The Monster Lady and the Holy Knight - Chapter 5

“Put it on.”

With a thud, a black robe fell in front of Veronica.

When she just kept her mouth shut and stared at it, Leon, who was tying the sleeping bag to the horse, tilted his head slightly.

“Shall I help you put it on?”

She didn’t answer. It was because she thought that if it was the man in front of her, he might actually do it. She decided to endure for now. She had to survive first to do anything.

The black robe, with a hood, was so big it dragged all the way to her feet, clearly belonging to the man. Only after putting it on did she realize how cold she had been, nearly freezing to death. Her hands and feet were icy cold.

As she stood awkwardly, Leon asked casually, “Have you ever ridden a horse?”

“…No.”

“Ever held a sword?”

“That too, no.”

“Ever thought of running away?”

Her flowing answers came to an abrupt stop. When she looked at him incredulously, Leon returned her gaze with an amused look. His deep, abyss-like pupils seemed to suck her in.

When the man suddenly approached and reached out his hand, Veronica instinctively closed her eyes. She thought he might hit her. Her neck still stung.

But the touch that followed was surprisingly gentle. As she felt the heavy fabric settle over her head, she slowly opened her eyes to find his expressionless face through her narrowed vision. He pulled the hood down deep to protect her face from the cold wind. That was all.

For a moment, she was dazed. Then, when he suddenly scooped her up by the waist, she screamed. Ignoring her outcry, Leon seated her on the black warhorse. As her perspective elevated, she hurriedly grabbed the mane, and he jumped up behind her, pulling her slender waist close. The feel of his hard armor made her body stiffen.

The city, huddled in the snowy plains, looked like a small animal that had failed to grow and burned to death. This had once been a city known for its beautiful sunrises in the far east—a blue land now marked only by somber remnants.

The horse, which had been circling lightly, soon started running in the opposite direction. There was no turning back now. The moment Veronica turned her back on her homeland, she knew it instinctively.

***

Veronica had spent her whole life in Bayern. This meant that even if they rode for half a day, the scenery would be unfamiliar.

Outside the city, the snowy plains were dotted with farms and small, low houses. Beyond them, a tall forest of fir trees dressed in white stood. Leon pulled the reins just before entering the forest, at the last farm.

“We’ll rest here for a bit.”

He helped her down first. Veronica almost stumbled as her legs wobbled. She cast a nervous glance at the eerie forest and quickly headed toward the reddish house.

“Is anyone here?”

She knocked on the door, her hand swollen and aching from gripping the horse’s mane too tightly.

“You’d be better off if no one is.”

“…What do you mean?”

Leon, who had been drawing water from the well to feed the horse, stared at the back of the house instead of answering. Out of curiosity and suspicion, Veronica took a few steps and gasped.

A headless corpse, once human, lay sprawled on the ground. Only then did she notice the huge footprints in the snow, sending chills down her spine.

Bahamut. Bahamut had passed through here.

“Humans are the lucky ones. They die quickly compared to the animals that didn’t even have a chance to run.”

Leon walked past her stiffened figure toward the stable behind the house. Seeing the disemboweled, torn body of a horse, Veronica covered her mouth to suppress the nausea. The wall near the hind legs was nearly destroyed, likely from the horse’s struggle in fear. Leon’s indifference to all of this was unnerving.

Could the remaining horse even eat after seeing its own kind dead?

Horses are known for their intelligence, particularly their memory.

Any creature following this man was probably filled with memories of Bahamut.

Veronica lowered her gaze and saw herself standing in one of the large footprints under her black robe. Frozen, as if her ankles were bound, she was snapped out of it by the sound of the empty house’s unlocked door opening. She quickly followed Leon inside.

“What are you doing?”

“Can’t you see?”

Leon searched through the kitchen and pantry, retrieving three blocks of cheese, twenty-two potatoes, and a bottle of wine. Without hesitation, he uncorked the wine and drank straight from the bottle, earning a look of disbelief from Veronica.

“That’s someone else’s food.”

“I never said it was mine.”

Perched lazily on the table, Leon replied indifferently. He licked the wine off his lips and looked at her, saying calmly, “Aren’t you thirsty? Go drink some water.”

“I don’t need any.”

It was the second time she had refused him. She had already declined jerky in the morning. As he tilted his head curiously, he grabbed her wrist and pulled up her sleeve, revealing her thin arm.

“You’re awfully thin.”

“This is normal.”

“A dancer, perhaps?”

He probably meant nothing by it. She knew that. It was a common stereotype about southern dancers, and it didn’t even apply here, in the east.

Still, she flinched, stupidly, like someone pricked by a needle. She shook off his hand, snapping, “What does it matter? Whether I skip a few meals or not, as long as I’m alive, it’s fine.”

She stormed out of the house.

Her throat burned as if she had swallowed hot water. The reality she had forgotten, thanks to the pain in her thighs, hit her again, irritating her. The horse, its ears twitching while it ate from the trough, annoyed her too. So did the sight of herself sitting near the door, burying her head in her knees.

Soon after, Leon came out, slinging the food over his shoulder. He didn’t offer her any more food or water.

They set off again, passing through the forest path. As they traveled through the woods, filled with the hum of insects and birds, the sun began to set. Clearing away the snow, they lit a campfire.

It was exhausting. She felt like she was about to collapse. Her whole body ached like it had been beaten, but the worst part was that her stomach was practically glued to her back.

As she sat lifelessly in front of the fire, Leon began sharpening some branches into skewers, then pierced the potatoes and cheese and started roasting them. The savory smell filled her nose. Potatoes browning on the cold winter night, cheese sizzling.

Her mouth watered, but pride kept her from looking directly at the food. Then, suddenly—

“They’re done. Eat.”

Leon checked one of the skewers and offered it to her.

The golden, crispy potato seemed almost magical, and Veronica could only blink in disbelief. Leon didn’t wait long.

“If you don’t want it, forget it.”

“Wait, wait!”

She hastily grabbed his hand before he could withdraw it. Her small hand gripped his long, rough one, and the size difference was stark. Veronica couldn’t even look at him, only staring at his hand as if it were salvation, her head hanging low.

“…Could you offer it to me again?”

A painful silence followed. She felt heat creeping up her fingers from their joined hands. But she was too hungry to care. Eyes squeezed shut, she heard a soft chuckle from above her head.

When she looked up, her face as red as an apple, Leon was looking at her as if she were a child. Slowly, he spoke, “It would be my honor if you took just one bite of this meal I’ve worked so hard to prepare.”

His teasing tone only made her face grow redder. Leon handed her the skewer, and set a canteen of clear water beside her.

For a moment, she was too embarrassed to speak. But soon, her attention shifted back to the roasted potatoes and cheese, steaming right in front of her. She blew on the soft potatoes and bit into them, savoring the melted cheese.

The humble meal, exaggerating only a little, was one of the best things she had ever eaten. She kept eating, skewer after skewer, until she realized she had already finished five.

After the meal, Leon offered her the sleeping bag and leaned against a tree. Even though he was a Holy Knight, the fact that she was spending the night alone with a man kept Veronica on edge. She resolved to stay alert and pay close attention to any sounds. But the next thing she knew, when she opened her weary eyes at the sound of birds, the sky had already turned a bright shade of blue.

How many days had passed like that?

Clip-clop, clip-clop. The sturdy horse carried them both tirelessly. Even though she was just sitting, the journey was exhausting. Her hands, clenched tightly around the mane, were red and swollen. Her thighs, tensed with effort, trembled constantly. Veronica simply held on, her mind blank.

“I don’t want to eat.”

This was the only thing she had said for days. It wasn’t out of rebellion or resentment; she simply had no appetite, not even enough to stomach a piece of jerky. She usually skipped breakfast and lunch, only eating at night. And finally, one afternoon, they reached Aseldorf.

Aseldorf was an ordinary city, except for the influx of refugees that left it struggling. Aside from the construction of its high walls, there was nothing remarkable. But the problem, if anything, was the smell.

As they approached the city, the stench of blood hit them, making Veronica feel sick. It was a chilling sensation, like hundreds of eyes watching from beneath her feet. By the time they reached the weapons shop deep within the city, the feeling had intensified.

“I’d appreciate it if you could hurry up and choose.”

Leon’s low voice snapped her out of her thoughts, breaking the nausea. Startled, Veronica blinked and looked up at Leon’s face, the noise of the bustling weapons shop filling the background.

He’s close. Realizing that, she quickly lowered her head and glanced at the remaining longswords. Her gaze skimmed over them until it stopped on a scabbard adorned with camellia branches.

The copper plate on it read: Manufactured by Camelias—mass-produced.

As if drawn by some unseen force, she picked up the sword. She felt its weight in her hand and asked in disbelief, “Are you really going to buy it?”

Leon replied indifferently, “Pay me back later.”