The Monster Lady and the Holy Knight - Chapter 32

Their eyes met. Undoubtedly. At that moment, all sound was swept away, leaving only ‘it’ looking down from the mountain and Leon looking up. As Leon shook off his sword and took a step forward, a desperate shout pierced his ears.

“Captain!!! Damn it, someone come help! Please!!!”

Leon turned his head to see four Bahamuts bizarrely piled on top of each other like a sandwich. Nearby, Robert’s lieutenant was desperately hacking at them with his sword. But it was futile. More Bahamuts piled on top, engulfing the struggling bodies. The vice-captain, who tried to save Robert, was also swallowed by the horde.

Bahamuts were much taller and heavier than humans. Even two of them would crush an average man to death.

The time when Robert’s steel armor, plated with silver, could withstand the pressure had passed. With the Bahamuts continuing to pile up, even the ground itself was beginning to shake. Leon easily imagined what had happened to Robert, crushed beneath them. And if he did nothing, he could see the future of the detachment—lost, leaderless, and panicking.

But ‘it’ was right there, within his reach.

You know what will happen. They’ll all die because of your choice. And you’ll lose ‘it,’ just like in Tiran.

The voice in his mind taunted him. Leon wasn’t the only one haunted by the guilt of abandoning the citizens at Aseldorf. He calculated whether he could reach the peak before the battle ended, and whether there was anyone left who could lead the detachment. Then he made his choice. His clenched jaw made a twisted sound.

Leon leaped onto Robert’s riderless horse. He no longer glanced upwards. Riding quickly, he reorganized the formation and shouted, “Raise your shields! We’re descending the mountain now!”

The knights looked bewildered at the sudden change in command. But when the holy sword Apocalypse raised its long blade, they quickly snapped to attention. He was Leon Berg, the Red Knight of the Apocalypse, God’s chosen knight, beloved by Kart.

“Cut down any that fall from above and do not let them breach the formation!”

Leon raised his sword high and shouted again, “Deus nobiscum erit! (God will be with us!)”

The phrase that set a holy knight’s heart ablaze resounded through the air. The detachment responded in kind.

“Deus nobiscum erit!!! (God will be with us!!!)”

Before God’s sword, steel blades roared in unison, rising as one. A hundred hearts burned as one—like a single flame, brightening the darkness.

***

Veronica watched anxiously as Leon led the descent down the slope. The young knights moved swiftly, keeping their formation tight, giving no opening for the Bahamuts to break through.

Leon’s control was flawless. Yet still, she held her breath in tension. There were so many Bahamuts piled up that the ground itself was on the verge of collapse. Sure enough, with a rumbling sound, the white slope cracked like a spider’s web, spreading all the way down to where Leon was the last to descend.

Veronica stifled an internal scream. The entire slope was collapsing like an avalanche. She could no longer tell if he had escaped or not. All she could do was pray. Please, save them. Help them. Please, bring your knights home safely.

Thankfully, the Bahamuts would not pursue the detachment further. After all, Leon was never their true prey.

Veronica tore her gaze away and looked at the opposite side of the mountain. That side led down to lower plains, and beyond them, the Holy City was visible across solid rock terrain.

While Leon’s detachment consisted of knights who were visibly young, perhaps in their twenties, the knights led by Mecklenburg were among the most renowned under his command from Kart.

The battle was indeed spectacular. Each time the lead knight swung his sword, a dozen Bahamuts fell. Not only that—a courageous mace struck throats, crushing hearts, and some used chains to twist and strangle. Arrows fired with unerring accuracy shattered hearts. Yet, as they killed ten, twenty more would surge forward, blocking their retreat time and again.

No matter how many they killed, the Bahamuts seemed endless. They latched onto horses and knights, throwing themselves at them in near-suicidal attacks. It wasn’t so much a battle as a self-destruction. Humans weren’t invincible. Especially not when enemies surged from above, below, front, back, and on all sides.

Veronica watched as the noble, beautiful knights slowly crumbled. Lances snapped, white flags turned red. The monstrous beings, twice the size of a human, pulled apart the knights’ limbs and tore off their helmets to devour their heads. It resembled a painting by an artist depicting the inferno of hell—a vivid and tragic scene rendered in stark colors.

The Holy Knights, whose name made the hearts of the continent’s swordsmen beat faster, fell without any romanticism. Veronica saw Mecklenburg leap to the ground when his horse fell. Dozens of Bahamuts swarmed him from all directions. The holy sword Hennessis rose high, shining brightly. But that sword, once unyielding, soon disappeared.

Death. Pure, dark, nothingness.

It was too gruesome an end for an honorable, proud knight. The memory of how noble and arrogant he had been made it all the more shocking.

It was like the fall of an eagle soaring in the sky. Like finding the body of a once-mighty bird, lying low in an alley like any common pigeon. Ah, even those who once ruled the sky were just beasts bound to the earth.

Flesh and bone writhed like worms across the white canvas.

They did not fear death. That was their biggest difference from humans. Bahamuts had no survival instinct to protect their ‘selves.’ They were all connected, with no fear of disappearing.

They rushed at the knights like undead risen from ancient graves. With massive jaws, they bit through steel armor, tearing flesh with their hands. There was an indescribable grotesqueness to the battle.

At first, Veronica couldn’t pinpoint what felt wrong. Then she realized—despite their numbers, despite covering an entire side of the mountain, there was no sound.

Bahamuts did not communicate. They moved as though they were a single organism.

Thus, when the thousands of presences all halted at once, Veronica knew it was over.

It was over. As if time had stopped, it ended.

She jumped off the cliff, a dizzying sensation overwhelming her body. Thud, she landed on the ground, and walked through the splitting crowd.

The ground was littered with flesh, crushed, stuck to the earth with blood. Each step she took, sticky tendons stretched and clung to the soles of her feet. Everything—horses, people—had been crushed and scattered beyond recognition.

Finally, she stopped in one spot.

Veronica looked at the ground and stifled a scream. She wanted to close her eyes. But she couldn’t. Bahamuts had no eyelids, just like fish. Among the shattered, trampled corpses, only the sword—stained crimson—retained its shape.

She bent down and picked up the sword. Thousands of eyes stared at her. Just like the citizens of Aseldorf in her nightmares. Eyes that made her shiver.

The small sword taken, and Kart would fall.

One prophecy was fulfilled, and one remained.

***

Veronica groaned in the darkened room. Oscar thought she might finally die.

At last. Perhaps it was for the best.

It had been three days since she lost consciousness. At that time, Leon’s detachment had returned, but the captain of the following knights had not.

Leon reported that they had encountered many Bahamuts in the mountains. Both the captain and vice-captain had died, and twenty soldiers had fallen off the cliffs. It was no lullaby to the insomniac Pope’s ears.

The anxious Pope finally ordered the ‘conversion’ of the woman who had made the ominous prophecy. Oscar was bewildered.

To a sleeping woman. To someone who had no sense of repentance or need for forgiveness—conversion.

He found it unreasonable. He had waited for Leon, but Leon did not come. And so the Pope ordered Oscar himself to wield the whip. Ordinary torturers wouldn’t have the strength to handle it. It had to be one of God’s knights.

Oscar, having sworn loyalty, could not refuse the Pope’s command. He was not like Leon. He did not think. He did not judge. He simply followed, even into the valley of death. So Oscar lashed the back of the unconscious, pure woman. Until her clothes tore and her blood spattered. Until her slender back trembled in pain and her groans scattered. It was, undoubtedly, not conversion but assault.

“You pity me, don’t you?”

A drop of hot blood splattered on the back of his hand, holding the whip.

“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.”

He shut his eyes tightly, remembering those resolute red eyes. Faith without action, it was said, is dead.

“So, do I deserve to die?”

Oscar raised the whip high. And after a brief moment, it slipped powerlessly to the floor.