Chapter 58
Chapter 58
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 58
Chapter Title: S2. Grudge Wished Upon the Stars -1
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When you opened your eyes, you found yourselves in a dingy back alley shrouded in the dead of night.
The moon was clearly visible in the sky, yet thick shadows draped the scene, making it hard to discern objects. Ramshackle buildings and obstacles cluttered haphazardly, blocking the moonlight.
Looking up, you saw dirty cloths hanging from clotheslines strung between the structures. The windows of nearby buildings were either shattered or boarded up with nailed planks. Filthy puddles pooled on the ground, and sewer rats scurried about.
It was a squalid environment.
What happens when people live in a place like this? Even without personal experience, anyone with a keen eye for observation could figure it out easily.
Vomit splattered on the asphalt, glinting faintly in the moonlight. Empty liquor bottles rolled across the ground, alongside a broken molar and dried black bloodstains. Clear signs of violence. Likely a robbery.
The poor tear the scrawny flesh from equally poor bodies to feed themselves. One dies, and one survives. Chewing endlessly on that foul-smelling lump of meat fills your mouth with a rancid aftertaste.
Just like that, humans quickly devolve into beasts.
You—Bennett—knew this structure all too well. The buildings might differ, but the damp stench of despair was the same everywhere. He wrinkled his nose, hiding his gloomy thoughts.
"...So this is another world."
Breaking the silence, the two others, who had been staring blankly around, chimed in.
"No major side effects, surprisingly. I even prepared holy magic in case of nausea."
[It's a creepy place, somewhere.]
Creepy? Beyond the boarded windows lay honest nightmares, easy to imagine or encounter.
Feeling like the only one struck by the drama, Bennett fidgeted with his sword hilt unnecessarily. Tara and Niore must never have lived in the depths like this.
You had already learned about this world from the report.
But the visceral feel—the gloomy air you inhaled—brought a realism no document could convey. Words can't capture the squish of phlegm underfoot or the stench of stagnant decay.
A vast gap existed between the described world and reality. A gap you would fill ahead.
Bennett took the first step beyond that gap.
Glancing around, he picked up a broken molar from the ground.
"The blood's dried, so it didn't happen just now, but it's clear violence is common here. We need to get out."
[But where do we go?]
"You read the report, right? There's a base set up by the investigators. Let's head there."
Reasonable words. Niore nodded vigorously. In this unfamiliar new world, where everything was strange and they had nothing, the report was their guiding light.
Carter Street 201, Eastern Market, second floor.
After Saintess Tara roughly gauged the direction and prepared to step out boldly, Bennett raised a hand to stop her.
"...What?"
"There's something urgent we need to handle."
[Did you spot someone suspicious...?]
Niore whipped around, checking for goblins or the like. Bennett gestured no, pointing at Saintess Tara.
The saintess blinked in confusion.
"Me?"
"Your outfit. You weren't seriously planning to walk around like that, were you?"
Lightning struck. So accustomed to it, she had completely forgotten her attire. Her eyes widened. Come to think of it...
Even charitably described, parading such a lewd outfit would draw the wrong kind of attention. Embarrassed, she snapped.
"Sh-Shut up! What I wear is my business!"
"You know it could put us all in danger..."
[It is a bit revealing...]
"Fine, I get it!"
The trio's first goal in this strange world: find decent clothes for Tara.
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Unable to wander crowded areas with the scantily clad saintess, you brainstormed ways to procure clothes nearby.
Bennett suggested subduing a vagrant and taking their clothes.
Tara scolded him for even thinking of wearing a vagrant's rags, but when Niore cautiously noted, [Even the poorest person's clothes would have more fabric than yours, Saintess], she fell silent.
Niore followed up: how about grabbing those dirty cloths strung up above and patching something together? Tara made a face like it was the worst idea ever.
Fortunately, you found a better option.
At the slum's edge, a facility sorted trash by type: paper, plastic, food waste. Kindly, a large green bin was labeled.
'Clothing Donation Bin'.
[Clothes galore in here!]
"Pretty decent condition."
"...I have to wear someone else's discarded clothes?"
The saintess grumbled, but it beat a vagrant's rags, so she joined rummaging through the bin. The trio scavenging looked pathetically desperate.
Bennett held up a green dress.
"We need to set goals."
[Weren't we looking for jewels?]
"That's the endgame. We need to decide how to survive here, how to act. First... investigate the Silver Twilight Church. They're the biggest threat based on the info."
Tara picked up a hat, trying it on for the cute ribbon—then shrieked and flung it away upon seeing matted hair inside.
"Isn't that too dangerous? I don't want to tangle with fanatics."
"Isn't that ironic coming from a saintess?"
"Doesn't mean I like it."
[Oh, Saintess. How about this?]
Thud thud. Niore tapped her whiteboard to draw attention, then held up a black full-body tights of strange material.
"...You're kidding, right? We weren't digging through trash to make me look sexier."
"It actually looks decent. Plenty of room."
"What are you even saying?"
Tara glared sharply; Bennett averted his eyes. Especially the chest area seemed loose enough—no fight needed if he said that. Wisely, he held his tongue.
Click.
As they selected suitable clothes, sudden light flared. A conical beam illuminated the clothing thieves in a circle.
"......"
"......"
The three froze. Tara from getting caught dumpster-diving, Niore from surprise, Bennett fearing enemy forces.
Bennett peered into the light. Eyes adjusted to darkness, the sudden glare blinded him, but... it looked like a person. If guards, trouble—preparing to flee.
Niore scribbled quickly.
[180cm, male, white-haired old man. Fit from exercise, but no combat training. Glasses, poor eyesight from age, office worker vibe. Not poor. Plain clothes, but well-fed.]
"You're a walking scan spell..."
At the saintess's high praise, Niore smiled sheepishly. Bennett downgraded his alert three levels based on her intel.
The old man, spotting the trio rummaging at night, seemed stunned too. After standing blankly, he spoke.
"Robbed, were you?"
"...Pardon?"
"The young lady and that young man look fine. Good fabric, refined design. But the big lady's outfit... some scoundrel must've toyed with her. Cutting it like that."
"......"
Bennett's lip twitched up then down. Tara bristled to argue but shut her mouth, sensing it'd only sadden her more.
The old man eyed Tara's flushed, shame-ripened face with a wistful expression, bowed his head, and cleared his throat a few times.
"Young folks, you seem in a bind. If you'd like, stay the night at my place? I have clothes the big lady could wear. I have a daughter."
"......"
Sudden kindness. Bennett pondered. Easy to subdue. If Niore was right, not poor, maybe well-off. Here...
[He'll help us!]
Niore beamed, approaching the old man with a 90-degree bow. Bennett wanted to drill caution about strangers into that tiny head, but...
"We'll impose then, sir!"
The saintess, preferring fresh clothes over trash finds, followed eagerly. The mood tipped. Bennett sighed deeply and trailed them.
Risk-reward seemed favorable. Local details beyond the report, via a local's help. Old man lacked combat skills.
If things soured, the sword would handle it. So Bennett thought.
On the way to the old man's house.
Niore scribbled questions; Tara read them aloud, chiming in; they chatted plenty.
His name: Abraham. Lived in the mansion atop that hill. Astronomer. One estranged daughter.
Also, professor at Miskatonic University.
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"...Inside's cleaner than expected?"
As Tara said, Abraham's mansion was large, spacious, and spotless. Hard for an old man to maintain alone. He chuckled lightly.
"I clean the visible spots daily, in case guests come."
[Impressive!]
"Cleanliness is basic."
"......"
The interior was simply furnished. Fire crackled in the hearth; poker and rocking chair by it. Reindeer head mounted on the wall.
No further luxuries. Two stories; short, easy steps for the elderly.
Abraham smiled kindly beneath his bushy beard.
"This quiet old house alone felt lively with guests. No pressure—stay as long as you like. Guest room's not cleaned... use that one."
The door he pointed to read "Isaac."
"Your daughter's room?"
"Yes. Haven't seen her this year either, so use it freely. A room needs people to have meaning."
Tara nodded quietly, entering Isaac's room. Niore toddled after; Bennett last...
"Hold on, why are you coming in?"
"...Do I really need to lecture on ambush risks and the importance of staying together?"
"Still, this is too much. Niore's a girl, fine, but who knows your dark intentions?"
"......"
He had impure thoughts, but not those kind. Bennett massaged his furrowed brow, enduring. He sorted his thoughts.
Fine, emergency return if trouble—no life risk. Miss Niore's detection, but not Tara's. Whatever happens, not my problem—
"If something happens, at least scream."
"Yeah, you too if it's urgent."
Bennett slammed the door shut.
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"Hm-hmm, hmm."
While Saintess Tara hummed, raiding the closet, Niore cautiously observed. The room of Abraham's daughter, Isaac. Traces of someone lingered everywhere.
Bed size and springs' sag estimated build and weight. Pressing: about 50kg. Slender frame.
Smell. Nothing notable.
Cleanliness. Abraham maintained it daily. Dustless floors spoke of a father's devoted wait for his daughter.
Bookshelf. Crucial clues—books reveal personalities.
70% astronomy, 30% occult: magic, demons. Heights suggested Isaac around 170cm.
One well-worn book caught her eye; Niore flipped it open briefly.
It looked bound like a book but was a diary. Rude to pry, so she closed it.
"......"
Yet a glimpsed image lingered oddly. Father and daughter at a telescope. In pitch black, a few round soap-bubble shapes. Unclear meaning...
What stuck more was the eerie sensation. Absurdly, though she peered at the drawing, it felt like the drawing stared back.