A Noxious Stench (1)
Apostles of the Evil God — those who have received a god’s authority and blessings. The nest is packed with troublesome obstacles, so try drawing them outside to fight. An annoying opponent that plunges the player into confusion and status ailments. Curse-type attacks. The Blessing that blocked Seira’s mental assault should also block the Source of Fear. Pulling the target out requires high Reputation, but…
“We’ve arrived.”
After two hours of enduring a thoroughly miserable ride, the carriage finally reached its destination. Shiron closed the book he had been reading and stepped down.
“Circumstances being what they are, I apologize that I can’t offer more.”
He smiled as he pressed two gold coins into the coachman’s hand. Even to Shiron’s eyes, the man’s expression upon receiving them looked anything but comfortable.
“…Thank you for using our service.”
The coachman mumbled the perfunctory courtesy and ducked his head. Shiron watched the carriage dwindle into the distance, then turned to face the entrance of his destination.
He had arrived at Night Rail Street—the same street where Seira had once done her unfunny slave cosplay. But the spot where he now stood was not the western district lined with auction houses and gambling dens. This was the eastern side: the gateway into the red-light quarter, the place said to feel like spring all year round.
A mild hunger stirred. Shiron glanced at Seira.
“Let’s grab something to eat. Anywhere decent nearby?”
“Hmm. I haven’t come around this part much.”
Even as she voiced the uncertainty, Seira took the lead, her black nun’s habit swaying with every step.
Unlike the districts crowded with hotels and other entertainment houses, the red-light quarter kept no shops open by day. At best there were the twenty-four-hour stew houses where the girls, finished with the night’s work, stopped in for a late supper.
True to form, the place Seira chose reeked of thick, slow-simmered stew.
“Welco—”
The clerk began the greeting the instant the door opened, then froze solid at the sight of the two of them.
Clergy were clearly less than welcome on this street. Odd stares had clung to Shiron and Seira from the moment they left the carriage. Shiron, however, did not start throwing punches. He simply treated it as nothing worth noticing and parked himself at a corner table.
Not long after they sat, metal bowls of thick stew and loaves of bread arrived.
“Tip for you.”
“…Keep it.”
Shiron held out a gold coin; the clerk only stared blankly, then spun on his heel and left. At the blatant snub Shiron did not twist his face. He merely muttered under his breath,
“Might have to call the owner over and give him a lesson. The service attitude is garbage.”
“Can’t be helped.”
Seira traced a quiet circle in the air so the sound would not leak outward.
“The ones who cause trouble on this street are the drunks who act up without fear and the inquisitors from Lucerne. A human clerk acting like that is inevitable.”
“You’re well-informed.”
“Of course. Even if it’s a different district, I lived on Night Rail for years. I’ve probably lived here longer than most humans.”
She rubbed her hands together and began spooning stew into her mouth. Something close to the taste of home she had not known in a long time filled her. Whether from the long simmer or not, the big chunks of meat fell apart without needing to be chewed.
“What about demons, then?”
Shiron poked at his soup and drew a necklace from his coat. On the reverse was an engraving of young Siriel’s face.
Unique-grade holy relic
Indicates the direction from which demonic energy emanates
Under ordinary circumstances the relic could only be obtained after Hugo’s death. Five years earlier, before Shiron left the mansion, Hugo had given him the necklace; it pointed toward the source of demonic energy.
The moment they entered the red-light district, however, the compass began to thrash like a thing possessed. The concentration was too thin to feel against the skin, yet it proved the entire street was saturated with demonic energy.
“Isn’t there some local boss demon around here?”
“…Hard to say.”
Seira dunked the dried-out bread into the bowl.
“I don’t really know either.”
“Why not?”
“They hide carefully and pretend to be human. You know—Yuma and Encia who serve you. They’re demons, yet barely different from humans.”
“True.”
“Since the war five hundred years ago, demons prefer not to stand out if they can help it. The Evil God who led them is already gone, and the lesson that nothing good comes of being noticed has been carved into their bones over the long centuries.”
She pulled out a napkin, wiped her mouth, and sighed.
“In the end the weak ones who couldn’t pass as human all died off. It means they have honed their concealment to the point that even I—the greatest mage of all time—can’t notice them.”
“Who killed them?”
“Who do you think?”
Seira pointed at herself. Then her finger slowly swung toward Shiron.
“Me, the Holy Empire, and every soul who hates demons down to the marrow. That’s how spotting a demon outside the Demon Realm became no easy feat.”
“Sounds rough.”
Shiron closed his eyes and thought.
By Seira’s account, finding a demon that had buried itself in this red-light district would be anything but simple. The compass was no longer reliable, and he could hardly grab every conspicuous face and pour holy power into them one by one.
Fortunately, mere demons were not his goal.
I’ll know her the moment we meet…
Unlike the apostles who strained every nerve to kill Glen in the distant Demon Realm, Camilla Rodos had planted roots in the red-light quarter and was operating with her head kept low.
Guess the only option is to wander until we cross paths.
Shiron quietly watched the thrashing compass.
Once the sun set and night arrived, the red-light district transformed into an entirely different world. Crowds poured in; the tightly shut shutters rose; red lights bathing the street illuminated half-naked women.
Yet the sight of half-naked women stirred no lust in Shiron.
Looks exactly like a butcher shop.
With nightfall his nerves drew taut of their own accord. Demonic energy that had been imperceptible under the sun now began to prickle against his skin.
To search for the enemy he decided to start with the nearest establishment—an entertainment house that occupied an entire four-story building, where drink and women were served together.
“…What is this.”
Shiron’s face twisted a fraction. Burly men had stepped into his path the moment he tried to enter.
Three of them.
Thugs who had learned cheap martial arts blocked the doorway yet still bowed their waists toward him with carefully polite expressions.
“Sir, we have a few things to check first.”
“What exactly are you checking?”
“Haha. You’re a rather rough-mannered priest, aren’t you? Please don’t take offense. Just answer a few simple questions and you’ll be fine.”
Even under Shiron’s bristling stare the big man kept his smile intact. Apparently no law forbade clergy from walking into an entertainment house.
The man who had bowed spoke quietly.
“If I may ask—how old are you?”
“Why are you asking that?”
“According to Imperial law… minors under eighteen are prohibited from entering entertainment establishments. So we have no choice but to check identification at the door.”
“….”
Shiron’s expression went blank. He had slammed into a massive wall before the investigation had even begun.
What kind of world-building is this? You can kill people, but a minor can’t walk into a brothel?
Counting his previous life and the years since possession, he was well past thirty. His current body, however, was only seventeen. Under Imperial law he was strictly a minor.
Giving up here was not an option. Too much time had already slipped away; he could not wait another two years. Whatever could be done before the original timeline arrived had to be done. Shiron crossed his arms and declared with perfect confidence,
“Isn’t Night Rail extraterritorial? It shouldn’t have anything to do with Imperial law.”
“The ordinances of Night Rail changed a few years ago. About three years back… yes. Because of that, the constables occasionally come through on patrol.”
Three years ago would have been while Shiron was away from the Empire.
Kid. Hold this out.
A sudden poke jabbed his lower back. Shiron snatched the object Seira thrust at him and held it up to the big man.
“…This good enough?”
The man examined the card for a moment, then grinned and stepped aside.
“Welcome, sir.”
“Then, if you’ll excuse me.”
Shiron cleared his throat and walked in. The forged identification Seira had created in a heartbeat looked flawless even to his eyes.
But the one who had actually made the card was not going inside.
“Customer? Do you have some business? The night air has grown chilly. Please come in.”
“Hey.”
Seira narrowed her eyes and looked up at the big man. Her face, still radiant even under the night lights, was full of open discontent.
“Aren’t you checking my ID?”
“…Pardon? I didn’t quite catch that.”
“Why are you only checking his?”
When the nun pressed the point, the big man pressed his temples as if a headache had arrived. Customers like this turned up now and then—the ones who grew irritated if their age was not checked, demanding to know whether they looked that old…
He was, however, a solid man who knew the manual even while working an entertainment house. The smile vanished; he spoke with careful formality.
“Sister. We have a rule never to ask the age of long-lived races. If you insist, may I check your identification?”
“…Never mind!”
Seira kicked the entrance open and strode inside.
A dim room bathed in red light.
“Oh dear.”
A woman with elaborately painted nails spoke softly. Black hair spilled past her waist; red eyes gleamed even in the darkness. Yet the face the light revealed suggested benevolence more than seduction.
“Again…”
Crack—
The ornate nails were crushed between pearly teeth and torn free. The woman trembled from the anxiety welling up inside her. Instinct told her the crisis of death was drawing near.
Lord. I pray that I may safely overcome danger again this day and see tomorrow’s sun, that I may reach peaceful rest.
Camilla prayed to the god she served that the slowly approaching scent would fade far, far away.