The suburbs surrounding the pale palace were home to merciless vagrants.

Syndicate-turned Adventurers, murders, wanted criminals, and the exiled made up a small portion of the population in these lands. Melting pots where people were able to flock to for amenities were a rarity here, and these suburbs were one such place.

The only law was the Law of the Jungle. The strong devoured the weak. Payment was made through bloodshed and despair, whether it be for food, clothing, or simply because one felt like it.

Even individuals within tight-knit groups cast suspicion towards their openly proclaimed friends. Inns and bars were constantly in tatters as their patrons cheered their nth mug of poorly made alcohol to drown their sorrows.

Blood was everywhere. Corpses both fresh and old were just as common. Bodies hung from clothesline that ran from roof to roof. Children were also a rarity in this place, as were the elderly. It was a putrid colony of criminals that had free reign.

However, this did not mean that they pounced on whoever they felt like it. There were clearly unspoken rules they abided by at all costs. Otherwise, Frost would have been shot at with an arrow the very moment she set foot into their territory.

They’re only studying me. This has to do with that cult surrounding the Mad Slippers, huh?

Only their eyes followed wherever she went, noting her every move, her apparel, and the magician’s ‘staff’ she carried on her back. The streets were fairly populated, but few dared to walk in the middlemost lane.

Most waited in the shadows at the outer edges, speaking amongst themselves or simply waiting for an opportunity to arise.

There was not a single person that could be called a civilian in these ruined suburbs. A mismatch of gear was worn unanimously, as they were not bought in sets. Rather, each piece was robbed from a different person, creating nonsensical gear combinations.

For example, metal greaves but no protective tunic. Or someone in steel armor but wearing sandals. Frost shared the imagery with Nav who thoroughly enjoyed the visual.

“I recall that Cer said that a good way to tell a Blessed apart from a normal Adventurer was their mismatching apparel. A Blessed could blend in well here.”

I stand out because of that. Not to mention that there isn’t a lick of filth on me. Maybe moving in tatters would’ve been a better idea… But then again, Jury never would have let me go. Neither would I.

“You used to not care so much.”

My body’s a temple. It’s sacred and for Jury’s eyes only. Also, I was fighting for my life in those moments when I was half-naked. Hard to care about being seen when your heart’s being torn out of your chest over and over again.

Besides, I’m also a girl now, so… well, you know. I’m a modest person at heart. Being too revealing is a no go for me. I’m starting to care more about these things now. But context matters.

“What if I wore bikini armor? Would you treat me all the same?”

Frost’s face cringed at the thought. It was a gut reaction but after giving it some thought, her face mellowed as she visualized it.

I feel like bikini armor wouldn’t suit you. A suave style definitely fits you the best.

“Cer is saying something different.”

Frost entertained the thought as she approached the foreboding front of a tavern. Pieces of its doors were scattered along the cracked streets.

What’s she saying this time?

“That I will look better holding a whip.”

… Tell Res to get the wire brush.

Out of all the places available to her she had chosen this place in particular.

Why was this the case? What could have compelled her to walk in their direction rather than the palace?

The reason came in the form of an Ability.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

< Black Dahlia | ABILITY: Sins Are Nutrients >

< EFFECT: Create and control thorny brambles at will. They will guide you towards Sin-rich soils. Attain Nex from Sin-rich sources via the brambles. What is determined as a ‘Sin’ is dependent on your interpretation >

< Like the flowers, we reflect the world that has nurtured us. The colors of our petals are proof of our experiences >

Unbeknownst to vagrants that monitored Frost’s every move, thorny vines burrowed beneath their feet like worms. The brambles were able to form within a meter radius around her body. This allowed her to completely bypass the layer of bricks.

It was not known how they were able to detect Sins, but Frost theorized that it was in the same way that plants were able to grow towards light. They possessed metaphysical receptors that no amount of explanation or biological study could ever dream to uncover.

She could feel their every move like phantom limbs. The way the rock parted in their wake, how they wriggled through the compacted earth. She felt it all down to the individual thorns that desired but one thing.

The blood of a sinner.

In a way, Frost was like a blossoming flower ripe with nectar; a trap to lure the sinful towards the maw of something indescribable, who would soon be absorbed as nutrients to feed the flower.

And of course, they could be used offensively. The range was sadly only twenty meters. But if she funneled them in a single direction then it could easily rise to a hundred.

Unfortunately, they were not remarkably powerful.

Brambles Seeking Colorful Teardrops

< It begins with a shallow cut. When it lacerates tell us of the colors that gushes like their tears >

< All Stats are 1/10th of yours >

They were not swift or powerful enough to injure those with high-DEF higher than even 200. However, the purpose of the brambles was never to damage. It was to constrict. To find and strangle sinners.

Also, a tenth of her HP was still insurmountably large to the point where it may as well be indestructible to most.

Frost’s gut wrenched as her brambles desperately reached for the tavern. It had only been a few days since she had left Brandar, and yet her mouth salivated at the Sin-rich soil just at the cusp of her grasp.

Indeed.

Her hunger that she had long forgotten returned at full swing now that she was in Grandis. Frost had packed enough food to last her weeks, but her sudden compulsion denied her this.

Because she was curious about the taste of a Sin.

Her lips curled into a devilish grin.

* * *

Figures that remained stationed in the shadows followed her as she entered the tavern. Hardened men and women alike turned their attention from their tables onto her, sizing up the fledging mage that stumbled into their abode.

“A new face. Must be a mage.”

“Looks human. Doesn’t look very strong at all.”

“A lone mage. Some people are asking to die. Oi. Another drink.”

Their voices were white noise to Frost. She paid them no heed and studied the interior as she approached the front bar. The floorboards bent with each step, threatening to give way. The only source of light came through cracks found on every surface.

Round tables and half-broken stools decorated the interior of the first and second floor of the tavern. It was primarily made of wood and carried the combined unwashed stench of the many vagrants that found temporary respite in this place.

The fact that Frost was not yet attacked meant that there was a rule that prevented this.

“What brings a pretty face like you here?” A muscular lady manning the bar asked, spitting into a glass mug. “Information or a drink?”

Frost plucked a gold coin from a pocket and placed it onto the counter, garnering even more eyes. A single gold coin was extraordinarily valuable. A few copper coins could fetch a meal, and five or so pieces of silver were the going prices of inns in most places.

Gold coins on the other hand could buy out an entire inn for the night or let one stay for up to two weeks including three meals a day and a bath. Not only that, but gold coins were easier to move than silver.

The woman pocketed it immediately as Frost answered.

“Tell me about the Mad Slippers.”

It surprised the woman and those who had also heard the question, like the answer was obvious to an infant. The woman scrubbed the glass clean and poured beer from a tap. Black and brown scum were mixed into the white foam.

“You’re in the right place honey. These areas are controlled by ‘em. Don’t tell me you’re another one of those crazy bastards thinking you can wear that thing? What a waste since you got a nice face and all. I’ll tell you this. You can just follow the trail heading up. It’s that easy. But you gotta be escorted there by their Pickers.”

Her eyes moved to a ‘Picker’.

A blonde-hair man stumbled around the tavern.

They were servants with unpleasant bags beneath their eyes, as if they hadn’t slept in weeks. Bandages wrapped their head and extremities, which were blackened due to gangrene and improper treatment.

He was not the only one. Women and others just like him worked as servants here, their eyes devoid of life as if they were pulled along on strings. That was when Frost realized that the bandages on their heads were not because of a head injury, but because their animal-like ears were severed.

They were Demi-humans, controlled by something that Frost couldn’t begin to fathom.

“They’re the Pickers? Demi-humans?”

“Or humans. It depends on who goes. You’d rather have a fate like that? To be the slave of something else? They call it the Mad Slippers because it turns you mad before you shut down and become one of their living mannequins.”