The Monster Lady and the Holy Knight - Chapter 28

The sound of a cane tapping against the ground echoed, followed by the entrance of the Pope and a tall, middle-aged knight. Veronica quickly placed her sword on the floor and stood upright.

Should I bow? Should I kneel?

Veronica was a commoner woman. She had never learned these etiquettes. Unsure of what to do, she awkwardly lowered her head.

“Raise your eyes.”

It was the knight commander who issued the command as he approached with heavy steps. The deep voice reverberated as if inside a cave, and Veronica felt the large shadow looming over her as she nervously lifted her head.

His sharp features were colder than anyone she had ever seen. It was easy to believe he had been sculpted from ice. His sturdy and imposing figure was the very image one would imagine when thinking of a knight. But Veronica’s attention was caught by something else.

His hair, starting to turn white, was red.

Red hair. It was red.

“That woman only wanted to gain my father’s attention, whatever it took. She thought that a well-regarded Holy Knight would care for a child closer to God.”

Suddenly, something inside her clicked into place like the gears of a clock. No way, but…

“My father did show interest. Of course, it wasn’t in me as his child but in my holy power, so he took me away.”

A renowned holy knight. A man well past his fifties. A rare hair color.

Veronica’s eyes widened.

She might not have known much about the famed achievements of Mecklenburg, but Leon was called the Red Knight because of his uncommon hair color.

This couldn’t be a coincidence. Now that she looked closer, their sharp features were also similar. Leon’s occasional cruel expressions were now reflected on the middle-aged man’s face.

He was a knight who seemed impervious to even the prick of a needle. Veronica stared blankly up at him. If Oscar had shown her some disdain, the knight commander’s gaze was filled with a disdain so deep it was as though he regarded her as a worthless insect.

While Veronica stood frozen in shock, the knight commander casually observed her and spoke, “Indeed, she is an assimilated one. Her eyes are not like ordinary red eyes.”

The Pope stood five steps behind, his wrinkled face stretched out like a turtle’s, his small eyes barely visible, black and unnerving.

“I hear she was the one who assimilated with the first Bahamut. Is there anything different about her compared to the other assimilated ones?”

“Nothing in particular. The fact that she maintains her sanity is unusual, but that’s only because her holy power has replaced her life force.”

Mecklenburg’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he spoke, his voice low, “But she looks too young. How old are you?”

“Twenty,” Veronica answered, her voice tight with nerves.

At her reply, the Pope clicked his cane and approached. His eyes, hidden under layers of wrinkles, were dark and unsettling.

“Twenty, you say? Well, that could be. Perhaps your mother carried you into the wilderness.”

“…Pardon?”

Even though she knew it wasn’t her place to question, Veronica couldn’t help but ask, confused.

How dare she. In front of the Pope and a great noble. She quickly clamped her mouth shut and lowered her gaze.

The Pope let out a benevolent laugh. “There’s no need to tremble in fear. You should know the truth by now. Child, do you know who becomes an assimilated one?”

Veronica flinched at the question. It was the very topic she had argued about with Oscar just a few days ago.

She was aware of the church’s opinion, at least. Veronica cautiously glanced at Oscar standing behind the Pope.

“…Isn’t it those with weak faith?”

“Hmm. Why do you think that?”

“Because those with weak faith have their minds consumed by demons… I heard that somewhere.”

“A very exemplary answer.”

The Pope smiled with satisfaction. But despite his mild response, Veronica couldn’t relax. Mecklenburg, saying nothing, continued to gaze down at her.

“But my child, over the past two years, we have seen many assimilated ones. Among them were priests so devout that even I was awestruck, and an old woman with dementia who lived for nothing but prayer.”

The Pope spoke gently, like a grandfather recounting an old tale. Veronica quietly listened. Was it pure chance, then, unrelated to faith?

Then the Pope added, “But they all had one thing in common.”

“One thing in common…? What was that?”

“They had all visited the Great Temple when the statue in the wilderness lost its head, twenty years ago.”

Veronica’s eyes widened. Images of the endless wasteland and the giant statue they had passed recently flashed through her mind.

“Did your parents never tell you about it?”

“My mother died early, and my father never spoke of such things.”

“Ah, what a pity. They could have told you of their pilgrimage.”

Perhaps they had told her, but it had been so long ago that she couldn’t remember. As for her father, there was no need to mention him. He had always avoided talking about her late mother.

“You must have heard of the prophecy from the wilderness. Twenty years ago, a group of summer pilgrims discovered the statue had lost its head in the Great Temple. From that point on, the age of oracles ended, and people said that God had disappeared.”

Indeed, the statue of the wilderness was tied to one of the most famous prophecies.

The beheaded statue was undeniably a bad omen. More than that, the priests who had once prophesied the events of the continent no longer received divine revelations. It truly felt as if God had disappeared.

The Pope, who had seen the weakening of divine authority, reestablished it through extreme religious zeal. Through brutal and violent inquisitions, he reinstated faith through fear.

How many heretics had been dragged away and burned at the stake in the past twenty years?

“The humans who were assimilated with Bahamut were the first to witness that statue. Those pilgrims who visited the wilderness that summer. I was there as well, and the memory is still vivid as if it happened yesterday. The scorching sun, the sweltering heat of the yellow desert, the cries of grief and prayer that filled the temple. Even now, I can hear them when I close my eyes.”

If what the Pope said was true, then Veronica must have been there as well. In her mother’s womb.

Her mother had likely taken her growing belly to the temple to pray for the child’s blessing.

“Now, my child. Do you understand why I have come to you?”

The Pope’s voice was kind and gentle. But even after hearing everything, Veronica still didn’t understand the reason for his visit.

She hesitated, then shook her head. The Pope smiled kindly.

“I want to know why Bahamut spares those who witnessed the statue. I want to open their minds and read their thoughts. But the assimilated ones always die too quickly. I never get a chance to hear what they have to say.”

His voice was soft, but there was no hiding the fear in it.

The Pope was also a witness of the wilderness. He feared that Bahamut might come for him next.

Just as Veronica reached this conclusion, the Pope glanced at the knight commander. At that moment, Mecklenburg immediately reached out and grabbed her slender neck. The suddenness of it stopped her thoughts in their tracks.

Gasp. His powerful grip crushed her windpipe. Veronica raised both hands, clawing desperately at his to pull him away, but it was useless. She struggled, choking painfully.

It hurts. No. No. Please save me.

Through her blurred vision, she saw Oscar’s expression harden. The air stirred violently, sending his hair flying. His hand reached for his sword as he stepped back, glancing at the water glass that had fallen from the table to the floor.

Her life was slipping away. Leon had said that holy power flowed through his blood, but blood, too, is lost when it spills out in large amounts.

Mecklenburg was drawing out the holy power Leon had left in her. Through her tear-filled, blurry vision, she glared at the cold faces surrounding her. The last face that came to mind was Leon Berg’s, and that was all because of the knight choking her.

Because they were similar. Just because they were similar.

No, the truth is…

Her flickering vision shrank and then turned black. Consciousness slipped away.

***

“Urgh…”

Oscar couldn’t bear to watch the murder unfolding in front of him.

No, it wasn’t murder; it was purification. It was the judgment of one lacking faith. That’s what he had to believe. He had to, if only to erase the image of the woman who had reached out to him in her last moments.

How much time had passed? Finally, there was a soft thud as the woman collapsed to the floor.

To his surprise, she wasn’t dead. She was on the floor, gasping for air. The atmosphere remained tense. Watching silently, Mecklenburg drew his sword.

“Your Holiness, step back.”

The Pope naturally moved into Oscar’s protective range. Oscar also drew his sword. His eyes were fixed on the holy sword, Hennessis, which the knight commander had unsheathed, its blue light glowing ominously.

The world spoke of the two legendary swords, Hennessis and Apocalypse, as if they were the twin blades wielded by God. Unlike the statue, the two swords were identical in length.

If the knight commander had drawn that precious sword, it meant danger. She was no ordinary woman after all…

“The small sword will be taken.”

Suddenly, everyone’s expressions changed. The soft voice echoing through the room belonged to the woman, but it was clear, as though it pierced their very souls.

“The Bahamut wielding the holy sword will destroy Kart and steal its glory.”

The Pope’s face turned deathly pale. With only the three of them to hear, the woman continued to speak her curse.

“The butcher will cleave his child’s head instead of a pig’s, and the cobbler will hang himself with his own shoelaces. The elderly will lament not dying early, and newborns will be sacrificed as living offerings. The wailing of mothers who lost their children will drive their fathers to the blood-soaked battlefield.”

No one could breathe. Even though Oscar had not been born in the age of oracles, he recognized this as a prophecy.

“The prayers and cries of the end times will neither be seen nor heard by God, for He has lost His face.”

With those final words, the woman collapsed to the side. The turbulent air settled, and silence filled the room. A chill ran down Oscar’s spine, leaving him with goosebumps. The dreadful silence hung in the air for a long time before the Pope, mouth trembling, was the first to break it. His voice rang out, shockingly loud for his age.

“Lock her in the torture chamber! She’s a heretic!”