The Monster Lady and the Holy Knight - Chapter 72

The migration to the wilderness—the woman’s final wish.

His head throbbed. What was already a difficult request had become nearly impossible now that the princess had decided to sabotage it.

Leon, overwhelmed by fatigue, anticipated the wars and chaos that would soon erupt in Kart. His eyes were directed at the darkening window, though he wasn’t really looking—just letting his gaze rest there. He saw nothing, felt nothing. His forcibly regenerating body, like it was being tortured, kept repeating cycles of tension and relaxation, as if to assert that he was still alive.

Outside, there were the wails of mourners and the voices of priests reciting prayers. It was undoubtedly a consecration prayer from the cemetery.

According to the law, a corpse with a lingering soul must be buried or burned within a day. Gathering all the bodies would have been a problem, but fortunately, most were already naturally buried under piles of rocks. The families who received the consecration prayers would now have a seven-day mourning period. Seven days. Long in some ways, yet short when it came to saying farewell to someone cherished.

Such tragic scenes were nothing new to him. When he had first become a knight and fought on the battlefield, death was everywhere he looked. He had personally conducted countless funerals. Yet today, the sounds of mourning were unbearably loud.

He thought of the woman who had neither been buried nor burned.

The woman who had been devoured like an animal. Who would mourn her?

As far as he knew, Veronica had no family or friends left. Bayern had burned, and Kart had fallen.

The only people still alive were Oscar and the woman named Hannah, whose fates remained uncertain.

A person had died, and no one knew. There was no one to tell. It was the loneliest, most desolate end, completely unfitting for someone so bright and radiant.

Knock, knock—someone rapped on the door, pulling him from his thoughts. Thinking it was a nun bringing dinner, he did not respond. A careful creak followed as the door opened. There was a small gasp, as if the intruder had thought the room’s silent occupant was asleep.

Leon finally turned his head, frowning slightly at the sight of Johanna’s maid from earlier.

“Oh, um, well…”

“What is your business?”

He cut her off before she could go on for too long. The maid hesitated, stammering for a long moment.

“I was just going to leave it if the room was empty…”

She was holding something. Leon’s gaze dropped to her hands, prompting her to speak more decisively.

“It’s something left behind by the assimilated one. The maid who was cleaning the bedroom found it.”

Assimilated one. Leon’s previously blank expression sharpened.

Perhaps sensing his suspicion of a trap, the maid quickly continued, “I thought a lot about what to do with it. Of course, I was going to give it to Her Highness, but when I looked at it, I saw it was a letter, and it had a specific recipient.”

The more he heard, the more ridiculous it seemed. If Johanna knew, she’d be furious. It was as if her loyal servant had wagged her tail for a stranger right in front of her master.

Leon stared at the maid for a moment before speaking quietly, “How can you prove that it’s something the assimilated one left behind?”

“I can’t prove it. But… hearing that she died, it felt like my last duty to uphold. As you might guess, Her Highness never left the assimilated one alone, not for a single moment…”

The maid looked out at the ruins of Kart, her lips trembling as she finished, “Even if it was an order, I took part in it, and I want to repent. I happened to come across a passage from the scriptures yesterday, about how the end is near, and it strengthened my resolve.”

Leon’s eyes narrowed. It seemed that even those who knew nothing had begun to feel death approaching.

He had no intention of blaming her for her belated repentance. What he was more curious about was this:

“What happened to her?”

“Well…”

“I’m not asking to assign blame. Just as a final courtesy, please tell me.”

The maid hesitated, glancing at Leon. It seemed natural, like a habit she’d developed under Johanna—the instinct to sense quiet anger. For some reason, she grew pale and shook her head, extending only the letter.

Leon felt himself sinking. In truth, he didn’t know much about what had happened to Veronica after she entered the palace. The last he’d seen of her, she had been dressed in finery. Had she experienced the same things in the palace as she had in the papal residence? It had been her choice, but it was Leon who had brought her to the princess. All her suffering had started because of him.

As he took the letter, the maid nodded slightly and quickly turned to leave, looking as if she feared being called back and questioned further. Leon watched the door close without expression, then slowly lowered his gaze. He didn’t believe that Veronica had left behind a letter. He was certain of it—until he unfolded the crumpled parchment.

[To Leon Berg, whom I do not cherish.]

The moment he saw the familiar handwriting, he snapped back to full awareness. He had read the records of the vision enough times to recognize it instantly.

[Ah, now that I’m actually writing it, I don’t know how to begin. I don’t have any friends far away that I need to send letters to, and since you’re the one receiving this, everything I write feels awkward.

So please forgive my rambling. Not everyone is good at writing, you know. And I don’t have the luxury to erase and rewrite multiple times—this parchment isn’t exactly common. I’m broke, and this parchment is something I stole from the palace reception room.

People usually start by talking about the weather at times like this, so I’ll try describing the view from the window. The sky is clear and bright right now. There are white clouds drifting by. The entire city feels excited today, probably because it’s the first day of the Founding Festival.

Yes, I don’t know when you’ll be reading this letter, but today is the beginning of the Founding Festival. It’s also a day I never really liked.

Ever since my mother died, I’ve hated the Founding Festival for a long time. My friends would all go out holding their parents’ hands, eating delicious food, but my father disliked noisy places like that. Even when I grew up and could have gone with friends, it never seemed as exciting as it did when I was a child.

It’s a common thing. Experience makes us weary of everything.

But now… would you believe it if I said I’m looking forward to it again? Actually, I learned not long ago that I don’t have much time left. Strangely, that realization made everything so vivid. I finally understand how precious all the moments I used to let slip by really are.

By now, you must have figured it out. Whatever you’re worried about, you should know that I have no intention of running away.

I’ve never run away from anything in my life. Not when dancing left my feet in shambles, not when I saw my father holding my half-sibling’s hand at the Founding Festival. I practiced until I couldn’t anymore, and I kept trying to get my father’s attention until the very end.

Maybe it’s like I said before—giving up isn’t easy for me. So even now, I’m foolishly wondering who you’ll spend the Founding Festival with.

Everyone dies. Just because I’ve met life’s enemy a little sooner doesn’t mean I’ll turn my back and flee. Of course, I still have unfulfilled wishes.]

The rest of the text was smeared with black ink. From the glimpses of names like Whiteland and Black Forest, it seemed to be a list of places she wanted to go. Leon stared at the five or so lines that had been blotted out with ink. There were traces of tears mixed into the ink. She must have cried as she erased them, knowing she wouldn’t get to visit.

[But it’s alright. I’ll enjoy my final fall. Ah, I ended up getting to the point just by talking about the weather. My death—my last request.

Did you know? In the First Land, they believed that a person’s lifespan existed within the memories of others. As long as someone remembers them, they live on forever in that memory.

So last night, as I lay in bed, I thought about who might remember me. Whose memory I would want to live in.

After considering both, you’re the only one left. It’s funny, but it’s true. I hate you so much, yet I can’t think of anyone else who would remember me for as long as you would.

Yes. I’ve taken this long journey just to say this one thing.

My name is Veronica. Veronica Schwarzwald.

They say names have power, that I will win no matter where I go. I will bring victory to humanity.

You probably won’t ask my name until the very end. But I wanted to say it. I wanted at least one person to know I existed. Even if no epic will be written about me, if one person remembers me for their entire life, maybe that’s not such a bad life after all.]

The letter ended there. Judging by the blank space left and the absence of a closing, it seemed she had been interrupted while writing. Or perhaps she had never intended to deliver it.

Leon quietly set the parchment down. He reached for the goblet beside him and lifted it to his lips. The liquid slid down his parched throat, but he couldn’t taste anything.

The maid was wrong. This wasn’t a letter—it was a will. Filled with unattainable wishes.

Leon let out a soft chuckle, running his hand over his face. His breaths were low and unsteady. Her choice had been foolishly misguided. If she wanted her memory kept, she should’ve trusted it to someone with more years left. If she hated him, her final words should have been curses. No, perhaps her madness had left her with nowhere to turn for forgiveness, and that was her ultimate curse.

The snow-covered mountain had collapsed. Spring had come, and there was no way it could have endured.