Spreading (2)

“AAAAAAHHHH!!!”

“…!!!”

Roze flinched and recoiled backward.

For the Prioress had burst through the office door, and before it even closed she had seized a candlestick from the table, hurled it at the wall, and let out a shriek.

Not only that—bundles of documents from her desk, even the Scriptures themselves, flew from her hands against the wall. A small statue of the Holy Mother shattered, scattering white fragments across the floor.

Like one possessed by a demon, the Prioress, consumed with overwhelming fury, hurled everything she could grasp and screamed unintelligible words to the heavens.

‘What on earth happened in the High Priest’s office…?’

Panting heavily, glaring with hatred at the statues of the Holy Mother and the cross, she turned and fixed her eyes on Roze.

That burning gaze made Roze flinch.

“Why are you looking at me like that, Sister Roze?”

“I—I wasn’t looking…”

“You also think my position and my authority are a joke, don’t you?”

“No, never! I would never dare think such a thing—”

“Come to think of it, that Lyset who caused all this humiliation—yesterday, weren’t you the one who stepped forward to defend her?”

“M-Mother Superior!”

The Prioress’s eyes rolled wildly as she strode forward. Retreating, Roze’s back hit the wall; she realized there was nowhere left to run, trembling like a leaf.

“I’ll repay every ounce of humiliation to those who mocked and scorned me. Do you hear? I’ll make you never forget! I’ll shatter you into pieces! And first—you! You!”

“M-me? What did I—!!!”

“On your knees!”

“What?”

Smack!!!

The Prioress’s palm struck Roze across the cheek.

“Ahhh!!!”

“I said on your knees! How dare you make me repeat myself!”

Clutching her stinging cheek, Roze quickly dropped to her knees. From yesterday to now, nothing she experienced seemed real.

In a single day, Roze’s holy world had collapsed. And now, with these unspeakably disgraceful actions beginning, her entire body froze.

The Prioress ripped off her garments and stood before Roze.

“Raise your face, you insolent wretch.”

“A-ahhh, Mother Superior! Please, what is this, what’s happening—!”

“Do you want to be struck again?”

Startled, Roze lifted her head in fear. Her eyes brimmed with tears of terror and humiliation.

Clench!

Grabbing Roze’s head, the Prioress glared into her face and snarled.

“Feel it! Feel it! This shame! This humiliation!”

There was no mercy. Roze’s cheeks, nose, mouth, and jaw were crushed under the Prioress’s relentless violence.

After a long time…

Enduring the Prioress’s merciless abuse and cruel acts meant to vent her rage, Roze finally collapsed to the floor, nearly unconscious. The Prioress mounted her broken body, shrieking with laughter.

This humiliation—the complete destruction of her dignity.

Trembling on the floor, weeping, Roze suddenly thought of home.

‘Ahhh, how can this be! Please, please let me escape this place. Please, Father, save me!’

In a single day, twelve years of her life of faith had crumbled into doubt and despair. Yet, tragically, no light of salvation appeared to rescue her.

Two days later, the tributes listed in the official document arrived at the cathedral from Nastrand Castle.

Christoph, ever meticulous, sent a letter through the courier of the tributes stating that the offerings intended for High Priest Kraf would be delivered separately, late that night, through the back gate.

‘Well now…’

Watching the goods pile up neatly in the cathedral storeroom, Kraf fiddled with the large cross at his neck, his expression a mix of joy and worry. Whatever was sent had to be accepted—once received, it could not be returned.

Beside him, the envoy from the castle overseeing the workers quietly approached Kraf.

“Your Eminence?”

“Oh, you’ve worked hard.”

“My apologies—I was so focused on the transport of goods that I neglected to mention: there is a message from Lord Christoph.”

“Oh, from the Young Lord? Yes, what is it?”

Kraf tensed. Given everything that had happened, he could not help but worry about Christoph’s words.

“Nothing much. He only asked that, at the upcoming New Year’s Eve Grand Mass, we might receive blessings as great as those of the recent Christmas celebration—that is what he wished me to tell you.”

‘What? So that’s how it is?’

Kraf gave a wry smile.

Clearly, it was a veiled demand. The meaning behind his words was plain as day.

Of course, Kraf had already prepared his countermeasure in his office that day.

“If you would, please convey these words to the Regent?”

“What words, exactly?”

“Tell him: when the New Year dawns, a delegation of thanks from the Cathedral will arrive to honor these tributes. We hope the Regent will personally receive them with joy.”

“Of course. Without question—I will deliver it immediately upon my return.”

“Do not forget to say: we request the Regent himself receive us personally—with utmost courtesy.”

“Understood.”

That would suffice. Though young, the Regent did not seem foolish—he would grasp Kraf’s meaning.

He would place Lyset as the convent’s representative in the delegation. That much would restore his dignity before Christoph, and patch the small crack between the Castle and the Cathedral.

But Kraf did not understand the meaning of that gaze between Lyset and Christoph—or the depth of the yearning they held for each other.

He misjudged it as a small incident—a mere mishandling of gratitude toward the nun who had enthralled the crowd with her solo. That misjudgment so easily led him to the idea of including Lyset in the delegation.

Watching the tributes pile up, Kraf nodded repeatedly in satisfaction.

To him, that mountain of goods was nothing less than proof of the Ducal family’s reverence, devotion, and pure submission to the Cathedral.

“Faithful indeed, truly faithful.”

A few days later, the New Year’s Eve Grand Mass was held.

Christoph, dressed even more splendidly than at Christmas, stood on the balcony with Commander Morten, Captain Fynel, and many knights at his side.

He scanned the soloists and choir, but Lyset was nowhere to be seen. Christoph smiled wryly.

‘So, as expected—singing a solo is still too much for her.’

Of course, judging from her condition then, this was to be expected.

But Kraf’s reply had confirmed Lyset would be part of the delegation tomorrow. Today he only needed to confirm her well-being.

And there was one great achievement he could not overlook.

Namely, that Kraf had begun to respond directly to his words and actions.

Though only a young regent, he now confronted Kraf with the weight of a duke. And Kraf—though neither he nor Christoph knew of Lyset’s injuries—had sensed Christoph’s anger and adjusted his manner accordingly. That was a great achievement.

Christoph turned and looked at the Duchess, conversing with another noblewoman. Admiration shone in his eyes.

—The weight of ‘heir to the duchy’ and that of a ‘regent’ are unexpectedly different. They will accept you as regent, ensuring their influence continues after the current duke, and treat you with considerable favor.

These were the Duchess’s words, spoken with a smile upon hearing Kraf’s reply. Of course, within them lay the next plan.

—To accept goodwill as it is makes one ordinary. A brilliant man will make even a friendly party falter, pushing them beyond goodwill into deference. That is best done with overwhelming strength at an unexpected moment. I have an idea.

Recalling the Duchess’s words, Christoph smiled triumphantly. That was why he stood here, splendidly dressed, flanked by the Commander, the Captain, and knights, radiating the dignity of a regent.

Father Thomas, presiding over the mass, introduced the honored guests in attendance.

Priests and nuns from cathedrals of many nations were introduced, as were nobles, and as always, Christoph and the Duchess were named last.

“Oooohhh!”

All the nobles, merchants, and visitors from other duchies—everyone except the clergy—let out exclamations at the sight of Christoph.

His squared shoulders, brimming confidence, and commanding presence drew admiration from all.

After the introductions, the Mass began with the confession of faith.

Naturally, Lyset was not seated with the choir at the back.

As Christoph scanned row after row of seated nuns searching for her, one in the middle turned her head slightly toward the second-floor balcony.

“Ah!”

Christoph let out a sound before he knew it.

It was unmistakably Lyset. She was looking at him.

When their eyes met, Lyset gave a small bow of gratitude and quickly turned forward again.

For Christoph, that was enough.

At the very least, the fact that she could sit and attend the Mass with dignity meant her body had recovered enough—and that the punishment placed upon her by the convent had been nullified by Kraf’s authority.

‘The tributes were worth every coin.’

Christoph smiled faintly.

But another problem was brewing—one that would become another fuse to split the Duchy and the Cathedral apart.