Chapter 18
Chapter 18
The Mad Priest of the Slums #18
Something was strange. Too strange.
“The secretary seemed worried when you said you were going to District 12. But after seeing it myself, it doesn’t feel that different.”
“That’s probably because rumors about you have already spread.”
“That’s exactly my point. Truly insane people wouldn’t care about that.”
“…That’s true.”
Walking carefully behind them, Vita’s gaze shifted between the priest ahead and the Mad Dog guard beside him.
‘Damn it… what the hell is going on…’
It had been a week.
After finally getting work, she had been heading out at dawn—only to be kicked in the stomach by that bastard who looked too smooth for his own good and dragged here.
Even in this back alley—
There were rules.
You don’t strike a man’s groin.
You don’t hit a woman’s chest or womb.
But that bastard—
Kicked her lower abdomen without hesitation.
And just like that—
She was captured.
Even worse—
All her equipment was gone.
‘If my stuff is gone, I’ll kill him.’
Without it—
Even if she quit drugs, she’d have no way to survive.
Selling her body?
That was gambling with her life.
Brothels?
Two-year contracts.
Unacceptable.
‘Better to die.’
Still—
There was hope.
‘That priest is insane… but the kind you can talk to.’
His tone never changed.
Cold.
Consistent.
And his actions proved—
He followed his own rules strictly.
The man who begged to be freed—
Was thrown out the window.
Because he broke the rule.
That’s when she knew.
If you follow his rules—
He’s rational.
‘Yeah… let’s stay positive.’
She could deal with everything else later.
“Vita?”
“Yes?”
“Is it there?”
She followed his finger.
A small sandwich shop at the corner.
“Yes. That’s the place.”
“Good. I’m looking forward to it.”
Inside—
“Wel—…!”
The owner froze upon seeing him.
“Any recommendations?”
“Only one menu.”
“Then two. John?”
“I’m fine.”
The owner looked at Vita for help.
She didn’t understand.
“Why?”
“N-no! Nothing! Right away!”
He prepared the sandwich.
Hands trembling—
But skilled.
“Sauce?”
“Your recommendation.”
The hardest request.
He shut his eyes.
Prepared it carefully.
“Here…”
“I like it.”
Crispy bread.
Soft inside.
Good meat.
Simple seasoning.
A solid sandwich.
Crunch.
Crunch.
John swallowed hard watching him eat.
After finishing—
“Do you have drinks?”
“Homemade wine…”
“One glass.”
“Priest, I don’t recommend it.”
“Why?”
“He’s not good at making it.”
“I’ll consider that.”
He drank.
“…You’re right.”
Sour.
Heavy aftertaste.
“Vita, how much?”
“Usually 500 to 1,000 Mora.”
“Ingredients are hard to get?”
“Yes.”
He handed over 1,000.
“Thank you for the meal.”
“…Th-thank you!!”
The owner bowed repeatedly.
“Let’s visit more places.”
As they left—
Vita frowned.
‘Why is he so scared…?’
Then—
CRACK—!!
“Here’s your handkerchief.”
“…Thanks.”
She understood.
Quickly.