[Limbus Pit Ecology Report (1)]

“Hup!”

Baroness Nihilit, Linier, gasped as she snapped her eyes open. Her heart was hammering against her ribs. The first thing she did upon waking from the nightmare was to reach out for her child. Fortunately, her beloved youngest son was sleeping soundly in his cradle. That tiny bundle of life, who had seemed so fragile that he might stop breathing at any moment, had finally put on some weight and developed adorable, healthy contours. It had been six weeks since this little one entered the world; he had finally reached his 40th week of development.

Now that her youngest son had reached the same gestational age as any other normal baby, his breathing had become remarkably steady. Hoo-hoo. Linier listened to that rhythmic breathing for a long time. Only then did her racing heart begin to settle.

‘It was that nightmare again.’

Even though things were better now, the memory of the nights when this child’s life hung in the balance still haunted her as a recurring nightmare. In those dreams, Julian was never there, and Linier would lose this precious life over and over again. Whenever that happened, she would deny the horrific dream and force herself back into reality.

She turned her head to the other side. A blanket was neatly folded on a small bed. It was the place where Julian, the eldest son of the Nihilit family and a healer, should have been. Linier wasn’t flustered by his absence. That child would watch over this room all night, only to slip away quietly at dawn.

“……”

She didn’t know why, but she suddenly missed Julian. Linier pulled herself up from the bed.

A month and a half had passed since I gained a new family. Finally, Freed had reached his 40th week—meaning he was now a one-year-old, just like any other normal child! Ah, wait, since this is a Western-style culture, is he zero years old? Anyway.

A lot had happened in the time it took to get here. There were too many events to list, but I can say for certain that I suffered immensely because of our youngest. Good job, me. Pat, pat.

Sometimes Freed’s weight would drop, making my heart sink, but thankfully, it was just because of his bowel movements. He really did poop a lot.

‘Freed is finally stable.’

Of course, just because he’d passed the six-week mark and reached 40 weeks didn’t mean he required no management. But since he was out of the premature stage, there was no need for 24-hour close monitoring. It was a period where checking if he played well and ate well in the evenings was sufficient.

‘It’s about time I returned to the Red Light District.’

Sick children and mothers weren’t only in our house. There were still many people in the world who needed the protagonist’s helping hand. Before heading back to the Red Light District, I headed to the kitchen to prepare a lunchbox for the first time in a while.

‘Looks like no one’s here.’

On the way to the kitchen, I confirmed that it was still early dawn and empty. Back when I was in the annex, I didn’t have to worry about anyone watching. There was no one to see, and no one to care. But after moving to the main house, I had to be careful even about going to the kitchen. There was someone who didn’t approve of me going there.

‘Then, for today’s lunchbox menu, should I use the leftover ingredients from yesterday…’

I was thinking about the menu when I arrived at the kitchen quietly. Just before my hand touched the doorknob, a cough suddenly sounded from behind me.

“Julian.”

I turned around to see Mother Linier standing at the end of the hallway. Seeing the wrinkles forming between her brows, I could guess what she was about to say.

“I told you the kitchen is off-limits.”

“…I apologize.”

I immediately bowed my head in apology. At my apology, Mother’s lips trembled ever so slightly. A few months ago, when she’d been moved to tears after eating my cooking, I thought I had her permission. But that wasn’t the case. Apparently, enjoying a meal and having her son get grease on his hands were two separate matters. Ever since that day, Mother had started scolding me for going to the kitchen. Just like now.

Mother turned her head toward the window as if to avoid my gaze and let out a deep sigh.

“…I know your heart well. But you are now the eldest son of the Nihilit family. There are eyes on you, so you must be mindful of your dignity.”

“I apologize, Mother. My thoughts were short-sighted. I won’t do it again.”

“Even if you say that, you… haa… never mind.”

Of course, this was the 20th time we’d had this exchange. Mother knew perfectly well that there was no soul in my answer. Yet, she gave in to me every time.

“Just for today.”

“Thank you, Mother.”

It’s a sorry thing to say, but I suspect I’ll be having this exchange for the rest of my life. Cooking is my identity, after all. Still….

‘Thank you for scolding me.’

It felt good. It meant she considered me not just a stepson, but her own flesh and blood.

Today was the day I headed back to the Red Light District for the first time in a while. I checked the route announcement section of the newspaper to confirm the schedules for the monorail and tram.

‘That route is blocked due to heavy snow, and that one requires too much of a detour…’

I thought as I looked at the route map overlaid on the city map. The gravity of this city flows strictly according to social status. It’s not structured vertically, but rather like a pyramid, becoming higher as you move toward the center.

‘The trams won’t be operating for a while because of the snow, so I have to take the monorail… The direct line is…’

My finger traced the route map downward. Sanctum Hill. The center of the city, the sanctuary of the nobles who look down upon everything. This is my starting point. If you go down a little from here, you reach Civitas Square. The plaza for commoners, it serves as the waist of the city. Transfer here. And at the very bottom is the Limbus Pit. Located at the foothills or the outskirts, it’s the sewer for those who weren’t chosen. This is my destination.

‘Okay. Today, the No. 14 monorail is at 8:00.’

It goes without saying, but the Red Light District is located in the Limbus Pit. It takes a full two hours just to commute there. Thinking about the crowds at the transfer station, Civitas Square, I already felt my humanity draining away.

‘What is this. Why is the world different, but my commute pattern is the same as my past life?’

There is a difference, though. Instead of going from the outskirts to the center, I’m going from the center to the outskirts.

I was preparing to leave after organizing my thoughts when—

“Julian. You said you were going back there starting today.”

When I finished my preparations and went to the entrance, Father was standing there.

“I have a car waiting outside. Take it.”

“A car… you mean?”

Looking outside, it was the car Father usually rode to work.

“If I take that, how will you get to work, Father?”

“I bought a new one.”

Aha. So he wanted to buy a new car using me as an excuse. No wonder the newspaper’s car advertisement section had been open every time I went to his office lately.

“I ask just in case, but did Mother give you permission?”

“…I’m sorry. I used your name a little.”

I could picture the situation. He probably put on a dramatic performance for Mother, saying, “How could a father sleep knowing his son is walking all the way to the sewer?” No matter how powerful the head of the family is, you can’t ignore the lady of the house. Especially with a large expense, he would have needed a justification and permission.

Well, it’s a good thing for me and a good thing for Father, so I decided to think of it as mutual aid.

“I’m fine with it.”

“Thank you. I bought it recently thanks to the Quinine dividends you raised in my name. Don’t feel burdened and ride it every day.”

He spoke nonchalantly, but the corners of his mouth were twitching. Is he happy because he bought a new car? Or is he proud that he could buy a car for his son? I decided to think it was both.

“Thank you, Father.”

“Can’t you call me ‘Dad’ just this once?”

“Thank you, Father.”

“…Right.”

I gratefully accepted Father’s favor. When I went outside, a black, boxy sedan that looked like something out of a late 1800s black-and-white photo was waiting in front of the mansion. Then there was the long running board under the door for getting in and out, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the brass ornaments embedded here and there, and the craftsmanship engraved on the door handle. It was a high-end vintage limousine by anyone’s standards. Ah, maybe it’s not vintage by the standards here.

‘But is it safe? Right?’

The problem was elsewhere. The wheels with exposed spokes that reminded me of a bicycle, the copper exhaust pipes stretching long along the side, the embers of the blue magic stones visible through the front grille. These were a bit unsettling. To a doctor, they looked like a leg with the skin peeled off, exposed blood vessels, and a heart visible between ribs. Well, that must be because I don’t know much about cars. I trust the dwarves made it safely.

I stepped on the running board and climbed into the back seat.

‘Oh. The smell of leather.’

As soon as I sat down, I felt like it had been broken in. It was that unique comfort of a seat someone had sat in for a long time. It didn’t take long to realize that the source was Father’s scent wafting from the leather crevices.

‘Ah, come to think of it, who’s driving?’

Father’s driver was the butler. Naturally, the butler would be with the new car. Then this one? I looked toward the driver’s seat. A dense iron grate was bolted between the back seat and the driver’s seat. Beyond it, I saw an unfamiliar back. Sensing my gaze, the driver met my eyes through the rearview mirror. The driver turned his body and greeted me through the partition.

“I am Otto, who will be in charge of driving this vehicle and guarding the young master from now on.”

“I look forward to your service.”

That was the end of the conversation. I would have preferred someone talkative if possible. Someone with great reactions would have been even better.

“……”

“……”

Otto’s thoughts were transmitted through the rearview mirror.

— ‘Our social statuses are too different, so please, let’s not get close.’

I know that look all too well. It’s the look military drivers used to give the company commander in the back seat. I’ve seen it enough times from the passenger seat to know. Alright. I won’t talk to you.

The car descended toward the Limbus Pit in awkward silence. My takeaway from riding in a limousine for the first time in my past or present life: expensive cars are better in every way, from ride comfort to speed.

When we started, the limousine’s windows were clean. But as we descended into the city, the windows grew dirty. In line with this, the white marble of Sanctum Hill changed to the gray bricks of Civitas Square, and those gray bricks gradually turned black. Before long, one landscape began to repeat outside the window.

Under the bridge, in the dark shade, a long line was stretched out. Around the necks of the people in line hung tags, like labels indicating livestock quality. , , … They called it a transfer, but the direction was always the same. From top to bottom. As if the city were excreting the waste it couldn’t digest, the sick, the disabled, the bankrupt, and others were silently walking down toward the Limbus Pit. There was no emotion in the iron masks of the soldiers sending them down. Indifference toward one’s neighbor was one of the essential morals of this city.

Tap, tap. We were waiting for a signal. Someone knocked on the car window. I saw dirty fingers. It was a child. What they held wasn’t a tin can for begging, but a crumpled ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠piece of paper. Their eyes seemed to be pleading for something. As I reached out to roll down the window, the driver looked at me through the rearview mirror and said,

“Young master. Do not roll down the window.”

Because he was my guard before he was my driver, he didn’t allow me to roll down the window.

“The collection squad won’t like it either. It will interfere with their work.”

Collection squad. The word rolled around in my mouth. The next moment, a soldier in an iron mask snatched the child’s wrist. The child didn’t scream. It wasn’t because they didn’t know how. It was because they knew it was useless.

The iron mask attached something to the child’s neck. It was a small iron tag.

The child became a part of the line just like that. And the soldiers who dragged the child away bowed repeatedly toward this car as if apologizing. Watching that scene, what I felt wasn’t a sense of superiority, but discomfort.

I adjusted my gloves on my knees once more.

‘…The number of patients is increasing.’

In this city, the reasons why the protagonist must be kind are always provided in horrific ways.

As I entered the Red Light District, a landscape reminiscent of late 1800s London Chinatown unfolded. I don’t know if there was a Chinatown in that era, but anyway. The place ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠where the limousine stopped was under a massive pailou (archway). Red pillars with all the paint peeled off and a dragon sculpture with a broken neck welcomed me.

‘Sss… Haa.’

I took a deep breath inside the car. This street, which I had returned to after six weeks, was still filled with the smell of filth and kerosene. Of course, the air inside the walls isn’t very good anywhere you go. But as if there’s a bottom to the bottom, the air changes in quality as you go lower. And this stench of the slums that seemed to pierce my lungs confirmed that I had returned to where I belonged.

‘…Ugh, the smell.’

I took out my crow mask and put it on. I hadn’t originally intended to plagiarize a plague doctor. But after pursuing various functions, I ended up back at the crow mask. Is this what they call convergent evolution?

‘Whew… that’s better.’

I took a deep breath of the herb-filled beak of the mask. For a moment, I felt like I had escaped the city’s rotten air. Though, it was just escaping the smell.

I got out of the car wearing the mask.

‘Every time I come here, it feels like I’ve come to Chinatown.’

Unlike other districts of the Empire, the buildings in the Red Light District followed the style of the beastman culture. Roofs with eaves curving toward the sky, pillars with faded red paint peeled away, lanterns hanging in every alley. This was a unique landscape that only this Red Light District possessed, even within the Limbus Pit.

“I will park and come right back down, young master.”

“Thank you, Otto.”

Otto bowed and drove the car back up to Civitas Square. There was no place to park in this slum, so we had to choose this cumbersome method.

I walked toward the clinic wearing the mask. On the way to the clinic, several lines of black chalk marks were layered under a wall that still bore the faded traces of the character for ‘Fortune’. It was a kind of bamboo forest where the residents communicated anonymously, a place of communication that could perhaps be called the gallery of the Red Light District.

‘The Limbus Pit is open for business as usual today.’

The sticky hatred toward Sanctum Hill and the jealousy toward Civitas Square. The Limbus Pit was running just fine today, too. I took one more deep breath of the herb scent inside my beak and hurried my steps toward the clinic once again.