The Monster Lady and the Holy Knight - Chapter 70

The First Bahamut.

A suffocating silence filled the space. Leon looked down at the hand of the creature. As expected, the sword looked exactly like Apocalypse, emitting a blinding radiance. It was Hennessis, one of the two holy swords. It was likely that this very sword had breached the city walls.

“Ha.”

Leon let out a chilling laugh. He extended his lips into a smirk and slowly ran his hand down his face. The Bahamut, leaning its head toward him until it was almost in front of him, made Leon meet its gaze willingly. To meet in a church—it felt like someone’s planned prank.

On the red carpet of the church, Leon sat between the woman and the demon as he opened his mouth to speak.

“It’s been a while. This is our third time meeting. Do you remember any of it?”

Although it had a head and a mouth, the Bahamut did not respond. Leon hadn’t expected a response. He picked up his sword and rose slowly. The veins stood out on the hand gripping the sword—a sword identical to the one the Bahamut held.

“Thank you for coming down here. Saved me the trouble of coming to kill you.”

Two holy swords.

He had never crossed them before. Mecklenburg was both his father and his superior. But if the opportunity ever arose, he wouldn’t have avoided it.

“I wonder whom God loves more.”

God opens His eyes in mercy only toward one of the swords. It was why duels had always been considered an expression of God’s will.

Clang—Apocalypse swung suddenly, clashing sharply with its twin. Waves of force rippled outward from the center of the two swords, whipping his cloak and hair wildly, shattering the church’s stained glass in a loud crash.

Leon’s eyes momentarily twisted. It wasn’t just his imagination. The way the Bahamut wielded the sword—from its grip to its slashes—was like that of a human. No, to be precise…

Leon’s gaze flicked to the woman lying behind him. Was it the influence of assimilation? If that was the case, it could be advantageous. Her swordsmanship was true to the basics. As soon as the moves grew slightly complex, unnecessary actions created openings.

Clang, clang! Sparks flew as the blades clashed wildly. Leon increased his speed, pushing forward. He saw an opening.

He forcefully deflected the heavy blade and drove the tip of his sword into the creature’s abdomen. As expected, the Bahamut failed to dodge in time. He felt the sensation of piercing its leather-like hide vibrate up his arm.

“Ah… ugh…”

It was at that moment that a soft groan escaped from the woman behind him.

The small sound, coming from behind him, echoed in his chest as if it were thunderously loud and agonizing. Leon flinched and froze. The Bahamut’s red eyes turned downward. Damn it.

He belatedly tried to pull the sword from its abdomen, but it was already too late. The deeply embedded blade delayed him. Just as a thick, grotesque leg moved up to his side, the sword finally came free. The sharp pain hit him, and Leon was sent flying into a church pew.

“Gah! Cough!”

Blood surged into his mouth, and he spat it violently onto the floor. He wiped his lips with the hand not holding the sword as he rose. He let out a twisted laugh at the acrid, fishy smell and the familiar pain. The scene around him now looked like the sandy desert of Tiran. Instead of the corpses of his fallen comrades, there were dunes and a woman lying on top.

Like an offering of pure innocence given to the church.

Seeing the woman lying there, her eyes closed and groaning, his blood ran cold.

He couldn’t let her get caught up in the fight. He needed to create some distance.

No, was there any point? If the Bahamut died, the woman would die too. He knew that and had still engaged in battle.

“If you’re innocent, explain yourself. Tell me you know nothing. That you never deceived me. That even if the First Bahamut dies, I won’t die.”

Her sorrowful voice echoed in his head.

Yes, he had known from the start. He had extended his hand to her with that knowledge. A means to an end. A sacrifice for a greater cause. But.

He took a step toward her.

At that moment, the Bahamut, with blood still pouring from its abdomen, suddenly reached for the woman. As if in reverence, it lifted her high, tilting its head back and opening its mouth wide. And then…

His heart stopped. His thoughts froze. Leon belatedly leaped forward, but by then, the previously quiet Bahamut horde had poured in like a flood. Hundreds of them surged through the broken door and shattered windows like a raging river. Leon mercilessly cut down anything blocking his path.

Everything around him lost its color. The only thing that remained vivid was the Bahamut consuming the woman.

The creature, still tilting its head back, had set its sword aside, using both hands to push her inside. Leon had seen Bahamut eat their victims thousands of times. But seeing it swallow her whole was a thousand times more brutal than seeing heads being torn off.

Her limp arms, her quivering face, were crushed into the pink mucous membranes. The Bahamut’s gills, where its ears should be, puffed as if it were swallowing saliva. When it finally lowered its head, Leon heard something shatter within his chest.

His eyes were wide open, filled with pure, searing madness. He understood her desire to ruin him. He rampaged, broken.

With every horizontal slash of his blade, dozens of enemies were drenched in blood. The red, sticky blood and pieces of flesh stuck to his armor, dripping off.

Still, they lunged at him, as if even death didn’t scare them. They surrounded him from all sides. As they crowded his vision, the last glimpse of the Bahamut he saw was its face, mouth torn open wide, revealing its gums and teeth, and two blood-red eyes.

Die, die, die.

***

Crunch, drag, crunch.

With every step, blood left a mark on the white stone beneath his feet. The longsword dragged between his footprints, and his arms hung limply by his sides.

His arms were shattered, and several ribs were broken. Countless smaller wounds covered his body. But the most excruciating of all was the pain of using up his life force. He could feel his organs rotting, his bones crushing to powder.

Leon gauged the life force he had burned through. He had expected to live until forty, but now, at best, he might have three years left.

He bent over, coughing violently, a chunk of blood spraying out. Leon doubled over, bracing himself against the ground. Blood dripped from his lips, sticking and snapping. This kind of rampage hadn’t happened since Tiran.

From the church he had left behind to the surrounding area, Bahamut corpses piled up like mountains. At least hundreds, if not more. It had been an unbelievably brutal massacre.

He had lost control and rampaged. His blood-soaked memory was fragmented and broken. The only thing vividly clear was the moment she was swallowed.

Leon tried to rewind, and rewind, and rewind his memory to a time before the Bahamut entered. He should have held her. No, he should have ignored her and slaughtered the demon instead.

No, it was all wrong. He should have taken her and fled.

But where could they have gone? The wilderness? The sea?

She had been doomed from the beginning. Had he truly believed that peaceful days could continue forever? Had he dared hope that the end could be postponed?

“Ha.”

Leon laughed quietly, having found his own contradiction. He looked down at the blood ripped steadily from his face. It pooled on the ground, creating a puddle. Was the face in the reflection red because of the clotted blood, or was it just because the puddle itself was crimson?

The woman was dead. She had been eaten before his eyes.

Now there was no one left to cry for him, no one to whisper they loved him. The warmth of someone small holding him, telling him it was alright, had vanished entirely.

He saw feet in front of the pool of blood. Slowly, he looked up. His comrades, lost in Tiran, looked down at him as always. They did not offer comfort. Because everything was his fault.

“It’s not your fault.”

A voice contradicted his thoughts, rising from somewhere deep within him. Leon blinked slowly. It was her voice, unmistakably, but he couldn’t place the time.

When was it? When had she said something like that?

“Sometimes, I wished someone would tell me that. That it’s alright, that just surviving is enough.”

Ah, that day. The day he drank the drugged wine from the princess and confronted the woman.

Scattered fragments of broken memories hinted that he must have shared the events that had happened in Tiran. The only thing that had stuck in his mind was the part where she said she hated him. Even while speaking harshly, she had treated him with such kindness. She had held him and shared her warmth. She had done something that no one else had ever done. She had called his name.

“Like anyone else, I wanted to live. Even after everything, I had many things I wanted to do if I survived. I thought, foolishly, that when it was all over, I could get along with you.”

“…We could never have gotten along.”

Leon spoke to himself with a brief laugh. Every time he laughed, a thin line of blood trickled from the corner of his lips.

“Don’t forget. Not until you die. My name. And that I didn’t want to die.”

She must have said that as an act of revenge. But to Leon, her name meant nothing. A name is only needed when things need to be distinguished. To him, she was the only woman. Original sin and salvation were just different names for the same person. Finally, within the crimson blood that resembled her red eyes, Leon understood. He loved her.