Leon began walking with the unconscious woman cradled in his left arm, his longsword gripped in his right hand. In this vast, desolate city, he was the only one moving. His black boots trampled through the debris with heavy steps, amid the shimmering heat haze rising from the ground.
The city was dead.
There might be survivors, but everything that humans had built was now in ruins. Homes, families, friends—even the dogs they’d raised and the diaries they wrote in each night—all had burned to meaningless ash. His long legs slowly carried him past the broken church spires and the dismembered Bahamuts.
He had come searching for something, but he’d been too late once again. It had already left. His only consolation was that he’d found this girl who seemed to have been corrupted by It.
A soft moan came from the woman in his arms. Leon glanced down at the woman who, despite being unconscious, was still twitching. In truth, it would have been strange if she hadn’t collapsed, given the way she looked. From her small frame to her delicate neckline, everything about her appeared fragile. His gaze lingered on her exposed throat—pale and slender. He could snap it with one hand if he wanted to. If he’d left her here, she would have certainly died; not devoured by monsters, but with her heart carved out by a holy knight’s blade.
A meteorite had fallen into the southern sea three years ago. Then, a year later, creatures began crawling out from the sea. People named these unknown beings “Bahamuts” after a monster from the Divine Text.
Bahamuts were cruel. They consumed humans and, in extremely rare cases, created corrupted beings. Those who became corrupted formed mental connections with the Bahamut, but quickly went insane and died.
Naturally, the church rejected these red-eyed corrupted ones. Had the Holy Knight Order discovered the girl, they would have ended her life before she could regain consciousness, even though she could be the key to ending this calamity. Leon suspected the woman had been corrupted by the “first” Bahamut—the one he had abandoned everything to pursue.
“It’s been a while.”
Leon, who had been striding effortlessly through the black debris, came to an abrupt halt as a rigid voice interrupted his thoughts. His hair—the same color as the flames that had consumed the city—became disheveled in the wind as he slowly turned toward the voice.
A formation of knights in pristine white armor stood in a straight line. The sight of countless cross banners, helmets resembling boxes, long spears, and rectangular shields greeted him.
It was the church’s Holy Knight Order. The corner of Leon’s mouth quirked up in a lopsided smile.
“You’re here early,” he said, voice heavy with sarcasm.
“We came here as soon as we could. We can’t act as freely as a lone wanderer like you,” Philip von Wittelsbach, vice commander of the Holy Knight Order, responded coldly.
Apparently, Bayern was big enough of a city to warrant the vice commander’s presence. Still, the frightened Pope would never send his chief commander and leave the Holy City unguarded.
Undisguised hatred flickered in Philip’s purple eyes. The silver-haired knight was renowned for his strong character and strict adherence to the law. There was no way he could forgive Leon for leaving the order.
Bahamut Hunter. The Red Knight of the Apocalypse. Leon currently had many names, but they were all merely secular titles. Anyone in the church’s knight order would remember the Leon of the past—the one who had been called the Messenger of God. Philip had respected, admired, and believed in him.
Now, the man in black armor before him hardly resembled the once-promising holy knight. Standing amidst the ashes, he looked eerie and cold, almost as if he’d been the one responsible for reducing the city to this state.
Leon started walking toward him. When he came within a couple of paces, there was a collective sound of steel as the surrounding knights drew their swords. Leon looked at the dozen or so blades pointed at him with amusement.
“Don’t be so on edge,” he drawled. “Thanks to me, things became easier for you.”
“Thanks to you?” Philip immediately furrowed his brow. “Do you think I achieved this position just because you stepped down? Don’t delude yourself. Someone who couldn’t even bear their own cross is no match for me.”
“No, I wasn’t talking about that. I meant this city.” Leon looked around leisurely before adding, “Weren’t you able to enter the city easily because I cleared it out?”
Philip raised his eyebrows. True to Leon’s words, everything had been reduced to rubble—even here, on the very edge of the city. The corpses of dead Bahamuts lay scattered throughout the streets.
It had all been Leon’s doing, using God’s power as he pleased. Knowing that only fueled Philip’s rising anger. He despised Leon’s talent and abilities.
“Some things never change,” he spat. “That attitude of yours, for example—treating everything so lightly and callously.”
Eventually, Philip’s gaze fell on the woman in Leon’s arms. In truth, he had been curious from the start. Who could she be, that Leon Berg himself would personally carry her? She was slender enough for Leon to carry with just one arm. Her linen clothes were visibly worn, and her short black hair was far from glamorous. Yet there was something peculiarly captivating about her that demanded attention.
“By the way, who is that woman?” Philip asked.
“As you can see, she’s just an ordinary woman.”
When Philip grimaced at this playful answer, Leon’s smile faded for the first time.
“What does it matter anyway? God doesn’t care whether His prodigal son fools around with a woman or falls deeper into the abyss.”
For a moment, Philip’s thin lips parted. He was shocked, and he doubted his ears. Was Leon truly implying matters of carnal pleasure? Was a man who had devoted himself to God brazenly expressing desire for a woman now?
All manner of emotions—most prominently, disgust and contempt—flashed across his face. A holy knight was fundamentally a priest of God. Though Leon claimed to no longer be one, the fact that a former priest would display such filthy lust made Philip nauseous.
“Why would you go this far… No, never mind. I don’t know what I expected when I called out to you. I’ll let you go, so leave the city immediately. I don’t want to talk to you again. I only pray that the next time we meet won’t be in the Holy City’s court of judgment.”
Leon stared at Philip’s rigidly set face for a moment, then smirked and turned away. He found it amusing that everyone looked at him as if he were a criminal who had committed an unforgivable sin, yet no one attempted to stop him and rescue the woman. Had it never crossed their minds that he was taking her by force? It wasn’t because they trusted Leon, but because they simply viewed the world through the lens of their own convenience.
He started walking briskly toward where his horse was tethered, but then suddenly stopped, as if something had just occurred to him.
“Ah, Philip. About my cross,” he said, turning back.
Leon raised his longsword straight up with his right hand. As if on cue, a few drops of blood seeped from the edge of the blade.
“I bore it well before, and I still am now.”
Due to the crossguard mounted vertically above the handle, the sword itself resembled an inverted cross. At first glance, it seemed like blatant blasphemy—presenting an inverted cross to a holy knight was an obvious act of heresy, after all. But Philip knew better. The inverted cross was also known as the Apostle’s Cross. Every priest knew the story of the martyred apostle who had begged to be crucified upside down, claiming he wasn’t worthy of the same punishment as the Lord.
“What exactly are you planning?” Philip muttered, almost to himself. His narrowed eyes watched until the black silhouette disappeared.
Black ash scattered behind the pristine white knight order.
It was a cold winter.