The Monster Lady and the Holy Knight - Chapter 85

The bleeding wouldn’t stop. He might not make it back.

After raging like a madman, this was his pitiful end. The thought of how pathetic it must look made Leon chuckle bitterly as he spat out blood. Still lying on his back, he swung his sword horizontally, slicing through the head of a Bahamut climbing the wall. The line of creatures scaling the wall like a ladder fell away in a chain reaction.

He must have lost consciousness for a moment because a new group of Bahamuts had managed to reach the top of the wall in that brief time.

Leon planted the tip of his sword into the ground to push himself up, blood dripping onto the floor as he stumbled toward the signal fire to call for reinforcements. He had reached his limit. The flint slipped repeatedly in his bloodied hands. Blood was like fire; it consumed and destroyed everything it touched.

Just like he had.

“…Damn it.”

Finally, as the fire ignited, a massive Bahamut hand grabbed his ankle. Muttering a curse, Leon drove his sword into the creature’s head and pulled it out again, sending a fountain of blood spraying into the air.

He staggered backward, coughing violently, his back convulsing with pain.

“Ugh.”

He widened his eyes and gasped for air. His limbs twisted uncontrollably, but he couldn’t rest. If he didn’t hold out until reinforcements arrived, the city would be reduced to rubble again, just like last time. He couldn’t allow her to risk herself again.

Kill. Kill. And kill again. Even if it cost him his life.

He wiped the blur from his eyes, only to find blood smearing across them. Smiling coldly, Leon muttered to himself, “If I’d known this would happen, I would have hugged her one more time before leaving…”

He had known morning would come eventually. Yet, he had desperately clung to the remnants of the night. If he could remain in the dream of a sunset forever, he wouldn’t mind if the sun never rose again.

He thought of a night in the wilderness, just the two of them lying under the stars. The quiet conversations by the campfire, her lively face as she looked up at him. Now he thought it might have been for the best. It was better that he had been cruel. It was better that he hadn’t told her he loved her. He wanted her to grieve less. Yet he knew—a woman as tender-hearted as her would cry for him. And that thought, strangely, made him happy.

She was his god. She had been for a long time. Leon Berg was a knight of God.

Hot liquid dripped onto his blood-streaked, trembling hand. Leon’s eyes widened before twisting into a crooked smile.

It was then that dozens of Bahamut hands hooked over the top of the wall like claws. Sensing the end, Leon lifted his gaze. Round faces began to peer over the edge, one by one. Slowly, he adjusted his grip on his dangling sword.

***

Thud. A bird struck the transparent window with force. Veronica stopped speaking in surprise and stared at the pigeon as it slid down to the ground.

It must have died from such a strong impact.

Suddenly, she remembered the broken mirror from that morning. The repeated omens felt undeniable. An inexplicable unease began to creep up her legs.

“So, what you want to confirm with me is whether the wilderness is the holy city.”

Had the Pope not spoken then, she might have forgotten everything she had been saying and rushed to check if the bird had truly died. Staring blankly at the smudged window, Veronica snapped back to her senses and turned her head.

“…Yes. I haven’t found any supporting evidence aside from a single line in the imperial records, but I was hoping Your Holiness would know.”

“And if I give you the answer, will you serve the church?”

“Yes.”

Veronica replied resolutely. After searching the archives all night and enduring countless hardships, the answer she sought was finally within reach. The Pope maintained a torturous silence, letting her tension peak before finally furrowing his brows and speaking.

“Child, I’m truly sorry. I understand your hopes, but I know nothing about it. The idea that the true holy city is elsewhere is the most absurd thing I’ve heard in my life.”

She could almost hear the sound of her inflated expectations deflating like a popped bubble. Veronica let her slumped shoulders fall freely.

What? It’s not true? Then was the prophecy really wrong? Was it all just baseless conjecture?

Engulfed in disappointment, she hung her head. Then her gaze fell upon something that made her pause.

Wait a minute.

Thump, thump.

The world’s sounds faded away as her eyes locked onto the Pope’s fourth finger. Slowly, her eyes widened. A memory of something she had read about rings in the imperial archives struck her like lightning.

[The Pope, who must be free of all falsehoods before God, is given the ‘Ring of the Fisherman,’ which bears the image of the apostle casting a net for fish. When the Pope speaks a lie, the apostle’s image vanishes. It is said that Emperor Heinrich II would stare at this ring every time he met with the Pope.]

There was nothing. No net, no boat, no image of the apostle.

The oval ring bore no markings at all. It was pristine. That meant the Pope had just lied.

“The wilderness is not the holy city,” he declared firmly, as if to reinforce his claim.

The ring’s smooth surface remained unchanged. Veronica recalled the ornate engraving she had seen when she first entered and held her breath. If that was true…

Her heart pounded in her chest. This was something she never could have known without the imperial records. Wasn’t it said that no time spent was wasted? Veronica felt grateful to her past self for meticulously studying every record related to the church. She slowly lifted her head, careful not to reveal her thoughts.

“Thank you for telling me. As promised, I will do anything to bring comfort to the citizens. However, I believe I need proof of Your Holiness’s acknowledgment to show the knights who still see me as a monster. Would you grant me a small token?”

Now that she knew the truth, her course of action was clear. Whether as a saint or a Bahamut, she would do whatever it took to relocate humanity to the promised land foretold by God’s prophecy.

“While I’m here, I’d like to take a walk and look around a bit more. Is that alright?”

As soon as she left the office, Veronica turned to the apprentice knight walking beside her. He was too preoccupied staring at the Croix pendant around her neck to respond promptly. The pendant was both a treasure of the church and a symbol of the Pope’s recognition. As long as she wore it, there was nowhere in the Holy See or the Great Temple she couldn’t go.

“Yes, within the Holy See grounds, it should be fine.”

“Good. There’s a place I’ve been wanting to visit.”

Veronica headed toward the Great Temple, retracing her memory as she climbed its steps and walked down the corridor at the top. She acted decisively, though her hands and feet trembled slightly. She had to move quickly, before the Pope discovered her deceit and erupted in fury.

He must have thought lending her a necklace to use as proof of errands was no big deal.

Veronica banged on the door of the room next to where the carrier pigeons were kept. The knights accompanying her exchanged puzzled glances as an elderly priest opened the door. The room smelled of birds, food, and waste, accompanied by the sounds of flapping wings and soft cooing. Surprised by his unexpected guest, the old man raised his eyebrows.

“What brings you here?”

“I have a message from His Holiness to be sent across the continent. Please prepare to release all the birds in the Great Temple. Make sure they’re well-fed and hydrated, as they won’t be returning.”

Veronica held up the Croix pendant as proof. The priest’s eyes changed when he recognized its significance.

“If it’s such an urgent and heavy message, I should fetch a younger priest.”

“No, there’s no time to involve anyone else. It’s a short message.”

“What kind of message is so urgent?”

Veronica took a deep breath. She knew the weight of dispatches from the Great Temple. Her words would reach not only Whiteland, Chesania, and Tania but also the Rom Archipelago, where polytheism thrived, and even Ruega.

“‘Kart has fallen. The wilderness is the true holy city foretold by God’s prophecy. Those who wish to live, go to the promised land.’”

***

The wall was a chaotic frenzy of weapons and wounded soldiers. Yet amidst the mayhem, the sight of birds filling the sky was breathtaking enough to make everyone stop and look up at the cloudy heavens.

The birds, released from the center of Kart, spread out in every direction—north, south, east, and west. Philip frowned at the sheer number, even greater than before. An operation of this scale should have been something he knew about, but he had no clue.

“Deputy Commander, his condition is worse than last time. We’ve administered poppy syrup, but he’s vomited it all up, so it’s unlikely to have much of a pain-relieving effect.”

At that moment, a medic approached and reported in a hushed voice. Philip cast a cold gaze toward one of the tents. Today, the holy sword might find a new owner.

“Even so, keep administering it. We can’t let the Son of God die in agony. Make sure the tent offers as much privacy as possible.”

That was all Philip could do as acting commander. Leon Berg had fulfilled his duty and given his all as a knight. They were so short on manpower that even civilians were being conscripted. Leon’s final stand, annihilating the Bahamut near the walls at the cost of his own life, had bought the army a few more days.

“There was someone he kept calling for,” the man added cautiously just as Philip was turning to attend to another matter. “The name Veronica. If she’s a survivor here in Kart, it might be good to let them meet one last time.”

Philip immediately knew who it was. With a mix of pity and disdain, he looked toward the tent before shaking his head.

“Send someone to the Holy See to bring the assimilated one.”