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Well, if I couldn’t recall it right away, it probably wasn’t important.

…Though for some reason, Cestlavie looked like he wanted to say something. But not wanting to interrupt Marina any further, I subtly held up a hand to keep the peace.

“Returning to the topic—the first victim appeared six months ago, and it was a female fortune teller.”

“Six months ago? That’s around when Adelheid arrived in this city. —Hey, maybe she’s involved? Just kidding, don’t take it so seriously.”
“Actually, Lady Clara and her associates’ alibis have already been verified. There’s no cause for concern.”

Eliza’s jab made me momentarily suspicious—could it be…?—but Lawrence immediately denied it.

But wait…

“—Does that mean I was a suspect?”
“And judging by that ‘associates’ remark, it looks like they had their eyes on me and the useless one, too.”

Cestlavie spat bitterly.

“Still, revealing that information outright suggests they see us as allies… or at least neutral parties, doesn’t it?”
“Even so, that’s a bit too blatant. It sounds more like ‘I’m constantly monitoring you. Also, your panties is white today,’ to me. In short, a not-so-subtle warning.”
“…I’d rather not think about it.”

While we were caught up in our concerns, Marina continued her explanation.

“At first, the threatening letter was thought to be a prank. However, on the night in question, the fortune teller was actually attacked. Several pieces of jewelry were stolen, along with something extremely important to her profession.”

“Something extremely important to a fortune teller?”

A crystal ball? Tarot cards?

“…Her ability as a fortune teller—her ‘intuition.'”

“ “ “ “Haaah—?!” ” ” ”

Eliza, Kaisa and Margit from Twinfang of the Snowy Peaks, and I all cried out in disbelief at the unexpected answer.

The guild officials, Father Lawrence, and the templar knights must have already known, as they showed no reaction and remained silent. Meanwhile, Sir Simon, a third party to all this, looked amused and muttered, “Hoho.” The others, however, seemed confused, tilting their heads.

“At first, it was assumed that the attack had simply disrupted her abilities. However, every subsequent victim has been someone with a unique talent, and all of them lost their abilities after being attacked. And following each incident, there have been indications that Red Ram began demonstrating the very same abilities.”

For example, a ranger with the ability to ‘unlock’ was attacked, and whereas magical locks had previously been broken through brute force, afterward, Red Ram started opening them effortlessly.

A doctor skilled in hypnosis was targeted, and after losing their ability, Red Ram began using hypnosis as well.

…And so on.

“In other words, the ‘precious thing’ that Red Ram speaks of refers to the abilities of gifted individuals—what you might call talents or skills. And once stolen, the original owner loses their ability entirely.”

As Marina cited examples from the documents, I couldn’t suppress a shudder at the sheer horror of it.

“So far, they’ve successfully stolen an ability nearly once a month… and not only that, but they also loot valuables indiscriminately? Just how vile is this person?!”

“Indeed. And one more thing—the reason Red Ram’s true face remains unknown, not to mention whether they are male or female, is due to the testimonies of victims and those who have encountered them. They all say the same thing: ‘Before I knew it, they were right beside me.’ ‘It was someone I recognized, but they were Red Ram all along.’ Based on these, we suspect they possess either an advanced disguise technique or a shapeshifting ability.”

A heavy silence fell over the room. Instinctively, we exchanged glances, as if subtly trying to gauge one another.

♢♦♢♦♢

In the thick fog, so dense that not even a single merte ahead could be seen, Colin Thomson, a trainee reporter for the Daily Septentrio, trudged along on his way home. He came to a halt and let out a weary sigh.

“I really thought I had a major scoop…”

The moment he was released from the Adventurers’ Guild, Colin had sprinted straight back to the office.

By the time he arrived, it was far beyond just ‘late’—he was met with the editor-in-chief’s furious shouting. As he fumbled through his explanation, the editor’s expression darkened, and he was abruptly dragged into an empty room.

The editor-in-chief was a hardened veteran, once a squad leader in the Northern War a decade ago. Pacing around the room like a bear before hibernation, he let out a heavy sigh.

“…There’s no way we can publish this.”
“W-What?! Why?! Are you afraid of the Church’s pressure?!”

Colin’s voice rose in protest, filled with disappointment.

The editor stroked his stubbled chin.

“It’s true—the higher-ups in the Church have sent a very strong warning to our publisher. But that’s not what’s stopping me. No amount of pressure could crush a journalist’s spirit.”
“Then—”
“But our subject is none other than the most talked-about person right now—Lady Clara. If we recklessly stir up a sense of crisis, it could spark riots in the Holy City… No, scratch that. Riots will happen.”

Colin furrowed his brows, unconvinced.

“Isn’t that a bit of an exaggeration?”

“Listen, kid… What kind of journalist doesn’t keep his antenna up? Right now, she’s being hailed as the ‘Shrine Maiden Princess Clara’ and the ‘Cattleya Flower’—there’s no one in the city who doesn’t know her name. Given her looks and personality, I can see why people would want to put her on a pedestal.”
“…Huh. Is that really how it is?”

Colin couldn’t help but think that Clara’s beauty was so divine, so otherworldly, that she didn’t seem like someone who could be the subject of an equal romantic relationship. Though perhaps that was partly because he already had someone he was pining for.

Seeing Colin’s less-than-enthusiastic reaction, the editor-in-chief smirked knowingly.

“Heh. So you prefer my sweet Maria instead?”
“Wha—!? I-It’s not like I… that—!”

Colin’s face turned bright red as he tried to protest, but his words were drowned out by the editor’s loud, boisterous laughter. As both his boss and Maria Lou’s father, the man clapped Colin on the shoulder—lightly, at least by his standards, though it still nearly sent the scrawny trainee stumbling.

“For now, why don’t you write an article about that ‘Dwarven Apple Pavilion’ you mentioned earlier? If it’s interesting enough, I’ll put it in tomorrow’s morning edition.”
“U-Understood!”

Overwhelmed by the sheer force of the editor’s presence, Colin hastily pulled out his notepad, where he had scribbled down his rough notes.

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“The thief who calls themselves a ‘phantom thief’—the ‘Red Ram’… Well, calling them just a thief is a bit simplistic, but for the sake of official terminology, we’ll proceed with that classification.”
“‘REDRUM¹‘—that’s ‘MURDER’ spelled backward, right? For such a macabre alias, are they really just a thief?”
“As expected of you, Lady Clara. You’re quite knowledgeable. —Yes, as of now, there have been no reports of any loss of life.”
“Foreign script, huh…? Well, for a Shrine Maiden, this is basic knowledge one should naturally have.”

Eliza’s pointed remark was promptly echoed by the oldest of the apprentice Shrine Maidens accompanying her, who nodded as if it were only natural. When I first pointed it out, the way they both went, ‘Ah…!’ in unison—let’s just pretend I didn’t see that.

Marina, who was leading the explanation, elegantly ignored the exchange and, after confirming there were no other objections from those gathered, continued.

“Their—whether ‘his’ or ‘her’—activities were first officially confirmed around six months ago. It all began when a letter of forewarning was delivered to a female fortune teller who had gained some reputation in the lower town for her remarkably accurate readings. The message read, ‘I shall soon come to take something dear to you.'”

Eliza and I remained under the protection of the Adventurers’ Guild’s guest quarters.

With us were Cestlavie, left as my attendant, and one of Eliza’s apprentice Shrine Maidens.

Then, there were six elite templar knights—the prized warriors of the Saintess Church—dispatched from Sant’Angelo for our protection, including Father Lawrence. They were supposed to be formidable, but judging by their contented expressions and occasional burps, they seemed rather… carefree.

And then there was Sir Simon—who, despite everything, was still here, acting like he belonged. He even had the nerve to get a second helping of katsudon for his late-night meal—along with his attendant, Emil.

Finally, in addition to the guild’s original guards, there was also Deputy Guildmaster Tarki—along with…

“Oh yes, my apologies for the delayed introduction. This is an adventurer party we’ve hastily recruited to serve as your bodyguards.”

Perhaps noticing my dubious gaze, Deputy Guildmaster Tarki introduced a party of five female adventurers standing in the corner of the room.

“For tonight, we have been entrusted with the protection of you Shrine Maidens. I am Kaisa, leader of Twinfang of the Snowy Peaks, an adventurer party affiliated with the Thera Maryth Adventurers’ Guild.”

Most likely the inspiration for their party’s name, Kaisa was a tall woman in her mid-twenties with twin swords strapped to her waist. At Tarki’s prompting, she stepped forward and bowed.

“Behind me are my comrades—Margit, a mage… Oh, I mean, a theocraft. Daniella, a martial artist specializing in qi techniques. And the twins, Natalie and Nora, our skirmishers. I hope you’ll remember us.”

Margit, wearing the unmistakable robes of a magic user, was a black-haired woman in her early twenties with narrow eyes. Daniella, with short-cut chestnut hair, looked like a boy at first glance but was actually a seventeen or eighteen-year-old girl. Natalie and Nora, who appeared to be around fifteen, wore their blonde hair in a ponytail and twin-tails, respectively.

It was no surprise that they were all human. Considering the strict racial purity doctrine upheld by the priesthood and their high-ranking members gathered here, it was clear the guild had put in considerable effort to accommodate those biases.

“From now on, whenever either of you steps outside this room, these women will always accompany you as your personal escorts. I apologize for any inconvenience, but I appreciate your cooperation.”

At Tarki’s words, which had likely been coordinated in advance, Father Lawrence nodded with a composed air. Meanwhile, Eliza scrutinized the women for a moment as if assessing their worth, then quickly lost interest and looked away.

Since she didn’t voice any complaints, that meant Eliza had tacitly accepted the arrangement.

Certainly, if we were to be surrounded all day, having young women as guards was far preferable to being stuck with gruff men. At the very least, it was easier on the eyes and somewhat more reassuring…

“If even one step outside counts, does that mean you’ll accompany me even when I go… pick flowers?”
“That’s correct.”

Kaisa nodded matter-of-factly.

“…The restroom is adjacent to this room, so isn’t that a bit excessive?”

It was unsettling. Besides, it felt like we were high school girls showing off how close we were, which I didn’t like. So I tried to resist.

“We must consider every possibility, so I’m afraid that request is denied. Please understand that at least two of our members will always accompany you.”

Kaisa bowed with polite yet unwavering firmness.

“Hmm… In that case, Lady Eliza, would you like to go with me when I go?”

If I was going to suffer, I figured I might as well drag Eliza down with me.

“Why on earth must I go pick fl—go to the restroom with you!?”

As expected, she shot me down without a second thought.

“Do you dislike the idea?”
“Of course I do! The very notion of adjusting to your schedule is absolutely out of the question!”
“…Then, if you dislike adjusting to me, how about I adjust to you and go with you instead?”
“How is that compensation!? That makes no sense at all!”

Eliza slammed the table in outrage at my compromise.

She was probably irritable because, unlike everyone else, she hadn’t had any late-night snacks. Most likely.

“Why me, of all people!?”
“Because I’d feel awkward going with complete strangers.”
“Then why not go with that noisy one you’re always with!? …Now that I think about it, I haven’t seen her today. Did she eat something off the ground and make herself sick?”

Noisy one…? Who was she talking about?

“???” Huh…? Was it just my imagination, or was I forgetting something…?²

“—So, may I continue?”

Finally fed up with being ignored mid-explanation, Marina asked with a troubled expression.

Oops, my bad. The conversation had completely derailed.

I put aside whatever thought had been forming and straightened up to listen to Marina.

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“—And then Maria Lou said to me, ‘If you’re a man, don’t run away! Face your challenges head-on, use your brain, steady your nerves, and push through! If you can’t do that, I won’t acknowledge you as a real man!’”

Colin mimicked her tone, placing his hands on his hips and tilting his chin up in a stern, scolding manner.

“She sounds like quite the strong-willed girlfriend.”

What she said wasn’t wrong, of course, but if it were me, I might have softened it a little.

“Oh—uh, no, Maria Lou is the editor-in-chief’s only daughter, not my partner or anything…” Colin hastily denied it, his face turning bright red.

Fufufu. But from that reaction alone, it was clear they were more than just friends, though not quite lovers yet. Ah, how endearing.

“But she always has something harsh to say whenever we meet. Don’t you think she could be a little kinder?”
“It might be hard to hear, but she only says those things because she believes you can improve. If all you ever hear are sweet words, people tend to take the easy way out.”

In truth, Cestlavie always nags at me too, but it’s never without reason. If I were constantly told only what I wanted to hear, I—weak-willed as I am—might end up indulging in it and losing my drive to improve.

“That’s why I think you should take Maria Lou’s words to heart and do your best.”
“…But sometimes, I just wish she’d say something sweet to me.”
“Is Miss Maria Lou not kind to you?”
“W-Well, she is. She often comes by the office to bring lunch to the editor-in-chief, and when she does, she makes some for me too… Oh no! I haven’t clocked in today!”

Colin clutched his head in despair.

Seeing that the conversation had reached a natural pause, Father Lawrence—who had been compiling reports at another desk—set down his pen and stood up.

“Well, it seems this has somehow turned into a love consultation. But I believe we’ve gone over everything we needed to, haven’t we?”

Father Lawrence wore a gentle smile, but his eyes clearly conveyed ‘Enough with the pointless chatter’ as he shot me a reproachful look.

“M-My apologies. So, regarding Colin’s situation from here on, what do you intend to do?”
“Hmm. I can’t say for certain without reviewing everything first.”

Tapping the top of the towering stack of reports—most of which were filled with romantic gossip and workplace complaints—Father Lawrence forced a polite smile.

“But as things stand, I believe we can safely say he’s uninvolved.”

Colin, who has been holding his breath in suspense, let out a loud, relieved exhale.

“You’re free to go home. Just make sure we can reach you at any time, and keep your whereabouts clear. Additionally, don’t even think about publishing anything about the threat letter—though, naturally, the higher-ups have already been informed.”

Colin seemed ready to protest at Father Lawrence’s thinly veiled warning, but faced with that unyielding, ever-smiling expression, he faltered. Instead, he bit his lip, gave me a small bow, and left the interrogation room escorted by a guild official.

“Well then, shall we return to the guest chamber? This place is far too dreary for my liking.”

Leaving the cleanup entirely to his subordinate templar knights, Father Lawrence stretched with a deep sigh before leading the way toward the exit.

“By the way, has Miss Eliza already left?”

Recalling that I hadn’t seen her since I started making katsudon, I turned to a nearby templar knight and asked.

“Lady Barbara is waiting in the guest chamber as a precaution.”

She must be rather bored by now.

“Lady Simonetta as well?”
“No…”

As Father Lawrence left, Deputy Guildmaster Tarki arrived, bowing slightly to me and the others before shaking his head with a complicated expression.

“Lady Simonetta said, ‘A phantom thief’s threat letter!? I simply cannot stay in such a dangerous place!’ and promptly left.”

I can understand her feelings, but somehow, that sounds like a death flag waiting to happen.

“And what about the others?”
“Well, given the time, about half the staff have gone home. However, the Deputy Chief of Security, Indro, and the remaining guards, as well as Marina at reception, are still here. Also… His High—sir, Lord Corald and his attendants as well.”

Deputy Guildmaster Tarki hesitated noticeably when mentioning Sir Simon.

“To be honest, I’d rather they leave before things get any more complicated…”

He sighed almost pleadingly, and though it wasn’t my responsibility, I found myself bowing reflexively.

“My apologies. I’ll speak to them and ask them to leave soon.”
“Much appreciated.”

With visible relief, Deputy Guildmaster Tarki bowed deeply in return.

“Also, regarding that ‘katsudon’ from earlier… Its smell and reputation have spread, and Lord Corald, along with several guild staff, have expressed a strong desire to try it. We have the ingredients on hand, so… if possible, would you be willing to prepare it as a late-night meal for those interested?”

Once again, he bowed, now looking troubled for a different reason.

“…Well, I suppose that’s fine. In that case, we should head to the dining hall first.”

Rolling up my sleeves and tying my hair back with a ribbon, I got into battle mode—only for the remaining templar knights to hesitantly raise their hands.

“Um… Lady Clara, would you mind making some for us too?”
“Please! Watching them eat right in front of us is unbearable!”
“If possible, I’d love to have seconds!”
“Please, Lady Clara!”

They all pleaded with such serious expressions.

“Understood. Whether it’s ten servings or twenty, the effort isn’t much different.”

The underground interrogation room instantly erupted in cheers.

I sighed, thinking, ‘Oh well…’ But at that moment, I had no idea that these athletic men would each devour five servings on their own…

Author’s Note:

The story about writing a curry recipe is actually something that happened during my student days.

Since they didn’t know the answers on a test, they just kept writing “How to Make Delicious Curry”… and still managed to get credit for it.

…No, no, not me, of course.

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The head of the Third District of the Holy City of Thera Maryth, High Priestess Teressa was receiving an important guest, who had arrived in haste via express messenger from the headquarters, Sant’Angelo Sanctuarium.

“…So, in other words, Sant’Angelo is hesitant about offering protection to Shrine Maiden Clara and Shrine Maiden Barbara. Is that the correct understanding, Cardinal Callisto?”
“Well—if we’re putting it bluntly, yeah. Basically, the old geezers in the Cardinal Council are pinning the blame on the Adventurers’ Guild for the whole mess and trying to wash their hands of it.”

Although her tone and manner were most polite, Teressa’s words were laced with sharp sarcasm. The man she addressed—draped in the ceremonial robes marking him as a high-ranking clergyman and appearing to be in his forties—responded with a smug grin.

Though he wore his robes properly, there was something about his manner that made them seem slightly disheveled. His thin, wiry frame—devoid of any sign of frailty—was paired with a monkey-like face. Not a handsome man by any means, but there was an odd sort of charm to him.

“Some ‘guardians of the law’ they are. They can’t even protect their own shrine maidens.”
“Well, they did send six temple knights from headquarters, along with little Lawrence for support. That’s their idea of keeping up appearances, the senile fools.”

Lounging in his chair with his legs stretched out, hands resting behind his head, Cardinal Callisto swayed slightly as he spoke, his tone utterly detached.

“Father Lawrence? The one rumored to be the Archbishop’s prized blade?”

Teressa furrowed her brows in suspicion.

For reference, the Archbishop held the second-highest rank in the church, just below the Pope. Headquarters was scrambling to avoid responsibility, yet at the same time, the Archbishop had immediately deployed his most trusted operative.

This contradiction gnawed at Teressa’s thoughts. Then, all at once, her expression changed. She shot up from her chair, her face drained of color.

“――! Could it be… as an internal inspector!? They’re just using security as an excuse—they plan to put Clara on trial! The headquarters still doesn’t trust that child?!”

Unlike Teressa, whose face had turned pale with anger, Callisto merely shrugged, his smirk unwavering.

“Well, she did claim to have ‘amnesia,’ and despite all their efforts, our oh-so-proud investigative bureau couldn’t dig up a single thing about her past. Can’t blame them for being paranoid.”
“‘Doubt not. First, have faith and cooperate’… That’s the teaching of the Holy Saintess. Such behavior is disgraceful for members of the clergy.”

Incidentally, the second half of that particular teaching was: ‘However, if betrayed, exact retribution without fail.’ A surprisingly militant philosophy.

“When Clara—no, Lady Adelheid—was accepted into the church, wasn’t she subjected to thorough evaluations and interviews? They assessed her character and abilities and found no issues before recognizing her as a shrine maiden. In fact, her record and personality are impeccable. There is no need for this underhanded investigation now.”
“Evaluations, huh…”

Callisto tilted his head as if pondering something—before bursting into uncontrollable laughter.

“Oh man, that was a masterpiece! The meeting transcripts, the evaluation documents—five whole crates of high-quality official paper wasted on things like gourmet curry recipes, effective weight-loss methods, and even translations of that nonsense ‘Hana-Mogera’ language!”

He nearly fell out of his chair from laughing, his shoulders shaking as he guffawed.

“But the best part—the absolute best part—was Clara and her maid’s conversations! I swear, it was like reading a never-ending comedy skit script!”

Gasping for breath after his fit of laughter, Callisto wiped a tear from his eye and kept going.

“I like her. Idiots like that, the ones who go all the way, are my kind of people. The world’s full of boring idiots.”

It was hardly the kind of statement one expected from a high-ranking cleric. But considering that he maintained this brazen attitude even when speaking to the Pope himself, in a way, Cardinal Callisto could be called a great man.

Of course, the mainstream clergy loathed and shunned him as if he were the plague…

“—I assumed your presence here was to act as a watchdog for those boring idiots, ensuring I don’t act recklessly.”

Teressa made no effort to hide the suspicion in her voice. Callisto, however, shook his head with an expression of mock indignation.

“Don’t lump me in with those fools who mistake faith for a means to an end.”
“…So, this isn’t an order from the higher-ups?”
“Oh, no, I did get orders from above, that’s for sure. But not from those idiots.”

Not from the Cardinal Council or the Grand Archbishop…?

Teresa pondered for a moment. But there was only one person who could command a free-spirited cardinal like this.

“Don’t tell me—the Po—?!”
“Whoa there, I didn’t say a word.”

Callisto cut her off with a smirk, eyes glinting with amusement.

“I can’t go around confirming that old baldy’s hobbies. Though, from the looks of it, this is just a personal interest for now.”

With a sigh, he scratched his cheek, looking as if he couldn’t be bothered to care.

“…I see. I won’t ask any further. But—will Clara be safe from now on?”

She subtly probed, hinting at whether the Pope himself was pulling the strings behind the scenes.

Callisto bared his teeth in a grin.

“Hmph… Your little Clara doesn’t seem like some delicate flower that needs protecting, does she? Besides, idiots who go all the way—they always move in ways normal folks can’t predict.”

Was there something hidden behind Cardinal Callisto’s air of composure? Teressa scrutinized him, as if trying to gauge his true intentions.

But—

“………”

She let out a sigh, as if resigning herself, then averted her gaze. Peering outside, she noticed that dusk had already fallen.

As night descended, the temperature dropped rapidly. Mist, sliding down the mountainsides, had begun drifting through the town.

It was the famous morning and evening fog of Thera Maryth.

“…Looks like visibility is poor again tonight.”

Facing the pale haze, as if it mirrored her own thoughts, Teressa murmured to no one in particular.

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He looked like the very image of a sacred painting—an enlightened shepherd guiding a lost lamb.

The priest-warrior swiftly adjusted the settings on his artifact, dimming the harsh magical light. Now bathed in a softer glow, Father Lawrence pressed on. “In the end, you were merely an unwitting courier for the threatening letter. That makes you a victim as well. I truly believe your soul remains unstained.”

Hearing those words, Colin slowly lifted his exhausted face, gazing up at Father Lawrence as if seeing a savior.

Ah… so this is a classic case of psychological manipulation.

First, the ‘harsh interrogator’ applies stress and pressure, forcing the subject into a corner. Then, the ‘gentle cleric’ swoops in, offering a lifeline.

It was a common tactic, yet as expected of a priest-warrior who called himself a ‘guardian of the law’ and a high-ranking priest, their execution was seamless. They inflicted no physical torture, but their ability to corner a subject psychologically and tame them with impeccable timing was nothing short of a masterful craft.

“But as part of our duty, we must pursue the truth as it is. Even if you are unaware, Colin, there may be crucial clues linking you to the true culprit, see!” Father Lawrence spoke with fervor, only to suddenly lower his tone, a sorrowful expression crossing his face.

“And please, try to understand—the plight of the two fragile priestesses, trembling in fear, targeted by these shadowy criminals.” His deep, resonant voice carried through the room, and at the climax of his speech, he invoked righteous indignation for the sake of the helpless priestesses.

By this point, Colin’s ability to think critically had been thoroughly worn down.

“…I understand. If there’s anything I can do to help, I’ll cooperate fully.” With a sincere expression, he nodded several times—entirely convinced that this was his own decision.

((What a pushover))

Faced with Father Lawrence’s dazzling display of manipulation and his unwavering, saintly facade, all we could do was shudder.

♢♦♢♦♢³

Since selectively bred “pigs” don’t exist in this world, I use the next best thing—orc loin, taken from the back between the shoulder and waist, and cut into suitable portions.

For this dish, I want to highlight the meat’s natural flavor and fat, so I slice it a bit thicker than usual and season it with salt, pepper, and flour. Being in a capital city has its perks—there’s no shortage of spices.

Personally, I prefer lean cuts like the tenderloin, but since I’m cooking for a growing boy, I’m going all-in with the classic, hearty choice.

Though I plan for a single serving, I prepare extra in case of seconds—or failure.

In the meantime, I started making the sauce.

For the broth, I borrowed some chicken stock from the guild’s kitchen. I transfer a portion into a small pot and bring it to a high heat, seasoning it with white wine and sugar as substitutes for sake and mirin.

The key ingredient—soy sauce—is nowhere to be found, even in the capital, so I need an alternative.

Soy sauce mainly provides saltiness and umami, so at worst, I could just use salt and supplement the umami with something else.

I’d heard that some people unfamiliar with soy sauce find its aroma unpleasant, so I was about to settle for a simple salt-based seasoning—when the head chef, who had kindly lent me the kitchen, rummaged through a shelf and pulled out a bottle of dark liquid.

“A seasoning made from beans, you say? Hmm… use this.”

I sampled it. It wasn’t exactly soy sauce—more like Thailand’s “Golden Mountain Seasoning Sauce.” But since it was soybean-based, it got me much closer to the desired flavor.

Still, it lacked depth. To fix that, I used rehydrated dried mushrooms to enhance the broth, adjusting the heat and boiling time to concentrate the flavors.

While preparing the sauce, I coated the orc meat in egg and homemade breadcrumbs.

The breadcrumbs were easy, I scraped down a rock-hard baguette with a fork. The real problem was the eggs. In this city—or rather, on this continent—people don’t have the habit of eating fresh eggs. Cracking one open is always a gamble.

Rotten ones are a lost cause, of course, but about a third of the eggs tend to contain half-developed embryos—or belong to something other than a bird. Reptile eggs are manageable, but there’s always the risk of cracking open a giant insect’s egg… or worse, an egg from a Mimic.

Cooking, in this world, is quite literally a matter of life and death.

By the way, while you might think that freshly laid eggs are the tastiest, eggs that have been left for three to seven days actually have better flavor.

This has to do with the gases inside the egg, and the best way to select the ideal ones is to place them in 6% salt water—those that sink and lie flat at the bottom are good to use. If an egg floats… or worse, if you crack one open and hear a grotesque screeching sound as some unidentifiable creature jumps out—just pretend you saw nothing and toss it straight into the trash.

For a single serving, crack open one quality egg and lightly beat it in a container, making sure not to overmix it—the whites and yolk should still be somewhat distinct.

Now, it’s time to fry the tonkatsu.

Since I can’t afford to use a large amount of expensive oil, I pour just enough into the pan to submerge the meat and carefully fry it to a golden crisp without burning.

Once done, I drain the excess oil.

Next, I cut an onion into thin wedges, rinse the pieces in water, and separate them before sautéing over low heat.

I’d prefer to use a small dedicated pot for this, but since I don’t have one, I make do with an available frying pan.

I add the broth and onions, turn up the heat to medium, and bring it to a simmer. Once it’s bubbling, I slice the tonkatsu and lay it into the pan.

Some people prefer to add half of the beaten egg at this stage, but I like to pour it all in at the end, so I’ll stick with my method.

Keeping the heat at medium, I carefully pour a ladleful of the seasoned broth and ensure it doesn’t boil over.

Then, I slowly drizzle the beaten egg over the tonkatsu, covering it evenly. Finally, I place a lid over the pan to let the steam cook the eggs.

The lid is there to set the eggs, so the cooking time is up to personal preference.

I prefer mine slightly runny, but considering hygiene and the local people’s taste, I let it cook through completely this time.

Now, for the rice.

A small amount was available as a vegetable substitute, so I had already cooked it in a pot beforehand. I scoop it into a bowl-like container, then carefully place the small frying pan directly on top—

“And there we have it! A special katsudon, just for you. You must be starving. Go ahead and dig in.”
“UOOOOH! This is amazing! Too good! Lady Clara, I swear my loyalty to you for life!!”

Devouring the piping hot katsudon in the bleak underground interrogation room, Reporter Colin—oh, that’s too much trouble; Colin will do⁴—looks as if he’s been spiritually cleansed, tears streaming down his face.

This is how it should be. Binding people with religious dogma and warping their beliefs is not the right approach. When humans are struggling, the best thing to do is feed them something warm and delicious. Thinking can come later.

“To think that someone I personally persuaded was converted in an instant…”
“Ughhh…”

Looking dumbfounded at the scene is Father Lawrence, while Eliza grits her teeth in frustration.

“Once you’re done eating, could you tell us when that threatening letter was stuck to your back and what you know about this ‘Red Something’ culprit?”
“You got it!”

In stark contrast to his earlier state, Colin now radiates youthful energy and enthusiasm.

And so, with everyone gathered around once more, the investigation into the truth of the case resumed.

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The underground detention room and interrogation chamber beneath the Adventurers’ Guild headquarters.

In stark contrast to the opulent guest room above, this space was designed with a singular purpose—to prevent escape. Surrounded on all sides by thick walls, the room was oppressively small. The low ceiling, likely a consequence of the underground structure, only added to the stifling atmosphere. The walls, far from uniform, were uneven and jagged, as if deliberately distorted.

This was no accident or mere architectural negligence. The irregular design was a calculated measure, intended to exert psychological pressure on those confined within. And indeed, though it had been less than an hour since his arrival, he, the suspect, was already hunched over, clutching his knees, and trembling with a desperate expression.

Even the placement of the pungent animal-fat lamps—set above eye level—was intentional, as was the mismatched height of the crude wooden table and chair. These elements, seemingly trivial, were in fact deliberate instruments of psychological stress.

(Well, at least there aren’t any torture devices… yet.)

The word bleak hardly did the place justice. The cold, unpolished stone walls and floors were slick with moss, marred by unidentifiable stains, while strange, nameless insects scuttled about in the dim light.

—Uoooooooohhhhhh…
—Gwooo… gwooooooh…
—Le… let me… out…
—La… Ra… Lady… Clara… let me out…

From somewhere unseen, eerie voices echoed through the walls, warping as they reverberated, transforming into something like the wails of vengeful spirits rising from the depths of the earth. The oppressive atmosphere of the underground chamber grew even heavier.

The adjacent room was supposedly a storage facility for hazardous materials, yet the guild had secretly outfitted a facility like this right next to it. Perhaps the Adventurers’ Guild wasn’t as clean an organization as they claimed.

For a brief moment, it felt as if someone was calling my name, but a quick glance around revealed no sign of ghosts lurking in the darkness. Probably just my imagination.

As we remained in the shadows, holding our breath as silent observers, a heavily armored warrior continued his interrogation in a tense, half-crouched posture.

Click—! A brilliant flash of light burst forth, intense enough to feel like pure pressure. It bathed the suspect’s face in a stark white glow.

Compared to the dim flickering of candles and lanterns, this overwhelming radiance was something else entirely. The scrawny red-haired youth, seated limply at the battered wooden table, instinctively grimaced and tried to shield his eyes with his arms—only for the heavy iron shackles around his wrists to jangle loudly, cutting off his movement. Realizing the futility, he exhaled in resignation and lowered his head.

“Look straight ahead when you’re spoken to, you cur!”

With a thunderous crack, a massive fist slammed into the desk. The impact alone was enough to splinter its thick wooden surface in a single blow.

“Eek—!”

The red-haired youth instinctively straightened his back as if struck by lightning.

“How much longer are you going to keep up this act!? Spit out the truth already!”

The battle-hardened cleric-warrior bellowed, his voice sharp as a blade, as he loomed over the half-broken wooden desk, the harsh white light of the enchanted device casting deep shadows on his scarred face.

“I-I told you already! I’m just a journalist! I happened to see Lady Clara and thought I’d get a scoop… I know I shouldn’t have snuck in, but I had no idea there was a warning note stuck to my back! I swear! And I’ve already told you the same thing like two hundred times—please, give me a break!”

Tears welled up in the so-called journalist’s eyes as he repeated his plea.

“You’re still playing dumb, huh? And stop babbling unless you’re answering a direct question! For the record, that last one was only the 197th time! You weren’t even listening to me properly, were you!?”

“….”

The red-haired youth, now visibly drained and haggard, slumped over and murmured in a tiny, mosquito-like voice, “…I’m not lying…”

“What was that? I can’t hear you.”

The cleric-warrior cupped a hand to his ear in exaggerated mockery.

Just then—

“Now, now, let’s not be so hasty. If you keep dismissing everything he says outright, we won’t get anywhere.”

A new voice entered the fray—calm, composed, and carrying an air of refined authority. Stepping forward was a young man, his robes immaculate, his demeanor exuding a natural grace befitting a high-ranking clergyman.

“ …Father Lawrence? There is no need for you to sully yourself by coming to such an unclean place…”
“Oh, nonsense. This, too, is part of my duty, and if the beloved priestesses of our order are in distress, then no matter how thorny the path, I shall walk it without hesitation.”
“Hah! Such unwavering conviction! As expected of the most virtuous man in all of Sant’Angelo, Father Lawrence. I am in awe of your wisdom!”

The warrior-priest bowed with grandiose reverence, while Father Lawrence waved it off with an easy smile.

Something about their exchange felt a little… theatrical. From my place in the dimly lit corner, I leaned over and whispered to Eliza.

“Um, Miss Eliza, what kind of position does Father Lawrence hold?”
“You don’t know? His family is nobility descended from the royal bloodline of this kingdom, and they’ve produced generations of cardinals. On top of that, he’s considered the most promising young cleric and even a future candidate for the papacy. He’s got an entire fan club among the shrine maidens and nuns… though I suppose you wouldn’t know about that.”
“Huh.”

I half expected her to ignore me, but she answered surprisingly readily.

She’s always been a bit prickly, but maybe this means she’s finally warming up to me? Considering we both seem to be targets right now, maybe we’ll develop a newfound friendship after facing a common enemy. That could be fun.

“Oh, and what exactly is Sant’Angelo?”

I took the chance to ask about another term that had caught my attention.

Normally, I’d ask Cestlavie, but he’s currently in a meeting with guild officials, so I’ll have to trouble Eliza instead. Well, they do say asking a question is only embarrassing for a moment.

“You’re a person of the cloth and you have no idea of the Castle of the Holy Angel, Sant’Angelo!?”

Instead of looking exasperated, she got outright mad at me.

“It’s another name for the Church’s headquarters! The central part of Thera Maryth, the Holy City, is open to lay believers, foreigners, and even non-believers—but the true heart of the Church, where only its highest officials reside, is Sant’Angelo Sanctuarium.”
“Ohh, I see.”

So it’s like a city within a city… or rather, an untouchable domain.

In my previous life, I suppose it would be similar to Vatican City. Or perhaps it’s more like the City of London—a hidden core within a larger capital.

“Well, since you clearly don’t know anything, I’ll educate you further. ‘Monastic Priests’ like Father Lawrence are elite clerics directly under the headquarters. Their rank is at least two levels above ordinary priests, so keep that in mind.”
“Are they higher-ranked than shrine maidens?”
“…Technically, shrine maidens are considered separate, so in theory, they should be on equal footing with the Pope. But in reality? It’s best to treat the high-ranking clergy with proper respect.”

Having kindly provided that explanation, Eliza then frowned, as if realizing she’d let her guard down and gotten too friendly.

Perhaps she thought the darkness concealed her expression, but unfortunately for her, training one’s night vision is the most basic skill in classical martial arts. My eyes, sharp enough to distinguish a raven in the dead of night, were not so easily deceived.

Yes, she’s definitely warmed up to me now. Feeling rather pleased, I couldn’t help but smile.

“Eliza, you’re actually a pretty nice person.”
“—You’re just as clueless and slow as you look.”

Her sharp-tongued retort came without a moment’s hesitation.

“……”

…Is tsundere always this brutal? As I pondered this quite seriously, the interrogation continued.

“Colin, was it? You have to understand, we’re not truly suspicious of you.” With a gentle smile, Father Lawrence placed a hand on the red-haired boy’s shoulder and whispered reassuringly.

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The Deputy Guildmaster, Eliza, and Cestlavie, the three individuals closely tied to the Church, all spoke up in unison.

“Who do you think the Saintess is!? The sheer audacity—ordering around a holy figure like she’s some servant! A mere aristocrat of a minor nation like you—know your place!”

As expected, Eliza, being a priestess serving the Saintess, couldn’t let this slide. She was practically fuming.

Well, I have to admit, I was just as shocked. I never expected someone to suggest playing “Come here, Saintess, we have amazake” with a revered figure. But knowing that Saintess… Yeah, she might just show up without a second thought, which makes it hard to dismiss the idea outright.

Perhaps sensing the overwhelming pushback—and realizing she was in hostile territory—Lady Simonetta’s attendants whispered something urgently into her ear, likely advising her not to dig herself any deeper.

This only made her scowl in irritation.

Now that I think about it, calling her Lady Simonetta feels… a bit off, doesn’t it? Technically speaking, as the legitimate wife of my father, the Count of Aulanthia—and as the daughter of his fourth consort—she is basically a stepmother to me. So, in theory, I should be addressing her as Madam Simonetta with the proper respect.

But the woman I vaguely remember from Aulanthia was a middle-aged noblewoman buried under garish makeup, dressed in outfits so ostentatious they were more fitting for a year-end music festival costume contest—or perhaps a kabukimono trying to outshine everyone. The gap between that image and the young woman standing here is so vast, I can hardly believe they’re the same person.

I never spoke much with her back in Aulanthia—aside from the times she outright insulted me—but now that I’m seeing her up close, my impression isn’t that she’s a complete fool. More like… a spoiled child trying too hard to act above her station.

At the very least, when it comes to facial features alone, she pales in comparison to Eliza, who’s standing beside her.

She isn’t ugly, per se, but without makeup, she would likely fall into the plain and forgettable category. Well, her sharp demeanor gives her a strong presence, at least. Her dress and accessories are flashy, but still within the bounds of what’s considered normal. It’s just… not what I expected.

At what point did she stray from proper evolution and undergo some kind of unholy demon fusion? Women are terrifying. Or perhaps… she’s the living embodiment of the phrase “growing old disgracefully.”

—I must be careful.

Before I realized it, my fists were clenched.

Aging is inevitable, but thoughtlessly accumulating years—or worse, tarnishing one’s later days—should be avoided at all costs.

I should avoid extreme dieting and focus first and foremost on keeping my skin firm and supple. Collagen, perhaps? And definitely protection from UV rays…?

While I was lost in thought, the situation continued to move toward a resolution.

After much persuasion from those around her, Lady Simonetta grudgingly conceded.

“I understand that it’s impossible. But is this truly the extent of this city’s Adventurers’ Guild’s flexibility? To dismiss something outright as impossible without even attempting a workaround? And to think—I personally took the trouble to come here, yet instead of being met by the highest authority, I was shoved with a mere Deputy Guildmaster? How disgraceful. I shall be reporting this to the capital, so be sure to remember this well!”
“The Guildmaster is currently away on official business at the cathedral—”
“I have no interest in excuses!”

Cutting off the Deputy Guildmaster mid-explanation as he wiped the sweat from his brow, Lady Simonetta took the Adventurers’ Guild Request Form from her butler and swiftly signed it. Then, as if hurling down a challenge, she slammed it onto the table.

The attendants swiftly gathered up the pile of gold coins and jewels spread across the table with practiced ease.

“This will serve as a deposit,” one of them stated curtly, leaving only a few gold coins behind.

It seemed that Simonetta’s claim of “spare no expense” had been at least half bluff.

With the Deputy Guildmaster still visibly flustered, unable to regain his composure, the task of verifying the documents fell to Marina, the receptionist. She compared the request form with the amount of money left behind and, after a tense moment, nodded with a pained expression.

“…There are no discrepancies in the paperwork.”

As if she had just secured a verbal commitment, Lady Simonetta gave a satisfied nod and promptly stood up, signaling that her business here was concluded.

“Very well! By the beginning of next week, make sure that insolent chef learns his place—or else, prepare a suitable replacement along with an acceptable dish!”

With that parting demand, she turned on her heel, surrounded by her attendants, and made her way toward the exit.

“Oh well, worst case scenario, you could just claim it’s ‘a creative new dish’ and come up with some raw preparation—sashimi, live seafood, or something of the sort,” I suggested offhandedly.

After all, the one who’ll be eating it is none other than the naïve prince of Aulanthia Kingdom… or rather, my dear father.

The Vice Guildmaster let out a drained sigh in response to my half-hearted reassurance.

“I’d rather avoid anything raw if possible…”

Sir Simon muttered, his expression stiff.

Unbothered by our private conversation, Lady Simonetta and her entourage continued toward the exit. Just as they reached the thick wooden doors, hurried footsteps rang out, followed by an urgent, frantic knocking from the other side.

“Who goes there?”

One of the guards inside called out, prompting a panicked voice to respond from beyond the door.

“It’s Indro, the Deputy Chief of Security! Urgent news for Deputy Guildmaster Tarki! We have an emergency—Lady Clara and Lady Barbara are in danger!”
“What!?”
“ “Huh?” ”

“…What is this now?”

Just when he had a moment’s respite from his stress, Deputy Guildmaster Tarki—so that was his name—sprang to his feet in alarm. Meanwhile, Eliza and I exchanged glances before instinctively looking away. Lady Simonetta, who had been on the verge of leaving, furrowed her brows in irritation at the unexpected interruption.

“—What now, Vice Guildmaster Tarki?”
“Let—let him in at once!”
“Understood. …But first, state the password.”

Unlike the flustered Tarki, the guard remained composed, resting a hand on the hilt of his sword as he called out beyond the door.

A brief exchange followed, using what seemed to be a set of coded phrases.

“—Alright, you’re clear.”

With a nod of approval, the guard unlocked the door from inside.

Beyond it stood a tall swordsman, and behind him—no, there were two others. One was a lanky, red-haired youth wearing a shabby jacket and a hunting cap, his arms twisted behind his back by a muscular young man who was practically dragging him forward.

“Apologies for the intrusion. We apprehended this man snooping around the third floor. When we searched him, we found this note on his back.”

With a respectful bow, the young man stepped into the room and held out a plain sheet of paper.

Narrowing my eyes, I could make out a simple message scrawled upon it—

“Today, I shall visit this guild headquarters to take something precious from the esteemed Shrine Maiden. By: The Phantom Thief, Red Ram.”

The moment everyone registered its contents, a collective gasp filled the room.