The Monster Lady and the Holy Knight - Chapter 54

A flicker of hope began to rise. Each time he showed vulnerability, each time they seemed alike, she felt it.

That’s why, even after being called revolting, she stubbornly voiced her confession. Or maybe all of it was just an excuse. Maybe the truth was that she could no longer suppress the emotions that had risen to her throat.

Like how holding back tears eventually leads to more tears. She just couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“What you did yesterday, that helmet I saw earlier—I’ve been hurt enough. So just once, give me an honest answer. If you do, I’ll give up cleanly. I won’t bother you, I won’t show my feelings anymore.”

Please, let me reach you. Please.

“I…”

Please.

“I like you, so I’ve been waiting.”

Her voice trembled.

Tears blurred her vision. She closed her eyes tightly, opened them again, and hot liquid rolled down her cheeks. Since meeting this man, she had become far more prone to tears.

“Giving up isn’t easy for me.”

Leon wore an unusually blank expression. He stared at her tears for a long moment, then reached out as if to wipe them away. Veronica waited for his touch.

But the hand that hovered in the air fell away without touching her. At the same time, his gaze grew darker.

“The only thing I can say…”

The voice that reached her ears was chillingly low. Lower than her heart, which had sunk heavily. Lower than a bottomless darkness.

“Even at this very moment, I wish for your death.”

Veronica held her breath for a moment, the hand that had missed her hanging in the air.

“So don’t cry for me. Don’t forgive me. Ever.”

He meant it. She knew because she had reached him. It was a complete rejection. No chance to cling on.

Veronica watched Leon walk away, feeling utterly hollow. It was better this way—she could finally give up. He was never going to embrace her, not in the past, the present, or the future. He was a knight who loved only God. She knew this—she thought she knew it better than anyone.

Her chest throbbed. The heart, once swollen with hope and expectation, now painfully squeezed her lungs. She frowned, struggling to breathe.

The portrait of God on the closing door had both eyes crying, even though only one was open.

Dear God, was I crazy when I wanted to fall apart, even for just a moment? When I wanted to become whatever he desired?

***

Giving up isn’t difficult. That was the one lesson Mecklenburg had imparted to Leon.

Since Leon was very young, Mecklenburg had never allowed him to possess anything he wanted. Whether it was an object, an animal, or a person. He had his desires suppressed entirely so that he wouldn’t repeat his father’s mistakes.

His first friend, who came to the monastery to deliver goods, was trampled to death by a horse. It was nearly a ton of workhorse that, for some reason, couldn’t stop as it approached the monastery. “He died because of you.” The old priest clicked his tongue and said those exact words without missing a beat.

Leon’s mother committed suicide. The person who brought the news was none other than Mecklenburg, who took Leon to an unmarked grave. The gravestone bore the date when Leon had left the monastery to search for his mother. Though his father never came to see him, he had already learned everything through the eyes and ears of the priests.

If he wanted something, it broke; if he liked it, it shattered; if he loved it, it was ruined. No—everything he touched was destroyed.

At some point, Leon stopped wanting anything. Resignation became second nature. The only entity he could offer his love to without it being destroyed was God.

The reason the woman had been special was that she was destined to die from the moment they met. Since she was bound to be destroyed anyway, he let himself relax. He allowed a vulnerability, and warmth seeped in through it.

“I heard you were looking for me. What’s the matter—”

Oscar, stepping into the shadows, couldn’t finish his sentence before his head slammed into the wall. His collar was grabbed, and he quickly assessed the situation, eyes wide.

“It seems you’ve been away too long. Resorting to street-brawler tactics, are we?”

“Not at all. Everything I know, I learned at the monastery. You must’ve missed the late-night lessons.”

Leon replied in a languid voice. The dissonance between his tone and the pressure being applied filled Oscar with a strange dread. Leon showed no emotional disturbance.

“What do you want?”

“I saw something interesting and wondered if you knew anything about it.”

Leon tilted his head slightly, revealing one eye under the pale moonlight. It was a chillingly strange combination—cool flame.

“The whip marks on her back. Whose doing?”

Oscar visibly stiffened at the straightforward question. There was no need to ask whose back. He could still clearly remember the sensation of the whip, its sting vivid in his mind. Yet more unsettling than the mention of that terrible event was the fact that Leon Berg had seen those scars.

He had held her again—Veronica, the woman who looked on the verge of collapsing from exhaustion. Just kissing a woman with whom he couldn’t reciprocate feelings should have been enough. Oscar clenched his jaw so hard his teeth almost broke before spitting out his words as if vomiting blood.

“It was all me… All my doing.”

“Ah, so it was His Holiness after all? I figured it didn’t match Mecklenburg’s style.”

It was as if Leon hadn’t even heard Oscar’s denial. He let out a small laugh and released his grip. Oscar, freed, straightened against the wall instead of making excuses.

“Why ask now? Since when have you cared about her well-being?”

“I don’t. Which is why she’s still alive.”

Before Oscar could fully understand, his head smashed back against the wall. He let out a low groan—not from the hot blood flowing from the back of his head, but from the force siphoning his holy power through the hand around his neck.

It was something only the owner of the Holy Sword could do. If this went any further, not just his holy power but even his life force would be drained. Hundreds of knights had died like this in Tiran—consumed by the ravenous hunger of Leon’s blade.

As Oscar struggled for breath, Leon whispered lowly, “The woman is too forgiving, so maybe a few words of apology were enough for you. But you know it yourself, don’t you? You laid hands on someone pure.”

“W-what… do you want?”

“Due to today’s incident, an extermination force has been formed. The Holy Knights, who cannot be assimilated by the monsters, will scour the area around the wall daily. And it’s highly likely that woman will be among them.”

Oscar’s eyes widened at the unfamiliar news. Leon continued as if it were nothing, “You’ll protect her at all costs, even if you have to sacrifice your own life.”

“If the extermination force is formed, wouldn’t you also… definitely be included?”

“Likely. But unfortunately, I don’t intend to deal with her any longer. You’ll be responsible for keeping her alive. Because if she dies with her head smashed in, you’ll be next.”

Only when Oscar was on the verge of collapse did Leon release his grip. Kneeling and leaning against the floor, Oscar gasped for air, his dark green eyes filled with confusion. This wasn’t the Leon Berg he knew. A knight of the Holy Order wouldn’t bat an eye at an inquisitorial execution.

Could it be mutual?

“Hah… Haha.”

Leon looked down expressionlessly at Oscar, who let out a breathless laugh, seemingly losing his mind. Having made his point, Leon saw no need to wait for an answer and turned to leave.

He was certain it had been Oscar providing holy power to Veronica while Leon was away.

Yes, anyone could take his place. Anyone could, as long as they had holy power.

“I like you.”

Boom. In the distance, cannons roared. The bombardment resumed to push back the Bahamut that had drawn too close. Leon walked on, staring at the sky flashing like lightning. By then, Oscar, still on his knees, was coughing loudly.

The reason people sleep at night is that, if they don’t, they soon wish for death. The darkness turns people black. No matter how bright the flames, they lose their way in the depths of the abyss, sinking endlessly until extinguished.

Leon returned alone to the inn. The room inside was silent, without a trace of warmth. The loneliness he had lived in his entire life now took on a fresh texture, rampaging. Unlike yesterday, he willingly stepped into the sticky darkness.

Just as Veronica had said, she left nothing behind. As if she had never existed in the first place. Except for the parchment he had seen earlier in the day, the only trace she had left was her scent on the bed. The pure winter fragrance from her neck still lingered on the white sheets.

“I like you.”

Leon opened his eyes. The ceiling was pitch black, the surroundings were utterly silent.

Had he fallen asleep? His unfocused eyes traced the scars that had covered her soft back instead of the darkness. The room reeked of blood—a scent that shouldn’t have been there. He had known from the start. Once someone entered the black corridor, leaving unscathed was nearly impossible. She might have faced horrors worse than that.

And yet he hadn’t tried to learn what she had been through. He hadn’t asked; he had instinctively avoided it. In truth, it wasn’t the Pope or Oscar who had whipped her—it was Leon.

He had continuously hurt her. On the wall earlier, grabbing her wrist too tightly—it didn’t matter whether it was intentional. The truth remained unchanged.

In such a situation, it was laughable that he felt the cold. In some ways, Mecklenburg had been right. Humans grow lonelier the more they want. If he had never approached the warmth in the first place, he wouldn’t have been so cold.

Boom, boom. The bombardment, which had seemed to stop, began again. Leon turned his head to look at the flickering sky beyond the window. He was always late returning. The woman always waited here with a light on. A little round light at the end of the day. The welcoming face, her clear voice. Her glances even during meals.

He set fire to these formless warmths, to her breaths, using them as kindling. The memories would become fantasies to get him through the cold night. Even if only until the fire went out.