Chapter 88
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 88
Chapter Title: If You're Upset, Go to the Labor Office
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On the table sat foie gras, steam rising gently in delicate wisps.
Its cross-section gleamed with a golden luster.
Even before touching it with a fork, its rich aroma permeated the air.
A delicacy made by force-feeding geese until they fattened up, then carving out the liver at its oiliest peak, curing it with salt and herbs, and slow-roasting it to perfection.
Even on modern Earth, overflowing with food, it was a top-tier luxury. In this medieval world, it went without saying.
The kind of dish that barely showed its face except at royal banquets or the tables of great nobles.
I only learned after receiving 'special treatment' in the Argent household that our warehouses even stocked such ingredients.
To say nothing of—
serving it to three people who weren't just commoners, but former slaves. No explanation needed for how alien and precious it must seem to them.
"Mm."
Aira was the first to pick up her fork.
"This foie gras is truly superb."
With the leisurely grace unique to elves.
She gripped the fork and knife precisely, carefully slicing off a piece without disturbing the texture, and slipped it into her mouth.
"Heh. Well, I did cook it myself."
A princess of the elves, no less.
Not a hint of haste even before such a delicacy, her poise unwavering.
On the other hand.
"It... it melts in your mouth...! Nom nom nom!"
Piel was a different story.
Having grown up in a mountain shack, perhaps, her hand holding the fork moved busily.
Her eyes sparkled, her words broke off, and her expression softened more with every chew.
Like a child reacting honestly to the world's sweetest first taste.
...Well, I get it.
I was having the same reaction on my first bite today.
'Ah, now I see why they call it a delicacy.'
The tenderness, the richness, the aroma—they were leagues beyond the grilled pork belly I'd paired with soju in my past life.
Same meat, but this was a flavor from an entirely different world.
And so, the three of us laughed heartily over this even more upgraded feast, savoring the delicacy.
In stark contrast, one person at the table wore a uniquely sullen expression.
"Levi. Why not eat before it gets cold?"
"...You're too much."
She was past the wailing stage.
Now it was just a full-on pout.
Levi glared at me with a furrowed brow, then finally burst out, unable to hold back.
"Why are you deducting food costs from my pay?! I don't want to eat this stuff!"
"Yeah."
I replied nonchalantly.
"Then don't."
As I speared a piece of foie gras, I added,
"Whether you eat or not, breakfast, lunch, and dinner—I'll deduct from your salary every time."
"!!"
Levi's face stiffened.
I ignored her stare, savoring the buttery melt on my tongue, and shrugged once.
Then.
"F-Fine! Starting tomorrow, I'll just eat moldy bread!"
Aha.
She'd switched strategies.
Exhausted from working all day without rest, she still believed she'd smashed an expensive flowerpot.
Normally, that would've added to her debt, but under the condition that she'd 'definitely rest afterward,' I'd waived it.
So the option of skipping rest was off the table.
Instead, she'd cut costs on food and downtime itself.
...A clever move, in its way.
But.
"We don't have that kind of bread in our annex."
"...Huh?"
In the continent's strongest dark family, Argent, no less.
In the bastard annex meant for valuable future sales—
hard, musty, tooth-breaking moldy bread? As if.
'...Though when I first transmigrated here, we did.'
Anyway.
Moldy bread?
Sure, if she really wanted it, no reason to stop her.
But making something nonexistent 'exist' comes at a price, paid properly.
"If you want it that bad, I'll procure some from outside."
Levi's eyes lit up.
"Really?!"
"Yeah. But..."
I continued calculatingly.
"To buy bread from the village, we'd go through a merchant guild, so brokerage fees apply."
"...Pardon?"
"Then we'd need transport labor, rent carriages and horses to get here. Plus tolls at every checkpoint."
Levi's expression hardened further.
"Oh, and."
I raised one more finger, as if this was the clincher.
"Merchants hate rotten bread. They'd demand hazard pay."
"Th-Then..."
"Yeah. The total would come out almost the same as the foie gras right in front of you."
"Th-That means there's no point in eating it!"
Yep. Spot on.
Of course, no amount of markups would make moldy bread pricier than foie gras.
But so what?
This was my annex. If she didn't like it, she could fetch it herself.
Levi seemed to reach that conclusion too.
"F-Fine! I'll just buy it outside myself!"
A determined shout, hell-bent on shoving moldy bread down her throat.
But that had its own fatal flaw.
"Got it. Just pay for the carriage yourself."
"Th-That's nothing...! Way cheaper than these meals!"
"Yeah, true."
I nodded.
"And the round trip takes about three hours."
"...Huh?"
"Meal and break time's long gone. For that excess break time, I'll deduct from your pay."
".........Huh?"
This place was a 'territory' in name only—the domain of the dark family Argent, which dominated the continent's underworld.
Classified as a territory only because it belonged to the Empire on paper, its scale and influence dwarfed any duchy or small kingdom.
So naturally, even a trip to the village took no short amount of time.
"Th-Then I'll just work outside..."
"Are you an idiot?"
I cut her off before she finished.
"You know best how demons are treated out there. Even as a slave working a day job, how much do you think you'd earn?"
"...S-Still."
"Plus, you'd need a place to sleep. You know how much an inn room costs a night?"
"S-Still! At least outside, I can scrimp and save on my own! Somehow make it work...!"
Sigh. At this point, even I felt sorry for her.
Tears welling over her sulky face, yet thrashing to save every penny to the end.
That was when.
Aira, apparently finished eating, dabbed her mouth neatly and pulled a sheet of paper from her bosom—as if she'd been waiting for this moment.
She rose, approached Levi slowly, and held it out.
"Levi. See this?"
"Wh-What's this? Sister Aira...?"
"Our pay slips. The regular stipend for slaves in the Argent annex."
Levi startled and peered at the paper.
Numbers she'd never received directly before.
As Levi's eyes stuck there, Aira produced another sheet.
She scribbled a few lines with a pen, overlaid it on the first, and showed it.
"And this. Average daily wage for commoners working outside."
"...Huh?"
Levi's eyes widened.
"Wait. Why... does ours have two extra zeros?"
Aira smiled.
"Because we're not just any slaves. We're Lucas Argent's slaves."
No one knew exactly when it had come into existence.
One thing was certain.
The Papal Court had existed since time immemorial.
On this world's sole continent, the only permitted religion.
It accepted believers of all races, and nine out of ten humans grew up hearing its name from birth.
A group claiming to convey the gods' will, preaching light and mercy, promising salvation, standing by the suffering.
Healing the sick, sharing bread with the starving, marching into battlefields under white flags.
Their support went beyond mere trust.
It was unquestioning faith, faith conditioned not to question.
But.
Every religion has its unseen underbelly.
Preaching mercy and service on the surface—yet why had only the Goddess Church remained the 'sole religion' on this continent?
Why were worshippers of other gods always branded 'heretics'?
The reason was simpler than one might think.
The Papal Court hadn't spread faith—it had monopolized the standards of faith.
They didn't deny new gods.
They interrogated their authenticity.
Show a miracle—
"Origin unclear."
Preach doctrine—
"Contradicts the Goddess's will."
Gather followers—
"Bewitches souls."
Branded groups always met the same end.
Investigation.
Purification.
And absorption.
Priests became Papal priests, doctrines twisted into Goddess Church variants, gods' names erased from records.
People said,
"Thank goodness the heretics are gone."
"The Goddess protected us."
And the next year, the next generation, only one god remained on the continent.
Prayer was allowed.
Choice was not.
The Papal Court shed no blood.
At least, not in plain sight.
They merely asked questions.
"Is that faith truly the gods' will?"
And no one had ever answered 'yes' to the end.
The Papal Court's authority was absolute.
Not just lesser nations—even the mighty Abellan Empire tread carefully.
At least, on the surface.
"You're taking the heretics' corpses?!"
A roar echoed.
"What nonsense is this?!"
The head of the Papal Court, the Pope.
And right below him, those wielding near-equal power.
The Cardinals.
Five Cardinals in the Papal Court, all candidates eyeing the next papacy.
Under the banner of interpreting divine will closest, each gathered support differently.
One of them.
Not through relief or evangelism, but purging evil—hunting heretics—winning fervent followers.
Cardinal Julius.
He now slammed his desk in rage.
"Heretics' disposal is the Church's right! No—my right! Who dares take those old demons' corpses without permission?!"
To Julius, heretics' corpses weren't mere bodies.
Preserved with magic like holy relics, paraded on tours like trophies.
Proof of the Papal Court's might, his influence. Priceless spoils.
Especially the fresh old couple's, not even a year old.
Yet this morning, a demand to return them.
Like a child robbed of a toy, Julius bellowed.
"Blasphemy! Whatever happens to heretics is the Church's—my domain!"
But.
The holy knight before him spoke cautiously.
"Th-That is..."
His words trailed.
"...Argent demands them returned directly."
"............What?"
Argent.
The name gripping the continent's underworld.
A group nullifying laws, faiths, borders at will.
At that name, fury drained from the old man's face.
For the first time, unmistakable fear seeped in.