The Grand Gala and the Enigmatic Sister

Social galas served as a fundamental mode of social interaction within high society, with the city’s upper echelons gathering on one or two evenings each month to display their status, thereby acquiring an inexplicable sense of superiority. Rhys had once mentioned this when Anto was younger.

Even villages organized dances every few months, aiming to foster a sense of belonging and cohesion amidst the aridity of their circumstances. Anto had once disguised themself as a common girl to attend a city banquet in Linders, but such events bore no comparison to the true banquets of the nobility.

Ornate decorations abounded, with a single outfit costing more than ten farmers earned in a year. Bands with gleaming metallic instruments played melodies, while girls in vibrant gowns shimmered with dazzling accessories. Exquisite dishes, meticulously plated yet utterly devoid of consideration for their ingredients, lined tables alongside champagne towers stacked with countless bottles of wine. The expenses incurred tonight by these dozens, though fewer than a hundred, nobles of the royal court far surpassed the provisions Anto had acquired on behalf of the Church. Yet, for those present, this was merely a routine diversion.

“…Is this truly the ‘impoverished, struggling border nation in dire need of aid’?” Anto murmured, surveying the scene. Standing beside the elegantly dressed nun, Rhys responded matter-of-factly:

“This is hardly surprising. You must have sensed it already during your time in Linders. The noble class operates precisely this way. When eighty percent of a nation’s wealth is firmly held by ten percent of its populace, their actions often become far more absurd than anyone else’s. The advent of the council did not improve this world; the ideology they championed dismantled the Holy See, yet this also signified the complete liberation of the noble class from their shackles. They now rule their nations freely. This, however, hardly brought forth ‘prosperity’.”

“…In such a situation, what should I do?”

“Nothing at all,” Rhys replied calmly. “If you desire it, you too can become one of these beneficiaries. This is a place where the upper echelons gather to carve up and enjoy their own cake, so…”

“So I should simply revel in this wonderful life of endless food, drink, and dedicated service?” Anto tilted their head, a smile gracing their lips. Rhys observed them, keenly aware of the thoughts churning within the young person’s mind—a quality he particularly valued, for Anto possessed a maturity far beyond their years.

“Sometimes, Anto… or rather, Sister, you are only fourteen,” Rhys stated, his voice softening. “Perhaps acting more in accordance with your age would garner more attention. This is your debut in high society, and I would suggest not being overly… ostentatious.”

“Indeed, a very sound suggestion,” Anto replied. Following this, Rhys led her into the banquet hall. At that moment, the guard by the door announced loudly:

“Welcome Bishop Rhys of the Church and Sister Antolia to the Royal Hall of Draelance!” The orchestra immediately struck up a welcoming tune, and numerous nobles turned their gazes towards them:

“Rhys? That pauper bishop? The King actually invited him this time…”

“That nun beside him, I recall she’s been quite renowned recently, often active in the slums.”

“Is that so? Then they ought to remain in their lowly station; what business do they have here? Haha.” Some expressed disdain at Bishop Rhys’s arrival, but upon seeing Sister Antolia’s attire and countenance, their prior disdain and mockery became utterly unspeakable. Her beauty was simply too striking. The nun, clad in a black gown and headscarf, walked through the center, her golden hair shimmering with a faint luminescence. Her skin was fair and delicate, her pristine face, coupled with the expression revealed beneath her lowered brows, framed by eyes like sapphire gems, rendered her the very embodiment of a devout, benevolent sister of redemption—a figure born of every hopeful fantasy. She seemed like an image stepped straight out of a orphanage’s stained-glass window. In their eyes, she was nothing short of—

An angel descended from the heavens.

“Hmph, I’d heard of her, but this is truly—damn it, the Church has such a beautiful nun? I’ve never heard of such a thing!”

“I heard she’s an intern nun who arrived from the border last month. Look at her adornments; she hasn’t even been bestowed with her exclusive holy mark yet. This means…”

“She has not yet formally received the Lord’s grace,” a noble interjected abruptly. “…I desire her. She is simply… too beautiful. Damn it.”

Even the young ladies who had arrived together were captivated by this astonishing beauty:

“I… I want to meet her.” A girl in a magnificent gown turned to the person seated on a nearby throne and asked, “Father, may I?”

“…Go, Gistina,” the person on the throne slowly replied. “It wouldn’t hurt to learn a little about her. Rhys bringing her here suggests he values her, or perhaps, she is his trump card?”

“Regardless of their intentions, it all boils down to the same matter, again and again,” the King on the throne slowly declared. “I do not intend to change my mind.”

“That is your will, your choice, my esteemed King,” Foreign Minister Pierre stated. “No one here can change your mind.”

“That is correct.” The King slowly rose, gazing at the gleaming hall before him, his aged countenance sharpened and hardened by the winds of the northern lands:

“Ecclesiastical power must no longer overshadow royal authority; those days are long gone. I will not allow such a time to return; at least, not as long as I draw breath. They must understand that they are no longer the Holy See of a hundred years ago, capable of wielding immense power. We, however, remain the most solid foundation of this world.” As he spoke, Foreign Minister Pierre bowed his head in assent. He then departed from his position, and the King descended from his throne, proceeding towards the dance floor.

****

“Sister Antolia, are you a local resident of Draelance? I never imagined such a place could give birth to someone imbued with such potent holy light.”

“Indeed, Sister Antolia, have you considered other professions? I hear your medical skills are exceptional, often compounding medicines for those in the slums. Would you be willing to visit our Royal Capital’s Alchemist Academy?”

“Sister Antolia, how do you maintain your skin so beautifully? Could you teach me? Let’s find a time to go out together!” The sudden chorus of voices overwhelmed her, as if everything before her had become alien, yet she could not flee; her only recourse was to face it all, as she always had.