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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.