Chapter 4
Werewolf, Open Your Eyes
A thought flashed through her mind, and Veiloria's heart gave a dull ache—
‘She did it on purpose.’
‘She had deliberately refused to let the alcohol wear off. She wanted to be drunk, wanted to use intoxication to fight against that bone-deep pain.’
Ximilita had nearly slumped face-first onto the table. That fragile yet stubborn look overlapped more and more with the memory of a headstrong little girl.
Finally, in that moment, guilt crushed the fear beneath it.
Veiloria bit her lower lip, set down what she was holding, and walked toward that corner.
"This... guest?" she ventured carefully. "Are you alright? You seem to have had quite a bit to drink, and you look terribly sad. Shall I call a car for you?"
Ximilita raised her head in a daze, her unfocused gaze drifting across Veiloria's face for a long moment before she recognized her as the server who had just been harassed.
Alcohol strips away one's defenses, and amplifies every emotion infinitely.
"Sad?" she repeated, then suddenly let out a short laugh.
There was no joy in the sound—only thick, bitter self-mockery.
"Me? What do I have to be sad about... I searched for him for so long, and now he doesn't want me... He lied to me, he abandoned me..."
Her words tumbled into incoherence, soaked with a sob.
"He said strength was what protected the people who mattered... I grew stronger, I became Holy Maiden, I slaughtered all the enemies he named... But what about him? Where is he? Does he... think I'm terrifying? Does he hate me? Is that why he never wants to see me again?"
Veiloria listened to the drunken rambling, and each word stabbed into her like a needle.
Her throat went dry. She forced herself to offer some comfort: "Perhaps... that person doesn't actually not want to see you. Maybe... he has difficulties he can't speak of? Or perhaps, he's not as... as you imagine..."
"Difficulties?" Ximilita cut her off; her gaze sharpened for a single instant, then went glassy again. "What kind of difficulties... could make him watch me lose my mind over him, kill for him, become what I am now... and not say a single word..."
Her voice fell lower and lower, her head drooping bit by bit as though she had been awake far too long.
"He taught me the sword... taught me to read... gave me my name... I always treated him as my light... But he himself... was the biggest liar of all..."
"You're drunk," Veiloria said. Watching Ximilita grow less and less coherent, she felt a surge of anxiety, and fearing she might say something she shouldn't, she could only follow her lead and try to soothe her.
"The past... perhaps it's time to let go. Holding onto it only hurts you. If that person knew you were tormenting yourself like this, he would surely grieve."
"Let go?" Ximilita murmured the words as though she had heard something utterly absurd, yet had no strength to argue.
The alcohol and exhaustion rose together. The nerves that had been strung so tight—strangely, they went slack when this server drew close.
‘This person... why does she carry a familiar scent?’
That scent made her feel at ease, like the feeling from long ago when he had kept watch at her bedside during her illness.
Her eyelids grew heavier and heavier.
"Can't let go..."
Those last 3 words came as faint as a murmur.
Then her head tilted to one side, and her whole body went soft, toppling forward.
Veiloria moved fast and caught her, keeping her from cracking her head on the table.
And just like that, Ximilita leaned against her without any guard at all, her breathing growing long and even, the flush on her cheeks still yet to fade, her brow furrowed ever so slightly even in sleep.
Exactly as it had been more than 10 years ago.
Veiloria froze where she stood, at a complete loss for what to do.
Leave her here? How could she!
Never mind that her conscience wouldn't allow it—this place was full of all sorts, and leaving Ximilita in this state here was an accident waiting to happen. If anything went wrong, she would never forgive herself.
But the shift wasn't over yet... She swept her gaze around. No one was paying attention to this corner, at least for now.
Ximilita was unlikely to wake anytime soon. She couldn't just let her lie here like this.
Veiloria gritted her teeth, and in the end, guilt won out.
She carefully propped Ximilita up against the inner wall of the booth, then grabbed the "Do Not Disturb" placard from the adjacent table and set it on the table's edge.
"Consider this... paying back a little of what I owe." She murmured it to herself—more like she was trying to talk herself into it.
There was only a little over an hour left until the end of the shift anyway. She would push through it, and once the bar closed, she would take this person back to her place first.
When she sobered up... then they could talk.
With her mind made up, Veiloria forced herself to concentrate on work, but her thoughts had already wandered far away—every few seconds she couldn't help stealing a glance toward the corner, checking that Ximilita was still there, still sleeping soundly.
That hour and more stretched out like a century.
At 6 a.m., the closing melody rang through the bar, and the last guests began to file out.
Veiloria made a beeline for Kassan, stumbling over her words: "Ka—Kassan, that guest over there drank too much, and she's someone I know from before... I can't just leave her. Can I take her home with me first? I'll definitely be on time tomorrow!"
Kassan glanced over at the unconscious Ximilita in the corner, then looked Veiloria up and down, and waved her hand. "Fine, you sort it out yourself. Don't cause trouble, and don't be late tomorrow."
"Thank you, Kassan!"
Veiloria felt as though she'd been granted a reprieve. She ran back to the corner.
Ximilita was sleeping deeply; it took some effort to get her on her feet, draping one arm over her own shoulder and half-supporting, half-cradling her as they made their way out.
Ximilita was slight—not much effort to support her—only the position was a little awkward.
The streets in the early morning were wide and quiet, with only a few scattered drunks swaying past.
Veiloria deliberately chose a secluded side street to avoid being seen.
The cold wind hit her face, clearing her head somewhat, and letting her feel all the more clearly the warmth and weight of the person on her shoulder—and that scent that belonged unmistakably to Ximilita.
This feeling... was too strange.
Veiloria's heart was a mess.
Just as they turned into a dim alley leading toward her rented room, something changed in an instant!
A dark figure shot out from behind a rubbish bin, murder undisguised, lunging straight for Ximilita—defenseless in Veiloria's arms!
"Dog of the Holy See! Die!" In that hoarse, snarling roar, by the faint glow of a distant streetlamp, Veiloria made out the attacker.
It was a Werewolf—fully transformed, his entire body covered in grey-black fur!
At this moment, his crimson eyes blazed with bone-deep hatred.
Veiloria's pupils contracted sharply. On instinct she shoved Ximilita toward the relative safety of the wall, and used the momentum to lunge to the other side!
The Werewolf's razor claws grazed across her back, tearing a gash through her clothes.
"Tch." Veiloria's eyes went cold in an instant.
She steadied herself. Her gaze swept over Ximilita—who had furrowed her brow slightly from the impact but had not woken—then snapped back to the Werewolf, who was heaving ragged breaths and staring fixedly at Ximilita.
It seemed he had been watching Ximilita for some time already.
Even under a Glamour, that "sacred" aura—a beacon to Non-Humans, like a blazing light in the dark of night—could still be sensed by certain sharp-eyed Non-Humans at close range.
This Werewolf was likely a survivor from some Werewolf clan wiped out by the Holy See—or rather, by the Holy Judgment Army personally led by Ximilita—lying in wait within the human city, and tonight had finally found his chance at revenge.
He had probably not dared to act inside the bar with so many eyes around, and had tailed them all the way to this quiet alley.