Chapter 3
The Holy Maiden Goes to a Nightclub?
"Hey, sweetheart, don't be in such a hurry to leave."
Just then, a bleached-blonde drunk, along with 2 of his companions from their booth, stumbled to their feet and blocked Veiloria's path.
A sharp reek of alcohol hit her instantly, making Veiloria's stomach turn.
"New here?" The blondie grinned, his gaze sliding over Veiloria's delicate face with ill intent. "Come have a drink with us? Just 1 drink—do us the honor?"
Veiloria's heart sank. She kept her voice as composed as she could. "Sorry, I'm working. I don't keep guests company. Please step aside."
"Working? Isn't keeping someone company also work?" Another man, bald-headed, sidled closer with a sleazy grin. "Don't worry, we won't make you do it for free—the tip will be worth your while!"
As he spoke, he dug a few crumpled bills out of his pocket and waved them in front of Veiloria's face.
"No thank you. Please move." Veiloria's voice turned cold. She turned sideways, trying to slip past them.
"Oh-ho, got some attitude, do we?" The blondie's grin curdled. He reached out and grabbed Veiloria's arm. "Think you're too good for this, huh? You're a waitress—who do you think you are, playing hard to get!"
The moment her arm was seized, Veiloria's eyes sharpened.
She didn't want to make a scene, and she certainly didn't want to be entangled with these drunks.
Using Arcane energy here was a bit of a waste, but Veiloria had no other choice.
Just a tiny amount would be more than enough to put them to sleep until morning.
However, just as Veiloria was about to act, the corner of her eye caught something—an unintentional glance toward the nightclub's glass door.
A figure was pushing it open and walking in.
A presence utterly out of place here. Brilliant golden hair pulled back behind the head. A pair of clear, deep-blue eyes.
It was Ximilita.
‘Why would she come here?!’
Veiloria's pupils contracted. The faint trace of Arcane energy she'd just gathered at her fingertips instantly dissipated.
‘If she senses Arcane energy here, it's all over!’
The shock and panic were so overwhelming that her entire body locked in place—she didn't even immediately pull free from the blondie's grip.
The blondie, seeing no resistance, assumed she'd gone frightened and tightened his hold, dragging her toward the booth with a smug look. "There we go, now come sit with me—"
He never finished.
Because a calm voice suddenly rang out beside them, clear and unhurried:
"She said she doesn't want to."
The blondie and his companions spun around in bewilderment. The golden-haired girl in a white dress was standing at their side—no one had seen her approach.
Her gaze dropped to the hand gripping Veiloria's arm. Her eyes held no expression whatsoever, yet the blondie felt a shiver run through him for no reason at all, and his grip reflexively loosened.
"W-who are you? Mind your own business!" The bald man, emboldened by alcohol, bellowed and thrust a hand toward Ximilita's shoulder.
In the next instant, no one could tell what had happened.
There was only a crack—a light sound that set teeth on edge—and the bald man's outstretched wrist snapped into a grotesque angle. He stood dazed for a full second before erupting into a shriek like a slaughtered pig: "Ahhhh—my hand! My hand!"
Ximilita had merely shifted slightly to the side, as if only dodging his arm.
Her gaze didn't spare the screaming bald man even a glance. She looked at the blondie with the same calm as before, and repeated herself, her tone not changing in the slightest:
"Let go of her."
By now the blondie had sobered up considerably. He looked at his companion's twisted wrist, then back at the girl before him—breathtakingly beautiful, yet with an aura so frigid it chilled the soul. A wave of cold surged from the soles of his feet straight to the top of his skull.
He hastily released Veiloria and stammered, "M-misunderstanding… it's all a misunderstanding! We were just joking around…"
Ximilita didn't bother with them further. Her gaze, at last, settled slowly on Veiloria's face.
Veiloria felt as though her blood had nearly frozen.
"Are you alright?"
Ximilita's voice was flat, drained of any discernible emotion.
Veiloria's heart was practically leaping out of her throat. She gave a stiff shake of her head and instinctively looked away.
Ximilita stared at her for a few more seconds—that gaze making every hair on her body stand on end—but in the end, said nothing more. She gave a slight nod and turned toward the bar.
Only then did Veiloria let out half a breath. Her back was already soaked through with cold sweat.
It was only at this moment, belatedly, that she noticed: Ximilita's face seemed somewhat different from both her memory and the face she'd seen on that snowy night a few days ago.
‘Come to think of it—how could the Holy Maiden of the Silver Radiance Holy See appear in a nightclub wearing the face the entire continent knows? She's most likely used a glamour or some similar spell.’
It was just that Veiloria knew her far too well—she'd recognized Ximilita before she'd even gotten a clear look at her face.
She went through the motions of collecting the scattered glasses onto her tray, but her peripheral gaze never left that figure.
"A Crimson Mary."
Ximilita's voice was soft, yet it carried clearly to Veiloria's ears.
The bartender quickly got to work.
After a brief silence, Ximilita spoke again:
"And an Absinthe Inferno, a Sleepless Night, and a Bone-Aching Longing."
The hand Veiloria held her tray with suddenly froze.
The bartender seemed to pause as well, then nodded and turned around.
Ximilita said nothing more. She paid, picked up all 4 drinks, and walked toward a quiet, tucked-away spot in the corner.
She didn't look at Veiloria again for the rest of it—as if helping her a moment ago had truly been nothing more than a passing act of convenience.
Veiloria forced herself to look away. Her heart was still pounding like a drum.
A Crimson Mary contained no actual blood, but because of its vivid, blood-red color, it was the human drink most favored by Vampires.
Back when she went by "Veilo," she used to order it often—and would smile at the young Ximilita and call it "a warrior's drink."
As for the other 3 drinks… even just the names told her everything.
She mechanically wiped a table that was already clean, her peripheral vision unable to resist drifting toward that corner.
Ximilita sat in silence. She didn't drink.
Her gaze rested on the empty seat across from her. Then, slowly, she pushed the Crimson Mary to the other side of the table—directly facing herself.
Once she'd done that, she withdrew her hand and folded it in her lap. Only then did her eyes fall to the 3 drinks in front of her.
Veiloria's throat went dry. She understood immediately.
Who that empty seat was for. Who the Crimson Mary had been left for. It went without saying.
Ximilita finally reached for the darkest-colored drink first—the Bone-Aching Longing. Without much hesitation, she tilted her head back and drank a large mouthful.
The liquor was sharp and harsh, carrying a bitterness like plant roots, burning down her throat and rolling into her stomach.
She didn't stop. She didn't even pause. She immediately picked up the Absinthe Inferno next.
The pale green liquid had a clean, biting bitterness just from the scent alone.
She drank fast and urgently, as if it weren't alcohol at all, but medicine that had to be swallowed—or poison.
Setting down the 2nd glass, her breathing had already grown unsteady, and a faint flush rose across her cheeks.
Her unfocused eyes soon landed on the Sleepless Night.
This time she didn't rush to drink. She only stared at the liquid swaying in the glass.
"…Liar." A voice, slurred and choked, drifted over in broken fragments. "Why… even if you faked your death… why did you have to leave…"
Veiloria stood nearby, pretending to be occupied, but her heart felt as though it had been seized in a fierce grip.
"Ten years… I searched for ten years…" Ximilita gulped down another mouthful, choked, and coughed twice. Tears seemed to glimmer at the corners of her eyes. "The Vampires were a lie… the diary… was a lie too… all of it was lies to deceive me…"
Her voice grew lower and lower, less and less coherent.
"Twilight City… I burned it down… I avenged you… but you… where are you…"
After the better part of all 3 strong drinks had been drained at a pace that was nearly self-destructive, Ximilita's posture finally lost its rigidity.
She swayed slightly and raised a hand to prop up her forehead.
The flush on her face had grown unmistakably bright. Her eyes were hazy, their focus gone.
Veiloria watched from the side, alarmed.
Those 3 drinks—just from their scent and color alone, she could tell they were no ordinary spirits. The alcohol content was extreme.
But given Ximilita's constitution, metabolizing that much alcohol should have been no trouble at all. So why was she getting drunk this quickly?