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Continue reading The Underground of the Holy City and the Crucible of Chaos (Part 1)

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Cestlavie was flailing in panic like a boy who just got caught hiding a naughty magazine, desperately trying to cover it up—but really, there was no need to get so defensive. Thanks to memories from my past life, I’m quite an understanding woman when it comes to such matters.

“Ufufufufufu.”
“Quit it with that smug little knowing giggle!”
“Mmm! Lady Clara is so tolerant! So, you’re saying that even if your boyfriend regularly snuck off to places like this at night, you’d accept it as just part of being a man?”

“Oh dear, Coppelia, you do say the funniest things. Of course not. Ufufufufu.” I couldn’t help but chuckle at Coppelia’s usual teasing tone. “I wouldn’t date such an unfaithful man to begin with, and if he ever cheated, I’d twist it right off.”

See? I smiled sweetly at them, and in response, Coppelia, Cestlavie, and even Sechs turned pale and nodded over and over in terrified agreement.

“S-Scary! You’re smiling, but that’s seriously terrifying. Wait—what exactly is getting twisted off?!”
“Shh! Don’t provoke her, you fool! Lady Clara smiles when she’s truly furious!!”
“Nyaooo…”

After that, for some reason, we all fell silent, walking quietly and steadily. Before long, we arrived at the designated establishment—a decently tidy building with the name Opera House: Luminous Butterfly written on the front. The moment we saw it, everyone except me let out a deep sigh of relief.

♢♦♢♦♢

“Here you go~ Lady Shrine Maiden… and everyone accompanying her. Have some western black tea~”

With a light knock, a young woman around twenty entered the guest room we’d been shown to, carrying teacups and a pot.

She introduced herself as Martha, a self-proclaimed “popular dancer” at this establishment. Since it was still early in the day, she had no makeup on, and her outfit was plain—just a cotton shirt and suede-style pants, nothing flashy.

By the moral standards of this world, wearing pants that outline your backside without a skirt over them is utterly scandalous—frankly, only working girls dress like that—but her frank and open personality somehow made it suit her perfectly.

“Thank you.”
“Oh no, thank *you*! I’m sorry to keep Lady Shrine Maiden waiting. If that idiot Dan shows his face, I’ll give him a good smack for you.”

She poured the tea with practiced hands, clearly annoyed. From her tone, it was easy to tell she was quite close to this Dan fellow.

“Forgive me, but… are you and Mr. Dan…?”

Curiosity got the better of me, and I found myself asking. Martha scratched her cheek with a sheepish smile.

“Oh ho~ So even Lady Shrine Maiden is at that age where these things spark your interest, huh?”
“I—I apologize! That was terribly rude of me—”

Maybe it was Coppelia’s teasing earlier, but I couldn’t stop my mind from wandering to such indecent territory.

“Oh, no, no, I’m not mad or anything. Actually, I’m kind of relieved. I mean, with the nature of my job, I get a lot of attention, and I’ve got plenty of fans, so I was reasonably confident in myself. But still, everyone—*everyone*—keeps going on about how ‘Lady Clara is in a league of her own,’ ‘you can’t possibly compare to her,’ ‘like mud and a gemstone,’ and honestly, I was secretly thinking, *‘That damn saint…’*”

“Mm. A fair assessment,” Coppelia nodded smugly before I could scold her.

But Martha herself just chuckled and nodded in agreement.

“Yeah, it’s true. Now that I’ve met you in person, I really get it. You’re so beautiful it’s unreal, like you don’t even belong in this world. So I figured, someone that high up must think totally differently from folks like me. But then, hearing you tease me earlier like that… it was actually kinda comforting. Shows you’re more down-to-earth than I expected.”

It was hard to tell if she was complimenting me or not, and I couldn’t help but glance away awkwardly.

“As for me and Dan… well, how should I put this… He was the first person I ever danced for, six years ago.”
“Oh my, is that so?”

So he was the first customer she ever showed her dance to, and they became regulars afterward—that kind of story?

“…She doesn’t get it, does she.”
“…That’s the Lady Clara quality, so don’t you dare explain it to her.”

Cestlavie and Coppelia were whispering again. I’ve started to suspect lately that these two might actually get along surprisingly well.

“Back then, I was just thirteen, and I was dancing so hard I completely lost myself in it. Even after I finished, my back was just killing me.”
“You must have performed quite the intense dance, then~”

*Was it breakdancing? Or maybe the limbo?*

Right beside me, both Coppelia and Cestlavie started coughing repeatedly. Oh no, perhaps the house dust irritated their throats.

“—Yeah, *yeah*, well, anyway. After that, Dan’s always been looking out for me—bringing me little gifts, stopping by to check in, stuff like that.”

I was about to offer healing magic, but for some reason, Martha quickly brought the topic to a close, and the two of them seemed to recover instantly, as if on cue.

“Well, about five years ago, he lost his wife—though technically, she was a slave he bought, so they weren’t married in the legal sense. Ever since then, he’s gotten more withdrawn, but he’s not a bad guy, Lady Shrine Maiden. He’s been raising his daughter Angie all by himself, doing his best as a single dad… Ah, I’ve said too much. Please keep all this between us, okay?”

Martha covered her mouth and gave a guilty bow. I nodded firmly and reassured her, “Of course. I won’t tell anyone.” I made sure Cestlavie and the others understood too.

“I get it.”
“Of course! I’m a highly reputable automaton when it comes to keeping secrets! My teeth are as hard as diamonds—they could bite through dragon bone!”

I trust Cestlavie well enough… but watching Coppelia thump her chest with pride fills me with more than a little anxiety.

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There are, fundamentally, no red-light districts in the Holy City of Thera Maryth.

Of course, no profession is inherently noble or base, and according to what I’ve vaguely heard (or wait, could this be a memory from a past life?), prostitution is said to be the oldest occupation in human history. That being said, it’s also true that religion and prostitution are fundamentally incompatible—not just for the Saintess’ Church, but across the board.

It’s like durian and alcohol (potentially deadly), Mentos and cola (explosive in your stomach), or ramen and white rice (a caloric death trap that makes you absurdly fat): mortal enemies that should never mix.

Naturally, since the Holy City of Thera Maryth is the heartland of the Church, any establishment directly appealing to the Big Three Male Desires—that is, the trifecta of drink, gamble, and sex—are officially banned from putting up signs. That means taverns (especially those dealing in drugs and similar substances), gambling halls (casinos), and brothels are all prohibited from openly operating.

…Still, it’s hard to accept this policy wholeheartedly when human trafficking seems to go on unimpeded, but that’s a moral boundary I intend to push back against in time. For now, at least on the surface, such establishments officially do not exist.

That said, there’s always a loophole to everything.

When it comes to alcohol, just drop by a regular restaurant or an inn that doubles as an eatery, and you’ll see things like “barley-based juice” or “distilled aqua vitae from grains”—transparent euphemisms if ever there were any (not unlike Hannya-tō in Buddhism¹). These codes are openly used and universally understood.

Likewise, merchant guilds host emu races and roulette tournaments, where participants wager merchant guild points instead of money. Of course, these points can be exchanged for cash at the guild counters, rendering the ban essentially meaningless.

As for brothels—well, considering the current pope has been known to grope the (interim) Shrine Maiden Princess’ rear and chest under the guise of “playful affection,” it’s no surprise there are obvious workarounds. On the backstreets (not the main roads, of course), shops bearing telltale signs under the pretense of “theatrical troupes” or “dancer houses” line the alleys with shameless normalcy.

However, as the name suggests, these establishments primarily focus on singing, dancing, and engaging in pleasant conversation. Viewing them through the lens of prostitution is a mistake. The “selling of affection” is more of an added bonus—so it’s probably more accurate to compare them to hostesses or idols.

These so-called theater troupes are concentrated mostly in the southern part of the Holy City. Geographically, that places them fairly close to the Third District’s Saint Ravier Church, to which I currently belong. (That’s the case for now, but once a proper “Shrine Maiden Princess” is officially chosen, I will naturally be transferred to the headquarters, Sant’Angelo Sanctuarium—or so says the High Priestess, Lady Teressa.) It’s not even an hour’s walk over the Holy City’s famously lumpy, hard-packed roads to get there.

So, following the message left behind by Dan—the bodyguard of the slave merchant group Cervantes Trading Company—we rode a carriage back to the church, regrouped with Cestlavie, who had returned, and then made our way toward the location.

And now, here we are: Cestlavie is leading the group, I’m following behind him with my face hidden under a hooded robe (I honestly think I’d be fine with my face uncovered, but Cestlavie was extremely opposed, so I complied), Sechs is at my feet, and at the rear, as always, is Coppelia in her usual miniskirt maid outfit.

Since it’s the middle of the day, there aren’t any street walkers brazenly loitering on corners or calling out for customers. Still—

“Hey there. Damn, sis, that outfit’s somethin’ else. Which house you wo—GWHUH!!”

Rowdy types still wander about, and just now, a drunken passerby tried to get fresh with Coppelia—only to be promptly silenced by a rocket punch before he could finish his sentence.

As the drunk collapsed, a group of street urchins immediately darted out from the alleyways and began stripping him clean of anything valuable—money, clothes, you name it.

If we leave him like this, there’s a real chance his life could be in danger. But according to Cestlavie, going that far would trigger an official investigation by the authorities and cause all sorts of trouble. So the usual practice is to at least wrap them up in some straw mat or tarp and leave them on the main road—some semblance of discretion, at least.

Upon hearing that, Coppelia shook her head with an exasperated sigh.

“What a dangerous place this is.”
““Totally.””
“To think someone would summon Lady Clara, our Shrine Maiden Princess, to a place like this—seriously, what kind of lunatic does that? That damn nincompoop.”

Her indignant complaints trailed behind us, but I didn’t respond.

As Coppelia raised her shoulders and glared around threateningly, the pedestrians and locals who had been discreetly eyeing us immediately averted their gazes and disappeared from the street.

Cestlavie walked confidently down the now-deserted back alley, clearly familiar with the area, and the rest of us followed behind.

“Still, you only heard the name of the place, and yet you’re strutting along like a local, pleb. I figured you were a virgin, but are you actually a regular here or something? Gross! Dirty boy! Lady Clara, you better not touch him—he might get you pregnant just from skin contact!”
“That’s not even physically possible, you idiot! I know this area because of my work as an adventurer. Things like night patrols or guiding rich clients through places like this—it’s part of the job. So don’t get the wrong idea!”

Cestlavie snapped, turning around with a fed-up look. He looked straight at me and, for some reason, felt the need to emphasize that last point.

“It’s fine. I understand, really. You’re a boy, after all. It’s only natural.”

I mean, fourteen is the age when a boy’s hormones are at their absolute peak. It wouldn’t be strange if he ended up seeking release at a place like this. He doesn’t have to pretend—I get it.

With those feelings in mind, I looked back into Cestlavie’s eyes with a gentle, understanding gaze full of compassion.

He stared back at me, eyes half-lidded in utter disbelief.

“YOU’VE TOTALLY GOT THE WRONG IDEA, HAVEN’T YOU?!”

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