The Bastard of the Blood-Fiend (2)
Meanwhile, around the time Julian finished the blood transfusion and resumed his clinic duties, the lingering cold of winter greeted Erika as she stepped out the back door. She shivered slightly. Wangcho chuckled and placed a beanie on her head.
"Wear it. If you catch a cold while running errands, how am I supposed to face the Doctor?"
Erika scowled and shoved the hat back at him. "Ugh. It smells like old sweat."
"Tsk. Suit yourself, then."
Wangcho put the beanie back on, looking disgruntled. Erika walked alongside him down the alleyway. Even within the already gloomy Limbus Pit, the back alleys were particularly grim. The walls were layered with indecipherable graffiti, and the sound of drunken laughter drifting from somewhere only doubled the sense of foreboding.
"Listen well while we walk, kid," Wangcho said without stopping his pace. "Pick up the medicinal herbs from the Cheon family pharmacy at the corner of 4th Avenue. Just tell them, 'I'm here on the Doctor's errand,' and they'll give them to you."
"...Got it."
"My subordinates will handle patient notifications. You just clean the clinic, organize the tools, and do whatever the Doctor tells you."
Then, Wangcho flicked his finger. "Oh, right. When you draw water from the well in the morning, don't take that water to the delivery room. No, wait. Just boil everything as soon as you draw it. That prevents accidents."
"Why?"
"If you want to see the Doctor get pissed off and flip the whole alley upside down, try doing it differently. If you're lucky, you might just get kicked out into the street in midwinter and freeze to death."
Erika nodded hurriedly. Seeing the cruel ruler of this district so terrified of something, there was clearly a reason for it.
The subsequent explanations were simple. Erika grasped the details without much difficulty.
"So, wake up early in the morning to draw water, get the herbs from the 4th Avenue place..."
"Whoa. Vampire kid. You're smarter than you look? You might graduate faster than I thought."
"Graduate?"
Wangcho nodded and pulled a paper matchbox from his pocket. He struck the head of a match that was peeking out of the box against the side with one hand. Sssss- He exhaled smoke leisurely, snapped the head off the match, and dropped it to the ground.
"You're not the first person to become the Doctor's errand runner."
Wangcho took a puff of his cigarette. He gestured with his chin toward the upper part of the city, the direction of Civitas Square. "There's a dessert shop way up there. I heard it's incredibly famous."
"Why bring that up all of a sudden?"
"The successor there used to be the Doctor's errand runner. After working for a month or two, the Doctor saw they had a knack for it and got them adopted up there."
Erika's eyes widened at Wangcho's explanation. Even if it wasn't nobility, a large dessert shop was still the realm of artisans. Naturally, it was hard to believe that a back-alley orphan had suddenly been chosen as the successor to an artisan in the upper district. But Wangcho continued his explanation regardless.
"And in the B-Sector adventurer's street... was it Klaus? That guy also had the Doctor buy him an expensive bayonet and graduated him. I hear he's doing so well lately that he's even got an epithet."
Wangcho began counting off on his remaining fingers. A slave abandoned after his ankles were shattered in the arena got a job with the guard. A prostitute with tuberculosis retired, got married, and now runs a flower shop. Every time Wangcho folded a finger, Erika's mouth opened a little wider.
"Well, that's how it is. You hit the jackpot, kid."
"Then the people around the Doctor are... that... that..."
"Graduate?"
"Yeah. Do they all graduate like that?"
This sounded like some kind of new religion. But at Erika's reaction, Wangcho shook his head in disgust. "No, that's just the case for the ones who hit the big time. You think just anyone can do that?"
"Hey. What is that? Then is there a standard for it? You said I looked like I'd graduate soon?"
"Who knows?" Wangcho shrugged. "It seems to be entirely up to the Doctor's whim. Though, errand runners do tend to have better outcomes than patients."
Wangcho scanned Erika's entire body. "Well, it seems the younger you are, the more tragic your story, or the more uniquely ill you are, the higher the possibility."
He tapped his sturdy forearm and grumbled, "Damn it. If I'd been born just five years later. Or if I'd at least broken an arm or something before going to him. Being too healthy is a sin, a sin."
Wangcho held up two fingers and grinned. "Anyway. You've got all three of those factors, and you've got a good head on your shoulders. So that's why I said you have a high chance of graduating."
Erika swallowed hard. Her gaze drifted to her emaciated wrists. She saw the worn-out sleeves with bursting seams and the grime under her fingernails that wouldn't wash away.
'A miracle has already happened enough.'
There was no tomorrow in this life. The urine she saw when she woke up in the morning was always dark, her stomach was always hungry, and her tongue craved blood. She had thought that if she could just escape that horrific daily routine, she would want for nothing more. But as soon as she escaped that routine, she began to crave a different kind of happiness.
'Graduate...'
She dreamed of the life after 'graduation' that Wangcho had mentioned. Inside those steel walls. There, there would be warm soup, clean clothes, and a future where no one could look down on her. She was already feeling hungry.
'...Yeah. Just for a little while.'
Desire welled up deep in Erika's eyes. She still didn't trust the human who claimed to have the strange profession of 'Doctor.' If he was a healer, he was a healer; if he was an alchemist, he was an alchemist. What kind of profession was a doctor? From that introduction alone, she couldn't shake the impression that he was a fraud. Not just the profession, but the motive was also unbelievable. Because in this bottom-of-the-barrel life, there was no empty promise as unbelievable as 'goodwill.'
However, 'It's worth enduring.'
She didn't know what purpose that eccentric healer had, but if it benefited her in the end, wasn't it a ship worth boarding? 'I have nothing to lose anyway.'
Since a miracle had already happened, graduation was just a bonus. What did she have to lose?
Just as Erika was about to lighten her footsteps, vaguely dreaming of a sweet future, "But kid."
"Yeah?"
"It's your business to sell the bear skin before you've even caught it, but keep one thing in mind."
Wangcho's low, gravelly voice cut into her consciousness. He turned his body to look down at Erika. The golden eyes unique to a hyena beastman shone in the dark alley.
"There are always one or two guys who work with the Doctor and mistake his power for their own, crossing the line. Especially those who use the Doctor's name to pull shady stunts at other shops."
"...Is the Doctor that powerful?"
"Haven't you even heard the rumors going around this district?"
"I only go out at night, so I don't know much."
"True. I'd already forgotten the state you were in a few days ago."
The tension that had been radiating from Wangcho dissipated. Perhaps feeling awkward for suspecting a young girl who knew nothing, he rubbed the back of his neck and said, "Well, you'll find out as you work, so I'll tell you in advance."
He tapped his face with his index finger. "You're seeing that person for the first time, but even we have never seen the face under that mask."
Wangcho recalled his memories of the past year. The past year. No one in this red-light district had confirmed the face under that mask. Even when eating or drinking water, he used a separate room alone, so the contents under that crow mask could only be supplemented by imagination.
"But there are things you can tell if you hear the breathing."
Wangcho pointed to his own half-torn hyena ear and said, "This is a secret, but sometimes I hear coughing from beyond the clinic. It's been like that since he came here a year ago."
Coughing is one thing, but if it goes on for over a week, over a month, you have to assume there's some kind of illness involved. This was the same for Erika.
"Is his throat not good?"
"Who knows. The coughing sounds like it's coming from deeper inside. I think the inside of his throat might have been burned. By fire, chemicals, whatever."
Erika furrowed her brow. "Who would do such a thing?"
"Nobles, probably," Wangcho answered calmly. "What do you think the Doctor's race is?"
"Uh..." Erika thought hard. A small build compared to his speaking manner or the atmosphere he exuded. But too slender to be a dwarf. And above all, the delicate(?) hand technique of finding veins during the transfusion.
"A gnome?"
"Right. A gnome. This is just a guess, but I think the Doctor might have crossed the wrong people—those who hate demi-humans."
"Demi-human haters?"
"You know how the guys up there operate. They act all nice to your face, calling you 'Doctor,' but they're waiting for a chance, and if a treatment goes even slightly wrong, they've got their hook in you."
"Ah."
It was convincing. Among the cripples flowing into Limbus Pit, there were many with such stories. A dwarf who made an ornamental sword for a noble and had both hands crushed so he could never make another masterpiece. An elf who was a promising magic researcher but had their eyes gouged out for 'observing too much.' A beastman who was forced to drink boiling water because he performed a satire that offended a noble. In this back alley overflowing with all sorts of stories, the story of Doctor Schnabel was something that could easily happen.
"Seeing as he doesn't use holy magic despite having that level of skill, I suspect he lost his faith back then, too. Ah, forget that. It's just my own thought."
"O-okay."
"Anyway. Even after such things happened, he seems to have connections with the upper crust. That's why I'm telling you not to get cocky. Your wings aren't yours; they belong to the Doctor."
"A-all right."
Erika nodded, stammering. She understood well what Wangcho was trying to say. It was the Doctor who had connections with the nobles, not the Doctor's errand runner. So, know your place and don't act up. Since this was a virtue necessary to survive in Limbus Pit, she accepted it quickly.
"Good."
Wangcho nodded in satisfaction. Of course, from Wangcho's perspective, Erika didn't seem like that kind of kid. Seeing how she had only hidden in the dark for the past few years, stealing blood and doing nothing more, she was remarkably good at knowing her place for her age. But because you never know how people will turn out, a warning was necessary.
'If another one like that appears, it's uncomfortable for everyone.'
During the last heavy snowfall, there was a guy who impersonated Doctor Schnabel and sold drugs. Fortunately, Wangcho discovered it before the Doctor returned, so it ended in an attempted crime, but 'If the Doctor had seen that state...' Wangcho felt a chill just imagining it. A healer who had connections with nobles and also served as a director of a pharmaceutical guild. He wasn't confident he could handle the aftermath if someone in his district impersonated such a being and things escalated. He just wanted to live peacefully as a back-alley boss. Getting involved with nobles was absolutely out of the question.
"But, Wangcho."
Wangcho returned to reality at Erika's call. "Why does a person like that come down here? Aren't you suspicious of him?"
"Suspicious, obviously."
"Then why do you talk as if you trust the Doctor?"
"Then what am I supposed to do, not trust him?"
Wangcho shrugged. "Over the past year, the number of my people he's saved is over 800. If he's done this much for us, even if he came down here to perform human experiments, it's courtesy to turn a blind eye to a few."
"..."
"And a dog doesn't pick and choose the food on its plate. Those who do all starve to death."
Living in this sewer, was there room to be picky about a healer? Wangcho left those words behind and continued the guidance. Erika walked after Wangcho's retreating figure, lost in thought. A dog doesn't pick and choose the food on its plate. It wasn't a wrong statement. Erika had survived that way until now, too. But.
'Nobles, huh.'
That word stuck in a corner of her heart like a thorn. 'Is it really okay?'
There is a saying in the world: A rope twisted from gold is also good for hanging yourself. It means that the more flamboyant the lifeline, the more surely it will tighten around your throat if you get tangled in it wrong. It was also a proverb meaning to be careful when forming connections with nobles. It was also a proverb that precisely meant the rope Erika had grabbed right now.
'Of course, I don't know if that rope will pull me up or leave me hanging in the air.'
An unfriendly game where she didn't know the criteria for graduation or the reasons for disqualification. A standard that was literally up to Doctor Schnabel's whim, one that even Wangcho tilted his head at after experiencing it for a year. But one thing was certain. Rather than grabbing a rotten rope and falling, it was better to hang yourself on a golden rope. Erika's seniors must have accepted this path with that same sentiment.
'Even if I die, I should at least look decent.'
She thought that, and willingly stepped onto that precarious voyage.
*
How many years had it been since she had a room with a proper roof and heating equipment? Erika, left behind in the clinic after Julian left for work, thought to herself. A living space that was quite cozy for Limbus Pit. This space was her room from now on.
'When I graduate... does that mean I go to a better place?'
She thought this while covering herself with the bear-fur blanket Wangcho had tossed to her. But perhaps because of the anxiety she couldn't quite erase, she had an uncomfortable sleep, the likes of which she hadn't even experienced in the cold alleys. And in her dream, she spent a day where no one lived.
▽▽▽ This is the story of an ordinary day that no one has ever lived. ▽▽▽
"...Where am I?"
There is blood on her hands. No matter how much she washes, it won't come off. It seems to have seeped under her fingernails, between her palm lines, and deep into her bones. Ah, right. She had done the work today, too. The ceiling of the slaughterhouse is high. Things hanging from hooks sway in a row. There are pigs, there are cows, and—
The smell of blood tickles the tip of her nose. A familiar and fragrant scent. Type A. What came in today was Type A. The blood type the owner of this slaughterhouse had.
"..."
What was that person's name? Her hands tremble as she tries to recall the name. The moment those golden eyes went out flashes by. Not surprise, not resentment, just blank eyes. Ah, so it was you. It was as if he was saying that. What did he say at the end? Did he say he was sorry? Or did he say he should have killed her in advance? She doesn't remember. It's not worth remembering. The only important thing is that the slaughterhouse became hers after that.
— "...You said you needed the pancreas and kidneys today."
She mutters to herself, picks out the parts with familiar hand movements, and puts them into a silver steel carrier. Various meats are packed with ice in a case that exudes a somewhat cool yet luxurious atmosphere.
"..."
She carries the case and goes up. The carriage climbs the slope. The scenery of Sanctum Hill passes by outside the window. Streets lined with gas lamps, mansions built of white brick, neatly manicured gardens. There was a time when she used to admire this street in the past. But humans are animals of adaptation, and now Erika feels no particular emotion even passing through this street.
The carriage stops. The familiar mask pattern hanging at the entrance of the villa welcomes Erika. Knock, knock. The door opens, and a tall, handsome man with hair the color of crow feathers welcomes her. A man with a pale appearance who seems to have never seen the sunlight. A face she doesn't know, but knows.
— "Welcome, Erika."
His cold eyes curved slightly. He has a face that looks like it would seduce many women. He actually has seduced quite a few.
— "The condition is good. Thank you, as always."
The man she doesn't know, but knows, receives the case and checks the contents. She didn't feel any human body heat when she handed it over, but Erika doesn't care. Ever since this man found her as she was turning cold in the back alley, body heat had long since become a word in a distant memory.
Erika just bows her head. No matter what kind of person her creator and master was, it didn't matter to her, who was merely a thrall. However, her picky master was sensitive to titles. Cult leader, Your Excellency, Master. There are various titles that call him in society, but there was only one title allowed to Erika. That person is... right. He was the Doctor.
The Doctor disappears inside with the case. The destination is probably the aging room. The one she brought a few days ago must be there, too.
— "You've come a long way, so have a meal before you go."
There is no option of refusal for her. Meanwhile, Erika's footsteps head toward the dining room. Passing through the hallway, she makes eye contact with a picture frame hanging on the wall. A happy family photo. In the middle is the young Doctor with a gloomy expression. A black ribbon is hung on the photo. Is it mourning? It's unimaginable that such a person would harbor the emotion of mourning. If she, a thrall, dared to guess, he would probably regret not being able to show his art to this family. That's the meaning of the black ribbon. Well, it's not a very important fact, though.
Erika passes the frame and heads back to the dining room. Arriving at the dining room, she sees a shining white tablecloth, silverware, and glass cups under the chandelier. The host's seat, the highest seat, is occupied by the Doctor. She sits in one of the guest seats. And in the remaining seat—
— "Ugh. Ugh—!"
A woman with a red-stained gag struggles in her chair. She is young. She is beautiful. She is wearing an expensive dress. Ah, she's that type. A young lady who got her nose hooked by the Doctor. There were many such women in this city. Hearing the rumors of the cold, handsome healer, dreaming of a princess in a fairy tale, only to end up sitting at this table.
"..."
Erika looks at the young lady without a word. At that moment, the Doctor, wearing an apron, places a plate on the table.
— "Apicius, the Roman gourmet, considered the tongue of a flamingo the greatest delicacy. They knew the potential that a tongue possessed."
Rome? Sometimes the Doctor is so smart that he spits out knowledge she doesn't know too naturally. But that wasn't very important content to Erika, so she lets it go in one ear and out the other.
— "It's a truly mysterious thing. That the muscle that moves the busiest and roughest while alive becomes this soft when cooked slowly at a low temperature. It will be even more flavorful if you eat it with Madeira sauce."
Clatter, clatter! The young lady with the blood-stained gag tried to move the chair, but the chair, bolted to the floor, didn't budge. Erika picks up a knife indifferently. At that moment, the Doctor cuts into her consciousness.
— "Erika. Don't you know this lady?"
— "Not really interested."
Did she perhaps berate Erika for smelling like a pig at the last ball? Or did she perhaps frown after seeing Erika on the way by? She doesn't know. There are so many young ladies she bumps into. Anyway...
— "It's not like anything changes just because I know her."
— "It is important. The turn changes."
The Doctor tilts his wine glass. Before she knows it, the young lady who was letting out small screams from the chair is exhausted and limp. The Doctor wipes his mouth with a napkin and stands up from his seat.
— "Erika."
— "Yeah."
— "Stay here for a few days. The flamingos have been quite active lately."
Erika nods. Flamingo. It's a slang term for the knights patrolling Sanctum Hill. She finishes her meal calmly. And she makes eye contact with the young lady in front of her.
— "Ugh, ugh!"
— "I have no personal grudge. You understand that a hunting dog isn't in a position to pick and choose such things, don't you?"
She holds the knife in a reverse grip. As Erika gets closer, the young lady screams, and thud. Red wine splatters onto the newspaper placed in the corner of the table.
<Jane the Ripper, already the 12th victim in Sanctum Hill alone>
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"...What was that."
And the next day. In the clinic in Limbus Pit, a red-haired girl rubbed her eyes and sat up. With only the memory that she had had a somewhat uncomfortable dream.