Christoph’s Ascent

The Grand Mass of this year’s Feast of Nativity approached.

This year’s Feast was different from usual.

The Duke, Yodel, would not attend. It was already an open secret in the castle that he often lay bedridden, unable to rise.

But in Nordenheim, where many duchies bordered one another, the health of a ruler directly affected the duchy’s power. Such uncertainty influenced not only rival states, but also factions within Nastrand and the common folk under its rule.

Even if the Duke’s absence for health reasons became known, they had to show that Nastrand’s authority and the Ducal family’s power remained unshaken.

The Duchess and Christoph decided to confront this directly.

The best way was to display Christoph’s dignity as the “official heir.”

Fortunately, Christoph’s steady visits to soup kitchens, infirmaries, and the library had earned him a good reputation.

All that was needed was a dramatic staging—and here, the Duchess’s plan shone.

At the Mass, Christoph stood tall on the second-floor balcony in resplendent ceremonial garb. At his sides stood Morten, Commander of the Knights, and Fynel, Captain of the Guards, with armored knights arrayed behind them.

Though still a year from his coming-of-age, his imposing bearing and handsome features drew gasps of admiration.

It showed that even should disaster strike, Nastrand would not falter; with its young, vigorous heir, it could move forward with renewed dynamism.

All forgot their worry over the Duke’s health or absence, planting instead a hope for the future Duke.

From a corner of the balcony, the Duchess, adorned in splendor, looked on with satisfaction.

At last, the Mass began.

Lyset, chosen again to lead the special hymn, looked up at Christoph—remembering the proud figure she had seen on the hill two months before.

She tried not to, but the balcony at the center, his presence shining brighter than ever, inevitably drew her eyes.

“Ah…”

Christoph’s near-perfect looks, his dignity and majesty befitting the heir.

Breathless, she realized he was staring only at her from beginning to end—his eyes filled with overwhelming desire.

Caught in that gaze, she nearly missed her cue for the solo.

Beside Christoph, Morten and Fynel glanced at each other in shock—the girl they had once doubted now resembled more and more the priestess who had died back then, even in build.

They dared not speak before Christoph and the other knights, but their eyes said: Unbelievable. Indeed.

Christoph saw that Lyset did not avert her gaze—and that this time, there was a spark of the same desire and thrill he felt.

He remembered her fleeing down the hill, and her answer to his question.

I do not wish to live my whole life as a Holy Sister. Yet sadly, I am one.

‘I will make it so, Lyset. I swear it!’

The hymn ended, the choir sat, yet even in motion Christoph and Lyset’s eyes clashed like sparks.

At last, old Kraf stepped forth in white and gold robes to preach. Christoph’s eyes burned with contempt at him, and at the Prioress seated behind.

To him, they were shackles binding Lyset. He did not move until the sermon’s end, his gaze fixed on those he must destroy.

Morten and Fynel shrugged, baffled by his eerie concentration.

“Lords, follow me.”

As soon as the benediction began, Christoph spoke these words and descended to the first floor.

Morten and Fynel started in shock.

“Did he just call us ‘Lords’…?”

“He did indeed.”

Of course, it was true that they were addressed as Sir Morten and Sir Fynel (the latter in courtesy, since though he was not nobility, his title as Captain of the Guard demanded it).

However, Christoph—who was not yet Duke, nor had he even undergone his coming-of-age ceremony—calling them together as “Lords” in the plural was a grave breach of courtly etiquette.

At the very least, a Young Lord was expected to use proper titles and honorifics, such as “Commander of the Knights,” “Captain of the Guard,” or “Sir Knight,” in keeping with Nordenheim custom.

“Seems he’s already acting as the Duke himself.”

“Well, for today at least, one could call him the Duke’s proxy…”

“True enough. Let’s follow.”

Unable to hide their bewilderment, Morten, Fynel, and the rest of the retinue moved toward the stairway Christoph had descended.

Christoph strode boldly past the very pillar where he once had stood with Hilde, staring from afar at Lyset, and placed himself directly before the door from which the choir of Holy Sisters would emerge.

This time, unlike before when Joachim oversaw it, another priest and sister were guarding the doorway.

The priest and sister were unsettled by Christoph’s imposing approach, yet they were still bound to perform their duty.

“Peace be upon you in the Lord. Young Lord, what brings you here…”

“Am I not permitted to be here?”

The majestic vestments, the straightened posture, the broad shoulders, and the flowing mantle—all of this intimidated the priest, who appeared nearly ten years Christoph’s senior, into stammering.

“N-no, not that, but this is the Holy Sisters’ passage, and unauthorized entry here is strictly forbidden…”

“Who said I would enter? I will simply stand outside this door. Must I seek permission even for that?”

When Christoph asked coldly, the priest faltered, muttering in confusion, “N-no, not at all…”

Morten, Fynel, and the knights soon arrived, assembling behind Christoph.

“What business brings you here so suddenly?”

To Morten’s question, Christoph replied with a cold smile.

“I am merely inspecting the corners of the lands I shall inherit and rule. Today, here and now, I ask you to treat me as the ruler of Nastrand, as the proxy of my father, Duke Yodel, and as his rightful heir—Sir Morten, Sir Fynel, and Knights.”

“…!!!”

Morten and all the others were struck dumb with astonishment.

Christoph, without waiting for a reply, simply stood in silence, waiting for the door to open.

At last, the door opened, and the choir members of the special hymn procession began to file out.

When Lyset appeared, Christoph called her name in a commanding voice.

“Sister Lyset!”

Startled, Lyset and the other hymn sisters halted in their tracks.

“I would have Sister Lyset step forward to me for a moment.”

At Christoph’s request, Lyset hesitated but began to step forward.

Just then, the sister stationed at the doorway with the priest hastily blocked Lyset’s path.

“My Lord, save for special duties, no one may address a Holy Sister at will.”

“At will? Did you just say ‘at will’—to me?”

Christoph’s voice turned icy. His ornate vestments and cloak billowed as he advanced upon the sister.

“I came here as the Duke’s proxy to extend thanks to Sister Lyset, who moved so many today with her beautiful hymn. This is not only within a Duke’s prerogative but also an act of courtesy to strengthen harmony and trust between state and church—yet you dared say ‘at will’ to the Duke’s proxy?”

It was flawless logic.

The sister, stunned by the unexpected retort, blanched and stumbled backward.

With the front row frozen, the many sisters behind them could not exit and stood stranded in the sanctuary. Parting their ranks with confusion written across their faces, the elderly Matron Sister appeared.

“Why are you all standing here instead of leaving?”

Her eyes fell on Christoph and the knights assembled behind him.

“Peace be upon you in the Lord. Young Lord Christoph, what is the meaning of this?”

With a look of incredulity, Christoph turned to the sister he had confronted earlier.

“You heard it—explain to her directly why I am here.”

Terrified, the sister repeated Christoph’s words verbatim to the Matron.

“Th-that’s…”

“Was anything I said mistaken?”

At Christoph’s icy tone, the Matron’s brows arched high. After all, while they dwelled in the Duchy of Nastrand, they were technically under the Archdiocese, beyond direct ducal control. And it was axiomatic that divine power and Word stood above worldly authority.

The many sisters behind her lent strength with their watchful eyes.

The Matron resolved not to yield to temporal authority before her.

“What you said is correct, Young Lord Christoph. But to come all this way and single out one person for praise before so many could, perhaps, invite misunderstanding. I ask your gracious understanding.”

At her seasoned words, the sisters behind her nodded in agreement.

It was Lyset who found herself most troubled. Her face flushed red, and she tried to shrink back—

“I shall heed those words.”

Christoph spoke with disarming softness, as though yielding to the Matron’s request.

“What you just said is true. To come here and single out one before so many could indeed cause misunderstanding… certainly so.”

“Thank you for your understanding.”

But what followed froze everyone in place.

“Then, heeding your words, I shall as Duke’s proxy formally summon Sister Lyset tomorrow evening to the manor’s office, where I will extend my thanks properly. An official writ will be sent. That will be all.”

Finishing his declaration, Christoph turned and strode down the corridor. Morten, Fynel, and the knights followed in orderly formation, admiration on their faces.

The Matron stood in a daze.

Christoph’s words had completely scrambled her mind. With no space for rebuttal, she could only watch his retreating figure, reeling.

It felt as though the delicate balance she had long believed in between Church and state was fracturing.

And that cold, merciless voice and gaze—those were not things to overlook.

“I—I must report this. At once…”

Muttering in alarm, the Matron bustled away, while Lyset and the other special choir sisters lingered uneasily before finally heading back toward the convent.