The Mad Priest of the Slums

Leaving the mansion, we headed toward the parking lot next door.

“How would you like to handle security?”

Walking half a step behind me, she asked the question, and it brought back memories of yesterday.

Benjamin had shown up in a black sedan with an armed force in tow. Considering that this was a territory he ruled, yesterday’s display felt more like a performance. Her question seemed to further confirm my assumption.

If leaving the mansion without security meant a high likelihood of being attacked, she wouldn’t have even asked such a question—her personality wouldn’t allow it.

After all, Benjamin had assigned her as my secretary for today, so my safety would naturally be her top priority.

However—

“Would it be dangerous to go without security?”

There’s an old saying: “Even when crossing a stone bridge, check it first.” It exists because nothing is ever truly certain.

“If it’s the area we’ll be visiting, there should be no issue moving without security.”

“Then let’s go without. I’m not a fan of crowds.”

“Understood.”

When we arrived at the parking lot, she approached one of the black sedans that had brought me here yesterday and opened the back door for me.

“Thank you.”

“I’m acting as your secretary today, so please don’t over-interpret these gestures. It makes me uncomfortable.”

“Understood.”

Since she said it made her uncomfortable, there was no need to insist on gratitude. I left it at that.

“I’ll escort you to Zones 14 and 15.”

“Are they like the downtown areas of a city?”

“Yes. These are the most developed and densely populated areas in the northern part of the slums.”

“There must be many organization members there.”

“Indeed. Since it’s where the most money circulates, we manage it very thoroughly.”

From her explanation, Zones 14 and 15 seemed like slums in name only. With Mad Dog, Benjamin’s organization, rigorously maintaining order day and night, not only was drug trafficking entirely blocked, but even dangerous substances that were supposedly easier to find than fresh bread in the slums couldn’t get in.

It sounded clean enough to be better than some places outside the slums.

As we drove on, other cars began appearing on the road.

“There aren’t any horse-drawn carriages here, I see.”

“…”

Did my question seem odd?

She glanced at me in the rearview mirror, blinked once, then looked forward again as she replied.

“Carriages can’t move without horses.”

“True.”

“The coachman, who drives the horses, is exposed to the outside.”

That much was enough to make me understand why no carriages appeared here.

“Are attacks so blatant that carriages can’t even operate?”

“You’re quite an unusual person, Priest.”

“I’ve heard that quite often.”

Until middle school, when I fully understood that I was a bit different, everyone I met seemed to mention it at least once.

“I thought you had a solid grasp of how things work around here, but judging by your questions, I may have assumed too much.”

“You did.”

After all, I only landed in this dimension yesterday.

Although a mysterious woman had imbued me with knowledge, it was only enough to cover major events and the basics needed to live.

“In that case, please remember this: Not just our zones but all slums follow one rule—if something is taken from you, you’re the fool.”

“Except for specially managed areas like Zones 14 and 15.”

She nodded once and continued.

“A sane person wouldn’t even think of touching a priest, but the slums are full of people at rock bottom or with a few screws loose.”

That was something Vishua—my senior, and Vivian, self-proclaimed younger sibling—had mentioned often, so I was well aware.

“I plan to hire guards as soon as I find a place to stay.”

“A wise decision.”

Her concern evident, she continued to offer advice.

“Bullets have no eyes. If a shootout breaks out unexpectedly, a stray bullet could hit you if you’re unlucky.”

“There’s no need to worry much about junkies. Their bodies are too ruined to function properly—they’re just walking corpses.”

“The ones you should watch out for are thrill killers or those with insane preferences. They’re madmen who’ll do anything for a fleeting thrill.”

Her words were worth remembering, so I etched them into my mind.

“And outside of specially managed zones, you should even be wary of children.”

“Children?”

“Yes. Although there have been priests who visited the slums for missions, you’re the first to consider staying here.”

Most priests had no reason to get involved with the slums—they didn’t lack anything.

“For that reason, slum children are mostly ignorant of priests, except for a rare few.”

“I see.”

This could also be interpreted as meaning that most slum children weren’t affiliated with any organization and were left to fend for themselves.

“We’ve arrived.”

Her ongoing commentary kept the ride from feeling dull, and we soon reached Zone 14.

Stopping at a building without a signboard, she parked by the curb and opened my door once again.

Several men in suits, who had been guarding the entrance, ran over and bowed deeply to her.

“This is an auction house where outside merchants gather to trade.”

She waved off the men and briefly explained the unmarked building.

“Would you like to go in?”

“No.”

Had I not been granted the store’s benefits, I might have looked around. However, according to the woman who gave me those benefits, the store sold everything that existed in this dimension.

If her words were true, I could browse legendary items just by moving my fingers.

Hence, the auction house held no appeal for me.

“Ah, do they auction people here?”

“Slaves are traded in the eastern slums.”

“I see.”

Since the store didn’t handle living beings, I was curious enough to consider visiting if they did trade people.

“Are you interested in slaves?”

“I’m not sure what kind of ‘interest’ you mean, but I’m not entirely disinterested.”

As she had mentioned earlier, the slums operated on the principle that being the weaker party made you a fool.

If someone bought a slave here, it likely meant the slave held value beyond brute strength.

That was the aspect that piqued my interest.

“In that case, I’ll guide you at your leisure.”

Despite the assurance of safety, she stayed by my side to act as both guide and bodyguard.

“It’s surprisingly normal here.”

And that made it special.

The convenience facilities were so well-equipped that even outsiders would feel comfortable. The people walking the streets were decently dressed, and security was surprisingly good.

Someone could be kidnapped and dropped here, and they wouldn’t realize they were in a slum.

“The bread and drinks weren’t bad either.”

Although my expectations had been low, the food sold in Zone 14 was quite palatable.

However, while bread in Punk Turn—Vishua’s main base—ranged from 10 to 50 mora, the prices here were about ten times higher.

A simple loaf cost 100 mora.

Yet customers weren’t lacking.

Outdoor cafes were filled with people sipping drinks or eating meals. They were likely merchants from outside.

“Shall we head to Zone 15, then?”

“One moment.”

Seeing one thing told me everything.

Zone 14 wasn’t the kind of slum I was looking for.

“Is Zone 15 similar to Zone 14?”

“Zone 15 is a residential area for some of the more influential figures in the northern slums.”

Sensing my thoughts, she quickly added,

“It’s safe, with a good environment and plenty of networking opportunities. I recommend it as a place to settle.”

Whether she was acting out of loyalty to Mad Dog or genuine concern for me was unclear. Not that it mattered.

“The western slums are adjacent to Zone 12, right?”

The western slums were known for drug production.

“…Yes.”

She answered a beat later, seemingly anticipating something.

“Are you okay on your own?”

“…Unfortunately.”

She pulled out two silver muskets from under her long-tailed coat.

“I’m armed, so I have no excuse to refuse if you insist.”

Her disappointment seemed directed at herself, not me.

“We can’t stay long, though.”

It was her way of asking to go to Zone 15.

“Today, I just want to get a feel for the atmosphere.”

“…Understood.”

She hid the muskets again.

Despite wanting to sigh, she held back—truly a professional.