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After driving off the Rock Apes, monsters that had captured adventurers, buried them in the ground up to their necks, and danced strange rituals around them, we paused to take stock of the situation.

“Aren’t you going to finish them off?”

Pointing at the fleeing forms of the monsters—who were shambling away after being hit by my magic from a safe distance—Coppelia asked with a curious look.

If I gave her the go-ahead, I knew her arm would shoot out with a swoosh and land a finishing blow in no time.

“I’ve already locked onto them, so there’s no way they could escape from this range.”

Yup, she’s all into killing them.

“Hmm… Ideally, that might be the right thing to do, but they don’t seem like monsters that kill humans. Giving them a bit of a lesson like this should be enough to deter them, don’t you think?”

Even as I said it, I knew my response was a bit naïve—perhaps even indecisive. Still, I’m not one to resort to killing indiscriminately unless there’s a solid justification for it. …Unless there was a valid cause, in which case I wouldn’t hesitate.

Hearing my response, Cestlavie looked as though he had something to say but held his tongue. That was when Sechs, sitting at his feet, pawed at him as if to urge him on, making it clear that he should hurry up and rescue the adventurers. With an utterly reluctant expression, he clicked his tongue in frustration, tossed a magic talisman onto the ground near the adventurers, and quickly used earth magic to raise the ground, freeing them.

Cestlavie may have been reluctant to care for Sechs in the beginning, but over time, it feels as though they’ve become an oddly good pair. Sechs, which was small enough to fit in my hand a year ago, has now grown to about twenty times that size. At this rate, I wouldn’t be surprised if it eventually grew to the size of a dragon—maybe in thirty years or so.

Meanwhile, Coppelia’s gaze wandered over to the adventurers. Freed from the ground by Cestlavie’s magic, their bald heads gleamed as they sat slumped on the ground. She looked them over as if appraising them, her gaze analytical.

“Hmm, hmm,” she murmured, nodding to herself.

If this had been a normal situation, my soft-hearted remarks about sparing the monsters might have earned indignant protests from the adventurers, their anger boiling over as they voiced their objections. But unfortunately for them, the lingering effects of the paralysis poison, coupled with the trauma they’d suffered, left them utterly drained. They remained collapsed on the ground, still stuck in the kind of daze that could only be described as post-nut clarity.

“Understood, Lady Clara. Well, I suppose there’s no real harm done since no one is injured. …Though, they did lose all their hair, didn’t they… heh.”

Coppelia exhaled dismissively, shrugging her shoulders with an air of condescension.

“What did you just say, huh!?”

The man, seemingly the leader of the group and sporting a thick black beard, growled with indignation. He clearly couldn’t let her remark slide. Incidentally, his current hairstyle involved the sides of his head shaved clean, with a lightning-patterned strip left on the sides.

“What do you mean, ‘no harm done!? Look at us—just look at the state we’re in!”

Furious, the black-bearded leader grabbed a fistful of multicolored, uprooted hair from the ground around him, holding it up as evidence.

The sight of a robust adventurer—well over thirty—yelling at a young maid who looked half his age was, frankly, a little unbecoming. But it was clear he didn’t have the composure to care about appearances.

Coppelia deliberately averted her gaze.

“Oh my, what a pity. It’s so awful I can’t even bear to look directly.”
“You little—don’t laugh at me!”

The man, enraged, stood up and tried to grab her, but I quickly placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping him before he could go any further.

“Now, now, please calm yourself. And Coppelia, kindly refrain from provoking him further.”

To help pacify the adventurers, I pulled a water pitcher from Close. Pouring cool, fresh water into plain clay cups I’d also stored away, I handed them out to the group. Luckily, we had plenty of utensils left over from the communal meal we prepared a few days ago, so there was no shortage.

As they began gulping down the water, asking for refills with visible thirst, I passed the pitcher directly to them. After that, with their permission, I conducted a quick check of their physical conditions.

“It seems the poison is plant-based. That should make it fairly simple to neutralize. As for the minor scrapes, closing the wounds improperly might trap bacteria and lead to tetanus. It’d be better to apply some ointment and let them heal naturally.”

Explaining this, I pulled out a small jar of homemade ointment. The almost-clear, colorless substance glistened as I scooped a bit out with my fingertip. “Now then, please take off your clothes.”

“ “ “ “ “ “ “ “EH??!!” ” ” ” ” ” ” ”

“Hm? We need to apply the ointment to all of your wounds for proper treatment. Surely you understand—even sparrows living in urban areas are sometimes referred to as ‘flying sewer rats,’ which tells you that animals are rife with bacteria. Let alone wild monsters—overlooking even a small scratch could prove fatal. That’s why it’s necessary to strip down completely and examine every inch of your body.”

“ “ “ “ “ “ “ “NO NO NO NO!” ” ” ” ” ” ” ”

For some reason, the adventurers stiffened like timid girls, frantically shaking their heads in denial.

“Pretty sure it’s unethical for a shrine maiden to strip men naked and directly touch them in the open,” Cestlavie muttered quietly.

“This is a medical procedure, so there is no issue.”
“It’s absolutely not okay! Your eyes will rot if you see something that grotesque, Lady Clara! And if you carelessly touch these greasy men, you’ll get pregnant from the contact!”

Coppelia protested fiercely, her eyebrows knit in anger.

“That… seems a little far-fetched,” I said, tilting my head as I gently refuted her absurd claim—a belief so ridiculous that even a novice nun of single-digit age wouldn’t believe it.

“Naive! It’s the kind of naivety that’s like planting a candy in the ground hoping it will grow into a candy tree. This is a perfect opportunity to properly educate you on their base instincts. Sit down. Meanwhile, those fools can handle the treatment themselves—somewhere out of sight, of course.”
“ “ “ “ “ “ “ “Eh……” ” ” ” ” ” ” ”

I groaned along with the rest of the group, our dissatisfaction apparent.

With a deep scowl, Cestlavie begrudgingly picked up the jar of ointment, herding the adventurers behind a nearby boulder. Meanwhile, I sat down and was subjected to an exhaustive lecture from Coppelia about how men are barbaric, lustful beasts, and nocturnal predators.

As for the adventurers whose heads had been shaved, I treated them with antidotes, applied some Amrita, and attempted a recently learned healing art for restoring lost body parts. Although the results weren’t dramatic, soft peach fuzz began to sprout on their scalps. I informed them that with a few more treatments, their hair would likely grow back completely, which brought them to tears of gratitude.

“Lady Clara, we’ll follow you for life! We’ll even join your fan club!”

Surrounded by a group of burly adult men who looked at me with strangely sparkling eyes as they spoke, I responded with a somewhat strained smile. A fan club? What even is that? I couldn’t help but think as I tried to keep my composure.

On that note, I found myself wondering why they all seemed to know my name—or rather, Clara’s name. When I asked, they replied:

“Nowadays, any commoner or adventurer in the Holy City who doesn’t know about Lady Clara is a total outsider.”
“Exactly! Your nobility shines through in how you offer aid to everyone, whether they’re commoners, slaves, or demi-humans.”
“And your reserved demeanor and graceful elegance!”
“Not to mention your unparalleled beauty and figure!”
“No, no, it’s more than just your looks. You embody the very ideal of a shrine maiden, with your delicate charm and ethereal presence. Not to forget your words and actions that seem ever so slightly detached from worldly concerns!”
“You truly are the Shrine Maiden Princess, Lady Clara!”

They passionately sang my praises.

“—Even being an airhead can sound flattering, depending on how you spin it.” Hearing this, Cestlavie muttered an audacious remark under his breath.

I decided to pretend I hadn’t heard that and, feeling a bit embarrassed from being praised so directly, sought to steer the conversation elsewhere. “Oh no, I just happened to pass by, really. If you must give thanks, save it for Cestlavie, who brought me here, and to fate itself.”

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Cestlavie shot him a flat “no comment” in response to his probing gaze.

“Fair enough again,” Shimlar said with a chuckle. “It makes sense for a solo adventurer to keep their cards close to their chest. Alright, then—I’ll tell you the job, and you can decide for yourself.”

Before Cestlavie could voice his clear lack of interest, Shimlar and his group half-dragged him to a nearby tavern, coaxing him with promises of free food and drinks.

Back at the guild, the staff members—initially worried there might be trouble—sighed in relief. Meanwhile, the lower-ranked adventurers, who had hoped to see the aloof “doggy bag” rookie get knocked down a peg, groaned in disappointment.

♦♢♦♢

Humtoandel, a 27-year-old C-rank adventurer affiliated with one of the many guilds in the Holy City of Thera Maryth, was now experiencing an unprecedented fear in the Sidonia Grand Labyrinth.

Until now, their party had mainly focused on exploring the Ottavia Sky Labyrinth. However, feeling stuck lately, their leader, Shimlar, had suggested, “How about we change things up for once?” That suggestion had led them here, though none could have predicted the disastrous turn of events that followed.

Even without wanting to, the spine-chilling sound of dripping water echoed through the canyon, forcing itself into their ears.

“Stop it! Please, stop—!!”

Yoltwhale, a 33-year-old axe-wielding adventurer renowned for his boldness, was now screaming like a child, shaking his head violently as tears and snot smeared his face while he begged.

“Kyakyakya!”
“Kyakyakyaaa!”
“Kekekekekeke!”

The source of his distress was a group of Rock Apes, the most prevalent monsters in the Sidonia Grand Labyrinth. These creatures, as tall as fully grown adults when standing upright, had arms so long they could touch the ground. They clapped their hands gleefully at his cries.

At first glance, they resembled simian beastfolk. However, according to the beastfolk themselves, likening Rock Apes to their kind was considered “as insulting as comparing a newt to a dragon.” These were unequivocally monsters, each harboring a magic stone within its body. Their name came from their bald, rocky-scalped heads.

Though they lacked flashy abilities like breathing fire or flying, their intelligence—manifesting in their use of stone tools and coordinated group attacks—combined with their knack for ambushes and traps made them a particularly troublesome foe for adventurers lacking magic or ranged weapons.

Shimlar had heard of these creatures before, which was why he had tried to recruit a solo magician to join their party. However, the intended recruit had flatly refused, curtly adding: “Take my advice. Stick to jobs in familiar territory.”

Scoffing at the presumptuous words of a cocky brat, Shimlar decided they would test their strength with their usual party composition and ventured into the canyon.

Half a day later, this decision had brought Humtoandel’s party to their current crisis.

The trouble had begun when they recklessly pursued a fleeing Rock Ape, only to be lured into the lair of an Onyx Tortoise, a monster that camouflages itself as a rock. While struggling against this formidable foe, they were ambushed from behind by Rock Apes using blow darts coated with paralyzing poison.

When Humtoandel regained consciousness, he and his companions had been buried up to their necks in the ground, completely immobilized.

Now, unable to escape or fight back, four of their six members had already fallen. Their lifeless bodies lay sprawled across the reddish-brown earth, their eyes rolled back in their heads.

“ “ “ “……” ” ” ”

Their eyes were open but unfocused—commonly referred to as having a “dead fish look.” The group, reduced to this pitiable state, resembled living corpses. Any trace of their confidence and pride as veteran adventurers was long gone. Worse still, they were mere husks of men, having lost something critical to their manhood.

Gulp.

Humtoandel swallowed hard—he had no idea how many times he’d done so by now—and warily watched the laughing Rock Apes surrounding their prey. His gaze drifted to Yoltwhale, who was still sobbing and screaming with only his head sticking out of the ground.

Through gaps in the group, he caught sight of Yoltwhale’s head—a head that the man had recently started worrying was thinning. It had now been thoroughly plucked bald, leaving him looking like a defeated warrior. The Rock Apes, somehow producing an unglazed clay jar filled with an oily substance, scooped the liquid with their hands and began massaging it into Yoltwhale’s scalp. They worked with care, their long fingers rubbing the oil in with great attention. Then, using what appeared to be well-tanned animal hides, they polished his head with rhythmic squeaks.

“Aaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!”

As the oil and hide worked their magic, Yoltwhale’s previously rough, blue-shadowed scalp turned a healthy, glowing pink. The blood flow in his head improved, transforming the surface into a smooth, radiant, hairless sheen devoid of even the faintest hint of a follicle.

The painful screams and grotesque scenes were unbearable to watch. Humtoandel clenched his teeth so hard that his lips began to bleed as he averted his gaze.

But when he looked elsewhere, he saw something even more unsettling. Four perfectly polished bald heads lined up in the sunlight, gleaming brilliantly as they reflected the sun’s rays. Each head had its own distinct “style,” like a pineapple pattern or leopard spots, showcasing an odd sense of artistry. These belonged to Shimlar and the other members of their party, all seasoned adventurers once famed for their boldness.

But now, any self-respect or pride they had as warriors had been utterly obliterated, leaving them as hollowed-out shells.

Faced with this disturbing reality, Humtoandel suddenly understood with chilling clarity: This mysterious ritual is permanently removing all of our hair!

Come to think of it, the adventurers tackling the Sidonia Grand Canyon always seemed to sport unusually polished bald heads. He had assumed it was either a coincidence or some kind of tough-guy fashion statement, but to think this was the horrifying truth behind it…!

As Humtoandel trembled in terror, the Rock Apes, now finished with their work on Yoltwhale—who had fainted in horror and could no longer face reality—stepped back from their latest victim. With a smug look that seemed to say, “Your turn now,” they surrounded Humtoandel, each holding oil and tanned hide as they took their positions.

“No! No! Stop it! I don’t want to go bald at this age! Never!!”

Humtoandel’s desperate screams echoed through the canyon as the Rock Apes reached for him, cackling with glee.

“Aaaaaaahhhhhh!!”

A demonic hand casually grabbed a fistful of his hair, plucking it out with a practiced rhythm. Before long, the wind sweeping through the canyon began to directly caress his exposed scalp. And then, just as he feared, the oil handler and polisher approached, their sinister grins widening as they brandished their tools for maximum intimidation.

“…Just kill me already,” Humtoandel muttered bitterly, his voice filled with despair. Death, he thought, would be far preferable.

When an adventurer fell to a monster in battle, their comrades would likely honor them at the tavern, raising a glass to their memory:

“Poor guy, just had bad luck…”
“He just wasn’t strong enough.”
“…What a shame.”

At least then, there would be a moment of solemn respect, a quiet tribute to their life. But if that same adventurer were to return, bald and shiny, after being captured by monsters…

Without a doubt, their comrades would instead laugh over their drinks:

“Poor guy, just had bad luck! Hahaha!”
“Man, he was so weak! Haha!”
“…Pfft! What a shame! Hahaha!”

No doubt about it—he would become nothing more than a laughingstock.

…It’s over.

Overcome with despair and rage, Humtoandel had given up completely.

If only he’d just taken over his family’s manju shop. What had driven him to abandon it all and become an adventurer, only to end up in this sorry state? If they were going to do this, they should have done it properly and finished him off completely, he thought bitterly.

At that moment—

“「O stream, become a blade and cut through the enemy before me」 — 「Aqua Ripper!」”

A clear, commanding voice rang out, and from seemingly nowhere, blades of water flew through the air, slashing into the Rock Apes.

“Ukyahhhhhh!?”

The creatures screamed in agony as the blades tore through them, though the injuries weren’t fatal.

And then—

Standing atop a higher cliff that overlooked the scene was a stunning young girl. She wore a white outfit embroidered with gold, a golden tiara resting upon her head. Her long, cherry-blossom-tinted blonde hair swayed in the breeze as she stood with a long staff in hand, her expression equal parts resolute and graceful.

Behind her stood two figures: a scruffy black-haired boy and a maid with bright orange hair. However, their presence was so thoroughly overshadowed by the girl’s overwhelming beauty and commanding presence that they might as well have been mere scribbles in the background.

“In broad daylight, you dare to humiliate these poor adventurers so cruelly? Even if the heavens forgive you, I shall not!”

The girl pointed the tip of her staff decisively at the flustered Rock Apes, her voice resonating like an operatic declaration.

In that moment, the eyes of Humtoandel and his nearly-dead companions regained their spark, as though life had been breathed back into their souls.

She’s so cool…

Their gazes turned to her, filled with awe and admiration, as if they were devout believers beholding a divine savior.

And receiving their worshipful stares, the girl stood tall, every bit a heroine.

Meanwhile, behind her, the black-haired boy muttered under his breath: “…What a pain.”

Cestlavie let out a weary sigh, clearly unimpressed.

Author’s Note:

Originally, Cestlavie held a D-rank adventurer license, but after starting over from scratch, he only managed to climb back up to E-rank.

Jill, who was also formerly D-rank, is currently too busy with her duties as a cleric and remains at F-rank for now.

At first, I wanted to do the classic “It’s behind me, isn’t it?” with Shimlar, but writing the whole scene would’ve taken too long, so I omitted it. A shame, really.

Oh, and just to spoil it in advance—don’t worry about the hair; Jill will restore it later.

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Cestlavie felt as if a heavy weight was pressing down on his chest, suffocating him.

“Ugh…” He tried to move, but the oppressive force was so great it felt as if a giant were pinning him down, leaving him unable to move or even breathe.

—I know this feeling. I will never forget the fear and despair of that day.

Through blurred vision, Cestlavie saw a dark shadow, like despair itself made manifest, standing arrogantly against a sky dyed crimson, like spilled blood. The shadow sneered at the boy’s helplessness.

“You are powerless.”
He struggled to stand, but his body refused to obey.

“You cannot do anything.”
He tried to retort, but only a raspy wheeze escaped his throat.

“That is why you will lose what is most precious to you.”
In the shadow’s hand was a beautiful girl with long, cherry blossom-colored hair, dangling helplessly as the shadow’s grip tightened around her neck.

“Only after loss will you realize… your folly.”
The shadow’s grip tightened further. The girl twitched briefly, her eyes opening wide in agony before she went still—

“Stop it—!!”

Cestlavie woke up, shouting from his nightmare. He stared at the dingy ceiling above him and exhaled lightly. After taking a moment to regulate his breathing, he turned his gaze toward the window.

The window wasn’t adorned with expensive glass panes like those found in noble estates, churches, or the homes of wealthy merchants. Instead, it was a simple wooden shutter with diamond-shaped holes spaced evenly apart, letting in the wind. (When the weather turned cold, these holes were sealed, transforming the room into a complete pit of darkness.) Judging by the strength of the sunlight filtering through, it was late morning, though not quite midday.

Guess I’ll wash my face and head down to the dining hall for breakfast.

With that thought, he started to sit up—only to feel the same heavy pressure on his chest as in his dream. He looked down.

Somehow, a large, white cat with wings, roughly the size of a large cushion, had climbed into his bed and curled up on top of him as if it owned the place.

“…Hey.”

Cestlavie’s voice was laced with irritation, his foul mood compounded by the nightmare. The winged cat cracked one eye open, yawned lazily, and promptly went back to sleep, looking utterly content.

“…Hey, move it.”

He gave it a gentle shake. The cat stretched as if inconvenienced, sluggishly turned 180 degrees, pointed its tail at him, and curled up again.

“…Alright, I’m giving you until the count of three. If you’re not off by then, I’ll use force.” At his warning, the winged cat turned its head slightly toward him, then snorted dismissively as if mocking him.

“…the nerve. You’re asking for this..”

Cestlavie, already irritated by the cat’s original owner—a pretty boy with annoyingly perfect features and blonde hair to match—prepared for action. He slid a talisman between his index and middle fingers, assuming a throwing stance.

Incidentally, why this winged cat exists in this world remains a mystery.

Ten months ago, after being caught in that explosion, it had somehow slipped into their group without anyone noticing.

“Well, cats do have a habit of sneaking into unexpected places,” Coppelia had said with a strange sort of understanding that made no sense. Regardless, they couldn’t just abandon the cat. Furthermore, there was no way Jill could keep such an obviously monster-like creature in the church, so Cestlavie reluctantly took it in. However, they maintained a careful distance from each other—essentially a long-standing cold war.

Amid this tense atmosphere, the light fluttering of wings drew his attention as a white dove entered the room through one of the holes in the window.

The dove, behaving unnaturally, landed directly on the pillow without any hesitation, catching Cestlavie’s attention.

“—Hm? Are you the shikigami I left with Jill?”

As if responding to his words, the dove cooed once before its form shimmered like a heat haze and transformed into an origami bird.

At the mention of “Jill,” the winged cat, which had moved from Cestlavie’s chest to his pillow, extended a paw and batted at the origami as if urging him to hurry up and check it.

Sighing in exasperation, Cestlavie stowed away the talisman he had been holding. He sat up, reached for the origami, and unfolded it with practiced efficiency, returning it to a single sheet of paper.

On the paper, elegant and meticulous handwriting that he recognized immediately greeted him.

“…Prince Corrad of the Aulanthia Kingdom? What is she up to now? —Good grief. Meeting up to discuss the details, huh?”

Scratching his messy, bedhead-ridden hair, Cestlavie felt the familiar foreboding of trouble brewing. Yet, whether consciously or unconsciously, the slightest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips—it had been roughly two weeks since he last received a letter from Jill.

The winged cat, perched on the pillow, watched the boy with clear disinterest, seemingly unimpressed by the faint smile spreading across his face.

♦♢♦♢

Around the holy city of Thera Maryth lie numerous labyrinths.

The Clorinda Flame Labyrinth sprawling beneath the Sacred Mount Clorinda. The Ottavia Sky Labyrinth, nestled within the towering Ottavia Mountain Range in the west. The Unicorn Forest, home to the holy beast, the unicorn. The Sidonia Grand Labyrinth, endlessly stretching within the unfathomable Sidon Grand Canyon.

And countless smaller labyrinths and monster dens dot the landscape as well.

Faced with these labyrinths, as though placed there purely out of spite, the city attracts many who dream of striking it rich: adventurers seeking fortune and glory, as well as clergy who see these trials as sacred tests of faith and undertake them as part of their training.

Naturally, where there is human activity, there is also money to be made. Shrewd merchants, guilds of all kinds, and money-hungry members of the Church eagerly provide support, ensuring a steady influx of adventurers. As a result, Thera Maryth is home to a large community of adventurers, alongside numerous related guilds and inns lining the streets.

♦♢♦♢

The term “doggy bag” (leftover container) is a derogatory nickname for solo adventurers who hunt primarily in the mid-to-lower levels of dungeons.

These individuals are often rookies with poor skills and subpar equipment, or semi-retired adventurers limited by injuries and unable to push themselves further. They make their living by scavenging herbs that grow on the shallow levels, low-grade ores, or monsters that deeper-level adventurers kill but leave behind as unnecessary baggage. They strip these monsters of their mana stones or materials and eke out a meager existence. Such individuals are hardly worthy of the title “adventurer” and are often seen as little more than misfits.

To the general public, they are objects of disdain and ridicule. However, much like scavengers play a vital role in maintaining balance in the natural world, these “doggy bag” adventurers serve an important purpose. By cleaning up the dungeon’s lower levels, they prevent the proliferation of highly reproductive creatures like slimes, which feed on such refuse. Adventurer guilds, recognizing this through experience, often actively assign these tasks to novice adventurers.

Meanwhile, more capable adventurers view these roles as a proving ground for beginners.

Will they settle for mediocrity here, or will they use this as a stepping stone to strive for greater heights? Either way, it’s a rite of passage that they themselves once endured. So, they watch silently, out of a mix of old-fashioned concern—and perhaps a touch of schadenfreude.

♦♢♦♢

“Your total earnings for today come to 62 silver coins and 50 copper coins. After deducting a 15% tax and handling fee, would you like the payment in cash or deposited into your designated account?”

The female staff member, who had the air of a career professional, presented the detailed breakdown on a sheet of paper.

After confirming there were no issues with the document, Cestlavie slid his silver guild badge across the counter. “Deposit 50 silver coins into my account. I’ll take the rest in cash.”

He opted to keep just enough for immediate living expenses, depositing the remainder into his guild-designated account—incidentally held at Ice Bank, reputed to have its headquarters in the Superempire and usable across the continent.

After pocketing the cash into a coin pouch, Cestlavie turned to leave the guild. However, a group of burly men—presumably adventurers—blocked his way.

“Well, look who’s raking it in for an E-rank adventurer.”

The men surrounded him with grins that carried no goodwill.

In the past year, Cestlavie had grown quite a bit taller, now standing over 170 centimertes—something he quietly took pride in, as it surpassed Jill. However, the men looming over him were all at least 180 centimertes tall, their rugged physiques starkly contrasting his still-slender frame. A direct fight would almost certainly end poorly for him.

What a pain…

Cestlavie understood that, even among “doggy bags” like himself, he stood out.

Though he lacked any proper weaponry, he routinely returned from dungeons with a full haul of loot, earning rewards comparable to D-rank adventurers. Naturally, this earned him suspicion and disdain, with plenty of others finding him bothersome—or outright shady. Encounters like this were hardly rare.

Most of the time, though, the people causing trouble were low-level adventurers around E or F rank, easily brushed off. This group, however, seemed different. Judging by their equipment and demeanor, they were likely seasoned veterans.

Just as Cestlavie subtly shifted his stance to prepare to cast a spell if needed, the bearded man who appeared to be their leader, somewhere in his thirties, raised both empty hands in a gesture of non-aggression. “Whoa there, kid. Don’t get the wrong idea. We’ve just got a good deal to offer you.”

“I don’t trust so-called ‘good deals’ from strangers,” Cestlavie replied curtly.

The bearded man broke into a grin. “Fair enough. I’m Shimlar, the leader of this party. These are my teammates. Now, you’re a solo adventurer, right? Word is you can use magic. Is that true?”

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Still, most of these incidents could be avoided with a little more caution. Why, then, are the people of this town so prone to carelessness and clumsy mistakes? Could it also be an aftereffect of the war?

“—Another victim has fallen for that peerless beauty…”
“—I mean, who wouldn’t? It’s impossible not to turn your head or stare.”
“—Maybe she should wear a hood or something to hide her face…”
“—Shut up, you idiot! If it’s me, I’d gladly break a bone or two for her.”
“—Exactly. That way, you’d get the chance to have her heal you up close.”
“—Alright, she hasn’t realized it yet, so nobody tells her, got it?”
“—Of course not. We’ve already accepted the risks.”
““““““““Yeah!!”””””””

The gathered crowd nodded in agreement as though they had reached some unspoken consensus, and then naturally made the sign of the sacred symbol.

I wasn’t sure what was happening, but they were probably showing concern for the unfortunate victim. It’s heartwarming to see such piety—fitting for the sacred ground of the Church.

Surrounded by such devoted believers, I couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty. After all, I still consider myself a “pretend shrine maiden” at heart.

At the very least, I decided to play my part. Rising to my feet, I returned the gesture by making the sign of the sacred symbol to the devout people around me and offering them a grateful smile.

Immediately, their faces lit up with expressions of bliss, melting into soft, dreamy smiles.

Ah, the warmth of human connection. Such a wonderful atmosphere. This must be the blessing of simple, unpretentious faith¹ .

Feeling delighted, I offered a radiant smile and bowed deeply.

“““““Haaauuuu……”””””

Oh dear! That’s not good! Surely, it must be the summer sun taking its toll. A few men and women, young and old alike, collapsed one after another with blissful smiles, some fainting while others succumbed to nosebleeds.

I hastily stepped forward, intending to heal them, but before I could, the coordinated group in matching happi coats intervened.

“Don’t worry, it happens all the time. We’ll take care of it, Lady Clara.”

With practiced efficiency, they placed the fallen individuals onto stretchers (an innovation I introduced and successfully spread across the nation), then carried them away in a seamless, assembly-line fashion to who-knows-where.

Watching the townsfolk resume their daily lives as if nothing had happened, I felt a bit deflated. Lowering the hand I had extended, I glanced around the chaotic streets of this ancient capital, feeling oddly lost.

“This city remains as incomprehensible as ever. Is the entirety of the Theocracy like this?”

“Probably, wherever Lady Clara goes, it’ll be the same,” Coppelia replied with a knowing look.

“—? That makes it sound as if I’m some villainous instigator of chaos.”
“Perhaps not villainous, but you could probably topple a country or two. In fact, according to historical accounts, you’re set to outmaneuver the Kingdom of Cilento, Eunice Theocracy, and the Kingdom of Aulanthia.”
“Ugh, I’ll rewrite that history! Besides, the idea of me playing the role of Clara is already strange. There has to be a real Clara out there somewhere!”
“If you say so~”

Coppelia gave a noncommittal response, and with her in tow, I continued walking toward my destination.

♦♢♦♢

The St. Ravier Church serves as a key institution of the Holy City, overseeing the Third District of its three missionary regions. The district is headed by the venerable High Priestess, Lady Teressa, and its clergy is composed of approximately 70% male priests and 30% female clergy, including shrine maidens.

For reference; The First District consists entirely of male clergy. It is the largest district in terms of area and membership. The Second District is exclusively staffed by female clergy, giving it an air of elegance, but it has the fewest members and the smallest jurisdiction (Eliza belongs to this district).

The Third District, by contrast, has a jurisdiction nearly as vast as the First District. However, its main focus lies on the outskirts, including the slums and impoverished areas, where generous donations from benefactors are scarce. As a result, the church’s operations are perpetually hand-to-mouth. Additionally, the clergy here is a patchwork of non-mainstream members, often those left out of the First or Second Districts.

Lady Teressa, the High Priestess of this district, appears to be a gentlewoman in her fifties. However, she is a formidable figure who has held her own for decades in this cutthroat Holy City, skillfully maneuvering against seasoned and cunning clergies. Her background as the wife of a baron in the Theocracy’s military has left her with considerable influence in both courtly society and military circles. Even within the church, she wields significant clout, earning the affectionate moniker of “The Baroness” from those close to her.

Incidentally, she also happens to be my current guardian.

“It seems you had quite the ordeal earlier, Clara Adelheid,” said Lady Teressa as she offered me a seat on the sofa in her office. I had come to report on the day’s volunteer work. She handed me a cup of fragrant tea she had personally brewed and began the conversation with this remark.

“…Uh, pardon?”
Which ordeal could she be referring to?

Was it about the day’s volunteer activities? The overturned cart incident? The subsequent mass heatstroke event? Or perhaps the peculiar individual I encountered on the way back? Could it even be about the group of shrine-maiden-wannabes who surrounded me at the church entrance and yanked out some strands of my hair? Or maybe…

Before I could puzzle it out further, Lady Teressa spoke again, as if sensing my confusion.

“It’s about Barbara Eliza.”
“Oh, that,” I replied.

Now I understand. But honestly, in the whirlwind that is daily life in this Holy City, such incidents feel almost routine, so much so that I hadn’t even remembered it until she mentioned it.

…

Now that I think about it, what does a peaceful day even look like?

Lost in thought, I barely noticed Lady Teressa letting out a small sigh as she knitted her brows slightly.

“It seems she accused you of something completely unfounded, only to be thoroughly out-debated.”
“…Out-debated? By me?”
“Absolutely,” she said with certainty.

I turned to Coppelia, who stood quietly behind me, for confirmation. Her immediate nod left no room for doubt.

On the other hand, Lady Teresa picked up her teacup and took a sip of the fragrant tea, moistening her throat. Her gaze drifted aside, her expression tinged with a hint of melancholy.

“Shrine Maiden Barbara, isn’t inherently a bad person. At her age, she already has the talent to use multiple forms of magic in addition to healing arts, and she’s worked hard to match her abilities. However… She’s a bit selfish, somewhat vain, a little too fond of extravagance, rather self-centered, a bit controlling, somewhat conceited, and, to top it off, she’s merciless to others while being overly indulgent and narcissistic about herself.”
“…Would you call that a bit?”

“It seems that when small flaws pile up, you end up with someone like her,” Coppelia added nonchalantly.

Hearing our candid remarks, Lady Teressa seemed to realize she had gone a bit too far. Reflecting on her words, she quickly shifted the topic.

“Well, that aside. Clara, I apologize for the suddenness of this, but are you aware that in two weeks, on Dream Eater Day² , state dignitaries from several neighboring countries will gather at the Grand Cathedral for a conference?”
“Oh, is that so? My apologies, I wasn’t aware.”
“Well, officially, the premise is that each nation will visit individually to pray for the peace and stability of the Northern Unified State, and they just happen to have overlapping schedules, thus leading to a conference. So, it’s not exactly widely publicized.”

Nobles and politicians of any era always seem to require such tedious formalities, don’t they? While musing on this thought, I mentally compared the scheduled events with the historical records I’ve read. Could this be a precursor to the founding of the Livitium Imperial Kingdom? However, as far as I recall, there are no official records of any noteworthy incidents occurring in this time and place.

If that’s the case, perhaps this isn’t something to be overly concerned about, I thought, feeling a bit more at ease. With a casual “Hmm, hmm,” I nodded along and sipped the fragrant tea Lady Teressa had brewed for me.

“That’s why, Clara, I’d like you to act as the guide for Prince Corrad of the Aulanthia Kingdom.”

“Pffft—!!”

I nearly sprayed the tea I was drinking right into Lady Teressa’s face.

“Aulanthia?! Prince… Corrad?!”

Coughing lightly and wide-eyed with shock, I looked at her. Lady Teressa ignored my blatant distress and calmly nodded.

“Yes, the Crown Prince of one of the most powerful northern nations. Sending someone unqualified might lead to embarrassment or worse, offense, but with you, I have no such concerns.”
“W-well, I mean… I’m just an insignificant nobody with no pedigree to speak of, so it feels far too presumptuous to—”

I tried to stammer out an excuse to decline, but Lady Teressa dismissed it with a graceful laugh.

“Your demeanor, manners, and education surpass those of most nobles, and even royalty. More importantly, you are a shrine maiden, transcending worldly status. As a practitioner of purification arts, you ought to be referred to as an Ascendant. You should carry yourself with pride! Honestly, the elders at the Grand Cathedral, who refuse to recognize your abilities as anything but ‘different from our purification techniques,’ are utterly incorrigible.”

Her tone turned into a gripe about the stubborn elders at the Grand Cathedral. For reference, it would take another two years from this point before they finally acknowledged my purification techniques.

“That’s why I believe we should seize opportunities like this to showcase your brilliance to the upper echelons.”
“Well, um… personally, I’d prefer to live quietly, like a humble weed…”
“Oh, and by the way, Barbara from the Second District, whom we just discussed, has been assigned as a host as well. So, wouldn’t it be fitting to deploy our secret weapon with full confidence?”

Lady Teresa, unusually enthusiastic, clenched her fists with determination.

“Let’s show those antiquated fools something remarkable! Clara Adelheid, I’m counting on you!”

…This didn’t seem like a situation I could decline.

“Lady Clara, maybe rewriting history isn’t going to work after all.”

It was Coppelia who muttered those words as I wrestled with my dilemma.

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Here in Thera Maryth, the capital of the Eunice Theocracy, the population is just over 250,000. This is a rough figure obtained by adding the number of members of each guild and the number of taxpayers as known by the government, in addition to the number of believers registered with the Church.

In addition, as the home of the Saintess’ Church and an ancient city with a history and tradition of over 600 years, pilgrims, theologians, tourists, lowly laborers, illegal residents, peddlers, and adventurers who take advantage of this situation come and go in turn, not only from within but also from neighboring countries, The actual population is said to be about 1.5 times as large. In any case, it is undoubtedly one of the largest cities in the northern part of the continent in this era.

However, as the country itself is located inland with limited open plains, the townscape is quite messy. Old two-story houses stand shoulder to shoulder on narrow plots of land, and the streets are not paved stone but bare earth… It is a bit unglamorous for the home of the Saintess Church, but it does have its charm once you learn how to love it.

That said, living here comes with considerable inconveniences.

For instance, there’s no clear distinction between sidewalks and roads. Instead, people have loosely sorted themselves out. The edges of the path, compacted by foot traffic, function as sidewalks, while the wheel ruts left by carts and wagons mark the roads. Even though the main streets in town are somewhat leveled, when it rains, they quickly turn into a sea of mud—an absolute disaster.

The city’s fragile infrastructure can be attributed to poor soil drainage, compounded by a lack of proper water and sewage systems—a critical flaw. In short, it’s a relic of an older era, a historic city preserved in name but, in reality, a remnant abandoned by time. That, in essence, is the true face of this town, Thera Maryth.

“…It’s been sunny lately, so I suppose it’s not too bad.”

As I navigated around piles of animal dung and discarded heaps of garbage littering the streets, I couldn’t help but mutter complaints under my breath.

Thinking back, the capital of the Graviol Empire, Conwallis, was situated along a great river. Its water and sewage systems were well-maintained, with even ordinary households having access to plumbing and flushing toilets.

The Livitium Imperial Kingdom’s—or rather, Cilento Central Kingdom’s capital, Cilento—where I spent most of my time at the academy and Letindüte III, handled water purification and waste through magical tools. From what I heard, regular households collected waste in portable tanks that were periodically emptied, so unpleasant odors weren’t particularly noticeable when walking through the streets.

However, as mentioned earlier, this town is surrounded by fiery sacred volcanic peaks, perpetually snow-capped mountain ranges, deep gorges that seem bottomless, and the impassable Unicorn Forest. Its geographical isolation, combined with the abundance of historic buildings that restrict urban development, means its urban functionality remains underdeveloped. To put it bluntly… the place is filthy and reeks.

Oh, and this might be irrelevant, but I was once sent to the Unicorn Forest for something called the Maiden’s Trial. The experience left me with quite a trauma. A massive herd of, well, let’s call them nags—no, unicorns—gathered and, all at once in their spirit-tongue, began bombarding me with crude comments like:

“Kyah! A super cute girl is here!”
“Lickety-lick… No doubt about it, she’s a virgin!”
“Kyah! Hug me!”
“Kiss me!”
“Step on me! Kick me!”
“Ah, ah, young lady, what color are your panties?”
“H-how about one night with me? Among unicorns, I’m quite the skilled lover.”
“No way! I’m the most virile of them all!”
“Nay, ’tis I!”
“Verily, I am!”
“I am!”
“Me, myself!”
“Truly, it is I!”

The lot of them sounded like celibate perverts spewing harassment. Needless to say, I unleashed an offensive spell on the entire group and vowed never to return. If you ask me, those nags could go extinct, and we’d be better off developing the forest for something useful.

“Really, the behind-the-scenes of fantasy settings are surprisingly devoid of dreams and hope.”

Unicorns are lolicons. The ancient city is caked in filth. Behind every facade lies the unvarnished truth.

Though, well… No matter if it’s humans or animals, living beings must eat from above and expel from below—it’s the law of nature. That much is unavoidable. Still, I wish the authorities would pay a bit more attention to hygiene.

I’ve even filed complaints through the church’s regional administrator and, as part of my service activities, participate in biweekly street cleaning. Of course, people like Eliza look down on me for this, saying things like, “A shrine maiden dealing with filth? How unbecoming!”

Lately, though, I’ve gained more support from local communities. When we do soup kitchens for orphanages and slums, I also emphasize the importance of handwashing, gargling, and keeping the surroundings clean to prevent contagious diseases. However, I don’t know how effective these efforts are since we don’t have the statistics to measure the results.

The bigger problem is that many seem to think, “If we get sick or injured, Lady Clara will just heal us.” It feels like trying to scratch an itch through a shoe. I really wish people would show a bit more initiative…

As I walked along, shopkeepers from nearby stores and stalls, the landlady of an inn-slash-tavern, pilgrims to the holy land, and patrolling soldiers all greeted me warmly with smiles.

“Oh, it’s Lady Clara!”
“You look beautiful as always…”
“Stunning… truly a feast for the eyes.”
“Kyaaah, so charming!”
“Lady Clara, please marry me—ugh!”
“Alright, punishment time! The nerve to pull a stunt like that in front of us, Lady Clara’s personal guard. Take him away!”
“““““OOOORAAAH!!”””””

“So that’s the famous Lady Clara… Such grace, such beauty. Truly the Queen of Orchids, Cattleya!”
“She’s so gorgeous… I bet she doesn’t even go to the bathroom.”
“Of course not. Lady Clara would never do something as mundane as going to the bathroom!”
“Exactly! That’s right!”

………

The weight of public perception is starting to feel a bit suffocating, but for now, I return their enthusiasm with a smile.

Truthfully, the presence of a young shrine maiden like me serves as a symbol—or rather, an idol—of the Saintess’ Church. There’s even a directive to maintain a cheerful demeanor toward the common folk whenever possible. Not that I need to be told; returning a smile with a smile is second nature. Still, I can’t help but think this might be the seed of excessive commercialization down the line.

Even now, I’ve heard rumors that my portraits and handshake tickets—no, I mean invitations to Church-hosted parties—are being sold at exorbitant prices. Not that I see a single coin of it, so I don’t know the exact details, but still…

And then—

“Waaaahhh!!”

A sudden scream and the loud sound of a crash made me whip around in alarm. I saw a cart, drawn by an emu, had veered off course and slammed head-on into a street tree.

“Are you alright?!”

Dodging the scattered corn spilling from the cart’s bed—by the way, most vegetables here haven’t undergone much selective breeding, so this was likely animal feed-grade dent corn with almost no flavor. I tried cultivating some with fertilizer last year as an experiment, but it didn’t improve the taste at all—I hurried over to assist the driver, who had been thrown onto the street. Kneeling beside him, I conducted a quick examination.

Thankfully, he hadn’t suffered any serious injuries, just some bruises and scrapes, which I promptly healed on the spot.

“Ohhh… thank you so much, Lady Clara!”

The middle-aged man, who seemed to be a farmer from the nearby countryside, clasped my hands in an exaggerated show of gratitude.

“Yes, yes, but handshakes are limited to fifteen seconds per person.”

Coppelia stepped in and pried the man’s hands off mine. Although he cast a resentful glance her way, she deflected it with her characteristically unyielding expression, which was as steely as ever.

“Per the Church’s regulations, handshakes with Lady Clara must not exceed fifteen seconds. Any longer, and it will be considered harassment, subject to disciplinary action. Though it’s likely you’d face vigilante justice before that happens.”

Following her meaningful gaze, I turned to see what she was hinting at. Before I knew it, a group of fully armed adventurers, along with an enigmatic crowd sporting matching bandanas, festival coats, and megaphones³ slung over their shoulders, had surrounded the man. They held weapons at the ready, their predatory smiles like those of carnivorous beasts eyeing their prey.

“OH… I’m so sorry, I mean, really sorry about everything…”

For some reason, the man—who should have been the victim of the accident—was obsequiously kneeling at me, his head touching the ground.

Meanwhile, the townsfolk, moving with practiced efficiency, went about righting the overturned cart, calming the agitated emu, and collecting the scattered corn.

Normally, you’d expect a bit more of a commotion—onlookers gathering around, gawkers crowding the scene, and maybe even someone trying to make off with the spilled goods. But here, there wasn’t a trace of that. It was as if a backstage crew was expertly dismantling the props and set pieces of a stage production.

Then again… it’s not surprising. From what I’ve seen, incidents like this happen almost daily on this street. Collisions between carts, accidents caused by drivers mishandling reins, and self-inflicted mishaps are practically routine.

On top of that, there’s no shortage of bizarre occurrences. A chimney sweep suddenly losing their footing and plummeting from a roof, the blacksmith out front of his shop absentmindedly smashing his own foot with a hammer, or a young barber slipping and leaving someone with a reverse mohawk. In the worst cases, an entire crowd of pedestrians has toppled over like dominoes, turning the street into a scene of chaotic wailing.

With events like these happening so frequently, it’s no wonder the townspeople are so accustomed to handling them.

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“Don’t get cocky just because you’ve got a pretty face and figure, you shameless wench!”

“Hmph! What’s with you, why do you keep calling Lady Clara charlatan this, overachiever that?!” Coppelia, my companion for the day and unofficial ‘porter’ in a mini skirt maid outfit snapped back, clearly offended on my behalf.

“Hah. What’s wrong with calling an overachiever charlatan just that?”
“Still going on about it, huh? Lady Clara being a showboat is completely off base! Do you even know what it means?”
“As far as I know, it usually refers to someone who achieves success over and above the standard. So, maybe it’s a backhanded compliment?”

I interjected gently, hoping to lighten the tense atmosphere with a bit of trivia.

“As if! How much self-flattery can you manage? Let me put it plainly: I’m saying you’re in over your head as an official shrine maiden, so quit!”

Eliza banged her hands against the window frame, her face contorted in frustration. Despite her scowl, her beauty was undeniable, enough to earn the admiration of at least eight or nine people out of ten. She’s also one of the most talented young shrine maidens around, and she’s well aware of it—usually carrying herself with poise and grace. Right now, though, that image was all but shattered.

“—Oh, really? But in that case, ‘overachiever’ is a misuse. ‘Underachiever’ would be a more fitting word. And while we’re on the subject, ‘charlatan’ originates from ‘to babble,’ implying someone falsely claiming to be capable of certain things. Using both underachiever and charlatan together, while they both mean different things, implies the same thing of a person being unable to meet expectations, whether they were set by others or through boasting. Points deducted.”

As a priestess, my role is to gently instruct, so I kindly explain this to Miss Eliza, hoping she won’t misuse the phrase again. I add a bright, encouraging smile for everyone in the carriage, which causes all the shrine maiden candidates—except Eliza herself—to awkwardly avert their eyes. How curious.

“Is nitpicking like that supposed to make you feel clever? You really are insufferable, aren’t you? From what I’ve heard, you’ve been spreading tales about your purification skills and even single-handedly defeating a dragon. But how much of that is true? Most likely, you just warded off a ghost with a bit of healing magic or took on some overgrown lizard. Listen well: they might call us rivals within the Church, but I absolutely refuse to acknowledge it!”

Eliza grinds her teeth in frustration, practically seething. But—

“Rival? That’s news to me.”

Hearing such unbelievable words, I couldn’t help but widen my eyes. Eliza, momentarily speechless, looked down at me with a steely gaze and said, “…So, I’m nothing to you, am I? Fine. Just you watch—I’ll have you eating those prim and proper words of yours!”

She pointed her perfectly polished fingertip at me, declaring her challenge. I tilted my head slightly.

“…Eating words?”

“How far can your foolishness go, you insufferable woman!?” She was absolutely furious. “Mark my words!!”

Watching Eliza’s carriage depart, Coppelia and I exchanged a look.

“…So, what was she trying to say?” I tilted my head in confusion, while Coppelia puffed herself up in an oddly self-important manner.

“It’s the howling of a sore loser, nothing more. Lady Clara, she isn’t even worth your attention.”

That doesn’t really answer the question. Why is it that no one around me seems capable of having a straightforward conversation?

“Well, at the very least, it’s clear I’m not very welcome in the Holy Land,” I murmured, feeling somewhat disheartened.

To my words, Coppelia shook her head emphatically, as if it were utterly unthinkable.

“It’s merely envy. Really, it’s laughable—a total mana capacity of 7,180 and an A-rank charm? And to think she’s currently the top young shrine maiden candidate! She’s only a third of what you possess, Lady Clara.”

“I don’t believe that a person’s worth is determined by the amount of mana or beauty they possess. Besides, even with one person’s extraordinary abilities, there’s a limit to what they can achieve.” At best, perhaps defeating a common dragon that attacks a village. “Honestly, nothing ever seems to go as one wishes, does it?”

As I began walking again, I sighed, watching the streets and the people moving back and forth.

The whole town seemed slightly restless, and here and there I saw armed adventurers and people who looked suspiciously like… well, thieves.

Although this area was still relatively calm, it was true that each day brought more refugees displaced by skirmishes between neighboring countries, as well as out-of-work mercenaries, filtering into the slums on the outskirts.

A sign of the times, perhaps. Without needing anyone to tell them, people sensed that they were living in a powder keg, just moments away from igniting, and so they carried an air of tension and unease.

After all, I knew what was coming.

From the end of this year through the next, these northern lands would be thrown into upheaval, ultimately giving rise to the Livitium Imperial Kingdom

“Of all things… I had to slip back over thirty years in time…”

Even now, all I can do is sigh at the strange twists of fate that have pulled me along. Behind me, I heard Coppelia’s curious voice.

“Is something troubling you, Lady Clara?”

Lady Clara… right.

“It’s nothing, really… but I’m just not used to being called ‘Clara,’ or even the name ‘Adelheid’ that the head of the church bestowed upon me.”

“???”

Ignoring Coppelia, who tilted her head in confusion, I continued walking, hoping to distract myself from my hunger.

I may never get used to it, but if even someone like me could become a beacon of hope for people in this chaotic era, then perhaps it was time to accept this name with humility.

But still…

“I miss it…”

I whispered softly, gazing in the direction of Tenebrae Nemus in the continent’s central region—the place I could call home in my heart.

Reference:

Adelheid {Clara} (Jill). By the way, “Adelheid” means “noble appearance.”

Height: 165 centimerte, Weight: 49 kilogura (holding onto the 40s through sheer willpower).
HP: 2,210
MP: 21,480
Charm: SS Rank
Feminine Appeal: 95 (with a limit of 100)
Capture Difficulty: Final Boss Level

Eliza Farias {Barbara}

Height: 159 centimerte
Weight: 46 kilogura
HP: 1,150
MP: 7,180
Charm: A Rank
Feminine Appeal: 53 (with a limit of 100)
Capture Difficulty: High-ish

Incidentally, in this world, the average for humans (adult males) is as follows:

HP: 700
MP: 100

Nobles, due to their bloodlines, generally have about twice these stats. Even commoners can increase their stats through training. Defeating monsters does not increase levels here; however, level increases from training or magical tools can ultimately enable one to defeat monsters. In certain cases, one can also ascend to a higher rank (humans may evolve into True Humans, for instance).

Translator’s note:

Sometimes I wonder why you need a translator when you have AI tools… and then the author went and used a proverb that is completely untranslatable. Yes, that part is localized.

Here’s how it actually unfolds:

Barbara calls Clara (Jill) 役不足 (Yaku Busoku) and 馬の骨 (Uma no Hone), while Jill corrects it with 力不足 (Chikara Busoku).

役不足 means “someone with a skill above the given work” but it also means “someone who is out of depth.” It’s colloquial; or a word with opposing meanings. On the other hand, 力不足 means “powerless, inept, inadequate.”

馬の骨 means “somebody with an unclear origin” but it also refers to a nobody (derogatory). Like “You’re a nobody!”

So what actually happens:

Barbara: “What’s wrong with calling a “Yaku Busoku” “Uma no Hone” just that?”
Coppelia: “Still going on about it, huh? Lady Clara being a “Yaku Busoku” is completely off base! Do you even know what it means?”
Jill: “As far as I know, “Yaku Busoku” usually refers to someone who has a skill above their position. So, maybe it’s a backhanded compliment?”
Barbara: “As if! How much self-flattery can you manage? Let me put it plainly: I’m saying you’re in over your head as an official miko, so quit!”
Jill: “—Oh, really? But in that case, ‘Yaku Busoku’ is a misusage. You should technically say ‘Chikara Busoku’ instead. And while we’re on the subject, ‘Uma no Hone’ actually originates from the saying ‘first chicken bones, second horse bones,’ meaning chicken bones are too small to be useful in cooking, while horse bones are too large and hard to dispose of. It’s supposed to refer to someone who’s entirely useless, so I think the terms overlap if you use both of them at once. Points deducted.”

Now try to translate that while also maintaining the nuance and flow of the conversation.

It’s easy to just translate it as such

Barbara: “What’s wrong with calling a useless nobody just that”

But, what do you do for Jill’s comebacks? “Useless” is not colloquial. If Jill says: “As far as I know, Useless means someone useful. So, maybe it’s a backhanded compliment?” Jill would be the dumb dumb here.

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After going to the city and providing treatment at the clinic run by the church, I also participated in a soup kitchen organized by a church near the lower town as part of my volunteer work. There, I distributed bread, soup, and a small treat I recently started making as a personal touch (this time, it was madeleines) to slum children, war orphans, and wounded soldiers. By the time I finished, more than half of the day had passed.

“Lady Clara, thank you so much!”
“Lady Clara, can I really take some of these sweets for my little brothers, too?!”
“Thank you so much! Thanks to your advice, my beriberi is cured.”
“Thank you for purifying the graveyard on the outskirts of town. All of us residents are deeply grateful.”
“Thank you so much, Lady Clara. Because of you, my fingers can move again, and I can go back to work.”
“Thanks to your encouragement, my husband finally started working again.”
“Thanks to you petting my head, my stupidity is finally healed!”
“Thanks to seeing you, I finally started loving girls older than thirteen!”
“Lady Clara! Lady Clara!”

Waving back to everyone who sent me off with smiles, I put away my remaining supplies in my Close spell, holding onto only my staff, which was nearly as tall as I was. Slowly, I set off back to the church I belonged to, taking in the sights of Thera Maryth, the capital of the Eunice Theocracy.

In the northern region of the continent, security is poor, making it dangerous for a woman to walk alone even within city limits (though, of course, I have someone accompanying me). However, here, a city often referred to as the “Holy Capital” or the “Religious City,” a high percentage of residents are followers of the Saintess’ Church, so the security is relatively good. As I walked through the city, many strangers respectfully made the sign of the cross upon seeing my white, shrine maiden attire and greeted me.

“Thank you for your hard work, Lady Clara.”
“Thank you. May you be well.”

Having spent more than ten months here, I’ve grown accustomed to returning these greetings naturally with a smile.

Even so, there’s a slight sense of discomfort, as if being constantly watched by the residents in an uncomfortable way.

On the way back, I passed a kebab stand with a tempting aroma of spices, holding my stomach as it grumbled softly. Swallowing reflexively, I murmured to myself.

“Sigh… I suppose it wouldn’t do to eat street food dressed like this.”

I spent the entire day running around without a proper meal, only tasting bits from the soup kitchen. Naturally, I’m feeling both tired and hungry. However, as a clergy—especially a shrine maiden who values purity and modesty—it wouldn’t be fitting for me to buy food from a roadside stall. Even if my stomach approved, society would certainly disapprove.

It’s inconvenient at times like these… I thought, feeling a pang of regret as I walked past a tempting food cart. Just then, I happened to cross paths with a girl wearing the same white shrine maiden attire as mine.

While I was on foot, she was in a white-painted carriage, and by coincidence, we made eye contact as her carriage stopped at an intersection.

“Oh, Adelheid. On your way home? You must be exhausted, playing the waitress every time you venture down to the lower town. Trying to win their hearts is all well and good, but I certainly couldn’t stoop that low. —Though, I hear you’ve become quite skilled at it, so perhaps you’re merely returning to your roots? As a proper shrine maiden of the Saintess’ Church, one must carry themselves with elegance, even more so than nobility. Do you really think you’re up to the task? Do you really think you’re capable of that? Well, you seem to be getting by with a bit of showmanship for now, but it would be best if you didn’t push yourself too hard. If you feel too much of an overachiever, perhaps it’s best to step down before you embarrass yourself? Oh-hohohoho! Try not to reveal your true colors, will you, Miss Charlatan?”

The mockery in her words was clear, and the younger shrine maiden apprentices with her, all around early teens, snickered and watched for my reaction with smug looks.

—Good lord… such a blatant attempt at provocation.

Rather than feeling anger at their condescension, I found myself marveling, Wow, people who actually cover their mouths and laugh with an ‘Oh-hohoho’ exist! as though I’d encountered a rare creature. I couldn’t help but stare at her refined face.

Her name, by the way, is Eliza Farias, age fifteen—a year older than me. Her baptismal name is “Barbara.” She’s also a shrine maiden, but unlike me, she’s a true blue-blood, with both parents coming from a line of high-ranking clergymen in the order.

Given her personality, it’s only natural that Eliza would find me—a regular person suddenly recruited by the Order six months ago and fast-tracked to the rank of official miko, skipping about eight steps—both suspicious and irritating. Anyone would feel the same. I feel the same.

Granted, most people would have the sense not to show it so blatantly. In that regard, her open displays of hostility are almost endearing in their naiveté.

After all, I am indeed a nobody here, and I don’t particularly care about the role of “official shrine maiden.” I’d be happy to step down anytime. I’m only wearing these robes as a favor to the head of the Church in Clarus, who saved me from the brink of death ten months ago; it’s not as if this is what I wanted in the first place.

Just as I was thinking this, Eliza’s patience seemed to wear thin. She had ordered the coachman to stop despite the road being clear, her brow twitching in irritation.

“Say something, won’t you, Adelheid?”
“…”
“Do you even hear me, Adelheid?!”

After she’d repeated it several times, I finally realized she was talking to me.

“Oh, right. I go by ‘Adelheid’ now, don’t I? I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t recognize the name and just tuned it out.”

With my completely genuine explanation, Eliza’s temper flared past its breaking point.