The Monster Lady and the Holy Knight - Chapter 30

A leather pouch fell in front of her with a thud.

“Water.”

Water. She was thirsty. She had been for a long time.

Veronica, who had been dazed, sat up hurriedly as soon as the meaning registered in her mind and reached out her hand. As the cold water wet her lips and flowed down her throat, her head gradually cleared.

The man standing before her was Oscar Berg.

“…What about Leon?”

She asked the most pressing question as soon as she had quenched her thirst.

Oscar shook his head. “He hasn’t returned yet. I came because the commander ordered me to ensure you stay alive.”

“How kind of him. Is it so that when I get stronger, he can come back and torment me again?” Veronica responded with blatant sarcasm.

Oscar glanced at her swollen face and her frail limbs, which had withered over the past few days, before answering abruptly, “He’s gone to Blasen, so he won’t be back for a while.”

Veronica, who had been tilting her head back and shaking the leather pouch to get the last drops, froze. The final droplet fell from the pouch’s opening.

“He went to the Blasen Mountains? When? Don’t tell me he went to look for Leon?”

She quickly straightened her posture and asked again. But Oscar didn’t answer the question she was most interested in.

“I’ll come by during mealtimes. Report to me the visions you saw the previous night during those times.”

“No, before that—why did Mecklenburg go to Blasen?”

“Watch your tone. To you, it’s ‘Sir’ Mecklenburg.”

Oscar corrected his title with irritation. However, Veronica noticed that his attitude had changed, if only slightly, from before.

This was the same man who had stood stiffly by the door while she practiced her sword from dawn until night, without making a sound. Now, he had mentioned the commander’s trip to Blasen, something she didn’t really need to know.

It wasn’t a mistake. Perhaps he had started to feel a bit of sympathy for her, locked up as she was. After all, he was still a person with warm blood running through his veins.

Even that arrogant knight commander was no different.

“Yes, Sir Mecklenburg. Even though his words were cold, he left because he was worried about Leon, right? Did the prophecy weigh on his mind enough for him to go in person?”

“Don’t be mistaken. The prophecy may have been the starting point, but it’s not just about Sir Berg. The vice-commander has returned to take over the defense of Kart, and the idea that the holy sword could fall into Bahamut’s hands is a far more serious matter than you can imagine.”

“But the sword is just a symbol, isn’t it?”

“Hennessis and Apocalypse are not just swords. They can even absorb the holy power that’s built up in the barrier. And what Sir Berg did in Tiran….”

The young knight trailed off, seemingly realizing he had said too much. He quickly concluded the conversation.

“In any case, the commander knows the gravity of the situation. He wouldn’t have gathered his men solely for Sir Berg.”

Even if it’s his own son?

The question almost slipped from her mouth. Surely the other knights had speculated the same things she had. Yet there were no rumors. It had to be one of two things: either her assumption was wrong, or the commander treated Leon so coldly that no one thought they were related by blood.

After some hesitation, Veronica changed the subject. “What kind of person is this vice-commander who has returned?”

“Sir Wittelsbach is known as the protector of the law. Compared to his strictness, the commander seems rather flexible in his enforcement of the rules.”

Mecklenburg, flexible? Really?

Veronica’s jaw dropped in disbelief.

At first, she had thought no one could seem colder than Oscar. But then Mecklenburg had shown up and shattered that impression. Could anyone still claim to be a human with warm blood at that point?

Veronica let out a mirthless laugh and shook her head. “Then that makes you the most flexible person, right?”

“…What are you talking about all of a sudden?”

“You pity me, don’t you?”

Oscar’s eyebrows shot up, as if offended, but he couldn’t quite deny it. Veronica looked up at him with eyes like a forest after the rain.

“You think there’s something unfair about this situation. That’s why you’re bothering to say these pointless things. Because the idea of me suffering without understanding anything bothers you.”

When they first met, Oscar had insisted that weak faith led to assimilation. But the Pope had said otherwise. He had told her that she was suffering because of something that had happened before she was even born. Veronica remembered that Oscar had been present when the Pope said those words.

“Think whatever you like.”

As proof, Oscar was the first to break eye contact with her. If their eyes met, she would read him—read the small ripples, the subtle changes within him. But sometimes, all it takes is a single stone dropped into a still lake to change everything. That stone would sink deeply and settle at the bottom of the heart.

The door opened and closed. Once again, Veronica was left alone, but hope lingered like a flicker of flame.

***

Pain leaves a mark on people. And violence?

It leaves scars. Scars where the black worms have gnawed at the flesh.

Veronica quickly pulled her clenched hands toward her chest. For some reason, she felt as though she would be devoured by the darkness.

No matter how bold she might seem compared to others, it was all relative. No one could ever get used to being strangled or slapped by a man’s strong hand.

At first, she had thought she was fine. But she soon realized the scars were there.

Her heart raced at the slightest sound of footsteps, and she couldn’t relax until she confirmed who was approaching. Extreme stress warped her body. When the visions and her anxiety became too overwhelming in the dark room, Veronica found herself unable to unclench her tightly balled fists.

A weak human. A powerless human who couldn’t even control a single twisted muscle.

She had wanted to become stronger. What could she do in this pitiful state?

Oscar only visited during mealtimes after that. The meals, served three times a day, were so abundant it seemed as though he was trying to fatten her back up after the days she had wasted away. Forcing herself to eat, Veronica felt like livestock every time she described the visions she had seen. The imagery was just as unpleasant.

Bahamut spreading its legs and giving birth to new monsters. Unlike humans, the creatures emerged feet first in grotesque births. And even the eerie ritual of carrying corpses in preparation for winter, like animals stocking up for hibernation.

“I saw a familiar face among the corpses.”

Veronica mentioned casually in the middle of recounting a vision. Oscar reacted sharply.

“Who?”

“A child I saw just before entering Kart.”

Oscar’s expression stiffened, as if he hadn’t expected that answer.

Veronica continued, unconcerned, “He had brown skin and ash-gray hair. He was probably an outsider from the Rom Archipelago. He was small and had lost one arm, which made him memorable. But there he was, lying in the center of a frozen mountain of corpses.”

Oscar remained silent. Veronica stared past him at the Blasen Mountains beyond the walls.

“He wasn’t the only one. I once encountered a group of bandits from Ruega in the wilderness, and one of them, the one who escaped, was eaten by me. Well, not me, exactly, but Bahamut, who’s connected to me. I know that but….”

“Calm down. All the people you’re talking about were outsiders.”

“So, do I deserve to die?” Veronica asked, her voice tight.

There was no response. When she looked up, she saw the side of Oscar’s face, his gaze fixed on the empty air. At some point, he had started to consciously avoid looking directly at her.

“Well, you’re a citizen of the safe land of Kart. I’m sure you have enough provisions to last through winter and enough seeds to plant in spring. A person who owns land could never understand a homeless refugee.”

Kart was the land of eternal paradise. At least, that’s what people said.

But for some reason, Veronica began to doubt that fact. It wasn’t because of the prophecy. It was just that all the refugees had been captured. That meant Bahamut had pushed all the way past the barrier.

***

That night, the pain was less than usual. Why? As the days passed, the visions became clearer, and the assimilation grew more bearable. How? She didn’t even have holy power, so how was this happening?

Why wasn’t she going mad and dying like the others?

Could it be that she was slowly becoming Bahamut?

After countless questions ran through her mind, she opened her eyes to find herself in another vision. But this time, unlike before, it wasn’t a dark valley. She was standing at the top of a high mountain, looking down at something below.

When she realized what she was seeing, Veronica’s eyes widened.

On the plain to the left, there was a group of knights. On the slope to the right, there was another group of knights.

There was no mistaking it. The men in the dazzling white armor were the Holy Knights.

Veronica knew who they were. On the left were the flawless knights led by Mecklenburg, and on the right was the detachment that included Leon. Leon stood out, wearing gray armor typically worn by mercenaries, with a black fur cloak draped over his shoulders.

The Bahamut looking down was hesitating. Which side would it devour? The left or the right? No matter how you looked at it, the knights on Leon’s side were fewer in number and seemed easier to take down.

The moment Bahamut began to turn toward the right, Veronica screamed internally.

Not the right. Not Leon. Stop it. Don’t go!

At that moment, as if Bahamut had heard her, it froze. Then it turned its head toward Mecklenburg’s side.

A chill ran through her entire body.