The man led us to a modest residence a short distance from the edge of the flower field.
The grass yielded softly under my feet. The soil was damp, its weight pressing firmly against the soles of my boots. Above us, the "False Moon" embedded in the ceiling continued to cast its ghostly, pale blue light over the landscape.
The house itself was simple. Its walls had rounded corners, the window frames were rustic, and the glass was thick. Even the door handle was a piece of polished wood rather than metal.
As we approached, the scent of wood mingled with the fragrance of the flowers, tickling my nose.
—There’s no smell of machine oil.
That was the first red flag.
In Neo Babel, the stench of machinery and neon is inescapable. Even in the high-class residential districts of the Upper District, the smell of grease and metal persists, however faint. But here, it was almost nonexistent. It felt as if I had stepped into a rural town from an old memory.
The door creaked open, and I stepped into the dimly lit interior. The floor was made of wooden planks that let out a soft groan with every step. The lighting was neither neon nor fluorescent; instead, small glass lanterns—actual flames—hung from the walls and ceiling.
Inside, a man and a woman were waiting.
They looked to be about the same age as our guide—somewhere in their early forties. Both wore simple cloth garments that resembled work clothes, and their skin was bronzed by the sun. But it was their eyes that caught me—they were unsettlingly clear.
The moment they saw us, their shoulders stiffened. Their gazes tried to peer into the shadows of our robes. It wasn't an appraisal so much as bewilderment, as if the mere presence of an "outsider" was an anomaly.
"Ah, sorry, sorry," the guide said, his voice light. "They're new believers. I thought I'd invite them in for some tea."
The tension in the room evaporated instantly.
"Oh, is that all?" The woman placed a hand on her chest and let out a small sigh. The man nodded, his suspicious look vanishing as if it had never been there.
...They believe him just like that. Or rather, it’s like the concept of doubting a fellow member of "The Order" doesn't even exist for them.
I pulled my lips into a slight smile, carefully crafting the persona of a harmless guest. Kaya stayed half a step behind me, her hood pulled low, remaining silent. It was better if she didn't say a word.
"I apologize for the late hour," I said, probing for information. "Are you all a family?"
Our guide beamed. "No, no. We're all in the care of The Order. In that sense, we might as well be family."
He seemed to mean it. The smile he gave us was entirely genuine.
"That's right. It's nothing fancy, but please, make yourselves comfortable." The woman stood up busily and disappeared into the kitchen at the back. I heard the clatter of wooden vessels, followed by the sweet, rising scent of steam.
It was sugary, yet it carried a sharp, stimulating kick that stung the back of my throat. I swallowed reflexively.
...This is a problem.
I knew that smell. It was the "Poisonous Flower" I’d seen in the fields. This was a raw infusion of it. If processed, it became a narcotic; but even as a simple tea, the effects would be immediate.
The woman returned, carrying a wooden tray with rustic teacups. Amber liquid shimmered within them, sending up plumes of fragrant steam.
"Here you go."
"Thank you very much."
As I thanked her, I brought the cup close to my face to confirm the scent. Underneath the sweetness, there was a faint, metallic bitterness. No mistake.
If I refused, I'd look suspicious. If I didn't drink, my cover as a "believer" would be blown.
"I'm terribly sorry," I said, bowing my head with an apologetic look while glancing at Kaya. "My companion has severe allergies. She can only consume very specific things. I hope you'll forgive her."
Kaya caught the cue instantly. She gave a tiny nod—at a speed only I could perceive—and bowed deeply to the men.
"Oh, is that so? Please, don't force yourself," the men said, accepting the excuse without a second thought.
"Then, if you'll excuse me." I lifted the cup and took a sip.
It was hot. The sweetness coated my tongue, but the moment it hit the back of my throat, it turned into a sharp bitterness. It tasted of raw grass, damp earth, and the astringency of medicinal herbs—a strange, clashing profile.
The aftertaste lingered. The underside of my tongue began to tingle. And then—
The outlines of the room blurred ever so slightly. My heartbeat reached my ears a fraction of a second late. My body temperature spiked, and the insides of my cheeks felt flushed, as if my physical form was being forcibly dragged toward a state of "euphoria."
...The initial symptoms are mild. But letting this continue would be dangerous.
Maintaining my pleasant expression, I called upon my skill.
—Repair.
With a sensation only I could feel, I began to dismantle the foreign toxins within my body. The heat receded, and my pulse stabilized. The blurriness in my vision cleared. I kept my face perfectly still, pulling the rim of the cup away from my lips with natural timing.
The men were drinking too. Their cheeks were slightly red, and they were smiling with a flushed warmth, but they didn't seem impaired. Whether they drank it constantly or had simply built up a tolerance, this seemed to be their "everyday tea."
I intentionally took a second sip. The men’s remaining vigilance seemed to melt away.
Now, for the real work.
"This is wonderful tea. Do you drink this often?"
Our guide nodded proudly. "Every day. The Order taught us how to brew it. Delicious, isn't it?"
"Indeed. Is the scent from the flowers outside?"
"That’s the one. We steep the flowers harvested from the fields around here... well, only the low-quality ones. The best yields are all turned over to The Order."
I tilted my cup again. As my tongue went numb, I immediately used Repair to neutralize it.
"I see. By the way... how did you all end up here?"
The man’s gaze drifted toward the distance. His face was a mask of pride and the profound relief of a man who had been saved from the brink.
"...We used to live hand-to-mouth in the Subplate. But one day, people from The Order arrived and offered us work. They brought us here, and..."
The woman nodded in agreement. "Now, we live such a peaceful life. We can't thank them enough."
"Is that so? Have you been here ever since?"
"Yes. However—" The guide lowered his voice, as if sharing a deep secret. "If we are chosen by The Order, we can eventually become 'believers' ourselves. That’s why we work so hard to harvest the flowers."
"...Become believers?" I asked.
The man nodded happily. "That's right. Every month, a few people are chosen and elevated to believers. You saw that large building outside, didn't you? That’s where they stay." He paused, staring straight at me. "...Have you two not been there yet?"
...Careful now.
I kept my smile soft. "We've only just arrived from the outside, so we haven't seen it yet. But seeing wonderful people like you here... I'll be sure to mention it to the members of The Order when I see them."
The men’s faces lit up instantly. They were desperate for recognition—craving to be "chosen." I pushed a little further while they were open.
"On that note, I'd love to hear your thoughts on The Order. What is it like from your perspective?"
"Of course!" the guide said, leaning in.
The woman joined in, her words tumbling out. "The Leader of the Order... well, we aren't allowed to know their name or see their face, so we don't know the details, but..."
"The believers are ranked below the Leader, and they're the ones who look after us. They're all so kind. But more than anything, seeing them use the 'miracles' of The Order is..."
At that moment, a Speech Bubble manifested. White characters shimmered above the guide’s head.
<In time, we’ll be just like them... Then the pain and the fear will finally go away.>
Pain and fear, huh?
I thought back to the group we’d encountered outside. That abnormal regeneration. Bodies that kept moving even when their internal organs were shredded. Calling that a "miracle" seemed like a sick joke.
When I didn't respond, the man continued. "Though... lately, some strange people have been hanging around. They’re a different sort."
"...In what way?"
"Their clothes are different from the believers. They... well, they remind me of the people from the old Subplate."
The Eradicata lot? The anti-Junkhead faction. So they really were connected to the cult.
I set my teacup down and bowed politely.
"Thank you for the fascinating stories. It’s been very helpful. We should probably be on our way now."
"Come back anytime!" the men said, seeing us off with faces of pure, unadulterated trust.
Stepping back outside, the cool night air and the scent of grass returned. Once the door had creaked shut behind us, Kaya let out a long, shaky breath.
"...That was intense. Really creepy."
"Yeah." I kept my eyes on our surroundings as we walked.
"And did you notice?" she whispered. "There was no tech in there. Not a single machine. It was unnatural. Everyone we saw was 'natural.' No cybernetics at all."
"Actually... that's not quite right."
"What do you mean?"
I stopped for a second, recalling the subtle movements I’d seen in the house. I’d watched the guide unconsciously rub his elbow several times—the exact same spot. The woman had stroked the base of her neck once. They were checking for something that wasn't there.
—The phantom habit of checking a prosthetic joint.
It was a tic that hadn't quite faded yet.
"They used to have cybernetic parts," I said. "But now, they’ve been turned back into biological flesh and blood."
Kaya’s eyes went wide. "What?! But... there weren't any surgical scars. Nothing!"
"Exactly. Even for a Doctor Class, returning a cyborg to a fully natural state that cleanly is impossible."
Mechanization is simple—you cut, you plug, you replace. But "reverting" is another story entirely. To do it without a trace... you’d need someone with god-tier skills. Or someone who could perform Repairs like I do.
Kaya bit her lip. "Ugh, this is getting weird."
I looked toward the massive structure in the distance. Amidst the peaceful, pastoral scenery, that building alone projected an aura of looming dread.
"The Order... this isn't going to be a simple job."
The grass swayed in the wind under the pale night sky. The flower fields looked beautiful, but I knew the thorns were waiting just beneath the surface.
We began to walk, disappearing into the shadows of the village.