Day Of Tribulation (1)

‘Roze, Roze. Your father is coming!”’

Morten and the Knights rode straight from the castle toward the cathedral.

At the cathedral gate, Morten dismounted and tied his horse to a post.

Two guards, grimacing at missing the once-in-a-lifetime coronation to stand watch, stiffened their backs and eyed Morten and the Knights nervously. Why were the Commander and his men here, when they should be at the tiltyard?

“C-Commander Morten, greetings, sir!”

“Greetings are hardly in order. Open the gate at once—and be ready to obey Sir Fynel, who follows behind.”

At his icy expression, the guards dared not ask questions and swung the gates open.

Morten entered, his knights following. To the trembling guards, Münhart gave a sly grin and brief explanation.

“Kraf and Cecilia have been bound for treason. The cathedral and convent are under seizure and search. Now you know.”

As the knights marched in, the few priests left for maintenance crossed themselves, bewildered. Morten ignored them and strode down the hall toward the convent.

“What is this? You cannot simply enter—!”

Shrugging off protests, the knights pushed into the convent courtyard. The Sisters stopped their tasks, startled, and stared.

“Münhart!”

“Yes, Sir Morten!”

“Take three knights, seize the Prioress’s office, and drag out everything inside.”

“Yes, sir!”

“Asklund!”

“At your command, Sir Morten!”

“Gather all remaining Sisters in the garden and explain the situation.”

“Understood!”

“Noterbeitz, Johansen—you come with me to the convent’s hidden place.”

“A… hidden place, sir?”

Ignoring their puzzled looks, Morten strode into the forbidden halls of the convent.

“Kyaaah!!!”

A scream rang through the dim corridor.

Heavily armed knights stormed through without warning, shouting for everyone to assemble in the garden, eyes flashing.

The Sisters, terrified, scattered in confusion.

Then Morten pointed to a young sister.

“You, come here a moment.”

As she approached hesitantly, pale with fear, Morten knelt and made the Sign of the Cross before her.

“Peace of the Lord be with you, sister. I am Morten, Knight-Commander of this duchy.”

“Peace be with you—ah, yes, I know you, Sir Morten.”

“I will be blunt. The prison beneath this convent—where is its entrance?”

“I… I cannot tell you.”

“This place is under knightly control. The High Priest and Prioress are stripped of office. Father Thomas is Acting High Priest. You are no longer bound by their orders or rules.”

“W-what… what are you saying?”

“Sister, I came for my daughter Roze. I ask you one last time—where is the entrance to the cellar?”

Meeting his fierce gaze, the Sister finally nodded and told him to follow.

Morten and two knights followed close behind.

On the left of the great hall was a small locked door.

“H-here it is.”

“Who holds the key?”

“Sister Elena has it, but… she is at the coronation.”

“Understood. Now go to the garden and follow orders. Thank you.”

The Sister fled, terrified. The lock was sturdy, but the hinges could be broken.

At Morten’s nod, the knights began hammering the hinges with their sword hilts.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

Roze slowly opened her eyes.

The fruit and bread Adelin and Iselin had brought yesterday had restored her strength. Knowing her message had been delivered eased her tension, letting her sleep soundly for the first time in ages.

Though always stern and rarely tender with words, she remembered her father’s warm gaze behind it all. She believed his broad chest and strong arms would save her from this place.

That belief now burned stronger than any faith she had held before.

Thud! Thud!

The pounding drew closer. Roze pressed her ear to the door. Other captive Sisters also crept forward, drawn instinctively to the sound.

Crash!

A clatter of breaking wood, faint shouts, screams, footsteps.

Roze’s heart raced. Tears welled in her eyes.

The corridor lit up—someone was entering with torches.

“Open the doors! If they won’t open, break the bars with axes!”

A voice she could never forget.

For nearly ten years they had scarcely spoken—but she knew that voice.

It was her father, Morten.

The knights began smashing the locks one by one.

“Ugh… heavens above!”

The knights groaned at the pitiful state of the prisoners inside.

“Stay sharp! Get them all out!”

Realizing change had come, the Sisters wailed and cried for rescue.

But Roze did not cry out.

The horrors she had endured flooded back. Could she confess to her father the terrible things that had happened here—the convent she had chosen, fought to enter?

Fear overtook her.

“N-no… I can’t face him. I’m not the Roze I was!”

She stumbled back, dazed, as the footsteps reached her door.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

Three blows with the axe tore the lock and bar free.

“Aaaahhh! Aaaaaaahhhhhh!!!”

A tall shadow loomed before the screaming Roze.

“Roze…”

Morten pulled her into his arms as she clutched her head and whispered in her ear.

“Forgive me for coming so late, my daughter. Now, let’s go home.”

Meanwhile, Fynel’s seizure of the cathedral was proceeding without issue.

After rounding up the priests, he searched the High Priest’s office and chambers. He found drafts of letters to Grandelvald, Fjorland, and Bjoern, notes, and even a secret letter to Count Mannheim already signed.

“Look at this as well.”

Gunnar, shaking his head in disbelief, showed Fynel something.

“What is this?”

Fynel saw the grotesque carving—a phallus of wood—beside a vial of unknown substance. The purpose was obvious.

“Unbelievable. Everything the Lord forbids, he indulged in.”

Fynel waved it away in disgust.

“This cannot be! How dare you ransack the High Priest’s office and quarters?!”

Joachim, left to manage duties during the coronation, shoved past guards in alarm.

He had just been with Christine in the supply room in a frenzy of lust, unaware of what was unfolding.

As he held Christine in afterglow, the clamor of shouts and breaking things reached him, forcing him to dress and rush out.

Catching a priest on the run, he heard a rough explanation—and realized something had gone terribly wrong.

“Father—ah! Father Joachim!”

Fynel feigned recognition and crossed himself. Joachim’s face burned with rage.

“What in the Lord’s holy house is this outrage?!”

“The Lord’s holy house, is it? Then you should have done only His work.”

Then Fynel recalled Thomas’s words—Joachim had been to Bjoern and Fjorland cathedrals.

‘This one too is part of the treachery, a man who knew everything!’

Fynel’s rage as Guard-Commander flared.

“Stop at once! Leave this place or—”

Smash!!!

Fynel’s iron fist crashed into Joachim’s face, as it once had into Thomas.

Joachim flailed like a scarecrow and collapsed. His proud nose shattered, blood pouring like a waterfall.

“Waaahhh! Uwaaahhhh!!!”

Fynel clicked his tongue at the pitiful sight of him shrieking, clutching his nose.

As he ordered further searches, his gaze fell on the convent courtyard.

“Ah, Sir Morten…”

Morten appeared, carrying a Sister in his arms. Fynel strode toward him.

“Can you climb up?”

At his gentle words, Roze nodded through tears. Lifting her to the saddle, Morten’s eyes caught her undergarments.

They were quickly hidden beneath her skirt, but the stench and the dark stains—he knew it was blood. He had seen countless wounds in war and training.

Black, dried bloodstains…

Roze too realized her father had seen—and what his silence and sigh meant.

“F-Father…”

As sobs threatened, Morten stroked her back.

“Let’s go home. Rest there, think of nothing. I have much to do today, and tomorrow I’ll be away from the Duchy for some time. But tonight, no matter how late, we will talk long. So rest, eat well, and lie down.”

Then Fynel approached.

“Sir Morten, the search and priestly arrests proceed without issue.”

“Good. Things are nearly finished here as well.”

Fynel’s gaze softened.

“Sister Roze—or rather, just Roze. It’s Uncle Fynel. Been a long time.”

“Uncle… Fynel.”

“Yes. Good to see you like this. Sir Morten, I’ll oversee cathedral and convent. You should take her home for now.”

“Home?”

“Yes. You must return swiftly, it is the busiest day—but take the reins yourself, bring your daughter home. Go as a father.”

“As a father…”

Morten’s eyes fell, reddening, shoulders trembling. Fynel, pretending not to see, proclaimed: “From now, command here passes from Sir Morten to Guard-Commander Fynel!”

Passing knights looked at Morten beside Fynel, then nodded, striking their chests.

“Then hold fast a while. I’ll return shortly.”

Barely forcing the words out…

The stout middle-aged man swallowed his sobs and led his daughter’s horse out of the cathedral.

Her tears dripped onto the horse’s back as it swayed beneath her.