Republic Reborn: Against the Stars and Stripes
Chapter 132: Promiscous

Chapter 132: Promiscous

The girl froze when she saw us.

We had stood perfectly still under the scant cover, but the little camouflage offered by the rayadillo worked only in open sunlight. Here, under the partial shade and deep green of the sugarcane fields, the striped fabric of our sky-blue uniforms stuck out like a sore thumb. They blended with neither leaf nor shadow.

For a moment, I thought she’d drop the clay pot balanced on her head and let out a piercing scream—just like what had happened in Buenavista. Once again, a single wrong turn and a woman might ruin our element of surprise.

But perhaps Teniente Medina’s handsome foreign face was comforting enough to soothe her nerves. The Spaniard, who was leading the advance, raised a hand and gently placed a finger on his lips, offering a calming smile. The girl blinked, swallowed hard, and slowly lowered the pot to the ground with care.

He motioned her over with a subtle wave of the hand. She cast one last glance back at the footpath before carefully stepping off it, sliding down the slight incline of the bank and into the sugarcane rows.

I was behind Medina and gave her a warm smile. "Hija... Magandang hapon."

The girl, who couldn’t be older than sixteen, gave a nervous nod and swallowed hard. She looked at Medina again, as if hoping his smile still meant safety.

"That hut right there... who lives in it?" I asked, pointing toward a small nipa hut no more than fifty meters away. Between the swaying stalks, we caught fleeting glimpses of it.

"The babaylan and her husband," she answered softly. Her eyes widened as she noticed our rifles—bayonets glinting under the midday sun—and the line of soldiers trailing behind us like a train. The way she hunched her shoulders told me she already knew something bad was coming.

"Are you... are you sent by the gobernador?" she asked.

I nodded, unsure how else to answer. There were no other armed forces on the island. "You’re talking to him, in fact."

Her brows lifted as she studied my face, then the silver regalia on my chest and the red bars on my shoulders. I doubted she understood what they meant, but they marked me apart. Her next gesture was sudden—she dropped to her knees, head lowered.

"Gobernador... spare us," she whispered hoarsely, barely loud enough to hear. The girl was smart—she knew a scream would get her silenced, one way or another. "Malinao is not Pulajanes. We’re Cristianos. But they’ll kill us if we don’t follow."

I crouched beside her. "Don’t worry. We’re only here for the babaylan—and no one else."

She looked up slowly, meeting my gaze. When she saw my smile, one crept onto her own face as well. "Then it’s no problem, Gobernador. You may take her. She’s very hated here... she’s harsh to the villagers, and... uhm... promiscuous."

"Promiscuous?" I echoed.

"Yes... very promiscuous," she said with more conviction.

Well, that was to be expected. She was a known whore, after all.

---

I clenched my jaw as licentious sounds leaked through the thin nipa walls of the hut.

I had expected the babaylan to be debauched, but not this debauched. Her cries and the man’s groans were clear as day, bouncing through the hollow bamboo slats.

Behind me, Medina and the Cazadores chuckled quietly, trying to contain themselves. Guzman was less amused, shaking his head in disappointment. The soldiers of the escolta said nothing, disciplined enough to keep their expressions unreadable. They knew better than to offend either their sergeant—or me. Lorenzo, on the other hand, was red in the face. Any redder and he’d look like a lobster fresh from the pot.

I exhaled and stepped forward with purpose, boots thudding lightly against the hardened dirt. I moved past the outer wall and rounded to the front steps, a simple wooden stairway no more than three rungs high. Even the door was ajar. They weren’t even trying to be discreet.

The hut itself was more isolated than I had anticipated. The path curved away and disappeared into the trees and shrubs. Only a few other homes were visible nearby, and all were quiet—doors shut, windows covered. This area of the barrio seemed abandoned, or at least, everyone had made themselves scarce.

I climbed the steps and entered the hut. The sounds inside immediately matched the sight.

A woman, completely naked, was straddling a fat man who lay groaning beneath her. They were at it with wild abandon, sweat glistening on her back as the sunlight streamed through the slats of the wall. The humid air made the scene even more revolting. The tropical heat was sweltering—it was hardly the time of day to be doing anything physical, let alone something this... active.

Sloppy. Wet. Disgusting.

I drew my pistol. The sound of the hammer clicking back went unnoticed.

"You seem to be enjoying yourself, Isidro," I said.

They froze.

The woman turned her head sharply, locking eyes with me for a split second before diving for a blanket nearby. She wrapped herself in it hastily, but I recognized that face. It was the same one I saw in Gasan—when she’d acted so shaken, so frightened.

I had been played. And I had been played well.

Isidro’s tiny pecker stayed in view far too long before he managed to grab his shirt and cover his shame.

"Abducted, huh... I was completely fooled..." My cheeks flushed in rage. My ears rang as I stepped into the hut. "You don’t know how much I worried, how I had hoped you were fine. I prayed every evening to see your ugly fat face again... and now, I wish I had found you dead in Banot."

"I can explain, Tiyo!" Isidro’s tears came instantly.

I stepped further in, casting a shadow over both of them. They shrank beneath it.

"You were always a slave to your impulses, Isidro. That’s why you’ve gotten so fat," I said with a bitter chuckle. Isidro chuckled with me—until he realized I wasn’t joking.

"There’s no more oppressive master than the self. And now look at what you’ve done."

"You led innocent men to their deaths. You’ve betrayed your country. You’ve betrayed me!"

Gabriella—whore, pulajanes priestess, babaylan—was now glaring at me from beneath the blanket. I noticed the ragged robe hanging in the corner, made from mismatched cloth in bright, gaudy colors. A cultist’s vestment.

She laughed. "Isidro... a slave? No. It’s the opposite. I’ve shown him the light. He gave up his riches, his status... he turned his back on your oppressive ways. And now he lives peacefully with me."

Isidro ignored her and crawled forward, clasping his hands.

"Please, Tiyo. I know I’ve made a mistake. I want to repent. Please... give me the chance."

When he saw I remained silent, he pointed at her.

"She’s a witch! A babaylan! You know them—witchcraft! She bewitched me!"

"Isidro!" she snapped, clearly betrayed. But whatever influence she once held had shattered in my presence.

I wiped my face and let out a deep sigh. I felt weary. This was not a moment I had prepared myself for—but it was a decision I owed to those who had made the ultimate sacrifice.

"No... that’s not how the story will go, Isidro. You were abducted by the Pulajanes. And when we found you, you were already dead."

He furrowed his brow, trying to process what I had just said.

Then he smiled. "You mean... you’ll let me live?"

I nodded.

In one swift motion, I raised the pistol and fired before his expression could change.

He dropped face-first to the floor, his bare ass in the air. A pathetic end. But no one would ever know the truth. Marinduque would never learn of it.

"Nicanor!" she screamed—not out of grief, but in terror.

Before I could turn around, a loud scream rang from outside.

A gunshot cracked. Then a thud.

I turned and looked out the open doorway. A body lay in the dirt near the opposite hut, a bolo still clutched in one hand. The barrel of Medina’s Mauser smoked faintly in the humid air. A soldier from the escolta stood frozen—his left ear grazed and bleeding. He had been facing away from the danger. If not for the Spanish Teniente’s quick shot, the boy would be dead.

But I had no time to linger. The bamboo floor trembled.

The babaylan lunged at me with a knife.

Her strike was clumsy—full of rage but lacking skill. I caught her wrist before the blade could come close. She flinched when I aimed the pistol directly beneath her chin, forcing her head up.

She was still naked. But maybe that no longer mattered to her.

"Kill me!" she screamed.

I shook my head. "You’ll hang in Boac."

She giggled.

"Then all will know what happened here—how your own nephew betrayed you."

I pressed the barrel deeper. She choked.

"Who would believe you..." I whispered with a grin, "... a whore and a cultist?"