The Monster Lady and the Holy Knight - Chapter 27

Ding, ding, ding.

Ah, that bell again. It rang earlier too.

Veronica buried her face into the pillow with her eyes closed. She clearly remembered the sound of the bell when she met Leon’s eyes earlier. He said the bell rang every midnight, and Veronica had swung the sword longer than intended, making herself sweat enough to require another wash.

After that? Wait a minute.

Veronica’s eyes snapped open. As she shot up, dizziness overwhelmed her for a moment. She hadn’t realized when she fell asleep; the moment she lay down, she had blacked out. The surroundings were the same as yesterday, still indistinguishable between day or night.

But the chair next to the bed was empty. He had left. The bell was not signaling midnight but noon.

For a brief moment, unable to distinguish between dream and reality, she sat there blankly until someone pounded on the door, startling her. Instead of answering, Veronica immediately grabbed her sword. Just then, the sound of a key turning in the lock echoed, and the door opened.

Thud, thud.

Veronica glanced at the person entering, her face full of suspicion. It was the young knight she had seen yesterday. His curly brown hair and dark green eyes took in the room indifferently as he held a silver tray.

“If you refuse to eat, you will be punished. You’d be better off eating, even by force.”

The man, who had said something incomprehensible, strode inside and set the tray on the table. When he removed the round silver lid, it revealed black bread and cold carrot soup.

“…Is this for breakfast? I didn’t refuse; I just woke up.”

“The caretakers do not care about that. They only know the meal was left untouched at the door.”

“Did you come to tell me that?”

While hastily adjusting her clothes and running her fingers through her unruly hair, she asked. She could tell how messy it was just by touching it. Sleeping with her hair still wet had left her looking like she had run through the mountains at night.

“At the personal request of Sir Berg and with the Pope’s permission, I have been assigned to guard you.”

“I didn’t know even prisoners needed guards.”

Veronica answered with a brazen tone, implying it was more about surveillance than guarding. The knight, who had placed the tray down and returned to stand by the door, did not respond. After observing his doll-like face, Veronica eventually sighed, dragged a chair over to the table, and sat down.

The cold carrot soup was bland, and the black bread was hard. Her muscles, from her arms to her back, were sore from training. But now, feeling tired or the food tasting bad was not a reason to sulk. She had a goal and companions who would return. She would become strong enough to face Bahamut, strong enough not to need saving but to save others.

It was different from when she was alone after Bayern burned. Back then, she had been by herself, but now she wasn’t.

Leon had left, but he hadn’t abandoned her. He had spent the night here just to tell her that. She had comrades.

Without complaint, Veronica scraped up the last of the soup and put the dishes out through the small hole in the door, barely big enough for a cat. After washing up, she diligently practiced the moves she had learned yesterday. Both the body and the mind were unreliable without repetition.

Otherwise, everything would be forgotten—just like how she had already forgotten how cruel Leon was when they first met.

By now, he must be in Blasen.

Her sword traced a graceful arc, trembling momentarily at the thought of him in her imagination. As she focused again, her eyes met the knight’s, who was frowning as he watched her.

Veronica impulsively spoke up, “…What? Is my posture wrong?”

“……”

The knight didn’t answer. His entire demeanor screamed that he didn’t like her.

Veronica shrugged and was about to continue, but her eyes caught on the sword at his waist.

A formal knight. A Holy Knight who had trained with the sword since he was seven.

Leon would be out in Blasen for a few days. Veronica had no choice but to keep repeating the moves she had learned. Sure, she’d build some muscle, but…

“Come to think of it, I never introduced myself to the person who’s going to help me for a few days.”

Lowering her sword, Veronica approached him with a friendly smile and extended her hand.

“I’m Veronica Schwarzwald.”

It felt strange to introduce herself, something she hadn’t even done with Leon. The man hesitated briefly, staring down at her hand before begrudgingly muttering his name.

“Oscar Berg.”

Berg.

The surname given to children not acknowledged by their fathers in Kaisenmeer.

Veronica hesitated for a moment, then smiled brightly as if nothing had happened and awkwardly withdrew her hand. Then she got to the point.

“Aren’t you bored just standing there?”

“I’m fine.”

“I figured as much. But could you help me a little?”

Ignoring his response, she shamelessly asked. After spending time with Leon, she had learned that even observing others was valuable.

“Any advice, or corrections, anything is fine. I want to learn the sword.”

“……”

“If you don’t like teaching, think of it as playing with a kid and just be my partner. I’ve only just learned how to hold the sword.”

Veronica, chattering without much thought, stopped when she saw Oscar’s face suddenly change. His previously indifferent voice dropped in tone.

“Did you say that person taught you swordsmanship? To you?”

He sounded clearly displeased.

Had she said something she shouldn’t have? Worried that Leon might be put in an awkward position, Veronica felt a sudden wave of anxiety. But it seemed too late to lie now, so she cautiously replied.

“As I said, I’ve only learned how to hold it.”

“But you are a woman, and not even a believer.”

“I won’t deny that I’m a woman, but I am a believer.”

“You are not a believer. How can someone with faith become the assimilated one?”

Veronica felt herself freeze up. What was he even talking about?

“You sold your faith to the devil, and now your spirit has been assimilated with ‘it’. Those with strong faith are not consumed.”

Oscar’s disdainful gaze was fixed directly on her red eyes. Veronica had never received such a look from anyone in her life. It made her feel like something less than the trash on the street.

“…Is that what the church believes?”

“Am I wrong? If it weren’t for Sir Berg, you would have been subject to an inquisition immediately. If you were truly a believer, Bahamut would have killed you instead of taking you as its offspring.”

It was a convincing argument. In fact, it was something Veronica had questioned herself while running through the wilderness.

Why do assimilated ones, born from such rare odds, survive? Why didn’t Bahamut kill her but take her as its offspring?

Veronica had never been certain of God’s existence. The hell described by the church and the heaven above the skies were things she only invoked in exclamations or curses. She didn’t feel any holy power flowing through her body, and the many miracles of God were merely stories from history. But—

“If that’s true, then Bahamut must be a more accurate judge than the inquisitors. Maybe we should bring one to the Holy See as an inquisitor.”

This hostility was irrational. Oscar was simply angry that Leon had taught her swordsmanship.

She noticed his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

“Do not mock the Holy See.”

“You’re the one who started the insults.”

A tense silence hung between them, as sharp as a blade. They glared at each other until Veronica eventually backed down.

Ah, damn it. I shouldn’t have spoken to him in the first place.

She thought of her childhood, where she had eagerly drawn pictures of knights from the Holy Order on the dirt ground. Now, she wanted to erase every drawing of a knight in shining armor from her memory.

What’s the big deal about being a woman?

Biting back the words she wished she had said earlier, she gritted her teeth and continued swinging her sword. The only solace was that the room was big enough for her to wield the longsword freely. She practiced until it was time to eat, then ate her meal, and resumed swinging the sword before washing up.

Though she had only learned two moves, they were enough. Even in dance, repeating basic movements for a week led to improvement. She believed swordsmanship would be no different.

Oscar, meanwhile, stood motionless by the door, watching her practice for hours. He thought she must have an iron will to endure without wavering or giving in.

They didn’t exchange another word after that. Not the next day when her fingers blistered, nor the following day when her fingers slipped past the crossguard and cut her hand on the blade.

By then, Leon still hadn’t returned from his reconnaissance of the Blasen Mountains. On the third afternoon, an unexpected visitor arrived instead of Leon.

***

Knock, knock.

Hearing the knock, Veronica lowered her sword, puzzled.

It had only been a short time since she sent out her lunch dishes, and the person who should be here was already present. Oscar also seemed surprised, frowning as he looked toward the door. Just then, an elderly priest’s solemn voice called from outside.

“Open the door. The Pope and Commander Mecklenburg have come to visit.”

The names were weighty. Both Veronica and Oscar froze.

The Pope? And Commander Mecklenburg?

Even though the idea of the Pope didn’t feel quite real to her, Veronica’s focus was more on the second name.

Commander Albrecht Mecklenburg of the Holy Knights was practically a legendary figure. There wasn’t a child who hadn’t grown up hearing his stories at bedtime.

From the tale of how he fought giants to save the princess of Whiteland, to the story of how he caught the flying fish Elore. No one knew how much of it was true, but becoming a knight at fifteen and remaining active past fifty made him nothing short of a legend.

That was why Veronica stood in stunned disbelief, unable to do anything as Oscar stiffly opened the door, both of them unsure how to greet such a powerful figure.

She couldn’t even begin to imagine how this encounter would twist her fate.