Dhampir Nun (3)
There was no way anyone would volunteer. Even those who had become priests still wanted to preserve their pride as men, so there wasn't a single bastard willing to undergo forced gender reassignment.
"So what's with this guy showing up at the cathedral and yapping about drugs?"
"He's the son of Lud XII from the Prind Kingdom."
"The Syphilis King? I'm surprised he's still walking around just fine."
Just like modern Earth, this world had gone through a syphilis epidemic once. Fortunately magic worked its wonders and created something akin to antibiotics, but that didn't mean the ones who spread it around more freely were in the clear.
"Looking at the state of him, it seems the current king has demoted every last member of the previous king's bloodline."
"Yes…."
There was no way a man nicknamed the Syphilis King would enjoy a long life. He had already died from complications long ago, and since everyone knew syphilis could infect fetuses, the current king was naturally someone other than the Syphilis King's child.
The internal affairs of foreign kingdoms were the empire's bureaucrats' problem. As an exorcist priest, I had far more important matters to deal with.
"Brown hair."
"Y-yes!"
"You're sure you didn't do the drug alone, right?"
No matter how much magic-infused junk you had to consume to survive, the human body eventually adapted. Little by little, like a sponge soaking up dew. Once you grew tolerant and started increasing the dosage to chase the original effect, the only destination was death.
"What!? You son of a bitch! We agreed to do it together!"
"Fuck! Are you kidding me? Why are you the only one who didn't take it!"
Bang! They might have threatened the kid, but in the end I slammed the heads of the two idiots who were now throwing a fit after doing it themselves.
"It doesn't look like you avoided it because you were scared. More like you knew better. Am I right?"
"Yes…."
It might have looked pitiful watching him tremble between the two collapsing bodies, but the other party was trash who had sold the drug to others.
"Right. Then tell me everything you know."
"So… the drug's name is Frost. It's made of tiny crystals that look like snowflakes. You take it with water."
That explained why his internal organs were all starting to fail.
"Who made it?"
"I-I don't know! I just heard it was made from the corpse of an Eastern monster, so I never touched it!"
A drug made from a monster's corpse. Apparently some genius was out there performing the miracle of turning dog shit into waste products.
"We'll set the manufacturer aside. Do you know who supplies the goods to the chief priest?"
"I-I don't know…."
He genuinely seemed to know nothing, which probably meant he was terrified of ending up the same way. Still, I had asked just in case. As for the suppliers, I already had a pretty good idea.
"You have people watching you, right? They wouldn't just leave problem children like you unsupervised."
"Yes."
"Call them right now and have them haul these two away. And from now on, never go near the sea."
"Huh?"
"If you don't want to be cursed by the Sea Witches, stay the hell away from the water."
The Sea Witch's gun. The drug made from an Eastern monster's corpse. It looked like the priest bastards had been trading with the witches and pushing Frost.
Even in an era where magical engineering had advanced, the reason witches stubbornly survived and carried on their lineage was simpler than expected.
Mutant female entities born from genetic transformation caused by mana. That was my conclusion.
"They're here too."
The terrifying thing about witches was that the moment they were born, their egos swelled massively and they immediately recognized themselves as witches. Either hide or flee to a place humans could never invade. Of those two shitty choices, the ancient witches had picked the latter. Modern witches were different. They still chose the latter, but the former had changed. Whether it was adaptation for survival or a deliberate reduction of power, they had selected a neutral stance toward humans.
A large tavern located in the city. Unlike the cheap dive on the empire's outskirts, this place was kept spotlessly clean and featured a tasteful, classic design.
Ding-a-ling.
The greeting that should have followed me through the door died halfway. Walking in while openly advertising myself as an exorcist priest meant anything pleasant would have been more suspicious.
"I'd like to meet the owner. Possible?"
"What business does an exorcist priest have here?"
The central table. To the bartender quietly mixing drinks for the customers, I clearly wasn't a welcome guest.
"Other exorcist priests must have visited often. No need to be so prickly, is there?"
"At least they…!"
Fwoosh. The flame that flickered across my tapping finger made the bartender's face change color.
"Someone who should be in the south… why…"
"Why? I happened to be patrolling the area."
The weapon human-friendly witches had obtained was information.
"Right after I arrived, I crushed one chief priest. Seems he was receiving goods from a Sea Witch."
Witches who could command living animals as familiars had an easy time gathering intel, and from that they learned what happened in places beyond ordinary human sight.
"Please wait a moment."
"Take all the time you need."
The prickly bartender disappeared into the back without offering a complimentary drink. When he returned, his face was twisted with displeasure as he led me forward.
"This is it."
Deeper inside the tavern. A clean door unlike any storeroom. The bartender pointed to the entrance of the witch's workshop.
Any sane exorcist priest wouldn't dream of rushing into a witch's lair unprepared. Unfortunately, it seemed I wasn't sane.
Click. The moment I opened the door, the scent of fresh grass washed over me. I walked toward the center of the beautiful garden where a woman who looked like a refined noble lady waited.
"I greet the Butcher of the South."
"Attach that title to demons or monsters. It makes me sound like some human-killing thug."
"My apologies. So you've come for information on the Sea Witch?"
We skipped formal introductions. She already knew my name, and she clearly had no desire to plant hers in my head. We were the sort who observed minimal courtesy and finished our business. That was the relationship between exorcist priests and witches—unless killing was involved.
"Precisely. I want to send a warning to the Sea Witch who sold Frost and cursed firearms to this cathedral."
"Hmm. I thought it had been going on for quite a while. Weren't you simply ignoring it?"
"That bastard tried to feed Frost to a new priest right in front of me."
"Ah…."
Of course I would have ended things within days even without that incident, but the chief priest had kindly provided the perfect justification.
"And don't you normally just perform exorcisms?"
"Where in the vast sea am I supposed to look for her? Just deliver a warning that they shouldn't give me any more reasons to go through that hassle."
"Hmm. Understood."
"You understand, do you?"
"Yes. But as you know…."
"You can't tell me the name."
Unless the client already knew it, witches never revealed the name of the person being sought. It was an annoying condition, but in a world where a single strand of hair and a name could force someone's blood out of their body, it was understandable.
"I expected you to be more forceful."
"I keep the rules for those worth keeping them for. I've simply met far too many who aren't."
"I'll handle this request as a service. Please continue to patronize us in the future."
"No thanks. The service is the only reason I drop by nearby places once in a while. I can't file requests here on an exorcist priest's allowance. So let's not meet again."
For both the witch and me, never seeing each other was preferable.
Leaving the garden and returning to the tavern, I left the still-stiff-faced bartender behind and began a proper night patrol.
"Hoo."
The elegant lady sipping tea vanished. In her place sat a woman puffing on a long pipe and swirling a whiskey glass.
"Master. I apologize."
The bartender knelt behind her, begging forgiveness, but even Frelia could not have predicted this.
Who could have guessed that a human resembling a natural disaster to demons and monsters would suddenly appear?
Unlike other divine power users with elegant titles like the Sword of the Sun or the Saint of the Moon, there was a reason he bore the name Butcher.
A maniac.
Beyond his official duties, he slaughtered every demon, monster, and follower he encountered. Among them were witches who still craved human blood, flesh, and souls.
"It's fine. He's a natural disaster of a human. At least those who move on orders can be avoided. How do you predict a lunatic like that?"
"Thank you."
"And it was my mistake for not expecting it when I heard he took the dhampir to the cathedral."
Releasing anything inside the cathedral was impossible, but she had known Dante had taken Luna.
"Regarding that matter. It seems the vampires are beginning to move."
"Of course they are. They're fools who've spent thousands of years desperately clinging to their so-called nobility."
"What should we do?"
Vampires were undeniably customers of the witches. This was what neutrality meant—maintaining balance without inflicting catastrophic damage on either side. It was a tightrope existence, but Frelia and the neutral witches never doubted that human civilization would one day swallow everything.
"Tell them to find it themselves. Even if we shout that we're neutral, that maniac won't stay quiet. He'll probably rip my throat out."
"Understood. Then I will organize and deliver only the information up to the previous report."
"Do that. And do not enter the room for the next day. Contacting the Great Witch requires that much."
"Yes."
After the bartender left, Frelia, now alone, took out an old golden chalice and poured fresh chicken blood into it. She added the ash from her pipe and a strand of hair, then flicked her finger. The blood slowly began to take form. Soon a terrible stench of the sea spread. Frelia kept her expression neutral. She had lived far too long and her personality was twisted beyond repair; offending the Great Witch would mean instant death no matter how far out at sea the witch resided.
[What is it?]
[Your business?]
[The sword or the saint?]
[The guy who let Bathory escape.]
[What did he say?]
[Tsk. It was quite profitable for a while. No wonder a soul arrived faster than expected. So it was there.]
[Yes. At most a hundred years. We can simply begin again after that.]
"I, the witch Frelia, greet the Great Witch Lady Circe."
"The Apostle of the Sun came to me and left a warning for Lady Circe."
"It is the Butcher."
"Yes. He has come to Babylenia."
"He said not to give him any more reasons to chase."
"Is it acceptable to tell them we will no longer deal in the Sea Witch's goods?"
The chicken blood evaporated. Yet the stench of the sea lingered.
The fastest way to remove it would be to summon Dante and purge the traces with divine power, but that would incinerate all her precious ingredients and sorcery along with it.
"Looks like I'll have to close up shop for a while."
Even after the sea stench faded, it was time to lie low until the storm called a dhampir had passed.