The Monster Lady and the Holy Knight - Chapter 80

When she closed her eyes, his face filled her vision. Eyes meeting hers, exhaling softly, furrowed brows suppressing something. At that moment, there was no one else in the world. It was just the two of them. Everything trembled, like fire, like waves, and then…

“Veronica.”

“Estimated fifty thousand?! Are you serious?”

Veronica’s eyes snapped open at the shout that erupted from beyond the door. A chill ran down her spine.

“Shh, keep it down. Yeah, I’m serious. I heard Sir Dane mention it clearly during the meeting.”

“That’s impossible. It’s dark and raining; how could they count them all?”

“You idiot. Do you think the imperial mathematicians would count them with their fingers like some moron? They calculated it based on the time the birds returned and the land area.”

The voices of the knights sounded somewhat youthful. Had the guard changed during the night?

Outside, the blue dawn was beginning to set in. The troops hadn’t returned yet. Veronica anxiously picked at the wound on her palm, her ears straining to catch more.

“Oh, really? Well, I didn’t know that. No need to call someone an idiot for it. But still, they won’t get through to us here, right? The whole order is out there, including Sir Berg.”

“You never know. Just recently, there was that huge mess, and now he’s alone at the central barrier. Even Sir Berg might not make it this time.”

“The higher-ups must know that, so why did they send him out?”

“Well, as far as I heard…”

The speaking knight lowered his voice in frustration. Veronica, unable to help herself, approached the door, still wrapped in her blanket. The whispering resumed.

“…They’ll keep him fighting until he dies. Once he’s gone, the holy sword will choose another devout knight. From the church’s perspective…”

“…Do you think our turn will ever come?”

Her heart dropped. Just as she held her breath, waiting for the next words, a blaring horn drowned out the murmuring soldiers.

Veronica whirled around, hurriedly gathering her clothes with trembling legs. She threw the window open, looking toward where the barrier should be, but there wasn’t a single returning soldier in sight.

Then what was that horn?

As the wind rushed in, she frowned, holding her hair back. The door burst open behind her, and Veronica instinctively grabbed the sword resting beside her.

“Place Hennessis on the floor and turn around. Any unpermitted actions will be met with immediate force.”

At first, she thought she had been caught eavesdropping. It was the same voice she’d heard outside. But as the footsteps entering the room multiplied, she realized there were many of them. After a brief hesitation, she set the sword down and turned around slowly.

One of the knights stepped forward, picked up her sword, and handed it backward. Then, he approached her, binding her wrists painfully, as if handling something distasteful. Veronica looked around at the young knights, most of whom seemed no older than herself.

“What are you doing? Where are you taking me?”

She grabbed one of the knights who seemed closest in age, demanding answers. But the young squire, busy binding her wrists, pretended not to hear.

Should she resist? No. They wore the armor of the Holy Knights. She couldn’t risk turning them into enemies on a whim.

Without understanding what was happening, Veronica allowed herself to be led, following their forceful tugs. They guided her down the stairs, out through the great doors of the church. Though it was spring, the air was still chilly, biting into her skin.

As she stepped from the dim interior to the brightly lit square, she lowered her eyes against the glare. The murmurs grew louder. Despite the early hour, the square was crowded with people still attending the all-night vigil. Exhausted from a sleepless night, they seemed to lack any real sense of time. Blindly devoted, fervent, and pious.

“Stop right there.”

Just before descending the stairs, they halted at a spot overlooking the square. Only then did Veronica have a moment to take in her surroundings and understand the situation she was in. Her head spun.

A tall wooden stake stood in the center, surrounded by crimson-robed inquisitors and criminals with bound hands standing before the crowd.

“A thousand years ago, the Father, in His mercy for His pitiful son, made a prophecy.”

A trial by the church.

“The rest and peace of the Holy City shall be eternal. Not a single drop of innocent blood shall ever be spilled on that land.”

A symbolic inquisition.

Veronica turned her head to look blankly at the shouting inquisitor. Beside him sat the Pope, who looked at least ten years older than when she had last seen him. He wore a gentle expression, seemingly caught in the midst of an event that had already begun.

“But the age of prophecy ended twenty years ago, and now we stand precariously upon the shattered pieces of prophecy. Why has it come to this?”

Veronica scanned the faces in the crowd. Though she had never seen them before, they glanced at her as if they knew her.

“Is it, as the false rumors suggest, because God has abandoned us? Because Kart has become irreparably corrupt, like the first land?”

Eyes shining like morning stars. Heat, malice, resentment.

“For twenty years, the Papal Order has searched for the reason why the age of prophecy ended. And now, before us stands the embodiment of all that has brought calamity upon us.”

It made no sense. It was all so sudden, without any foreshadowing.

She thought that such an event should at least have some hint, some clues leading up to it… Then, she suddenly recalled what she had heard earlier.

“They’ll keep him fighting until he dies. Once he’s gone, the holy sword will choose another devout knight. From the church’s perspective…”

Was Hennessis the clue? Had the wheel of fate started turning the moment she returned holding it?

“This woman was born twenty years ago when the statue in the wilderness lost its head. Since then, she has cultivated the power to summon Bahamut to this land. The proof lies here—the Bahamut’s eyes, whose color differs from her hair. She didn’t survive assimilation; she wore a human guise for twenty years, concealing her true identity!”

It was ridiculous. The statue in the wilderness had lost its head in the summer. Veronica was born in the winter, and if one thought about it carefully, many parts simply didn’t add up. Yet, the inquisitor’s chest heaved violently, his hat nearly falling off as he vehemently condemned her.

“After infiltrating the Holy City, she cursed Kart, predicting its destruction, even while under His Holiness’s protection. She communicated with the Bahamut across nations by unknown means. His Holiness the Pope, Baron Küchler, and Sir Dane have all testified to this.”

When the names of such respected figures were mentioned, murmurs spread through the crowd. The inquisitor did not pause.

“Some of you may have encountered this woman during the refugee procession today. But now it has been revealed that her contributions were merely a deception to hide her sins. She murdered Sir Mecklenburg, Commander of the Holy Knights, and stole the holy sword.”

A gasp of disbelief rippled through the crowd.

Nonsense. But in the young eyes staring at her with growing hatred, Veronica couldn’t utter a single word in her defense. Even if she spoke, would they even hear her? Her head felt dizzy. It all felt unreal. An old nightmare resurfaced—eyes everywhere, following her no matter where she looked.

“Therefore, we demand she be punished by fire for the crimes of murdering a clergyman, heresy, and inciting the people. Burning the devil will end all the calamities and suffering!”

At that moment, she realized. The truth had never mattered from the beginning. They simply needed a scapegoat to placate the people.

There was no foreshadowing, no clues—it must have been a hastily devised scheme thought up at dawn.

“If what I say is not true, may I be struck down by God right here!”

She didn’t see what conclusion the judge or Pope came to. But some truths become clear the moment you’re dragged to a post and bound tightly.

Maybe this was her punishment. For pulling God’s son into the abyss with her. People said that, in such times, the crowd would throw eggs and hurl curses, but the weary refugees didn’t even do that. They simply looked tired.

Instead of feeling rebellious, memories from the previous night surfaced. Had Leon known all this? Was that why he held her one last time? She didn’t know. Everything felt disoriented and exhausting. Her thoughts drifted.

“The cleansing flame!”

The soldier holding the torch approached. Veronica closed her eyes. A sound reached her ears—crunch.

Crunch?

“Aahhh!!!”

At the sound of a piercing scream, Veronica instinctively opened her eyes. She saw the inquisitor who had asked for God’s punishment lying on the ground, his throat torn out. Bang, bang—Bahamut suddenly leaped down from the roof of the church. Some perched alongside the apostles’ statues on the roof, blowing horns with mouths on their faces, mimicking humans.

The sound they made wasn’t a retreat horn. It was a mockery of a battle horn, imitating humanity. Panic swept through the crowd in an instant. Screams, shouts, the sound of slaughter. Blood splattered. People were dying.

How had they grown heads? How had they bypassed the newly erected barrier, attacking from the secure wall behind? Was the wall breached? How? The holy power accumulated over a thousand years was supposed to protect the people of God!

“Untie me!!!”

Coming to her senses, Veronica kicked the knight frozen in place with the torch. It was the same young squire who had bound her hands.

“Untie this!!!”

He was too stunned, watching soldiers fall one by one, to act rationally. The torch slipped from his hand. Anger boiled within her, fueled by tired sadness.

This isn’t Aseldorf. I won’t stay helpless just because my hands and feet are bound. I’ll do something—whatever I can do!

Bang! The head of the Bahamut attacking the squire exploded. At that moment, the greatest miracle in Kart’s history unfolded before countless witnesses. Ah, it was like a flame igniting in the darkness—one survivor would later testify. Hundreds of Bahamut heads within the square simultaneously burst apart, as if crushed by the atmosphere.