End of the White Night - 5
Rene tilted her head toward Vera's voice. It carried an unmistakable hunger, raw and unfiltered.
"I can reach it. If I keep walking, someday I'll at least step on the tail of that light. That's what I told myself as I walked."
There was doubt in it.
"While chasing that light, I happened to glance back—and there I was, not a single step closer."
And at the end, loathing.
"I thought I was doing something grand, following an inexpressible glory. But too late, I realized it was all delusion."
...Self-hatred, the kind that deserved the name.
Rene heard the sound of his breath catching, then releasing into the air.
"...I see."
"Yes. In the end, that's how it was. This fool of mine still couldn't walk."
Rene nodded faintly, signaling she'd heard it all.
Still, she didn't understand what Vera meant. She couldn't know what light he chased or what it signified to him.
But the emotions within—those she knew. The burning longing that scorched her insides, the doubt that painted the world gray, the self-loathing that ripened like rotten fruit at the end. All of it, she knew.
So Rene asked.
"So... is that what makes you sad?"
Vera answered the question in a voice that sank even lower.
"...Not sadness. Fear fits better. That it might always be this way. That I'll never reach the light. That fear lingers inside."
Vera's head drooped. Shame had welled up, forcing it down.
"I lived my whole life in evil, only realizing too late it was wrong. So I tried to change."
Once more, flashes of his previous life swept through Vera's mind. The unspeakably vile demonkin flickered by.
"But realization alone wasn't enough, perhaps. This body still remembers those years. No matter what, it won't change. That's the thought that surges up."
He knew it would all sound like nonsense to Rene, yet Vera confessed it anyway.
Rene nodded as she listened, feeling the emotions conveyed.
Suddenly, a thought crossed her mind, and a small smile tugged at her lips.
"You're such a fool, knight."
"Yes, the world's greatest foo—"
"Not that. You can't even remember what you said yourself."
Vera flinched. The rustle of his trembling body deepened Rene's smile.
She remembered clearly what he'd said to her when she'd spoken just like this.
"Who knows?"
A clichéd comfort, yet it had pierced her heart all the same.
"Whether you'll really change, or get closer to that light than anyone—who knows? Not even the gods in the heavens."
Vera's eyes widened as if torn open.
"That's what you told me, knight. Already forgotten?"
The smile filled his vision. The words echoed. They overlapped with that past her.
Everything about her was different now—flawless skin over burns, a gentle curve of lips over a twisted grin, shining hair under sunlight over filth-matted strands.
They layered atop one another, and for a moment, Vera wondered if he'd regressed again.
His thoughts floated blankly. His mouth hung open. His fingers clutched at empty air.
"Knight?"
He stared at Rene in a daze, unable even to respond.
"Knight?"
Only at her second call did he answer in a hollow voice.
"Yes...?"
"Did I upset you?"
Vera panicked at her sheepish smile and rushed to continue.
"No. You're right."
"Am I?"
"Truly."
A smile bloomed on Rene's lips again. Vera felt his soul slip away once more—until she took another step closer.
He backed away instinctively, only to hit the fence behind him with a thud. He could only watch, frozen, as she approached.
The distance shrank. Tap. Tap. Tap. Her staff struck the ground.
It touched his foot. Rene stopped, leaving just enough space for one person between them, and turned her face toward him.
"May I have your hand for a moment?"
Vera didn't even think to refuse. He laid his hand over hers.
His rough, scarred hand covered her small, pale one.
As warmth and softness—so unlike his own—made his fingers tremble, Rene placed her other hand atop his.
"...There's still something you haven't said."
The murmur flowed out. Then words that flustered him followed.
"The smell of blood. It's strong."
He jolted. Vera tried to pull away, but Rene gripped tighter, stopping him.
Squeeze. Flesh met flesh without gap. The warmth turned to searing heat.
"Tell me. Again—I'm blind, not stupid."
Her tone held unyielding resolve, firmer than ever.
Vera felt hesitation rise from his depths at that voice, her stern face, the conveyed warmth. He hated making her worry, hated burdening her when she was already grieving.
Yet the words bubbled up anyway.
And what finally parted his lips was her urging.
"Does someone in this little village really need to reek of blood like this?"
No lies allowed—her tone brooked no refusal.
Vera yielded to it, speaking in a strangled voice.
"The Saint... "
His words trailed. His throat tightened; he bit his lip before continuing.
"...is being targeted."
The confession spilled out. Rene gripped harder. Heat radiated from Vera's hand. Hesitation laced his voice.
"...I'm sorry to worry you."
Only then did Rene realize this stubborn holy knight had said nothing out of consideration for her selfishness.
"What a real fool."
"Forgive m—"
"Don't."
She realized he'd borne it alone to spare her feelings.
Her chest tightened. With a slightly trembling voice, Rene continued.
"Don't apologize. Don't be sorry. Just..."
She couldn't say it—why didn't you just drag me there? Too obvious what her reaction would have been then. It felt wrong to say now, receiving his care.
She bit her lip.
Large hands touched hers—hands etched with Vera's life. Hands that thrashed toward light, in his words.
Rene stroked the cool hand's back and continued.
"...Thank you."
His hand twitched to pull away. She gripped tighter, stopping it, and added.
"Let's go. To the Holy Kingdom."
Honestly, even as she said it, Rene still resented the gods. The world.
But.
"You're so stubborn, not saying it. I'm frustrated, so I'll go."
She couldn't hurt others with it. Not when someone sacrificed for her. Couldn't make him suffer for her selfishness. Couldn't abandon one who silently stood by.
At least, that's what Rene thought.
She turned toward him again.
"Whether I can truly become the Saint..."
Whether she'd forgive the gods, accept this power as grace.
"...who knows."
Not yet come. Future unwritten.
"I'm still lacking, but since you believe in me like this... I'll go. To the Holy Kingdom."
With those words, Rene invoked her power for the first time since receiving the Stigmata that day.
Pure white divine power bloomed. It enveloped Vera.
Vera felt the fatigue from his sleepless night melt away like snow as divinity seeped into his skin.
His gaze turned to Rene. Her small smile as she raised divinity was like a painting of a saint.
An odd sensation. As if only around her was severed from the world, shining brilliantly. A sight that demanded awe, stealing all attention.
Vera watched, then parted his lips.
"It's not 'who knows.'"
"Pardon?"
"You will truly become a saint worthy of the name."
A soft scoff escaped Rene.
"How can you be so sure?"
"I'll make it so. No 'ifs' about it."
As he spoke, Vera felt the vow etched in his soul warm gently.
The sensation heated his core; he trembled, then spoke again.
"Even if you stumble and fall, I'll stand by to help you rise. So you'll become a greater saint than any other."
Rene's laughter continued. Unnoticed by him, a smile rose on Vera's lips too.
"You can promise that?"
"I swear it."
Vera manifested his Stigmata. The vow carved in his soul. Over it, he inscribed another, pressing firmly.
"For you, the Saint. So you shine in utmost glory. That's how I'll live."
The vow blazed. On his ink-black soul, it burned dazzlingly, granting satisfaction.
No greater power filled him. No more divinity granted.
Just the two layered vows, hardening his resolve.
Rene nodded at his words, her thoughts continuing.
She didn't know why Vera was so devoted. Only vaguely—that this power of the Lord God, her being the Saint, mattered deeply to him.
She didn't mind. Whatever the reason, this conveyed heart deserved reciprocation.
He trusted her; she should trust him.
Feeling the rising smile and fingertip warmth, Rene murmured softly.
"Yes. Take care of me."
As the words left her, her chest tickled oddly.