Thomas

Behind the Valpar checkpoint, inside the Guard waiting room.

No one opened their mouth.

Thomas sat quietly on a chair. Surrounding him were four guards, including Gunnar.

The sentries guarding the checkpoint only whispered among themselves outside, wondering what was happening.

Thomas’s belongings were laid out in full on the table. Two scrolls sealed with wax rested there.

In the end, the one who could not endure the heavy silence was the one anxious and cornered—Thomas.

“What on earth is going on? Won’t you at least tell me first?”

Gunnar grinned slyly.

In such a situation, speaking first was practically a confession that one had something to hide. And the fact that his first words were a plea meant the hilt of the blade had fully shifted into Gunnar’s hands.

“It is only for the safety of the Duchy. I know no more than that. I simply follow orders.”

That was half true, half false.

The orders given by Morten and Fynel to their respective commanders were twofold: “For the safety of the Duchy, report immediately any priest carrying documents across the border suspected of being a seditious collaborator within the cathedral,” and “Do not speak of knightly orders, guard councils, or any internal information, not even to family.”

Even more thorough was the fact that the secret—the target was not Grandelvald Duchy, but Fjorland Duchy—was shared strictly with only four people: the Duchess, Christoph, Morten, and Fynel.

Thus, from Fynel’s words about “the fate of the Duchy,” Gunnar was certain Thomas was a “seditious collaborator,” though he did not know what exactly was in the scrolls, nor beyond them.

Still, for a gatekeeper, “a collaborator who could alter the fate of the Duchy” was an unforgivable crime, priest or not. And Gunnar was the one who had confirmed, reported, and detained him for Fynel. No wonder his body swelled with pride.

He puffed himself up and said:

“If you truly are innocent, will not Sir Morten and Sir Fynel release you at once? So please, remain calm. They shall arrive shortly.”

As expected, through the waiting room’s window, dust rose in the distance. Several horses were approaching the checkpoint.

The sentries outside watched the riders draw near, then, upon recognizing those astride, immediately snapped to attention.

“Oh! They’ve arrived. Look there—ah!!!! The Young Lord as well!”

Gunnar and the guards straightened their attire in shock and stood stiffly at attention.

Christoph, dressed lightly, along with Morten, Fynel, and a young knight, dismounted their horses, received the guards’ salute, and walked toward the waiting room. Gunnar swung the door open and bowed his head.

“Mm, you have done well.”

Acknowledging their salute, Christoph’s party entered. Morten patted Gunnar and the guards’ shoulders lightly, as if to commend their work.

“You’ve done well. A reward is due. Now, step outside and await further orders.”

Grinning broadly, they left. Silence filled the room once more.

Christoph glared at Thomas.

This was not the Christoph Thomas had seen only recently at the New Year’s greetings and the return delegation—youthful, composed, smiling.

Christoph’s lips curled with cold scorn, and the icy light in his eyes was such that even a veteran like Thomas dared not meet them.

“What do these documents contain?”

Christoph’s eyes flicked to the scrolls.

Thomas mustered all his strength and shouted:

“I am a priest executing the official duties of the Nastrand Grand Cathedral! The Church’s work is for the Lord, and it is the sacred duty of His servants! No one may open documents issued by the Cathedral! How dare a mere duchy meddle in the Lord’s affairs!”

“A mere duchy, you say…”

Everyone’s expression froze—except Thomas.

A sensible person would have realized they had just made a grave blunder and shut their mouth, or tried to patch things up somehow.

But extreme fear and anxiety had given this priest an unfortunate false courage.

Thinking he had struck a nerve and silenced them, Thomas leaned even harder on the authority of the Lord and the Cathedral to shield himself.

“For fifty years the Cathedral has prayed and devoted itself to the Duchy of Nastrand, beseeching the Lord for its prosperity and peace. Since the days of Duke Yodel and his forebears, how much have we prayed and aided this land so that one day it may become the Lord’s kingdom and the Holy Land of Nordenheim under His rule?”

“Ahh, is that so?”

Christoph murmured.

Mistaking this for fear, Thomas grew more excited.

“I will return at once and report today’s events to High Priest Kraf. For daring to obstruct the communion between Cathedrals and the fellowship of believers, this duchy will surely be held accountable!”

Fynel was about to growl something, but Morten stretched his hand out to stop him.

Christoph’s shoulders were trembling.

Thomas, savoring his victory, delivered his final line:

“So all of you, repent and beg forgiveness from me, the Lord’s priest and entrusted agent of the Cathedral’s duties. This place may not be a cathedral, but I will treat it as His dwelling and hear your confessions—”

SLAP!!!

Thomas’s face snapped to one side.

“Huh?”

For a moment Thomas, wide-eyed, didn’t realize what had just happened.

As he reached up to touch his cheek, suddenly burning with pain—

—SLAP!!!

His other cheek snapped to the side.

Fynel hurriedly shut the window and drew the curtains. The young knight locked the door from the inside.

THUD!!!

Christoph seized Thomas’s head and slammed it down on the table. His forehead swelled instantly from the blow against the thick, rough wood.

“Aaaargh!”

Grabbing the screaming priest by the collar,

WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM!

Christoph drove his fists into Thomas’s face again and again with all his strength.

“My Lord, stop!”

“Please, that’s enough!”

Fynel and the young knight grabbed Christoph from behind and yanked him back.

“Ghhh…”

“Haaah… haaah… haaah…”

Christoph steadied his breathing.

‘This is bad…’

‘Well, in his place, I might have done the same.’

Morten and Fynel exchanged wry looks.

Christoph burst out, each word edged with hatred and mockery.

“So then—where has all the cathedral’s food and drink come from these fifty years? Who donated the buildings of the cathedral and the convent? Who are the people who give the offerings and tithes at every weekly mass, every prayer gathering, every confession? From which duchy do they come?”

Blood covering his face, Thomas stared at Christoph in stupefied disbelief.

What was happening to him was utterly intolerable. Not only had they detained a priest, now they had beaten him.

And such blasphemous words—could this truly be happening under the very heavens where the Lord reigned?

“Young Lord, are you mad?”

“What? Mad?”

Christoph’s rage flared at the words and he moved to seize Thomas again—

—CRACK!!!

Fynel’s iron fist smashed into Thomas’s jaw.

Thomas spun once and collapsed unconscious.

“Tsk, tsk… Lord Fynel, now how can we interrogate him like this?”

Morten, out of courtesy to Christoph, chided Fynel lightly for his rashness.

“My apologies. As Captain of the Guard, I could not stand by while such insolence was spoken before the one I protect.”

Morten smiled faintly at the bowed Fynel.

In truth, the timing had worked out well. Christoph had calmed a little, and before the sprawled Thomas awoke, they could examine the documents.

“Münhart, hand me your dagger.”

Morten took the dagger from the young knight and picked up one of the scrolls. Before breaking the seal, he glanced at Christoph for confirmation.

Christoph nodded.

The sharp blade slit the wax seal. Morten carefully unrolled the scroll.

The first was a letter of thanks for New Year’s greetings—nothing unusual, full of ceremonial pleasantries.

“Then it must be the other. Münhart, turn away for now—not because I distrust you, but for the sake of absolute discretion.”

Morten broke the second seal and unrolled it before Christoph and Fynel.

Sure enough, the second contained a full account of the Duchy of Nastrand’s New Year’s ceremony.

It was written that Christoph was swiftly trying to seize control of the duchy and had decided on an invasion of the Grandelvald Duchy after this spring’s coronation, that the Nastrand Grand Cathedral would do its utmost to prevent it, and that this information had already been sent to the cathedrals of Bjoern and Fjorland.

It also included that all future information on this matter would be transmitted swiftly to the Grandelvald Duchy, and that effective counter-strategies should be devised in response.

Up to this point, Christoph, Morten, and Fynel had already anticipated it. Even this alone, if it had come from anyone other than the cathedral, would have earned them the punishment of being staked outside the walls, gutted alive, and left for the vultures.

“Remarkable. Truly remarkable.”

Christoph nodded. Then he pointed to the final paragraph—Kraf’s assessment of the “next lord.”

[His appearance is handsome enough, but he seems strongly greedy and obsessive about power. He appears impulsive in decision-making; while he has basic faith, there are doubts about his understanding of and obedience to Cathedral and divine affairs. Should the upcoming war against the Grandelvald Duchy end in failure, public sentiment could sour and his support base greatly weaken. Thus, careful thought will be given to what alternatives should be devised to properly establish the Duchy of Nastrand as the Lord’s domain.]

[Though still only a child, he has the Commander of the Knights and the Captain of the Guard beside him. Yet even these ties may be severely strained depending on the war’s outcome with the Grandelvald Duchy.]

[Therefore, the Grandelvald Duchy must greatly fortify its borders, conscript troops in advance, and train them thoroughly to respond.]

[Furthermore, depending on victory or defeat, lasting peace and prosperity may instead be sought by occupying and pressuring the Duchy of Nastrand itself. Therefore, please discreetly inform Duke Bedgrid, ruler of the Grandelvald Duchy, of this matter.]

[Since this could even lead to a secret pact among the three duchies of Nordenheim—Grandelvald, Fjorland, and Bjoern—through consultation, I will later convey further thoughts on the matter.]

[May the Lord’s peace be with you always. – The Lord’s servant, Kraf.]

Morten let out a sigh. Fynel, too, was at a loss for words.

Christoph spoke, trembling with fury.

“This is what passes for exchange between the cathedrals of each duchy? Is it not that all duchies are dancing in the palm of their hand?”

Morten nodded.

“I too had some idea of this even before this incident. But never did I imagine it ran this deep…”

Now, it was time to put into motion the counter-measures the four of them—including the Duchess—had devised.

Fynel cautioned the others.

“If we truly go through with this, then we will cross a bridge from which there is no return.”

Christoph gave a short, cold laugh.

“That was decided the moment I struck that wretch.”

Morten picked up the thought.

“And when you floored him with that single blow, it only made it all the more certain, Lord Fynel.”

Leaving Fynel smiling awkwardly, Morten turned to the young knight standing behind them and gave the order.

“Münhart, strip that treasonous wretch of his priest’s robes at once.”