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You need to be selective about the guests you accept, just like deciding where to lie down.

That’s what it means to not sell to just anyone.

The dealer needs to be careful not to get addicted to their own goods, but they must also have a keen eye for customers. If someone seems even a little suspicious? Just make excuses and cancel the deal.

This isn’t advice given out of fear of a crackdown; it’s genuine advice. You know, there’s not a single normal person among those who get high.

I’ve seen plenty of people ruin their lives because they sold bad drugs, no matter how much money they made. So, be smart about who you accept as guests.

Especially the prostitutes and the religious folks.

Don’t even think about trading with those two.

If you need quick cash, you’d be better off selling something from home and dealing weed to college students having a party. Your reputation is secondary to your life, right?

When you feel like you might die if you don’t find money right now. When you’re cornered and have no other options.

That’s when you go to them.

Everyone knows that if you sell bad stuff in a den tangled with spirits, Inquisition Officers will come knocking… The problem is with the religious followers; most of them are cultists, so stay sharp.

If the prostitute is an exile, the cultist is a necromancer.

The middlemen who just take a cut are usually no problem. Their goal is money, not drugs.

Sometimes the religious folks try to trick people into fighting with others from different faiths, which can lead to disaster, but as long as you keep your mouth shut, you’re usually fine. They may act all righteous, but they avoid violence. If business gets rocky, the high priests can be surprisingly accommodating.

But those who want the goods for their own use? They are serious.

You can tell at a glance that these guys are different from the casual sellers; their gaze says it all. How do I know?

There was a time when I was desperate for cash. The broker I dealt with was caught, and to fill up the gaps in his ledgers, he threw goods to a cultist. I thought it was worth a shot since it was a decent size, and I could make back what I lost.

…Damn. Those guys ended up in the newspapers.

I thought they’d just waste it on some afterparty or brainwashing nonsense. Who would’ve guessed they’d actually use it? Crazy fools.

I still don’t know what they did with it.

I mean, do you really think a drug dealer would be welcomed into heaven? If you want to end up in hell after you die, don’t sell drugs to religious fanatics. If you get tangled up with them, it’s not just you that’s done for. You’re gonna drag everyone around you down with you. You’ll get plenty of hell after you die anyway, so why suffer through it while you’re still alive?

Sometimes, nothing happens at all; just good luck. But trusting that can get you buried six feet under in no time.

If you unwittingly sell to a cultist and find out too late, pack your bags and go to a priest. It doesn’t have to be that specific priest; just go to any religious place. Young folks might not know better, but older folks will invite you in without needing a word.

Even if it’s not your faith, when it’s prayer time, sit quietly and pray. You can repent later. Just stay quiet until the Inquisition Officers or religious police come to get you. But don’t try to escape to a hideout because you’re afraid of jail.

There have been many fools who sold to cultists, whether they knew it or not. But have you ever heard someone warn others about it other than me?

…Anyway.

If what you’re carrying isn’t a pumpkin, please think twice before selling anything.

Why are these religious nuts getting into drugs?

It’s not for the purposes we imagine.

Please, don’t get involved with those bastards.

– The exact origin is unknown, but it’s a tale passed down among veteran dealers.

Episode 17 – The Tree That Drinks Blood

Living among diverse races teaches you that the concept of time is relative. Just like how someone ignoring the signals from their stomach while searching for a bathroom perceives time differently than someone glued to a monitor.

The perception of time can’t help but vary among races.

“Oh, you contacted me so quickly. Did something urgent come up?”

In that sense, the Dark Elf who contacted me after several days made a rather surprising first impression.

“The last time we spoke was five days ago.”

“Oh!”

As soon as I mentioned the passage of time, Hormoz let out a quiet exclamation, as if snapping out of a light sleep.

After clearing his throat briefly, he seemed to chuckle sheepishly.

“Haha, has it really been that long? How embarrassing. I didn’t even realize time was passing.”

Like all races, the flow of time feels quite cruel.

Beastmen, whose lifespans are relatively short, feel content with the present and settle into reality, while humans, born with average lifespans and starving souls, lament the now while obsessing over the future.

Races with different perceptions of time react uniquely even in the same situations. Just like how beasts don’t fret over decreasing food due to global warming, humans are always worried about the tiniest issues.

However, races suffering under severe curses endure lifetimes that feel near eternal. Dragons, demons, elves, and dark elves, among others.

Maybe that’s why there was a subtle bitterness in Hormoz’s voice.

“Is time cruel to you?”

“Well, more than cruel… it might be better described as indifferent.”

Indifferent—a fitting metaphor, I thought.

Don’t we all sometimes feel this way? As children, we’re eager to grow up, but once we reach adulthood, the days whisk by in the blink of an eye. For the long-lived, the pain of time must feel something like this.

Though it’s merely a personal hypothesis with no scientific or magical proof, I can’t say it’s entirely off the mark.

Since in science and magic, nothing has absolute answers, just better questions.

As I pondered over philosophical topics that usually circulate at internet forums or drunken rants due to lack of money, I smoothly transitioned into the main topic, keeping my phone between my neck and shoulder.

“There’s a cult organization. A small group that was active in Ash Tree Alley, and it seems there’s a dealer who sold them drugs.”

“Drugs?”

“It wasn’t synthetic drugs like ‘Kiss of the Demon’ or ‘Fairy’s Twisted Thread’, or ‘Invitation to Dreamland’.

Drugs fall into two categories.

Natural drugs derived from natural sources and synthetic drugs created artificially.

Natural drugs are those we’ve all heard about at least once.

The opium of the (far from great) British Empire created the international trade order of drug dealing, extracted from poppy seeds, while cocaine, synonymous with the brand Coca-Cola, comes from coca leaves.

On the other hand, synthetic drugs refer to substances like methadone, hydromorphone, oxycodone, tramadol, and the infamous fentanyl from the States.

However, that’s the story of Earth.

Here, the synthetic drugs are often produced through magical or shamanic methods rather than chemical processes.

This gave rise to names like ‘Kiss of the Demon’, ‘Fairy’s Twisted Thread’, and ‘Invitation to Dreamland’, but even with recipes, the production is challenging, making it hard for most dealers to produce them easily.

Rather, they can produce low-quality ‘knockoffs’.

It’s an area not even small businesses can touch.

“Manufacturing synthetic drugs requires capital, manpower, and technology.”

“Even in the Necropolis, most sorcerers and shamans have dipped their toes into the drug industry. They mainly deal with cocaine, opium, and marijuana, which can be produced without a wizard….”

In this context, the drug gang caught in the detection net was a motley assortment. Think of it like a small to mid-sized company?

They had neither solid synthetic drugs nor even proper production facilities, merely mixing low-quality drugs with those they bought from outside and repackaging them to sell as top-tier.

They were entirely the sort that would’ve gotten their heads bashed in by clients with money even without the Palm Tree Trade Guild intervening.

The thing is, right now, the dark future of this gang isn’t the priority.

“A cultist bought drugs from them… that’s concerning.”

The serious tone broke through the slick words of the thoughtful dark elf.

“Do you have any guess as to why they bought drugs?”

“While the Palm Tree Trade Guild employs somewhat ‘unorthodox’ methods, they don’t handle illegal goods like drugs or slaves. The tribal elders have outright forbidden drug and slave trading, so it’s not something they would even deal with. However….”

His voice continued without a trace of mirth.

“For a long time, drugs have held religious significance. Archaeologists often find drugs among artifacts when they open graves, and even forgotten old temples and shrines have yielded evidence or records related to drugs.”

“Are you talking about religious rituals?”

“Yes. Religious rituals, precisely that.”

The Dark Elf continued seamlessly.

“Al-Yabd and the cult have adhered to their god’s teachings, which advocate against substances that cloud the human mind, thus forbidding drugs. Yet, drugs have historically been tools in indigenous religions and folk beliefs. Trances, hallucinations, auditory illusions, dizziness… These experiences were accepted as powerful spiritual encounters in ancient religious societies, and drugs were regarded as sacred substances that brought one into the presence of the divine.”

Religious rituals, experiences, faith, hallucinations.

I listened quietly to Hormoz’s words, and just as he was expounding further, he said, “…I might not be able to guess the intentions of the cult organization you mentioned, but if you have a chance, it would be good to look into rumors surrounding them.”

“I’ve thoroughly investigated rumors already…”

“Not the kind of rumors swirling around. To be specific… Ah, we could call them doctrine.”

“Doctrine?”

“Check what doctrine they used when they spread their faith. I have a hunch that the answers might lie there.”

Doctrine, huh. It was something I hadn’t really thought about much.

As I pondered his claims over and over, I posed a question, sounding a bit puzzled.

“How did you know that there might be answers in their doctrine?”

“Well, um…”

A strangely flustered voice echoed through the phone. The Dark Elf, momentarily at a loss for words, quickly began to speak hesitantly.

“Um… I think it’s more a matter of intuition or speculation… yes.”

“Oh, I see? I thought it was wisdom that came from experience. Seems I was mistaken.”

“…”

“I’ll see you later. I’m done here.”

“Yes… um. See you next time.”

With a slightly embarrassed tone, the call ended.

I stared at my lifeless phone for a while, pondering whether I had said something wrong.

“…?”

It took me a few months to realize that praising an elf for their experience might be interpreted as mockery.

Following Hormoz’s suggestion, I began an investigation related to the doctrine of Al Kair.

I had gathered some information connected to the cult while preparing for the last raid operation, but it lacked any details regarding their beliefs or doctrines.

This sort of information wouldn’t help in crafting a plan, and since cultists are typically shrouded in secrecy, the Inquisition didn’t feel the need to gather such intel.

Thus, I had to collect this information myself.

“Is there a way to find out the cult’s doctrine?”

“Huh? Doctrine?”

H Joaquin, who was stuffing his face with food, turned to me.

“Finish eating before you talk.”

“Mmm… Ah, um. You want to know about the cult’s doctrine? Did you suddenly get interested in religion?”

“Not really. It’s just necessary information.”

H Joaquin tilted his head, as if confused about why I was interested in such information.

But the pondering didn’t last long since we were at the dinner table.

After swallowing his food, H Joaquin crossed his arms and spun around in his chair.

“Hmm! If you want to know the doctrines of the cultist friends, it’s best to visit them directly and listen to their preaching. They might have learned their theology informally, but they memorize their scriptures like it’s a secret weapon, and if you’re curious, you can ask them right away!”

“I’m not going to meet them in person. Isn’t there another way?”

“Another way? Hmm…!”

The chair spinning abruptly stopped with a thud. H Joaquin let out a sound as he racked his brain. The drug-addled magician pressed his fingers to his temples, furrowing his brow in deep thought, before snatching a piece of paper off the desk.

“Let’s see!”

The desk was cluttered with various books. In fact, the whole room was like that.

In a situation where information about the Necropolis was scarce, consulting a local like H Joaquin was not just a choice, but a necessity. However, due to Francesca’s infiltration being exposed, H Joaquin, who had vouched for her, could no longer be open about his identity.

To solve this issue, I sought help from Hormoz. The Palm Tree Trade Guild created an alias position through Bereda, and I placed H Joaquin in that role.

However, once I brought H Joaquin in, his behavior was quite a spectacle.

Bereda didn’t expect much from the guild’s operations, so that was no issue, but shouldn’t he at least keep his surroundings tidy? My face was burning with embarrassment.

“…Well, it’s fine!”

While glancing around the pigsty of an office with a disapproving look, H Joaquin suddenly handed me a piece of paper.

It was a map depicting the landscape of the Necropolis.

“You roughly remember the city’s geography from last time, right? Go check out the spots I marked here.”

“Grassland Street? Where is that?”

“It’s the neighborhood where the beastmen live!”

H Joaquin, tapping the map with his pen like it was a drum, briefly explained.

“The beastmen living underground are all gathered around here. There are groups like dog beastmen and cat beastmen who don’t get along well, and there are also cow beastmen and pig beastmen. There’s also the transportation guild operated by horse beastmen, which is the second-best information network after the mercenary groups! We just call it the guild.”

“When horse beastmen run transportation… well, they pull carriages, right?”

“Yeah. Right? What else would they pull except carriages?”

“Isn’t that illegal according to the Animal Rights Act? If the World Union’s rights investigator comes, it’s going to be chaos.”

“Since when have we cared about stuff like that in the Necropolis…? Here, cow beastmen pull carts, and horse beastmen pull carriages. And if everyone lived by the law, would people live here?”

True, this was a den of criminals.

I felt like I had entered a country (not a country) that oppressed human rights. A place that infringed on the rights of beastmen.

Yet, thinking about it, H Joaquin wasn’t wrong either. If it were a society full of law-abiding citizens, would this place be the Necropolis? It would be a police state instead.

By the way, despite his blatantly atrocious behavior, H Joaquin surprisingly hit the nail on the head with his observations. He might smoke weed at all hours, but upon closer inspection, he wasn’t a total idiot.

“Oh wow— there’s a fight tonight at 9 PM in the arena! The unknown warrior from the plateau fights the champion! The plateau is champion territory, right!? The opponent debuted just the other day? Whoa, I can’t miss this match!”

“…….”

“Huh? You haven’t gone yet?”

“…Let’s pull ourselves together.”

 

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