Submission

“Uh, ugh…”

Thomas groaned and barely opened his eyes.

It had already been five days, tied to a chair in this dark interrogation room, unable to sleep or eat properly.

At most once a day, he was spoon-fed a few mouthfuls of oat porridge—that was the entirety of his meals. Other than that, he barely managed to suck water from a damp cloth; his body was on the verge of collapse.

Just now, his eyes had shut again, but the guard watching him jabbed his side with the tip of a spear, forcing him to open them.

The pain was sharp, but he lacked the strength to even scream.

‘If only they would at least spare me the smell.’

Thomas stared blankly at the food set before him.

Across from him, Fynel feasted on roasted lamb and honey mead. Cheese made from goat’s milk, paired with berry jam, topped the thick meat. The blood and grease dripping down disappeared into Fynel’s mouth.

As soon as the plate was emptied, roasted salmon and trout were placed before him. Large fillets with perfectly crisp skin. Fynel smacked his lips and spread cheese and yew-berry honey over them.

Fynel glanced at him sideways and spoke.

“I do not torture or torment people cruelly. The Cathedral already excels at that better than we ever could. Rather, to learn something, I prefer to give a man what he desperately desires. Isn’t that kind?”

“……”

“That is why I am showing you this—delicious food and a fine place to rest. Hardly extravagant, is it? Things you could always have enjoyed.”

“…What do you want?”

“That will come later. But your voice is hoarse. Hey! Give this steadfast priest some water.”

Thomas stared blankly at the food set before him.

Across from him, Fynel feasted on roasted lamb and honey mead. Cheese made from goat’s milk, paired with berry jam, was spread over the thick meat. Blood and grease dripping from it vanished into Fynel’s mouth.

As soon as the dish was emptied, roasted salmon and trout were set on the plate. Large fillets with perfectly crisp skin. Fynel smacked his lips and spread cheese and yew-berry honey across them.

Fynel glanced at him and spoke.

“I do not torture or torment men cruelly. The cathedral already does that far better than we ever could. Rather, to learn something, I give a man what he most desperately desires. Isn’t that kind?”

“……”

“That is why I am showing you this. Fine food and a warm bed. Nothing extraordinary, is it? These are things you could always have had.”

“…What do you want?”

“That comes later. But your voice is ragged. Hey! Give this steadfast priest some water.”

At Fynel’s order, a guard soaked a cloth and dangled it over Thomas’s lips. Thomas craned his neck and sucked at it like a dog.

“Tsk, tsk… The ceremonial priest of Nastrand Cathedral lifting his proud head like a dog for drops at the end of a rag.”

“……”

He lacked even the courage to get angry or release the rag.

As Thomas continued to suck at the rag’s tip, Fynel rose, strode over, snatched it away, and flung it aside.

“Your throat is wet enough now.”

“You insolent… damnable wretches bound for hell!”

Yet having drunk, some strength returned, and Thomas rasped out a weak cry.

“Hell? What sin earns that? Starving a priest? Striking one? Answer me this: when one schemes and conspires to sell out his country, where does he go?”

“And who conspires to sell the country?”

Fynel unfolded the second document Kraf had given Thomas and held it before him.

“Read it with your own eyes.”

Thomas had only heard the gist from Kraf and never saw the sealed details. His weary eyes scanned the document.

By the final paragraph, Thomas could no longer lift his head.

“If you think this is not treason, I could still explain it with all my strength.”

Fynel tapped the sword at his waist.

“Of course, I also intend to give you the chance to be patriotic.”

Murmuring strangely, “Since it is Lord Christoph’s command…” Fynel turned back to his trout.

Thomas reacted to the words deliberately dropped.

“Wh-what command has the Young Lord given?”

‘Hooked again, foolishly innocent priest.’

Fynel stifled laughter for a long while, then calmed himself enough to speak.

“That if there is a single priest willing to dedicate himself to the Duchy of Nastrand, he will be made the new High Priest of Nastrand Grand Cathedral.”

With that, Fynel went back to eating with relish.

While Fynel slowly ate, Thomas endlessly weighed his situation against the words just dropped.

Knock, knock!

“Come in.”

At Fynel’s permission, the interrogation room door opened, and a guard approached, whispering something in his ear.

“Did you bring the transcript?”

“Here it is.”

“Good. Leave us.”

Taking the document the guard handed him, Fynel stood.

“Do you know what this is?”

Thomas’s eyes fell on it. It was the forged document prepared by the Duchess and Christoph, delivered through Münhart.

“Read it.”

Fynel spread it before Thomas, just as before.

As Thomas read, his eyes quivered with terror. Even the signature below had been flawlessly forged to appear as Kraf’s.

“We delivered this ourselves. Most likely, Grandelvald Cathedral has already passed it to their duchy — and to the others as well.”

“W-what are you saying?!”

“Outwardly, Nastrand Cathedral has become the symbol of hypocrisy — secretly supporting war while pretending otherwise. And so now, each duchy doubts its own cathedral, and the cathedrals doubt their duchies. What is truth, and what is lies…?”

Joachim flashed in Thomas’s mind. He must have carried similar papers to the Cathedrals of Bjoern and Fjorland. There, they would have read that Nastrand Cathedral opposed the war, prayed for Christoph’s defeat, and hinted at possible alliances between duchies.

But what if another document then arrived from Grandelvald Cathedral?

Anyone would think that the Nastrand Cathedral was plotting with the Duchy itself — weaving a grand scheme through war.

“Why… why are you doing this?”

“To return everything to its rightful order.”

“To its rightful order?”

“You will see in time. Even I do not know precisely what the Young Lord envisions. But if a ruler dreams of the duchy’s prosperity and ascent, then for a soldier, aiding that dream is the highest honor.”

“Such…”

“Consider the favors, care, and love the Duchy has granted the Cathedral. Is it not only natural to support the duchy — rather than consorting filthily with other cathedrals?”

“The Lord’s kingdom is far greater than a small world like any duchy!”

“Then shall I send you on to that kingdom?”

Fynel drew his sword.

“…!!!”

“Balance is important. One might say the duchy breaks that balance through war. No. It is to make a new balance. And to create it, the Duchy’s internal imbalance of power must first be set right.”

“An imbalance of power?”

“The Cathedral should quietly hold Mass. Later, take what scraps fall from the table.”

“Such vile words!”

“I only mean: remain true to your station. A lord his, a warrior his, a priest his. We seek priests who will honor their role.”

“……”

“Oh, and don’t forget — the four duchies of Nordenheim are already in turmoil. Even Münhart has returned safely from Grandelvald. Do you know what that means? That if we kill you and bury you here, nothing will come of it.”

“P-please, calm yourself!”

“Bandits on the road, perhaps. Or a bear. Or wolves. However it’s told, your disappearance would make sense. Wouldn’t it? And since I have spoken so freely, I too must clean up the mistake my loose tongue has made.”

“Please! I beg you!”

“Since it’s your last, I’ll grant you a meal. May you live happily in the Lord’s kingdom. Bring this priest the same dishes I ate just now. And report back to me when he finishes.”

A guard left to fetch the meal. Thomas’s eyes, frantic with fear, followed him.

Fynel folded the papers and rose.

“Then let us share bright smiles at our final farewell.”

He tapped his sword once more and turned his back, walking out.

And as his hand closed on the doorknob,

“Sir—Sir Fynel!!!”

Thomas shouted.

Fynel smirked, but kept his face hidden, gripping the knob in silence.

That silence tortured Thomas all the more.

“My duty as priest! It is I who shall embody it! The Young Lord! The future duke seeks the one priest to devote himself to Nastrand — and that man is me!”

Fynel slowly turned and approached.

He dragged a chair over and sat before Thomas.

“You have chosen well, Thomas — the next High Priest of Nastrand Grand Cathedral.”

“W-what must I do?”

“First, eat slowly. What’s the rush? Nothing that follows will be so hard.”

“Uhhk, uhhuhhk!”

Bitter tears poured from Thomas’s eyes.

“My, my… untie him. And bring thick clothes and warm honey mead at once.”

Calling to the guards, Fynel drew his sword impatiently and slashed the ropes himself. Then he removed his own cloak, marked with the Captain of the Guard’s insignia, and wrapped it around Thomas’s shivering, weeping body.

“Do not weep, Father Thomas. No — High Priest to-be of Nastrand Cathedral. You have chosen wisely. May I tell the Lord and Sir Morten, Knight Commander, of your resolve? At this joyous news, they will surely rush here to see you.”

Thomas nodded faintly. Fynel stroked his tear- and snot-streaked face, gazing warmly upon him.

“The Duchy will stand behind you, and you behind the Duchy. Now, enjoy your meal slowly.”

Fynel patted his shoulder once more, then stepped out. He scribbled something on paper, signed it, and summoned two guards with orders.

The guards sped off with the letter toward the dueling ground where Christoph and the Knight Commander were.

Much later.

After enjoying his first full meal in days, Thomas sat blankly in his chair.

A guard had just brought him back his priest’s robe. Since Munhart had already worn it to Grandelvald Duchy, it had been thoroughly laundered.

Clothed in fresh undergarments and the robe, Thomas looked little changed, save for his gaunt face.

‘So that is why they never beat my flesh.’

Clunk.

The door opened. Two guards entered first, standing stiff at either side. Behind them came Christoph, Morten, and Fynel in order.

“Ah!”

Thomas rose instinctively from his chair, then faltered.

A priest — especially one as high-ranking as Thomas — did not kneel first in such close quarters, even to a Young Lord or a Duke.

Normally, the other party would kneel first, trace the Sign of the Cross, and recite Scripture to honor the priest, who would then receive it.

Christoph, Morten, and Fynel stood before Thomas.

And they stared silently at him.

Thinking of the space, his position, and what he must do from here, Thomas slowly sank to one knee and made the Sign of the Cross.

“Peace in the Lord be upon you, Lord Christoph, Sir Morten, and Sir Fynel.”

At last, a smile blossomed on Christoph’s face.

“You have suffered much, Father Thomas — soon to be High Priest of the Duchy of Nastrand.”

This moment was the true beginning of the downfall of the Nastrand Grand Cathedral.