“We’ll move once those creatures outside have dispersed,” Leon said, gesturing toward a leather pouch. “Eat something so you don’t collapse from exhaustion.”
They huddled deep within the storehouse shadows. Their meeting was nothing short of divine providence—he had apparently come seeking provisions just as she had sought shelter.
“I couldn’t stomach food right now,” Veronica murmured, wrapped in Leon’s black cloak. “Anything I eat would surely come back up.”
After a nervous glance around the darkened space, she quietly added, “Instead… could you just hold me for a while?”
At her childlike request, Leon paused his inspection of the shelves and turned to face her.
Fearing rejection, she hastily continued, “You don’t need to remove your armor. Just for a moment—I need to feel safe again. Then I think I can move forward.”
A heavy silence hung between them. Thinking her request foolish, Veronica’s shoulders slumped. But then Leon crossed the distance between them with purposeful strides and settled beside her. He placed his sword within easy reach and drew her into his arms, cloak and all, with surprising gentleness.
Veronica wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face against him, inhaling deeply. The sensation was like breaking the surface after drowning in bottomless waters. His scent was a mixture of cool night air and the metallic tang of battle.
“You know,” she whispered against his skin, “I cut my hair.”
It was a completely irrelevant observation given their apocalyptic circumstances.
“I noticed,” he replied softly.
“You’ve always preferred long hair,” she ventured. “You must be disappointed.”
“Me?”
“Yes.”
“Not at all.”
Liar, she thought, but Leon seemed to read her mind and added without missing a beat, “I adore everything about you, no matter what it is.”
Veronica lifted her head, eyes widening slightly. Leon didn’t even flinch, his gaze steady and unapologetic as it met hers.
“You sound like a silver-tongued rogue,” she accused softly.
“Liar, rogue… what charming endearment comes next?”
“I haven’t decided,” she replied. “But surely you wouldn’t find me beautiful if I were completely bald.”
“Ah…” Leon’s voice held a note of contemplation as he studied her intently.
Veronica, initially puzzled by his lingering gaze, suddenly realized he was actually imagining it.
“I’ll run you through if you continue with that mental picture,” she threatened.
When Leon’s deep, rumbling laughter broke the tension, the atmosphere lightened considerably.
How strange, Veronica thought. The chaos outside remains unchanged, but my fear is receding like morning mist. Her lips curved upward tentatively, like a child learning to smile for the first time. Her heart swelled with an emotion both sweet and painful—joy and sorrow so completely intertwined they became indistinguishable from each other.
Wind whispered through the wooden planks of their hiding place. They sat holding each other in a silence so profound it felt sacred, a moment where words would only diminish what passed between them. Veronica’s heart quivered beneath her ribs like a creature submerged in deep water.
“Aren’t you afraid of me?” she asked when their breathing finally synchronized, her soft voice echoing through the space between them. “Today I killed a man, even though I didn’t mean to. The blood staining my clothes isn’t a Bahamut’s—it belongs to His Holiness the Pope himself.”
This question has been haunting her. Was Leon truly unbothered by the Pope’s death? She’d heard most knights were raised viewing the Pope as a father figure. She couldn’t help wondering what he might have meant to Leon, who had grown up without family.
Leon remained silent for what felt like an eternity before lowering his gaze to the cloak, staring with such intensity he might have been trying to pierce through the fabric to the bloodstains beneath.
As she’d expected, he neither disparaged the dead Pope nor attempted to justify the killing. Instead, he simply whispered, “If we’re tallying sins, you should be the one fearing me, not the other way around.”
He was telling her that she wasn’t alone in her guilt.
“Do you have any idea how many souls I’ve sent to the afterlife?”
His lips twisted with sorrow. There was no trace of arrogance or cruelty in his admission—only raw truth. Veronica stared up at him, frozen in place. She recalled the words that the Ruegan man had spat at her in the wilderness, moments before she killed him.
“But then again, he’s always been a murderer. Do you even know who you’re sucking off every night? Huh? Before those damned Bahamuts came, that bastard was killing us all in the name of Holy War.”
But if Leon had been a truly heartless murderer, he would never have needed to flee from his guilt. There would have been no reason to don a mask of composure, no cause to sever his emotions to avoid the sting of sorrow.
“I don’t know about that,” she said, shaking her head. Leon furrowed his brow, questioning her meaning. “What I’ve heard paints a different picture. The Leon Berg I know is a hero who infiltrated Ruega’s enemy lines alone. A man who beheaded the enemy commander and saved a forgotten frontier town that no noble would spare a thought for.”
Leon remained silent.
“I’ve heard you’re notorious for executing spies without mercy, but that was to prevent future betrayals that would cost innocent lives. You were condemned for failing to protect Hasen, a vacation spot for nobility, but in truth, you chose to defend the Black Forest along another route. Because Schwarzwald, the greatest forest in all of Kaisenmier, shelters the humblest creatures of our world.”
She had heard countless tales of the commoner-born paladin growing up. There was a reason people said that even the Bahamuts knew of the Red Knight. He was the pride of the common folk, their champion. She knew the chapters of his life as well as her own.
“I understand you’ve always chosen necessary evils to prevent greater calamities. That’s your way of bearing the burden. You’re different from me in that way.”
A necessary evil to prevent great calamities. The sudden realization that this principle had applied to her as well drew a small laugh from her. Leon stared at her lips as though her smile had stolen his very soul.
“I understand now why you lied to me,” she said. “In truth, I might have made the same choice. If lying to one person could save the entire world, who would be fool enough to give up that chance?”
She knew what would follow after she died—he would believe himself abandoned. The thought of him writhing in guilt with no one to witness his tears filled her with bottomless sorrow. Her feet felt leaden, unwilling to carry her away.
So Veronica extracted the metaphorical blade that had pierced her heart and showed it to him—to tell him the wound had healed, and that she had found peace, so he too should find solace.
“You don’t have to apologize to me anymore,” she said. “I forgive you.”
“Veronica.”
“Be free, Leon. I want you to be happy.”
She smiled, infusing it with every ounce of sincerity she possessed. His eyes flickered like flames caught in a sudden draft. Leon parted his lips several times, only to close them without uttering a sound.
When Veronica attempted to create distance between them, he seized her wrist and raised his piercing gaze to meet hers. He searched her face with those luminous eyes, as though he was trying to capture a vision that might dissolve into mist at any moment. Beneath his mesmerizing intensity lurked a desperate urgency.
“What if I refuse your absolution?” he asked, his voice a low rumble. “What if I want to embrace my sins and sink with them to the ocean’s depths?”
He pulled her slender arm, guiding it around his neck. Their bodies pressed together, the contact naturally tilting her head back. Despite being crushed against his unyielding armor, she felt no discomfort—only the thundering of her heart as she held her breath and gazed up at him.
“Don’t grant me forgiveness,” Leon whispered. “Don’t release me from these shackles. Remain by my side until I suffocate beneath the weight of what I’ve done.”
Her head swam from their ragged breaths mingling in such intimate proximity. When she deliberately withheld her answer, Leon gently pressed his thumb against her lower lip as if to coax words from her mouth. Veronica’s breathing grew erratic, her chest rising and falling in an unsteady rhythm. The mere memory of the pleasures they had shared sent heat coursing through her veins.
She felt his gaze travel from her eyes down to the bridge of her nose. As her lips parted slightly, flushed pink, the strong column of his throat visibly tensed.
“Do you want me?” she asked, her voice hoarse with emotion.
“No, not now.”
What a blatant lie.
But then he continued, “How could I hold you when I’m so filthy?”
The wind carried the metallic scent of blood to them. While his hair danced lightly in the breeze, his eyes remained fixed, unwavering as stone. Her attempt to deflect had failed utterly. Veronica knew he was waiting for her response.
“I…” The words refused to form.
Because I must leave him behind, and I can’t go without setting him free from his chains.
When she finally closed her mouth without speaking, the brilliance in Leon’s eyes extinguished like the night sky turning pitch black after a blinding snowstorm passes.
As Leon slowly withdrew his hand, the wind caressed her cheek like a cold farewell. Catching her breath, Veronica gazed up with sorrow at his face, now emptied of all expression. Leon brushed his windswept hair back with agitated movements, the veins in his neck standing prominent against his skin. His throat worked roughly, as though he were swallowing some bitter emotion he refused to release.
“The commotion outside has subsided,” he muttered, turning away. “We should go.”
Only when she saw him extend his hand after helping her to her feet did the truth dawn on her: He won’t let me go, so I need to escape from him.