CH 7

The fireplace, still glowing with embers, faintly illuminated his bold outline. He lay in bed, occupying half of it.

After a moment of reverie, Veronica crawled and shook as if possessed. 

She needed him. 

‘Help me. Please, quench this thirst.’

Even as she climbed onto his large, sturdy body, the man remained asleep. Until Veronica parted his closed lips with her tongue, causing his tired eyelids to flutter open like a lie.

‘No, I’m not giving him a chance to resist.’

Ignoring his unfocused pupils, Veronica continued to explore with her tongue, sucking and devouring him. 

She knew this was wrong, and that she was acting like a prostitute.

No, not even a prostitute would touch a man who had held a knife to her throat.

However, the hot breath flowing between his cold lips was so sweet, and Veronica couldn’t stop herself from digging deeper. Each gasp and low breath sent shivers down her spine.

Her insides boiled, and she could not stop herself from grinding against him. She was consumed with a cruel ecstasy, feeling as if her brain might explode.

She could feel the damp, fleshy tissue in his mouth excreting sweet saliva each time she sucked on it.

When she accidentally let go, Leon burst out laughing, breathing heavily.

“You don’t make it easy to sleep,” he muttered with a gruff voice, half laughing, half mocking. 

Still, when she reached out to stroke his handsome lips, he stopped speaking. 

His gaze dropped to her slender hand. No, he wasn’t looking at her hands. Veronica soon realized that the sunken eyes were staring into her tunic as she bent over. 

The smile was gone, and his eyes were hard.

“You’re braver than I thought.”

He didn’t turn his head to the side like a chaste knight would, but rather openly scanned her curves revealed by the faint light.

Veronica thought he was exactly as the rumors had said. A once-glorious knight, now a self-proclaimed heretic.

She felt as though her entire body was made of gold. As his hot gaze melted her, she could feel the heat rise within her. 

She was about to push him away when he grabbed her by the nape and pulled her close to him. 

His mocking voice was eerily calm.

“Where do you think you’re running off to after waking up someone who was sleeping peacefully?”

Veronica stared straight into the flickering pupils, her nose touching his. Every part of their bodies was in direct and tangible contact, like two different bodies coming together like gears that were made to connect since birth.

“Look, you’re reacting to me.”

As she murmured in a new voice, Leon raised his eyebrows, seemingly amused. 

His Adam’s apple moved slowly up and down, and an obscure breath that could belong to anyone spread out and dissipated. The dense air felt like it would explode at any moment.

How much time had passed like this? How long had they been staring at each other before tears started falling from her face?

“…My heart hurts.”

“…”

“I—I had a dream.”

Veronica began to stutter, and the tears that kept falling between her eyes were caused by fever. It was a repetition of that day, but the only difference was that she was more conscious. Veronica knew what she had seen and understood what she needed to say.

“I was Bahamut. Bahamut standing on a cliff. I was looking at the city below my feet and I felt hungry while looking at a city more splendid than Bayern.”

In an instant, the expression disappeared from Leon’s face. Veronica continued to speak between her tears.

“Then I saw a knight. He was scared and running away, but I was laughing, because there was a delicious smell. It was such a sweet smell, so I grabbed his shoulders. He struggled and I opened my mouth. And then, I…I…I swallowed him.”

“It’s not something you did.”

Leon interjected sharply, cutting off her (1)rising pitch.

“You didn’t do anything.”

A tear slid down her cheek. She bit her lip to hold them back, her pride wounded, but it didn’t work. 

Tears were similar to blood in that they flow of their own accord, even when people want to stop them.

Even though it wasn’t particularly painful, it was annoying and distressing.

When Veronica was young, her father hated the sound of crying. Even if she would only shed a few tears, he thought she was intentionally forcing herself to weep.

So young Veronica had to hold back. She could cry when she was alone, but when she was with others, she had to swallow it, even if she had to look up at the sky. 

She was not allowed to show her weakness.

“Why are you holding back so hard? Just let it flow.”

Leon said casually, and Veronica’s eyes widened.

It was strange. A stranger who was unfamiliar and scary was telling her what she had longed to hear. 

To have him embrace her burning hot body and recognize her need to touch him.

She was so happy that it made her sad.

“Then, please do something about it.”

She knew how it would sound, but she couldn’t help it.

“It’s so hot that it feels like I’m going to die.”

She relaxed her body as if entrusting herself to him.

The man she was leaning on must have felt it.

Leon didn’t say anything. He just stared at her with an unreadable face, wiped away her tears, and laid her down beside him. 

Then, without saying anything, he lowered his head deeply and kissed her until she was writhing in ecstasy and pleasure, begging to be let go.

The process was somewhat similar to the agony of being burned alive. The room shook with heat and the ceiling seemed to get closer and farther away.

The only thing that was cold was Leon Berg, as if he emanated an invisible chill, and Veronica felt genuinely relieved that someone was by her side.

“Don’t go.” 

Suddenly, she recalled the whispering voice she heard that night. 

He wouldn’t leave, and she couldn’t leave. Leon was right. 

They had to be together for a while.

It felt like the two of them were the only people left in a destroyed world.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ❁ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Leon got out of bed at dawn. He was tired, more than he thought he would be. It was understandable since he hadn’t slept properly lately.

After washing up with cold water, he laid out the clothes and medicine he had obtained outside yesterday on one side of the bed where they could be seen easily. There were no signs of another hallucination as he heard the rustling sound.

Her hallucinations were mostly related to the place ‘it’ was heading to. 

A city more magnificent than Bayern, and the existence of a Holy Knight. No matter where he looked, there was nowhere other than Kart that would match the description. Of course, they would have to wait for a more specific hallucination.

The worst assumption came to mind.

“…Benjamin…Stop.”

The woman turned over a bit and muttered in her sleep, crouching to the side. Her loose tunic slipped down, revealing a sharp collarbone and the mounds of her breasts.

Leon stood still for a moment before pulling the blanket up to cover her up to the neck. Judging by the name, she was probably dreaming of her fiancé or lover.

What happened to that man? Did he survive the burning city and the monster’s teeth?

If he survived, he would be desperately searching for his lover, and if he died, it would be a tragedy in its own way. Leon knew it was a pointless question.

“Either way, you’ll have to stay chained by my side.”

Her sleeping face was serene, as if denying reality. 

He had never asked for her name. It was for the same reason he didn’t give a name to a horse that would die someday.

The hair at the corner of her mouth swayed with each movement. Her plump lips were red from last night’s stimulation.

She was an innocent yet provocative woman.

He thought of her as a thorn stuck in his hand. It wouldn’t hurt if he didn’t touch it.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ❁ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

“Everyone’s breakfast is the same. Oatmeal and bread.”

“Is there no alcohol?”

“We have a little ale.”

As Leon sat at the bar on the first floor, a middle-aged man with a bushy beard placed a glass in front of him. He seemed to be the owner. 

As he sipped the light, bubbly liquid, he assessed the amount of food he would need to replenish.

“Oh, and I want to stay until noon if possible.”

“Which room?”

“The end room on the 4th floor.”

The man’s eyes narrowed.

“It’s a 2-person room where the clerks stay. I’ve heard the story. They were satisfied enough, so there’s no need to pay to stay until noon. They drank until night.”

100 gold coins. The money Leon had paid was enough to rent an entire run-down inn if it weren’t for the current situation. 

To willingly pay that much money and then offer to pay more. He wasn’t even a tired refugee judging from his demeanor.

The owner handed him a plate of bread and asked in passing.

“Do you think the situation is very serious?”

“Well, if it were me, I would leave the city instead of making money.”

“It seems that many young people are actually thinking like that. But those kids have nothing, so it’s easy for them to leave. But for someone like me, can I leave my house easily? Even if I give up everything, like the livestock, chickens, and land, there’s no guarantee that the place I’m going to will be safe. And even if I somehow manage to cross to another region, I’ll still need money to settle in properly.”

It seemed that he had also considered leaving.

Leon casually recalled the lamb stew he had eaten yesterday. The idea of disposing belongings to gather refugee funds was quite idealistic. If only the man had the time.

He was like (2)a frog in slowly boiling water.

“If only our new walls could hold up half as well as Tyran’s.”

Leon’s finger, which was tapping the table dryly, suddenly stopped. Leon slowly raised his head and asked for confirmation.

“Tyran?”

[Collection of Footnotes]

1) “Rising pitch”

– In this passage, “rising pitch” referred to the mounting or accumulating emotions that Veronica felt as she told Leon what she saw in her nightmare. The emotions she felt would most probably be a mixed combination of hysteria, fear, and desperation.

2) “A frog in slowly boiling water”

– It’s an idiom that implies the inability or unwillingness of people to react or be aware of sinister threats that arise gradually rather than suddenly. The story goes like this: If a frog is put suddenly into boiling water, it will jump out, but if the frog is put in tepid water which is then brought to a boil slowly, it will not perceive the danger and will be cooked to death.