director in front waved his baton gently, a pleased smile on his face.

Day after day passed, and finally, the Nativity arrived.

All the nuns moved into the Grand Chapel of the Nastrand Cathedral.

The New Year’s Eve Mass, the Nativity, the Resurrection of the Holy Spirit, and the Thanksgiving Offering—these four feasts were the only times when all clergy celebrated Mass together in the Grand Chapel.

Naturally, with the entire clergy present, the Grand Chapel was packed to the brim. Only the Lord, Knights, Guards, and notable nobles or wealthy merchants with invitations could attend from the 2nd and 3rd-floor balconies.

Once everyone was seated, priests carrying smoking evergreen branches walked the aisles, purifying the gathered souls.

With prayer, proclamation, and confession of faith, the special hymn began.

When the hymn choir, dressed in sacred splendor, stood upon the tiered altar, gasps of awe rose from the 2nd and 3rd-floor seats.

Composed of the most beautiful and graceful among the nuns, the special choir shone as the centerpiece of the chapel.

As the hymn began and everyone focused on the harmony, Lyset and three others from the front row stepped forward to sing the refrain sweetly.

“Ah!!!”

The one who suddenly cried out on the 2nd-floor balcony, struck by a powerful sensation, was the now gray-haired Knight Commander Morten. Beside him, Guard Captain Fynel tilted his head in puzzlement, while their families were too absorbed in the hymn to notice.

“What is it, Sir Morten?”

“That nun, far left, with black hair… I’ve definitely seen that face before!”

“The far left? Hm… oh!”

“Where… where did I see her? I can’t remember!”

“Ah!!!”

Fynel’s face contorted in horror as if realization struck him. Covering his mouth to stifle a cry, he leaned close to Morten’s ear.

“It must be more than 15 years ago. Do you remember… the last heathen priestess, in the north of Yotun Mountain?”

“…!!!”

Morten’s eyes widened in sudden recognition.

“Yes… that face. Exactly the same. I could never forget that day.”

Back then, he had beheaded the brave warrior who guarded the priestess. In that moment, the scar hidden beneath his hairline seemed to throb.

Morten clutched his head. Looking back and forth between Morten and Lyset, Fynel shook his head.

“But that nun has black hair. Her eyes aren’t red, either. It could just be an uncanny resemblance…”

“True. But how could she look that much alike?”

“The woman who died then had silver hair and eyes burning red. I’ll never forget it—the image was too strong. And I’m certain she died in that house engulfed by flames.”

“Yes, I saw her body limp and lifeless myself. Still… hm…”

Morten swallowed hard and kept silent—he could hardly claim that the nun singing so sweetly gave him “a sense of dread.”

And indeed, the resemblance was frighteningly close.

Yet neither High Priest Kraf, seated behind the grand pulpit, nor Lord Yodel, nodding off with a flushed, drunken face, had seen Lyset’s face from the front.

Had High Priest Kraf seen her again, he surely would have recalled the events of sixteen years ago—but he was muttering over Scripture for the upcoming sermon, too distracted to notice her passing.

“No… this won’t do.”

“What do you mean, Sir Morten?”

“After the Mass, I’ll go down and see for myself.”

“Would you go that far? Even we cannot approach nuns without permission.”

“I have a hunch. I need to see her with my own eyes—she resembles her too much, as you can see.”

“…Hmph. Then I’ll go with you.”

But aside from the two men nodding in agreement, there was yet another pair of eyes fixed on Lyset.

They belonged to the sixteen-year-old heir—the son of Lord Yodel.

He was Lord Christoph, destined to inherit the duchy.

With reddish-gold hair, blue eyes, and chiseled features, the young noble was utterly ensnared—soul and all—by Lyset’s mysterious beauty as she sang.

‘Heavens… that such a beautiful girl exists!’

Lyset’s long black hair flowed naturally, and against her white choir robes it looked even darker, more vivid.

Her blue eyes like winter’s hidden lake, pale skin, red lips, and delicate nose—she resembled, blasphemous as it was to say in the grand chapel, a small goddess statue.

All the beauty Christoph had ever seen could not compare. His gaze clung to Lyset’s face, utterly spellbound.

“She is truly beautiful…”

His unthinking whisper made the Duchess tilt her head.

“Christoph, what are you calling beautiful just now?”

“There… that girl on the far left. Ah! She’s going back to her seat now.”

“Oh my, you’re right, she is remarkably beautiful! But don’t let others hear such words—it sounds base. And don’t you know who they are?”

Christoph’s face fell somber.

“I know… a nun of the Nastrand Cathedral.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

The Duchess glanced at the pulpit where the High Priest and Prioress sat, and gave a derisive chuckle.

As the Duke’s wife, she too was steeped in pride and ambition. The Cathedral and convent, which even she and her husband could not defy, were a constant source of irritation.

The realm’s governance and defense were their responsibility, yet above them loomed the Cathedral, wielding fear of Hell to make all bow. The Duchy’s people trembled more before the Sign of the Cross than the Duke’s command.

Indeed, should the Cathedral deny the Duke’s authority and brand him an apostate, the Papal See could command the neighboring duchies to form a holy coalition army and march on Nastrand.

Thus the Cathedral and its two leaders, though wielding no blades, were objects of perpetual fear.

The Duchess leaned close to Christoph’s ear and whispered playfully.

“If you want to hold that nun in your arms, topple those two first. Hohoho. Do that, and I’ll give my blessing. If you’re a man, show you deserve to be the next Duke.”

After saying so, the Duchess hid her lips behind her fan and chatted idly with another noblewoman.

To the Duchess, it was just a jest born of her distaste for the Cathedral—but Christoph etched his mother’s words deep into his heart.

‘To claim that nun as mine, I must first bring down those two… If I am a man, and the one to inherit the ducal seat…’

After several celebratory performances and events, the sermon came to an end.

While priests and nuns prepared for the Eucharist, the choir—now changed out of their robes—took seats in the very back row among the nuns.

“During the bustle of communion, this is the best chance to get close.”

No sooner had he said this than Morten excused himself from his family and went down the stairs to the first floor. Fynel hurried after him.

Morten and Fynel weren’t the only ones to leave. From the second floor’s central balcony—the ducal family’s private box—Christoph suddenly bolted for the first floor as well.

The Duchess and other relatives turned, startled, wondering what was happening.

“M-My Lord Christoph!”

One of the maids rushed after him.

The door leading to the nuns’ seating on the first floor was closed.

A priest and a nun stood there, checking invitations for the Christmas High Mass and controlling entry.

“Tomorrow before dawn prayers—after the midnight bell, inside the bell tower… how about it?”

“Good… I’ll take the key to the tower and leave it open.”

The two whispering were Joachim and Christine.

With no one around, they exchanged their shameless lovers’ talk.

“I’ve waited so long. Just thinking of you nearly drove me mad, Father Joachim.”

“I’ve felt the same, Sister Christine. I’ve been waiting for the time when it’s just the two of us.”

“Ahh… I keep remembering…”

“I’ll watch your back, Christine—so you watch mine.”

“Yes… good, yes!!!”

At the doorway, after a quick glance around, they clutched each other tightly and began caressing each other’s backs.

An air of secret intimacy settled, far removed from the holy solemnity inside.

Christine nearly moaned aloud as pleasure welled up, her eyes fluttering shut—yet she forced them open, afraid someone might come. But even open, her eyes saw nothing clearly, glazed to the point she wouldn’t have noticed anyone approaching.

It was Joachim who first heard footsteps.

“Someone’s coming!”

Joachim tore himself away in haste, about to step aside, when Christine grabbed his face and kissed him.

The figures who emerged were none other than Morten and Fynel.

That they were the Knight Commander and Captain of the Guard, both invited to the High Mass, was beyond question.

But they had no business being on the first floor—least of all at the entrance to the nuns’ section.

Joachim resolved to fulfill his duty.

“Peace in the Lord, Sir Morten, Sir Fynel. What brings you here?”

“There’s someone inside we need to see.”

“As you know, this is the nuns’ section for the High Mass. No men may enter without sanctioned purpose.”

Feeling Christine’s nervous gaze on his back, Joachim drew strength and spoke firmly.

“……”

Morten loomed, broad and imposing in ceremonial dress, blocking Joachim’s view. His eyes fell on the ceremonial dagger at Morten’s waist.

“Do you know who my daughter is?”

“O-of course. Sister Roze.”

“I’ve come to see her more closely. As her father.”

The weight of those words was already unlatching the door. Seeing Joachim waver, Fynel drove in the wedge.

“You know Sir Morten sent his daughter to the convent ten years ago. And in all that time, he’s only glimpsed her from afar, four times a year at Mass. Will you not grant him a Christmas miracle? Just to see her from behind, then we’ll leave.”

Joachim exhaled a long sigh.

At worst, he would be scolded later, but lightly. And to owe—or be owed—a favor by men as powerful as Morten and Fynel might prove useful.

“If you insist, I’ll confess and repent before God. I’ll gladly accept the punishment in your stead.”

“I’ll remember this.”

Joachim carefully unlatched the door and cracked it open.

Through that narrow gap, Morten and Fynel caught sight of Roze—and beside her, Lyset, seated in the very back row.