Ch.443Episode 17 – The Blood-Drinking Tree

Just before the glorious era known as the Renaissance arrived at the hands of many masters, Gothic was the representative style of late medieval European architecture.

The Gothic style, which developed and perfected Romanesque, led church architecture to its golden age. Saint-Denis Cathedral, Notre-Dame Cathedral. Even Milan Cathedral, which combined with the Lombard style.

Tall buildings with pointed spires, structures stretching toward the blue sky—they give an almost vertical impression at first glance.

When you observe the rich and sophisticated elegance from luxurious decorations, the majestic size, and the iridescent brilliance of colorful light illuminating the interior, you’ll understand how Gothic architecture captivated the hearts of all Europeans.

And here. A Gothic-style building armed with splendor and majesty.

The holy site Laterano, called the heart of the Order. The conference hall located at the center of the heart.

High-level decision-makers from the Inquisition and the War Ministry gathered in one place.

People gathered in front of a massive map discussed methods. How to recover the blood of the saint. How to deal with the cultists.

In the midst of this, a priest who entered the conference room silently begins to whisper in an old man’s ear.

“Commissioner. A call has come in on line 8.”

As the wrinkled hand was raised, voices disappeared. The people from the Inquisition and War Ministry stopped their conversation and looked at the old man.

“…Hmm. I see. I understand. We’ll talk about the details later.”

The old man put down the receiver, and the priest held the telephone on a silver tray.

After finishing the call, the old man sat down and pulled his chair closer. He picked up the water glass on the table to moisten his dry lips. The people gathered in the conference room watched his actions and waited for his words.

Finally.

“Contact His Holiness the Pope.”

Peter’s mouth opened.

“Intelligence has come in that the cultists have been found.”

Episode 17 – The Tree That Drinks Blood

“Did you sleep well, Officer?”

The drowsy look in his eyes curved gently. Perhaps it was thanks to having proper rest for once.

Francesca, with a bright smile on her lips, greeted me in the morning.

“I slept somewhat.”

As I answered while rubbing my face, her voice continued with a hint of laughter. Francesca wore a radiant smile. Her expression was so bright it was almost annoyingly so.

Meeting her in front of the room, she stirred her mug and began speaking.

“Contrary to what you say, you look quite tired. Was it difficult to adapt to the new sleeping arrangements?”

“I appreciate your concern, but… did you really have to play this prank?”

I tapped the door with the back of my hand while looking at Francesca. With displeased eyes, that is.

On the old door that emitted a musty smell hung a sign that didn’t match at all.

[Room where Francesca’s attendant stays.]

Looking at the dangling paper, Francesca suppressed a laugh.

“What’s wrong with it? It’s the plain truth. You are my attendant now, Officer.”

“Oh, really.”

I snatched the sign and crumpled it. Being made of paper, it didn’t even require much force.

Yet the sight of me crumpling the paper seemed to amuse her, as Francesca began laughing with delight.

Her bright laughter made me even more irritated. I folded the paper tightly and muttered in a dejected voice.

“What attendant…”

Disguising myself as an attendant to infiltrate Necropolis was one of my most regrettable choices.

Having discovered this wonderful material, Francesca began teasing me relentlessly. She had been relatively quiet when we departed from the border, but since arriving here, she’d been mercilessly tormenting me.

“Where did you learn such mischief?”

Francesca, wiping the moisture from the corners of her eyes, smiled.

“Who do you think I learned it from?”

“Veronica, right?”

I didn’t even need to see it to know. In this world, the only person capable of such pranks besides Veronica doesn’t exist.

I wondered what the sisters did together normally to share such bad habits, but there was no need to find out. I didn’t want to know either.

My deteriorating expression must have been entertaining. Francesca examined my face with a grinning countenance.

While her violet eyes scanned my face, as if unable to contain herself any longer, she burst into laughter.

“You look quite displeased, Officer. How about it? Shall I give you a chance for revenge?”

“…You’ll regret it.”

“Would merchants sell goods at a loss? They’re people who hate losing out more than anyone else in the world.”

“……”

“Anyway, since you’ll be my attendant for the time being, I’ll be counting on you.”

“…We’ll see about that later.”

I’m definitely going to get revenge. I swear I’ll get my revenge…

*

Phase one was successful.

The cultists’ location was transmitted to the Order through unofficial channels. The Inquisition, having received the intelligence, filed a report, and the order to eliminate the cultists came down from the Papal Office.

However, several problems remained.

First, the exact location of the cultists had not been confirmed.

The tracker signal pointed to a specific area, but the region from which the signal was transmitted was in the middle of a vast city.

Though called a city, it was closer to a slum.

The city of outlaws had urban planning as shattered as its broken sense of law and order, and decades of indiscriminate construction and expansion had filled the cramped underground space with buildings.

A complex labyrinth reminiscent of a favela.

That was where the signal was transmitted from.

“Now that we’ve roughly identified the location, we’ll find their hideout. The search area has narrowed, so it should be much easier.”

“Will you be conducting this search personally as well?”

“Of course. It’s not something I can entrust to others.”

I decided to track the cultists myself.

Even if we discover their base, I still need to collect intelligence to provide to Ibrahim. So it’s more convenient if I do it myself.

While I searched for their hideout, Caer and Chernoi began gathering information. Disguised as a mercenary and a magician’s assistant, they roamed every corner of Necropolis, seeking information related to the cultists.

Francesca accompanied me, as regulations required that anyone without a pass must be with their guarantor.

“Was there such a regulation?”

“I didn’t know either, but Joaquin informed me. He said rather strict regulations were applied due to the Al-Yabd Punishment Committee’s surveillance.”

Of course, these strict regulations didn’t apply to Caer and Chernoi.

Caer and Chernoi were currently employed as a mercenary and an assistant to a magician, and in Necropolis, established by magicians expelled from the Magic Tower, these two professions made up a larger population than magicians themselves.

Even without that, Necropolis had no reason to restrict the movements of mercenaries and assistants. Charity begins at home, as they say. If someone serves as a magician’s subordinate, other magicians would be in the same position. In the end, they relaxed the rules because they didn’t want to be bothered themselves.

The problem was,

“But Officer, you must stay with me.”

“…Why am I the only one subject to these regulations?”

“Because you’re an attendant now, of course.”

In magical society, which has characteristics of both conservatism and progressivism, attendants are not treated as independent entities but as tools of magicians.

So, you know. Like how Black people weren’t treated as humans until Lincoln declared the Emancipation Proclamation in 1863.

“Attendants are subordinates, and in the world of magicians, subordinates are practically serfs. Not employees hired with contracts.”

Listening to Francesca, the top lecturer on magical society, I couldn’t help but curse.

“How can that be? Slavery was abolished 150 years ago!”

“If the world truly followed the law, would there be any need for judicial institutions?”

Francesca summarized the slave system in magical society like this:

“Of course, the Magic Tower and Ivory Tower officially do not recognize the existence of slaves. It’s legally prohibited too. But in the shadows, many people still receive treatment equivalent to slavery. Remote areas with lax supervision, families in underdeveloped countries, Necropolis, graduate school labs…”

“Graduate school? That’s actual slavery…”

“That’s why I told you. A slave. You’re not an employee but a slave, Officer.”

“Hey!”

I strongly demanded that my status be changed to that of a free person, but the status of “slave” had already been stamped on my pass.

It was too late to create a new identity, and there was no way to obtain a forged ID.

In the end, I had to begin my life as a slave, albeit reluctantly.

-Ding-a-ling!

“Could you bring me some water? Cold, please.”

Once it was confirmed that I couldn’t escape my slave status, Francesca began putting me to work in earnest.

Fetch water. Carry luggage. Go buy something.

Even worse,

“Ah- my legs hurt…”

“……”

“I wish someone would massage them for me.”

Within three hours of starting my slave life, I experienced all kinds of misery that exist in the world.

As I crouched on the street massaging her calves, with my hands full of luggage placed on a bench, I began to wonder if this was why I joined the intelligence agency.

The funny thing was, I wasn’t the only one doing this.

In Necropolis, where exiles lived, there were quite a few slaves. Whether they were kidnapped from somewhere or if there was a slave market, the magicians here typically had at least one or two subordinates with them.

After carefully observing the streets, I got a rough estimate. People with flashy fashion were either wealthy or magicians, while those who looked like rural Afghan farmers were slaves.

I realized that a kind of class system had formed in Necropolis.

If magicians were like the ruling Brahmin and Kshatriya castes of India, slaves were similar to Sudras. In other words, untouchables.

Me, an untouchable. There’s no deeper pit than this.

As I was sweating profusely while massaging her calves, memories of my business trip to India flashed before my eyes.

Comparing my past of eating and sleeping in an awesome hotel in New Delhi with my present of massaging Francesca’s legs on the dirt floor of Necropolis, a sense of misery washed over me like a tide.

Fucking magicians and capitalists. Bourgeoisie who exchange capital for labor.

Ah, Marx, you were right. Capitalists exploit workers’ labor. These bastards even make people work without paying wages, for fuck’s sake.

Capitalism is indeed contradictory.

That bastard Gorbachev, why did he dissolve the Soviet Union… If the country was going to collapse, he should have come here.

I wonder why Soviets couldn’t come to a place where both British and Koreans could come.

As I ruminated on the value of labor, I felt my mindset changing. It felt like my blood was turning red in real-time.

Having just transitioned to a semi-communist, I discovered the mysterious principle that as surplus value increases, the worker’s blood turns redder.

Then I suddenly realized:

“…Huh?”

Isn’t a slave who massages Francesca’s shoulders without wages the same as an intelligence officer who spies for a small salary?

My thought circuits, now bound with a red band, began to stomp their feet.

So the Abbas government has been exploiting my labor! I knew these bastards were all in it together. I knew it when I saw that nobles and royals still existed.

At this point, I might as well convert to full communism.

Even I have to admit this is a pretty idiotic thought.

“Are you feeling unwell? Your expression doesn’t look good. What are you thinking about?”

“Don’t talk to me, bourgeoisie.”

“…Pardon?”

As I diligently served Francesca and contemplated my situation, I started to lose my mind.

The shock of becoming a slave (not really) and the exhaustion from physical labor sent my sanity on a rollercoaster ride.

Thus, I simultaneously experienced the despair of a Black slave picking cotton and the longing of a communist guerrilla dreaming of revolution. By the time lunch came around, it was time for Caer and Chernoi to return, so we needed to head back to our collaborator’s house.

As we returned to our quarters, while Chernoi was rummaging through the refrigerator for something to eat, some useful information came from our internal collaborator’s mouth.

“Huh? You guys are looking for cultists? Then you should go to Ash Tree Street. All the cultists live there.”

It was information that could help locate the cultists. Although it wasn’t an exact location, it provided a clue to infer their approximate whereabouts.

Joaquin pulled out a map of Necropolis from a bag half-stuffed under the bed and pointed to an area with his dark finger.

“Is this it?”

I combined the characteristics of the place where the signal was transmitted yesterday with Joaquin’s testimony and concluded that the “Ash Tree Street” he mentioned was the exact location from which the signal had been transmitted.

What the hell. I suffered for nothing.

If I had known this information yesterday, I wouldn’t have needed to walk through back alleys with aching legs.

“…Why are you only telling us this now?”

When I confronted Joaquin out of frustration, his response was absurd.

“You never asked. If you’re new to this city, you should have talked to a guide.”

“……”

You were lying around high on marijuana, so I couldn’t ask, you idiot. I wanted to curse him out, but I barely held back.

With a thud, Joaquin jumped up from the sofa and immediately began looking for a tray. That is, a tool used for rolling marijuana.

After sleeping until 11, the first thing he looks for upon waking is marijuana. Is he an idiot?

“Ssssip, haaa… This is what I’ve been waiting for…”

Regardless of whether strangers were watching or not, the pothead rolled his paper with a grinning face. The sight of him smoking marijuana carefully placed on a tray on his knees was truly a spectacle.

After inhaling the marijuana rolled into a joint shape, Joaquin took a deep breath, then exhaled the smoke and began explaining without any context.

“Do you know why Ash Tree Street got that name?”

Caer, who was covering his nose due to the terrible smell, shook his head.

“You don’t know, huh.”

“Let me, the kind one, explain!”

According to him, many place names in Necropolis are derived from natural objects. There was a story related to the city’s founding.

Due to the nature of an underground city, Necropolis’s natural environment had to be artificially created.

The first exiles who settled here made tremendous efforts to transform the desolate underground city into a place that felt warm, and when Necropolis was officially established later, street names were given based on natural objects to commemorate the efforts of these exiles who cultivated the city.

The explanation, which began with the origin of street names, shifted to another topic. Joaquin, who spat out the marijuana residue on his tongue with a “ptui!”, began explaining about Ash Tree Street.

“Ash Tree Street is just a name; it’s not a place where there’s an actual tree. Well, there was a small tree until a few years ago, but not anymore.”

So there was a tree, but now there isn’t.

I became curious about why the carefully cultivated tree disappeared, but after hearing the reason, my head started to throb.

“The reason the tree disappeared? It was because of complaints!”

“Com…plaints?”

“Yeah, yeah. The cultists used to hold ceremonies at the ash tree every month. They said it was a sacred tree with divine energy. But one day, suddenly, magicians who were high on yama complained, and they bulldozed the tree.”

Incredibly, the cause of the tree’s disappearance was due to the cultists.

Joaquin, chopping marijuana leaves finely with his razor, shook his body erratically.

“Whether cultists pray or hold ceremonies, I personally don’t care much, but I guess it bothered other people.”

“Because magicians dislike religion?”

“Well, that’s one reason. There are inquisitors even in this neighborhood. Anyway! People here have an aversion to religion.”

Lighting up the marijuana, Joaquin began to recall the memories of that time.

Laughing as if he could barely contain his amusement.

“They fought over that tree for a few months, you know? The cultists worshipped it as a sacred tree, while the magicians cursed them for praying loudly to the tree. The Order and Al-Yabd benefit from the Sky God and Earth Mother Goddess on the surface, but these guys were just praying in a tunnel. Some even said if they wanted to practice religion, they should go outside and evangelize first.”

“So what happened?”

“After enduring for a while, the magicians hired orcs to cut down the tree! The cultists climbed up the tree to resist. It probably dragged on for about six months? In the end, the tree was uprooted.”

By the time the explanation ended, I couldn’t help but marvel at the behind-the-scenes story of the conflict between religious people and magicians.

A flood of complaints from criminals and a sit-in protest by cultists. Is this for real?

It was truly a heart-swelling combination. Necropolis was an even more idiotic city than I had imagined.

I had no desire to remain in such an idiotic place, and I certainly didn’t have a taste for spending time in a gloomy tunnel, so I resolved to leave this place as quickly as possible. Caer and Chernoi also agreed with my thoughts through silent gazes.

“Thanks for the explanation. It was interesting. Now, we’ll be going.”

Having extracted only the information we needed from the pothead, we quickly began to pack our things and prepare to leave.

At that moment, Joaquin, who had been smoking marijuana, suddenly stood up.

“Where are you going?”

“We have some business outside for a bit.”

“Come with me! I ran out of pasta the other day and need to go shopping!”

“……”

There’s no need for you to come along. Can’t you just stay home and smoke your marijuana?

I didn’t want to take a pothead as a collaborator. Collaborator or whatever. Wouldn’t it be better for everyone if Joaquin just smoked his marijuana?

I tried to plead with him earnestly, but it was futile. Joaquin had already rushed out of the house.

Wearing a stretched-out shirt with a shabby coat over it, he was holding his shoes in his hand as if the drug hadn’t fully worn off. His socks were mismatched, and even the coat that looked somewhat decent was worn inside out.

“…Francesca.”

“Yes.”

“Humanely speaking, can’t I just shoot him once?”

“No.”

“Just once. I’m telling you, just one shot would do it.”

“Sssip…!”

Francesca shook her head and blocked my hand.

*

Despite being addicted to marijuana and alcohol, carrying all the bad habits, Joaquin was a better guide than expected.

“The place we’re at now is Moonflower Square! It’s named after the evening primroses planted in the square around the fountain!”

“That over there is Purslane Street! It used to be called the Agricultural District because there were vegetable gardens all over, but someone planted vines and the name changed. All the crops were wiped out. The person who planted the vines was strung up by angry people.”

Despite his strong first impression, Joaquin was a resident of this city.

Experience gained from living here directly couldn’t be compared to knowledge accumulated only through documents or rumors.

“If it’s your first time in Necropolis, visiting landmarks like Moonstone Hill or Deep Well is the best! Or the harbor where goods come in is also nice!”

Joaquin swung his arms vigorously as he moved forward.

We began to navigate the streets of Necropolis, following the resident.

“Now! Where would you like to go first?”

Joaquin, who was walking ahead, asked with a bright smile. He seemed eager to show us around the city, but our destination was already decided.

“Ash Tree Street.”

I took out the map with the marked location where the signal was detected and showed it to Joaquin.

“Please guide us there.”

“Huh? That’s a neighborhood I don’t want to go to…”

“Why?”

“It’s an ominous place.”

After checking the map, Joaquin answered while waving his hands limply. His attitude was markedly different from when he was explaining the origin of Ash Tree Street.

When I asked why he suddenly changed his tune, this was his response:

“I never said I would guide you there, did I? Explaining and guiding are different things!”

“……”

Seeing Joaquin starting to shudder and recoil, I quietly handed him a wad of cash.

“This is an advance. If you guide us, I’ll pay you double as compensation.”

“Ooooh…!”

Joaquin snatched the wad of money, his eyes beginning to sparkle brightly. It was a complete 180 from moments ago when he was trying to back out because of danger.

After removing the rubber band and unfolding the rolled bills to check the amount, Joaquin put on a serious expression and awkwardly saluted me.

“……”

“You’re not going to return my salute? That’s disappointing…”

“…Who salutes with their left hand?”

Joaquin, who had lowered his left hand from his awkward posture, scratched his cheek.

“Uh… Was saluting supposed to be done with the right hand…?”

You must have never served in the military.

Yeah, actually I was exempted. I thought so.

I take back what I said earlier. What kind of crazy army would take a pothead? Maybe a warlord, but not a regular army. I can assert that this gentleman has never even entered a training camp.

“……”

“Hehe…”

I shook my head at Joaquin, who was laughing foolishly. He might be thoroughly unhinged, but what can I do? I have to use him.

Sniffling, our collaborator began explaining while pointing at the map. Of course, true to his pothead nature, he didn’t just explain calmly but shouted while running.

“Many cultists live on Ash Tree Street! Because of the strict surveillance from the Punishment Committee and Religious Police! There aren’t many groups that can openly operate on the surface! Either they’re stuck in remote areas, or they hide underground. Those who chose the latter option came down here!”

The resident of Necropolis called out the names of cultist groups that had settled on Ash Tree Street.

“The Eyeless Snake! They’re the strongest force on Ash Tree Street! The area you guys went to yesterday is their territory!”

The Eyeless Snake, huh.

I muttered while quickening my pace.

“Sounds familiar somehow.”

“You probably saw it on the news? The Eyeless Snake has a church on the surface.”

“Is there a reason why cultists with a base on the surface would set foot in Necropolis?”

“Information!”

Joaquin, showing his teeth, grinned.

“I told you there are many cultists here! That’s why groups that mainly operate on the surface come here too. To exchange news and information!”

Of course, there would be other ulterior motives. Cultists wouldn’t gather just to exchange information.

“Other reasons?”

“If not information, then it’s definitely expansion of influence! Surface groups are stronger than underground ones, right? The strong devour the weak and grow larger!”

Survival of the fittest.

Now I’m starting to get a sense of what kind of city Necropolis is.

We quickly moved our steps and entered Ash Tree Street. Slowing down only after reaching the entrance, Joaquin wiped his sweat with his clothes and lowered his voice.

“…Yikes. Now that I look, this is the Eyeless Snake’s territory. Let’s turn back.”

“Is there a need to detour?”

“Of course! The Eyeless Snake doesn’t like people who aren’t their own snooping around.”

I wonder why they were quiet yesterday then.

I asked if he knew any news about the cultists. In response, Joaquin chuckled and shrugged.

“Of course I know! No resident of Necropolis could not know. Let’s talk about that a bit later… Let’s see, around here~”

Changing direction, Joaquin began to move slowly along the outskirts of Ash Tree Street.

Looking at the map, I realized we were heading in the opposite direction of our destination.

“Where are we going?”

“Just a moment. Wait a bit.”

He showed no sign of focusing on what I was saying.

Moving along the outskirts, Joaquin was tapping on the exterior walls of buildings. As if searching for an empty space.

He put his ear against the wall, furrowed his brow, and muttered.

“If the Eyeless Snake is the strongest in the neighborhood, there must be a second-in-command. I’m looking for the second most influential group in Ash Tree Street.”

“And who would that be?”

“The Abyssal Feeder. A religion that worships the sea. If we go there, you can hear news about the group you’re looking for.”

Worshipping the sea shouldn’t be enough to be labeled as cultists. They probably worship some sea monster or strange deity.

“Would this Abyssal Feeder know the whereabouts of the cultists?”

“I bet they do! They have wide connections. They know where people live, where they’re from, what organs they have, and even how many forks they have at home. I don’t know who you’re looking for, but… if you need information, it’s best to meet these folks.”

Joaquin’s sudden search for cultists was highly suspicious (mainly his mental state), but I decided to observe quietly, thinking he might have some plan.

While Caer was keeping watch with his automatic rifle out and Francesca was scanning the street with her back against the wall…

“…Ah!”

Joaquin, who had been knocking on a brick house, let out a cheer.

He waved his hand at us and shouted.

“Found it! It’s here!”

Where is “here”?

Just as I was about to ask, Joaquin’s body began to be sucked into the brick house.

“What…”

“Haaack…!”

“Hieeeek!?”

Cries of astonishment erupted from all directions.

Caer instantly climbed onto the fence and began panting, while Chernoi screamed, “The building is eating a person…!”

Regardless, even as he was gradually disappearing, Joaquin was laughing loudly.

“Haha! Don’t be scared, come on, guys! It’s safe here!”

No, if you’re going to say that, at least quit the marijuana first…

My words never reached Joaquin’s ears. His head with its bird’s nest-like hair was the last to disappear beyond the brick house.

For a while, we stood motionless, staring at the spot where Joaquin (or what had been him) had been sucked into the brick house.

“……”

“…Francesca?”

Francesca, who had been standing still, turned her gaze to me.

She opened her mouth with a rather serious expression.

“I’m not sure what kind of magic it is. Given that I can’t sense any magical power, it might be a biological trap or a concealment barrier…”

“No, let’s skip the magic lecture for now.”

I pointed to the brick house where Joaquin had disappeared. And then I said to Francesca.

“I was going to suggest you go first.”

“……”

In that moment, three pairs of eyes narrowed at me.

Human, beastkin, nymph. All of them were glaring at me. It was like they were looking at torn food waste.

But I’m not one to succumb to such gazes. I boldly put on a thick face and shouted.

“Ladies first.”

“……”

“……”

“……”

The gazes became even more severe. Now it was almost like they were looking at something less than human.

In the end, I decided to back down.

“…Fine. I’ll go in. I’ll go in.”

With the mindset of a prisoner being dragged to the execution ground, of an ant riding on a stock with suspicious theme music, of a jaguar that shot Yusin’s heart—ah, maybe that last one doesn’t fit?

Anyway, with a terrible expression on my face, I placed my hand on the brick house.

A moment later.

The world turned upside down.