The Excommunicated and the Girl (2)
'What the hell kind of nonsense is this?'
I scratched my head and stared hard at the girl in front of me. Her sharp glare still held tiny beads of tears at the corners of her eyes. Her flushed face, arms wrapped tightly around her own body... I could pretty much guess what misunderstanding she was having.
'But I saved your damn life.'
Shouldn't you be thanking me first? Kids these days really have no manners. I let out a small sigh and finished changing my clothes.
The girl, seeing I wasn't responding at all, looked even more anxious.
"S-say it straight! What did you do to me?!"
I glanced at her. Her body was covered in bruises from all sides, her skin and hair unkempt like they'd never been properly cared for. No matter how I looked at her, she didn't seem like nobility.
'...Did she escape from a brothel?'
Sometimes, girls sold into the back alleys would flee in terror. Of course, the ones who'd shelled out big money for their virginity weren't about to let them go easily, so most got dragged back and suffered even worse fates—better to just endure the first night quietly.
"...I didn't do anything."
I replied flatly and headed to the washbasin, turning on the faucet. Brothels were inevitably tied to the scum of the earth. The guys I'd beaten senseless last night were probably part of that crowd. No good ever came from getting tangled in their mess, so the best plan was to wait for the right moment and shoo her out.
Whoosh—
I roughly scrubbed my matted hair and was pulling a dry towel from the drawer to wipe it when the girl blocked my path.
"H-how can I believe you...?"
She rolled her green eyes around, looking up at me. I stared down at her for a moment, then crouched to meet her eye level.
"Hey."
"...Hic."
Our eyes met, and she flinched in surprise before starting to hiccup. I grabbed her shoulders and spoke slowly.
"What if you don't believe me? Want me to touch you right now to prove it?"
I trailed my fingers slowly over her body with a low voice—from cheek to neck, neck to shoulder. When my fingers brushed her collarbone, her body shuddered and she bolted backward.
"S-see! You brought me here to do something dirty!"
She huddled in the corner, yelling sharply at me. I chuckled and grabbed the towel, ruffling my hair.
"That's why you should get out before you see something really dirty."
With that, I flopped onto the bed and stared blankly at the ceiling. The splitting hangover was gone already—probably burned off while bickering with her.
"...Damn it."
I muttered a curse under my breath and sat up. The girl flinched in surprise, snatched an empty bottle rolling nearby, and pointed it at me. A small voice leaked from her lips.
"...You're. An excommunicate."
"So? Gonna report me to the Church?"
I shot back coldly, grabbing my coat—
"Ah."
My only coat was soaked, dripping water. I hung the heavy, waterlogged thing over a chair and turned to the girl.
"I'm heading out now. I want you gone by the time I get back."
"..."
"You hear me? Get out."
No reply. She just stared at me, face full of wariness. Her gaze was fixed on the stigma branded on my cheek. I sighed softly and left the room.
The moment I closed the door, damp air stabbed into my lungs. The rain had stopped, but the streets reeked of rotten water. I sloshed through puddles toward my usual tavern.
After downing a couple shots of hard liquor in a row, my head finally cleared with a refreshing buzz.
"Three more here."
I handed a few coins to the glaring barkeep and took the bottles. Each step made them clink together rhythmically, lifting my spirits. Humming a tune as I walked, the girl's glaring face suddenly flashed in my mind.
'...No way she's still hanging around.'
I muttered to myself and headed home. It was as I rounded the alley corner.
Two men were coming out of my place. Familiar faces—the one with bandages on his face, and the one who'd fled pale as a ghost. One of them was carrying something slung over his shoulder. Red hair peeked out from the edge of the bundled blanket, limp and drooping.
"..."
I pressed against the wall and watched them closely. They hadn't spotted me yet; they muttered lowly to each other and darted into the opposite alley.
I tracked their backs with my eyes for a moment. Once they were out of sight, I entered the house.
Creeeak—
The door wasn't locked. I scanned the room carefully. It looked much the same as when I'd left, except the girl and her blanket were gone.
"...Tch."
I cracked open one of the bottles I'd bought and chugged it down.
'Should've left earlier like I told her. Why get caught like an idiot.'
She was gone from my sight now—no reason for me to get involved anymore. That was the conclusion. I sat on the bed and took another swig.
A warm heat rose from below, but it didn't bring the usual comfort. That's when I noticed a few drops of red blood in the corner. Around scratches like fingernails had gouged them were cheap leather boot prints scattered about. The silver bottle that had been nearby was missing too.
"..."
I took another drink. My eyes kept drifting to the corner. I went to finish the bottle, but it was already empty; I hurled it into the corner.
And sat there motionless for a while.
"...Gotta get that bottle back."
I murmured softly and stood up.
Tracking them wasn't hard. Their boot prints were messily stamped in the mud of alleys the rainwater hadn't washed away. They weren't even trying to hide that they'd taken her.
'Well, no reason to fear an excommunicate.'
I lightly touched my right cheek. Even scum who trafficked humans like daily bread and ran brothels were treated worlds apart from an excommunicated sinner. If the Church looked into it, I'd probably take the fall for everything.
"If you could go to the Church, that is."
I chuckled, drawing a battered dagger from my coat, and followed the tracks.
The prints snaked through alleys, avoiding main streets. They led deeper into unfamiliar territory—the innermost back alleys. Buildings huddled together without signs, thick cloths over every window. Voices leaked out, but nothing visible from outside. I could guess how people around here scraped by without asking.
The trail ended at an abandoned dye factory on the outskirts of the old town district. Once used to dry sacred herbs for the Church, now it stank to high heaven and crawled with rats.
At the entrance sat the bandaged-faced guy on watch—the same one from in front of my house earlier.
"Hey."
My voice made him jump and whirl around.
"Y-you...!"
"Where's the girl."
I dragged my limping leg forward slowly. He hesitated, fear from last night flashing in his eyes, but then bellowed into the factory.
"This crazy bastard walked right in! Boss! It's that guy from yesterday!"
A half-dozen men poured out, wielding iron pipes and clubs. Among them emerged a massive brute—even bigger than last night's foes—clutching the girl under his arm. Her mouth was gagged with rough cloth; she struggled with muffled grunts.
Her eyes met mine. Terror, resentment, and a tiny flicker of hope swirled in those emerald depths.
"This excommunicate's lost his mind. This ain't a place for the likes of you to stumble drunk."
The big man grinned viciously and yanked her head back. A blue blade pressed against her slender throat.
"Looks like you've eaten your share of steel... but is this little bitch worth risking your neck for?"
He cackled, and the others joined in laughter. I replied calmly.
"Nah, she's just a bonus."
"...Bonus?"
"Yeah. So hand over my stuff."
I pointed at the gleaming silver bottle on his chest. He followed my finger, glanced down, and smacked his lips.
"You're a funny one."
"Yeah, heard that a lot back in the day."
At my response, he grinned and growled low.
"Kill him."
His order rang out, and the thugs charged with yells. I silently gripped my dagger tighter. Power surged into my tingling leg, alcohol buzzing pleasantly through my veins. It was a thrill I hadn't felt in ages.
I grinned and murmured.
"You guys picked the wrong fight."