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Chapter 17
Most of the residents of Rat Hole had few chances to interact with outsiders.
Whenever an outsider entered, they usually ended up at the mercy of the Gerolters.
Liz hadn’t participated as actively, that was all; but the other Gerolters who had gone with her to subjugate the slimes were no different from the rest.
Most of the Gerolters disliked priests. Gerolt’s hatred of priests stemmed from his own greed for a cursed sword, but the other Gerolters simply found priests alien—people who seemed to belong to another world.
Follow God’s will and walk in righteousness? Come all the way to Rat Hole just to volunteer?
To them, such things were nothing but luxury, hypocrisy, and—above all—an act that narrowed their means of survival, which relied on exploiting the weak.
That was why—
“Wasn’t her name Isabel? Bring her over! Tell her we’ll buy her something good!”
“We should at least treat her to a drink!”
Their enthusiastic reaction to Isabel was extremely rare.
It was natural. So what if she was a priest? When someone appeared out of nowhere and solved in a single sweep what dozens of them had failed to do for months, anyone would see that person as godlike.
So when Jeremy brought back news, they were genuinely disappointed.
“What, she’s not coming?”
“Why not?”
Looking dejected, Jeremy explained to the bewildered Gerolters:
“My sister took her. She said she’d help set up the relief shelter.”
“Shelter?”
“Oh, right. She did say she came here to volunteer.”
“Then she must’ve gone to see the mayor.”
At the mention of “shelter,” their expressions changed.
They knew better than anyone what happened to priests who came to Rat Hole claiming to volunteer.
Not only the Gerolters, but even the ordinary citizens of Rat Hole bullied those priests mercilessly. And above all…
No one could guess what kind of obstruction Gerolt, who already despised priests, might try to pull.
Isabel could even end up assassinated. Gerolt always said the same thing: if outsiders healed the residents or purified their drinking water, then the Gerolters would lose income from selling water and medicine.
That was why none of them dared to get involved with Isabel. Unless it was someone close to Gerolt, like Liz, stepping in recklessly could very well get them punished as an example.
“…Forget the drinks. Let’s just get back to work.”
“Where’s the hammer? Bring it over.”
Even after washing the slime’s mucus clean off their bodies, they ended up dragging their sledgehammers along the Thames again.
It had been a fleeting illusion. Isabel’s holy power had cleared the air for a moment, but this was still the filthy, sticky Rat Hole. In a place like this, no matter how clean you scrubbed, you’d soon be filthy again.
Complaining about that reality was pointless. Here, they had no choice but to be stained together.
“Refreshed!”
After a thorough wash and changing into freshly cleaned priest’s robes—stains erased by a magic tool—Isabel called out to Liz, who was gazing out the window.
“Sis, I turned off the light!”
“I know.”
Liz wasn’t turned away because the brightness hurt her eyes, but because she was looking outside.
Isabel leaned over to peek with her.
“What are you looking at?”
“The guys we were working with earlier. Looks like they’re going to finish tearing down the rest of the wall.”
Liz clicked her tongue.
“Those brats. I told them to go drink first…”
She knew exactly what kind of deprivation, or helplessness, they must be feeling. With a sigh, Liz turned away.
“Let’s go see the mayor.”
“Is it okay to just show up?”
“The mayor’s got nothing to do anyway. Anytime’s fine.”
It was strange. Tron had said they wouldn’t be able to meet him today. Had he really lied?
With Isabel drifting in thought, Liz led her toward City Hall.
It wasn’t far. The Gerolters’ office was a huge four-story building, and nearby stood a shabby two-story one—that was Lettina City Hall.
Isabel tilted her head.
“Wow, it’s smaller than I thought…”
She quickly shut her mouth. The first time around, she had once commented that someone’s home was smaller than she expected, and had nearly gotten the party wiped out when the resident—a fearsome blue dragon named Karasco—took offense.
“A small City Hall, huh?”
Liz’s words made Isabel brighten.
“You think so too?”
“Every time I come by, I think the same. To call such a peanut-sized place City Hall…”
The comparison amused Isabel, and she giggled.
Liz grabbed the doorknob with her thick arm and pushed.
Inside was a shabby reception desk, the kind you might see at a cheap inn’s kiosk. Liz spoke briefly with the receptionist, then turned back.
“Let’s go up.”
‘So Tron really was lying!’ Isabel thought to herself as she followed Liz to the stairs.
She forgot to tilt her staff sideways, and the silver cross at its top struck the low ceiling with a crack. Wood fragments showered down.
Startled, Isabel glanced around and made eye contact with the receptionist, who only sighed and waved her to go upstairs.
“I’ll pay for the repairs later! Sorry…!”
Whispering apologies, Isabel hurried after Liz.
“What happened? Repairs?”
“I broke some property!”
“Seriously. I’m surprised there’s even anything left here worth breaking.”
A little while later, Isabel and Liz finally met the mayor of Rat Hole.
“Welcome.”
The mayor’s skin was pale, his cheeks sunken—a gaunt impression.
Isabel greeted him brightly.
“Hello! I’m Isabel, a priest from Zeroprime, here on sacred pilgrimage!”
She handed him a document stamped with the Zeroprime bishop’s seal—proof of her identity.
The mayor skimmed it and returned it.
“It must’ve been hard to come all the way here. I’m glad you arrived safely. I am Thompson, mayor of Lettina. Normally I’d have my secretary bring refreshments, but I ask your understanding as he stepped out for a moment.”
“No need to apologize! I dropped by without notice!”
Thompson glanced at Liz, who silently sent him a look—She’s always like this—and he gave an understanding nod.
“And you must be Miss Liz, correct? I heard you led the slime subjugation. Congratulations on finishing it.”
“There’s nothing to congratulate. Isabel did it all.”
Among the Gerolters, Liz was one of the few who at least addressed Thompson politely, even if they saw him as little more than a figurehead.
Thompson pressed his fingers to his temples.
“My apologies, I’ve a headache…”
“Shall I heal you?”
He waved off Isabel’s cheerful offer—only to freeze when, in the next instant, the pain vanished completely.
He blinked at her, then at Liz, bewildered.
The headache was gone.
Tapping his temple in disbelief, he muttered:
“…That was fast. Is it alright to use holy power for something like this?”
“I’ve got plenty to spare!”
“You’re energetic. And very capable.”
“Thank you!”
Had the pain remained, that high, lively voice might’ve made it worse, he thought wryly. He handed Liz a map.
“This is a map of Rat Hole. As you can see, the Thames runs through the center, splitting into many branches. Upstream, we have mines. Downstream was once residential, but toxic slimes forced us to close it off. Yet I hear the slimes have been…”
“I purified them all!”
“Incredible. To cleanse not just a few, but all of them.”
“Ehem!”
Liz pressed her forehead, while Thompson politely ignored Isabel’s smug pose.
“…Anyway, thanks to you, running a shelter will be easier. You should build it in midstream, on the west bank. The Gerolters’ midstream office is there, and since you’ve befriended Liz, you may even get their cooperation. Liz, will that be fine?”
“I’m the branch head there. No problem.”
It was funny, calling them “branches” within one city, but the Gerolters used that terminology for their upstream, midstream, and downstream offices.
The place Isabel and Liz had bathed earlier was, in fact, the midstream branch’s bathhouse.
Of course, with only one wandering priest, the shelter would manage to treat maybe ten households at best.
Thompson thought it wiser for her to cooperate with the Gerolters for long-term sustainability.
They discussed a few more details: treatment plans, whether Isabel had formal medical training, whether she needed an assistant. Isabel laid out a rough plan, recalling both what she had learned from Susanna and the experience from her first life.
Thompson nodded.
“When will you begin?”
“Right now!” Isabel’s eyes sparkled.
At last, the time had come. To open a shelter, to heal people—and to draw out Marcel, who must be somewhere in this city.
This was what she had been planning for. Surely, Smiel would be delighted.
What kind of man will Sir Marcel the Hero be, two years earlier?
As Isabel giggled to herself, a knock came at the office door.
“That must be Lilton,” said Thompson.
“Lilton?”
“My secretary. Come in, Lilton, we have guests—bring some refreshments…”
But he trailed off.
It wasn’t Lilton who entered.
Isabel gasped and stepped back. Liz’s eyes widened.
Isabel was startled because the man who stepped in looked so fierce his brow wrinkles seemed capable of cracking bricks.
But Liz’s shock was for another reason.
“T-Teacher…”
In this city, Liz only ever called one man Teacher. Even the other Gerolters used that title for him, because he demanded it.
“Yes, Liz.”
His voice was sharp as metal.
“You’ve finished the slime subjugation, I hear.”
“Y-Yes, Teacher.”
“Change your address. There’s someone here far more deserving of the title.”
He was the very definition of “menacing features”—his shaved head only emphasizing the long scar running from scalp to eyebrow. Smoke curled from the cigar between his fingers.
Liz bowed her head, correcting herself.
“Welcome, Lord Gerolt.”
“That’s better.”
The true ruler of Rat Hole, Gerolt, had entered the mayor’s office.
And he wasn’t alone.
A massive man followed behind him—one Isabel recognized at once.
It was Dyke, Marcel’s sworn brother.
She nearly greeted him instinctively, forgetting that in her first life they had been bitter enemies to the very end. She had only ever seen him leading monsters against the hero’s party, never like this—as Gerolt’s silent bodyguard.
Curious how she might speak to him, Isabel kept stealing glances.
Meanwhile, Gerolt fixed his eyes on Thompson.
“Have you been well, Mr. Mayor?”
“…Just treat me as usual.”
“How could I? We have a guest.”
Gerolt stubbed his cigar out against the wall.
Thompson bit his lip.
“So… what is it, Gerolt?”
“What else? A priest has come from outside. Of course I had to drop by. Isabel, was it?”
Isabel, who had been peeking at Dyke, spun around.
Liz felt her stomach sink—Isabel’s face was far too transparent.
She was glaring at Gerolt with open wariness.
“Quite a fierce look for a first meeting, Isabel.”
“That’s right.”
“What is?”
“I said—you do have a fierce face, Mr. Gerolt.”
At that, Gerolt chuckled.
“Entertaining. I hear you’re setting up a shelter.”
Liz tensed. Gerolt hated priests. He always said shelters cut into Gerolters’ profits. He might try to kill Isabel here and now.
But instead—
“That’s good. Could I get treated there too?”
Smiling, he asked only that.
“Lady Sunia said illness spares no one. Even you, Mr. Gerolt, will be welcome at the shelter.”
“‘Even me,’ huh? You speak as if you know me well. Has Liz been telling you things?”
Isabel only looked confused. Liz, however, turned pale.
The truth was, Isabel knew of Gerolt only through what Smiel had told her. But from Gerolt’s perspective, it seemed like Liz might have been bad-mouthing him.
Realizing this, Liz’s blood ran cold. That clueless priestess had no idea she was putting Liz in danger, and only stared at Gerolt blankly.
“Why so quiet, Isabel? What has Liz told you about me?”
Gerolt leaned down, face close.
At that moment—
“I told her, Gerolt.”
Thompson’s voice cut through, drawing all eyes to him.
