The Monster Lady and the Holy Knight - Chapter 79

It’s strange. When you think about it, putting on clothes should take much longer than taking them off.

Veronica lay curled under the blanket, watching the man don his armor in the blink of an eye. She shivered as the warmth that had enveloped her slipped away. The strong arms that had held her securely, the shoulder where she’d buried her face—remembering them, she thought she might catch a cold. Ah, would a Bahamut even catch a cold?

She looked up at the man preparing to leave, indulging in baseless thoughts. He would soon turn and leave through that door, and he wouldn’t come back to see her again. Never again, because they had promised not to.

It was what she had wanted from the start—to steal Leon’s precious convictions, to break them, corrupt him, and push him away so that he could no longer shake her.

She was achieving what she had wanted for so long, yet she felt miserable. It hurt as if she had lost a part of herself. As she rubbed her tear-swollen eyes, Leon leaned over beside the bed.

“Veronica.”

“……”

“I have a favor to ask before I go.”

His low voice fell quietly, like the night sea.

“After everything ends, can I come see you just one more time?” he asked while tucking her black hair, which had fallen over her cheek, behind her ear.

“There’s something I need to tell you, something I want to give you.”

His hoarse voice was tender. She didn’t know what it was, but it was certainly a request. Slowly, light returned to Veronica’s previously dazed eyes.

Just one more time. That phrase lodged itself in her mind, tempting her.

“You don’t want me to?”

The man’s face came into view, asking her the question. The usual relaxed, indifferent mask he’d always worn was nowhere to be seen. Instead, he looked like that empty face she’d glimpsed in the wilderness. He looked so lonely, so utterly desolate that it hurt. Veronica saw the desperation and unease within him, and her heart sank. If she said no, it would end there. The power to decide was entirely in her hands. It was a strange feeling—having emotional power over someone.

When she gave no response, Leon waited quietly, his hand stroking her face—from her rounded forehead, to her eyebrows, down her nose, over her lips, her chin, and back to her soft cheek. Veronica unconsciously held her breath. His touch was gentle and slow, almost enough to put her to sleep. She felt like if she kept silent, he might never leave. If she told him not to go, he might forget the war, Bahamut, and stay by her side.

Is this how it usually is? Do men act like they’ll give away everything after just one night?

The places his lips had touched—from the tops of her feet, her calves, her thighs, her flat stomach, even to the tips of her ears—were flushed and aching.

“I don’t intend to force you. But if I could have your promise now…”

He trailed off, leaving the rest unsaid. Leon stared at her swollen lips with sharp eyes. She felt like she might misunderstand—that his gaze wasn’t the usual lust men felt but filled with affection. She feared she’d believe it. We, you, what happened tonight—

Dong, dong, dong—the sound of bells rang out from outside like salvation. The two remained silent, and after a long while, Veronica spoke first, trying to sound unaffected.

“You should go now. You have to go.”

She pushed his arm away with her hand, which she pulled from beneath the blanket. Telling him to go was answer enough to his request. His gaze was sharp enough to pierce her heart, and it made her chest tighten. Veronica deliberately looked away.

I won’t be fooled again. I won’t hope again. If I let myself get swept up, I’ll only end up hurt again. I’m tired of crying alone in a dark room.

“You said you didn’t want to make things difficult for me. You said you’d respect my choice, but I guess not. Go. I don’t need you anymore.”

She spat out her words coldly and closed her eyes tightly. The bells rang out again, longer this time, urging him on, but Leon sat beside her for a long while without a word. She heard him lower his head. His breath felt close, but in the end, his lips never touched her. The tips of her fingers ached as if stung, and she clenched them tightly. Slowly, she exhaled the breath she’d been holding.

The last thing she saw when she opened her eyes to the sound of footsteps was Leon’s hand as he rose. The hand, without its gauntlet, was scarred from burns. She had always wanted to ask him about it—where he got those scars, why they hadn’t been there before they arrived in Kart.

Leon seemed to want to say something as he waited, but in the end, he turned away heavily, defeated by her stubborn rejection. The door closed behind him with a thud, and a loud silence filled the room.

Veronica lay still for a moment, then sprang up and moved to the window. She stepped on the fallen sheet, not bothering to cover her naked body, and looked out at the world that had suddenly stopped raining. She waited to see the figure that would emerge. Something flowed down between her legs.

***

Leon had held a woman in his arms—in God’s sanctuary. He had indulged in the greatest corruption a priest could commit.

He had been God’s knight all his life, and the weight of that sin was greater than he had imagined. He had known, and yet he had mixed his body with hers. He had abandoned his faith, thrown away his father’s teachings. As he descended the crimson-carpeted stairs, the statue of God stared at him, rebuking the wayward son. Leon slowly averted his gaze from the cross.

The name his birth mother had given him was Noah, meaning “rest given by God.” It was clear now that it was not a fitting name. In this life, or in death, he would never be granted the rest of paradise.

In the sanctuary, the organ played a requiem for the dead, and the church was filled with those in prayer. High above this holy space, he had shared the most private and worldly act with the woman who had assimilated with the Bahamut. At the end of the faithful prayers, he had indulged in sin. There was no regret. Even if he could go back in time, he would still fulfill her wish. There was no way he could repent.

At the foot of the stairs, a knight in white armor approached him.

“Sir Berg, the Deputy Commander has assigned you to the central barrier. He said, ‘Take responsibility and let not even a single one through.'”

Leon ignored the man’s polite bow and continued walking toward the exit. Behind him, the majestic requiem played.

Dies iræ, dies illa, (Day of wrath, that day,)

solvet sæclum in favilla, (when the world will dissolve into ash.)

As he crossed the sanctuary, hymns and the woman’s gasping breaths filled his head. The red carpet reminded him of her tear-stained eyes, and the rain-soaked square brought to mind her pained tears.

He had wanted to stay with her until morning. No, not just until morning—for longer, even for several more nights. He didn’t want to leave irresponsibly after taking what he wanted.

But Leon also knew a painful truth—she didn’t want that.

Juste judex ultionis, (Righteous Judge of vengeance,)

Donum fac remissionis, (grant me the gift of absolution,)

Ante diem rationis. (before the day of retribution.)

She wanted nothing from him. She wanted only for them to break each other, to destroy each other. She wished only for sin, departure, corruption, and collapse. Leon had no right to kneel and beg for forgiveness. Respecting her decision was the cruelest punishment.

Leon couldn’t simply cry and beg like other sinners. Veronica had forbidden even that. She had said she never wanted to see him again. Tearing his violently beating heart from his chest, crushing it underfoot—it was miserable. The feelings he hadn’t dared to express festered painfully in his chest.

Oro supplex et acclinis, (I pray, prostrate and humbled,)

Cor contritum quasi cinis, (my heart in ashes and regret,)

Mounting the waiting black warhorse, Leon urged it forward. He crossed the square, galloping down the main avenue. The soldiers opened a path before him, as if witnessing a miracle parting the sea. In the distance, he could see the looming, uneven barrier.

No other soldiers would come near. They would die for nothing if caught up in his rampage. Leon had no objection to fighting alone. But as he approached the barrier, he felt a growing unease. There were signs of enormous movement, yet not a single light flickered in the darkness.

Bahamut’s eyes usually gleamed brightly in the dark. This kind of pitch-blackness was unlike them. Leon drew his sword and waited atop the highest barrier. The dawn air, after the rain, was piercingly cold, cutting through him like a blade. Behind him lay the city’s lights, ahead the darkness that was blacker than night.

Lacrimosa dies illa, (That day of weeping,)

Qua resurget ex favilla, (when guilty man arises from the ashes,)

Judicandus homo reus. (for judgment.)

The requiem echoing in his mind, like a prophecy, was coming to an end. He felt the vibrations from the ground rising through his feet. Holding his sword loosely, Leon recalled the warmth he had held in his arms.

From the first time he met her, through the snow-covered inn, to the empty wilderness, the great temple, and Kart—he remembered in order. She had said she wanted to be a flame in the darkness. But it was better not to wish for that. Flames must burn themselves to give warmth to others.

Now that he thought about it, snow suited her far better. The kind of snow that blooms, resilient, in the coldest world. Flames that come too close can only be poison.

Pie Jesu Domine, (Merciful Lord Jesus,)

Dona eis requiem. (Grant them rest.)

“Amen.”

At last, something leaped from the darkness like a swarm of spiders. Leon stood frozen for a moment at the sight of the creatures climbing over the stone piles. Heads had sprouted from their forms—heads like those of fetuses, eyes not yet opened.