Ch.457Episode 17 – The Blood-Drinking Tree

# “Choose Your Customers Wisely”

As the saying goes, “Look before you lie down,” you need to be selective about your customers too.

In other words, don’t sell to just anyone.

Dealers need to be careful not to get addicted to their own product, but they also need good judgment about customers. If something seems even slightly suspicious? Just make up an excuse and cancel the deal.

This isn’t about avoiding law enforcement—it’s sincere advice. You know it too, right? There’s no such thing as a normal person among drug users.

I’ve seen plenty of people who ruined their lives after selling drugs to the wrong people, no matter how much money they made. Be selective about your customers.

Especially pimps and religious fanatics.

Don’t even dream about dealing with those two.

If you need quick cash, sell your belongings or peddle weed to college kids at parties. It might hurt your pride and bring less profit, but nothing’s more important than your life, right?

Only approach them when you’re truly desperate, when you feel like you’ll die if you don’t get money from somewhere, when you’re absolutely at rock bottom.

Everyone knows what happens if you sell to brothels connected to succubi… the Inquisition comes calling. But the real problem is with religious believers—most are cultists, so stay sharp.

If pimps are exiles, cultists are necromancers.

The middlemen who take a cut aren’t a problem. Their goal is money, not drugs.

Sometimes they might turn into landmines when they start fighting with people of different religions, but if you keep the lower ranks quiet, you shouldn’t worry about consequences. They avoid violence despite being religious—when business conflicts arise, the higher priests tend to smooth things over.

But the ones who want the drugs for themselves are the real deal.

These guys have a different look in their eyes than the profit-taking merchants—you can tell right away. How do I know?

I was desperate for money once. My broker got caught, and to fill the gap in the books, I sold product to some cultists. The deal looked big enough to cover the books and leave some profit.

…Fuck. Those bastards ended up in the newspapers.

I thought they’d use it for parties or brainwashing, maybe orgies. How could I have known they’d do… that? Crazy bastards.

I still don’t know what they actually did.

There’s no way heaven would accept a drug dealer… but if you want to at least go to hell when you die, don’t sell drugs to religious fanatics. If you get tangled up with them, you and everyone around you are fucked. You’ll see hell plenty after you die anyway. Wouldn’t it be unfair to experience hell while you’re still alive?

If you’re really lucky, nothing happens, but plenty of people have closed their coffin lids betting on that luck.

If you sold to them without knowing they were cultists and found out later, pack your bags and find a priest immediately. Doesn’t matter which religion—just go. I don’t know about younger folks, but older priests will beckon you in without explanation.

Even if it’s not your religion, sit quietly and pray when service time comes. You can repent later. Just stay put until the Inquisition or religious police come for you. But don’t run around hiding in safe houses because you’re afraid of prison.

Whether you knew or not, plenty of idiots have sold to cultists. But have you ever seen anyone else besides me talking about this?

…Anyway.

If your head isn’t a pumpkin, please think before selling your product.

Why religious fanatics want drugs in the first place.

They’re definitely not buying them for what we imagine.

Please, don’t get involved with those bastards.

– A verbal tradition passed down among experienced drug dealers, origin unknown.

# Episode 17 – The Tree That Drinks Blood

Living among various races makes you realize how relative the concept of time can be. Just as someone desperately searching for a bathroom experiences time differently than someone absorbed in their monitor.

Time perception inevitably varies between races.

-“To receive your call so quickly. Something urgent must have happened.”

In that sense, the first greeting from the dark elf who contacted me after just a few days was somewhat bewildering.

“Our last conversation was five days ago.”

-“…Ah!”

When I mentioned the passage of time, Hormoz let out a quiet exclamation as if waking from a light sleep.

After briefly clearing his throat, he laughed repeatedly as if embarrassed.

-“Haha, has it been that long already? How embarrassing. I didn’t even notice time passing.”

As with all races, the flow of time can be quite cruel.

Beastkin, with relatively shorter lifespans, tend to be content with the present, while humans, born with middling lifespans and hungry souls, complain about the present while obsessing over the future.

Races with different time perceptions react differently to the same situations. Just as animals don’t worry about food shortages due to global warming, while humans worry about even the smallest things.

However, those cursed with not just cruel but terrible flows of time were the long-lived races. Dragons, demons, elves and dark elves, and so on.

Perhaps that’s why Hormoz’s voice carried a somewhat bitter quality.

“Do you find time cruel?”

-“Rather than cruel… ‘heartless’ might be the better expression.”

Heartless. I thought it an apt metaphor.

Why, don’t we all think this sometimes? When we’re young, we’re desperate to grow up, but once we become adults, years fly by in the blink of an eye. Isn’t this the kind of temporal pain long-lived races might feel?

Though it’s just my personal speculation, not scientifically or magically proven, it’s probably not far from the truth.

After all, neither science nor magic has definitive answers—only good questions.

As I pondered these philosophical topics that usually only came up in internet arguments or drunken ramblings, I held the phone to my ear and got to the point.

“There’s a cult group. A small organization that operated in Ash Tree Street. Apparently, a dealer sold drugs to these people.”

-“Drugs, you say?”

“Not synthetic drugs like Succubus’s Kiss, Fairy’s Twisted Thread, or Invitation to the Dream Palace.”

Drugs fall into two categories.

Natural drugs harvested from nature, and synthetic drugs artificially created.

Natural drugs are the ones we’ve all heard of.

Opium, which created the strange international trade order of silver coins↔drugs that rivaled Kim Il-sung’s pinecone grenades, is made from poppy seed extract, while cocaine, familiar through the Coca-Cola brand, comes from coca leaves.

Synthetic drugs, on the other hand, include methadone, pethidine hydrochloride, oxycodone, tramadol, and the infamous fentanyl that plagued America.

But that’s Earth’s story.

In this neighborhood, synthetic drugs use more magical/ritualistic processes than chemical ones.

That’s how we got Succubus’s Kiss, Fairy’s Twisted Thread, Invitation to the Dream Palace, Angel’s Tears, and the like. Even with recipes, these substances are difficult to produce properly, so most drug dealers can’t easily manufacture them.

More precisely, they can produce them, but only poor-quality “knockoffs.”

It’s not a field small operations can compete in.

-“Synthetic drugs require capital, manpower, and technology to manufacture.”

“Since almost all magicians and shamans in Necropolis have entered the drug industry, this group mainly dealt with cocaine, opium, and marijuana that can be produced without magicians…”

In that sense, the drug gang caught in the detection net was a motley crew. As a private enterprise, they’d be considered a small business?

They didn’t even have proper production facilities, let alone the ability to make fake synthetic drugs. They just mixed low-quality drugs with purchased ones, changed the packaging, and sold them as premium products.

The kind of people that addicted customers would have hunted down themselves, even if the Palm Tree Trading Company hadn’t kidnapped their members.

However, what matters now isn’t the gang’s dark future.

-“Cultists buying drugs… that’s an ill omen.”

After some contemplation, the dark elf set aside his smooth manner of speech and spoke seriously.

“Can you guess why they purchased drugs?”

-“While the Palm Tree Trading Company does employ some ‘irregular’ methods, we don’t deal in illegal items like drugs or slaves. The tribal elders have forbidden trade in drugs and slaves, so we couldn’t handle them even if we wanted to. However…”

His voice continued without any trace of humor.

-“Drugs have carried religious significance since ancient times. Archaeologists often find drugs alongside artifacts when opening tombs, and records related to drugs have been discovered in forgotten temples and shrines.”

“Are you referring to religious ceremonies?”

-“Yes. Religious ceremonies. That’s exactly it.”

The dark elf naturally continued the conversation.

-“The Al-Yabd Church and its denominations have prohibited drugs following divine teachings to avoid substances that disturb the human mind. However, drugs have traditionally been used as ceremonial tools in indigenous religions and folk beliefs. Hallucinations, illusions, auditory hallucinations, dizziness… these phenomena were accepted as powerful spiritual experiences in ancient religious societies, and drugs were considered sacred substances that allowed one to meet gods.”

Religious ceremonies, experiences, faith, illusions.

I quietly listened to Hormoz’s explanation, and as it continued at length:

-“…While I cannot guess the intentions of the cult group you mentioned, if you have time, it would be good to look into rumors about that cult.”

“I’ve investigated the rumors thoroughly.”

-“I don’t mean general rumors. To be more specific… ah, doctrine would be the right term.”

“Doctrine?”

-“Find out what doctrine they used when spreading their faith. In my opinion, the answer might lie there.”

Doctrine. It was something I hadn’t given much thought to.

As I pondered his suggestion, I asked a somewhat puzzled question.

“How did you know that? That the answer might be in their doctrine. Is it from experience?”

-“Ah, well…”

A strangely embarrassed voice came through the phone. After a moment of silence as if at a loss for words, the dark elf began to stammer.

-“That… rather than experience, it’s closer to speculation or intuition… yes.”

“Ah, I see? I thought it was wisdom born from your years of experience. I guess I was mistaken.”

-“……”

“I’ll see you later then.”

-“Ah, yes. Um. See you next time…”

The call ended with a somewhat awkward tone.

I stared at my darkened phone for a while, wondering if I’d said something wrong.

“…?”

It wasn’t until months later that I learned compliments implying age, like “experience” or “seasoned,” might sound like mockery to elves.

*

Following Hormoz’s suggestion, I began investigating Al-Khair’s doctrine.

I had already gathered information directly related to the cult while preparing for the previous raid operation, but it contained nothing about their beliefs or doctrines.

It wasn’t information that would help with operational planning, and since cults are typically shrouded in secrecy, even the Inquisition didn’t feel the need to collect such information.

Therefore, I had to gather this information myself.

“Is there a way to learn about a cult’s doctrine?”

“Huh? Doctrine?”

Joaquin, who had been stuffing food into his mouth, looked up at me.

“Finish eating before you speak.”

“Mmm… Ah, um. You want to know about a cult’s doctrine? Developed an interest in religion?”

“Not really. It’s just information I need.”

Joaquin tilted his head quizzically. He clearly couldn’t understand why I would be curious about such information.

But his contemplation didn’t last long. We were in the middle of a meal, after all.

Gulp. After swallowing his food, Joaquin crossed his arms and spun his chair around.

“Hmm! If you want to know about cult doctrines, the best way is to visit them directly and listen to their preaching. Though my theological knowledge is amateur, these people memorize their scriptures by heart, so you can ask them questions right away!”

“I won’t be meeting them directly. Is there another way?”

“Another way? Hmmmm!”

The spinning chair stopped abruptly.

Joaquin hummed as he wracked his brain. Pressing his index and middle fingers together against his temple while furrowing his brow, the drug-using magician ended his brief contemplation and snatched a paper from the desk.

“Let’s see!”

The desk was cluttered with various books in disarray. In fact, the entire room was like that.

With limited information about Necropolis, consulting Joaquin, a native, wasn’t optional but essential. However, after Francesca’s infiltration was exposed, Joaquin, who had vouched for her, also found it difficult to operate openly.

I sought Hormoz’s help to solve this problem. The Palm Tree Trading Company leader created a cover position through Vereda, and I placed Joaquin in that role.

But after bringing Joaquin in, his conduct was quite a spectacle.

Vereda didn’t expect much from him in terms of company work, but he could at least keep his surroundings tidy. It was embarrassing.

“…Alright, got it!”

As I looked around the pigsty of an office with disapproval, Joaquin, who had been scribbling busily, suddenly handed me a paper.

It was a map showing Necropolis’s landscape.

“You roughly know the city’s geography from your previous tour, right? Go to the place I’ve marked here.”

“Pasture Street? What’s there?”

“Where the beastkin live!”

Joaquin briefly explained, tapping the map with his pen.

“All the beastkin living underground gather around this area. Dog beastkin and cat beastkin who don’t get along, cow beastkin and pig beastkin too. There’s a transportation association run by horse beastkin that’s the second-best information network after the mercenary groups! We just call it the Guild.”

“So horse beastkin in transportation… what, do they pull carriages?”

“Yeah, that’s right. What else would horses pull? Drive cars?”

“Wait, isn’t that illegal under sentient rights laws? World Union rights investigators would cause an uproar if they found out.”

“Why worry about that in Necropolis…? This is a place where cow beastkin pull carts and horse beastkin pull carriages. Besides, would people live here if they followed the law?”

He’s right. This is criminal territory.

It felt like visiting a country (not actually a country) that oppresses human rights. A neighborhood that violates beastkin rights.

But thinking about it, Joaquin’s point wasn’t wrong. If law-abiding citizens gathered here, would this be Necropolis? It would be a law-abiding city.

Interestingly, Joaquin’s ability to objectively hit the core issues showed he wasn’t completely hopeless. He just smoked weed constantly. Looking closely, he was a decent intellectual.

“Oh- there’s a fight at the arena tonight at 9? Sangai versus the Nameless Warrior of the Great Plains… Sangai is the champion! And his opponent is a rookie who debuted the other day? Wow, I’d die if I missed this match!”

“……”

“Huh? You haven’t left yet?”

“…Let’s try to be professional.”

*

There was no problem until I boldly set out to find Necropolis’s Carriage Transportation Association, commonly known as the Guild.

I could speak several languages, after all. Though I couldn’t compete with linguistic specialists who mastered five languages as a baseline, I still had experience.

I figured I could manage by mixing Kiyen and Moritani common languages, which weren’t official but widely spoken. I’d also studied Moritani regional dialects, so communication shouldn’t be an issue.

Of course, the Moritani continent, like any multi-ethnic/multi-racial country, was a melting pot of races and ethnicities, with three official languages in a single country.

When I worked in Africa, I often mixed French, Portuguese, Arabic, and English to communicate with locals, so I thought I could handle talking with beastkin.

“ΦΚδηΨρΓ∇∏?”

I blinked at the horse head babbling in a language I couldn’t understand.

“…I see.”

Beastkin born in Necropolis or who had lived there long used their own unique language. It was like Hebrew—a language that had died out once and then revived.

Why did I only learn this now? I quickly called Joaquin to confront him, but his answer was ridiculous.

-“You didn’t ask?”

“You little sh-“

After unleashing a barrage of curses, I calmed down and called both Joaquin and Vereda again for advice, asking if there was any way to find an interpreter or translation magical tool.

-“Interpretation? Just grab a beastkin who speaks your language and slip them some money. It’s hard for humans, but beastkin instinctively understand each other. But be careful—they’ll try to rip off outsiders. Fleecing naive people is part of the culture here!”

-“You could use translation magical tools, but our company hasn’t imported any that can interpret beastkin languages yet. There are rumors about development, but I don’t recall seeing any actual products.”

“……”

Though they phrased it differently, neither had a clear solution.

The most viable option was hiring a local interpreter, but even the CIA rarely used that approach except in special circumstances. It was difficult to employ in a situation like mine, where I was carefully gathering information.

In the end, I had to resort to my bio-Papago.

“Translate from beastkin language to Abas language.”

“……”

“Why are you looking at me like that? Hurry up and translate. I’m dying to know what they’re saying.”

I poked her side (the translation button) repeatedly, but received only a cold stare in return. Camilla was glaring at me with icy eyes.

The reason was simple.

“…You said you’d buy me food when you asked me to come along.”

Like a child who trusted their mother’s promise of a buffet only to find themselves in a dentist’s waiting room, Camilla clutched her dizzy head and gave me a resentful look.

A strike declaration followed.

“I can’t work like this! Am I some kind of simultaneous interpreter?”

“Aren’t you being too harsh? Simultaneous interpretation? Do you even know how difficult and demanding that job is?”

Simultaneous interpretation.

The crown jewel of interpretation, the alpha and omega.

A method where interpretation occurs the moment the speaker speaks. Since the interpretation must happen immediately without delay, it requires not only foreign language skills but also quick reflexes, intense concentration, and robust physical stamina.

In that sense, comparing Camilla’s translation abilities (brain-Papago) to a simultaneous interpreter would be a great disrespect.

“Can you compare yourself to interpreters who whip themselves into shape with blood, sweat, and tears? You don’t need to study or concentrate—you just listen and the translation happens automatically!”

What kind of interpretation is that?

It’s Google Translate.

“They say the rich steal even poverty. Now you’re stealing other people’s efforts too?”

I demanded how she could disparage (not really) the efforts of simultaneous interpreters, but her response was nothing if not confident.

Standing tall with her back straight and arms crossed, Camilla began to laugh proudly.

“But I’m fast, right?”

“Camilla, do you have no conscience?”

“But it’s true, isn’t it? There’s no interpreter better than me anywhere.”

“That’s true. So show off your skills.”

“…Why!? I did what you asked!”

Camilla, who had been dragged away from her comfortable lodging with promises of food, expressed her indignation.

Of course, she was half-pickled in fatigue from analyzing the numerous materials and fragmentary intelligence I had assigned her, but frankly, that wasn’t my concern.

Contractors don’t care about subcontractors’ pain, and in the intelligence business, the person who gets fooled is the fool.

“There’s an old saying: fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me. And you’ve been fooled by me so many times I’ve lost count.”

At this point, wasn’t she practically an accomplice? She clearly knew she was being deceived but went along with it.

Regardless, Camilla covered her face with her palms and wailed.

“I believed you! I really thought it was true this time!!”

Strangely, though a screaming magician appeared in the Guild corridor, no one paid any attention. In a place with so many crazy people, everyone seemed to take it in stride.

But it’s best to avoid drawing too much attention. I finally sighed deeply and offered her my pinky finger.

“I’ll buy you something when we’re done.”

“You said that last time too and didn’t follow through! You promised to buy me something delicious, then handed me my passport and bag and chased me back to the capital…!”

Really? Did I do that?

As I tilted my head slightly, wondering when that happened, Camilla began to tremble as if she might explode at the slightest touch.

I shrugged my shoulders and spoke nonchalantly.

“Let me fool you one more time.”

“GYAAAAAAAH!”

And then came the explosion.