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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.