The Monster Lady and the Holy Knight - Chapter 39

Knock, knock. The knocking at the door extinguished the flames in Leon’s eyes. It was as if he had awoken from a dream where he had been playing with fire, only to open his eyes to a rainy reality. The miraculous, fleeting moment had passed, never to return. Veronica felt a sorrow that bordered on pain. Leon wiped her cheek and let out a brief laugh.

“Want to guess who it is?”

Bang, bang. When no answer came, the knocking grew louder.

“I think it’s your knight.”

Leon glanced at the door before letting her go and trying to stand. Veronica instinctively grabbed his arm. It wasn’t a rational decision; it was simply because she felt that if this moment passed, she would never be able to unmask him again. If not now, while he was vulnerable—shaken by the news of Mecklenburg.

Leon hesitated, looking down at her, then nonchalantly used his other hand to pry her off. It was only a touch, yet it felt like a foreign act. His large hand, veins prominent, completely enveloped her before letting her go.

Veronica sat in a daze, staring at her empty hand. Her fingers, spread wide, trembled and spasmed like a living creature.

“Are you here?”

A familiar voice came from outside the door. Leon walked over and opened it without haste.

Oscar appeared, panting heavily. His wet hair clung to his forehead, and his chest and shoulders heaved. When his eyes met Veronica’s, he muttered, “I knew it,” before beginning to scold her.

“Do you have any idea how worried I was when you suddenly disappeared? You should have at least let someone know where you were going.”

Oscar complained as he brushed aside his sweat-drenched brown hair. Complaints—yes, it wasn’t anger; it was concern. The kind of emotional exchange she had wanted with Leon.

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t tell Hannah everything; I didn’t want her to get involved unnecessarily…”

Veronica hurriedly apologized, her voice still slightly hoarse from recent events. Only then did Oscar properly examine her face. Tear-streaked cheeks, a reddened neck, swollen lips, and the bed.

Oscar’s face hardened slightly.

“Are you here to take her back? I appreciate you looking after her, but if you’re here to take her away again, that won’t do.”

Leon leaned against the door, speaking with feigned regret, “There are Papal dogs tailing me, surrounding the place.”

“…Don’t speak of her like an object.”

“And who was the one who stole her away like she was an object?”

Leon brushed his disheveled hair back, revealing his smooth forehead.

“Holy knights follow orders. I thought you’d know that better than anyone. If His Holiness finds out about the fall of his beloved knight, he’ll be deeply disappointed.”

Oscar’s lips pressed tightly together at the jab. Leon’s eyes, which followed Oscar’s reflexive hand movement, curved into a cold smile.

“Draw it if you want. As long as you’re ready to deal with the consequences.”

“Don’t!”

Veronica stood abruptly, her trembling legs barely holding her up as she repeated herself.

“I’m fine. Just let me go.”

Though she used no formal address, her gaze was fixed squarely on Oscar. She didn’t know his skill, but she had seen Leon’s sword enough to know there was no way Oscar could win.

“If you’re doing this because you feel guilty about what happened in the cell, it’s enough. You more than made up for it by secretly helping me escape.”

“But—”

“I don’t want anything more to do with you.”

Veronica drew a firm line. Her voice was resolute, so much so that Oscar, standing with his entire body tensed, seemed deflated. It was for his sake as well.

Leon was far from being in his right mind now. Though he appeared composed, his eyes had been ominously dark for a long time. A wrong move would mean harm. Oscar was the one who had brought out the troublesome woman Leon had abandoned.

In the end, after a long moment, Oscar released his grip on his sword. He had no right to intervene in the first place. Veronica was a free person, and if she chose to stay by Leon’s side, that was that.

Looking at her tear-streaked face, Oscar finally bowed his head and said, “If you ever need help, come find me. I’ll speak to those two on your behalf.”

That was all he could do. The wooden floor creaked, and soon even his shadow had disappeared.

Only after the door closed did Veronica let out a sigh. Leon spoke expressionlessly.

“A tearful farewell. You must’ve grown quite close.”

“…What will you do with me now?”

“I don’t know. I’m still considering it. I don’t want any baseless accusations. But sending you away to die would be a waste.”

As Leon stepped closer, Veronica reflexively stepped back. When she stumbled onto the bed, he tilted his head slightly.

“I’ll get you parchment. From tomorrow, record everything you see.”

“Is that all?”

“No.”

He bent over her, his voice devoid of laughter.

“Don’t leave this room without my permission.”

The long shadows of sunset were fading. Soon, the despairing darkness would descend.

A night where the flames flared alone in a fight destined for defeat.

There was no time to open her mouth and respond. Before she could, he kissed her again. Her back pressed into the bed, pain finding her once more. This time, however, she didn’t struggle. She knew it was useless. He simply wanted to hurt her. She endured the crushing pressure and the invading pleasure. Tears flowed.

Unlike before, Leon didn’t stop. Of course, he didn’t. The miraculous wilderness had already been left behind. It was unreachable now.

“Are you scared? Why are you trembling so much?”

She thought, It’s dangerous. His scars, viewed from above, looked like flowing tears today. Emotionless eyes. Eyes that wanted only to bring her shame and pain. He would never embrace her.

“The real monster isn’t me. It’s you.”

If only we could burn together. If we could dance as a single flame.

***

The woman continued to cry until the holy power spilled out of her nearly empty body.

Leon had no idea what Oscar had done. Without holy power, she would have died already. Yet, here she was, alive, so something must have been shared. Still, there was no sign of vitality in her body. If anything, it seemed like she was slowly fading away. It irritated him.

He left her, alone with her arms covering her eyes, and walked out of the inn. The cobblestones beneath his feet made a hard, echoing sound.

The people on the streets passed by, each heading to a cozy home where family awaited. Leon was the only one wandering without purpose. The fragrant scent of broth and chimney smoke rose here and there.

He stopped in front of the fountain at the center of an intersection, treading over blackened, slushy snow. Though he had walked without a destination, he found himself standing before the path leading to the Holy See. Twenty-two years ago, a vision of himself—as young then as he was now—declared before the fountain.

“Forget the past. From today, your name is Leon. Leon Berg.”

He tilted his head back, staring at the pitch-black night sky as snowflakes began to fall. When he closed his eyes, the cold crystals melted on his face.

Mecklenburg was dead. The one who had given not only his blood and holy power but also a new name. A man the world called “father.”

But he was never Leon’s father. Not even once. He was everything except a father. A knight who upheld his pride, a man who wore the honor of the grand ducal house like armor. The target and rival of many swordsmen. The bridge between the Pope and the Emperor. The pride of children and citizens. Respect. Reverence. A hero.

“Haha, hahaha.”

Leon burst into laughter and collapsed by the fountain.

Mecklenburg was dead. The great Albrecht von Mecklenburg.

“You weren’t much after all,” he murmured, clutching his forehead.

Did he leave for my sake? No, she knows nothing.

Leon had been Mecklenburg’s lifelong disgrace. It was expected that every noble’s lineage would possess holy power. Yet, at first, he had no interest in Leon. Not until he realized how immense Leon’s holy power was, how blessed by God he was.

Only God loved Leon. No one else.

“…You knew?”

“Are you crying?”

His thoughts abruptly stopped at the child’s voice, pulling him back to reality. Leon, sitting by the dry fountain, slowly raised his head.

A little girl holding a teddy bear stood there, her face filled with curiosity.

“I thought you were crying. Was I right? Were you crying?”

“No. I wasn’t.”

At that moment, as he answered, the phantom sensation of dampness returned to his fingers. Leon calmly forced a smile.

“Bad people don’t need to cry. Someone else cries for them.”

“Really? Then are you a bad person?”

The child asked in surprise. Leon didn’t answer—or rather, he had no chance to, as someone called the child’s name. Leon glanced in that direction, seeing a woman, half worried and half wary, beckoning the child over.

“Yes, I’m a bad person. So go back to your mother.”

The child’s round brown eyes showed no sign of understanding. But she seemed frightened enough to run off, tripping and falling as she went. She cried loudly, as if for all to hear, until her mother came to hold her. Even then, she cried for a while longer.

Leon watched the scene silently before standing. He thought of tears. He knew that the tears she had shed, the tears of a woman who claimed she didn’t cry, were not for herself. She pitied him. She comforted him for his indifference to the death of his own father. Her fallen tears landed on his parched soul. Drip.

A wave of nausea hit him.

Something was wrong. When? From where?

It was as if his heart had torn open, leaving him powerless. With every beat of his heart, phantom blood poured forth. Leon looked at the palm that had touched her tears. He clenched his fist, as if to hold on to the sensation forever. He had to kill her. She had to die. Even if his stagnant emotions rotted and ultimately burned his soul.

That was the fate borne by Leon, not Noah—the messenger of God. When he looked up again, he saw the darkened streets, and in the distance, the backs of his comrades who had died in Tiran. The snow that had begun to fall touched the ground but never reached his hand.