Without much trouble, the duo arrived at the Port City of the Holy Empire known as Assyria—one of the largest and richest cities in the Empire.
It was a hub where people from across the continent, and even other continents, gathered. As the crown jewel of the Duchy of Assyria under Duchess Semiramis, it stood as a testament to elegance, power, and trade.
The entire region surrounding the port town fell under her domain.
Semiramis, the Wise Duchess of Assyria, was born of an elven mother and a human father. Abandoned at birth by her loveless mother, she was wrapped in the warm wings of a dove and nourished by its milk. Later found and raised by the shepherd Simmas, she was eventually married to Onnes, an aging general. But her beauty caught the eye of the Duke of Assyria, who stole her away. The resulting heartbreak drove Onnes to suicide.
Winning the Duke's favor through her cunning battle strategies, she married him and formally became Duchess. But a few years later, Semiramis poisoned the Duke, taking power for herself—unbeknownst to the world.
Her nobility and beauty dazzled all—men and women alike. With an air of confidence and grace, few realized that beneath her elegance was a masterful mage. Her words were weapons—truths that lured others into traps, all in pursuit of her own desires. Every move, every death, every step to power—calculated.
Despite her vanity and decadence, her capabilities as a ruler were undeniable. Since her rise, the Duchy flourished in a way the former Duke could never achieve.
She was unapologetically selfish, believing that to rule meant desiring more than the average person. Frugality, in her eyes, was a game played only by those who had already won the greatest prize—authority. She feared no one, not even the Apostles.
------------------
Upon arriving near the city, Shirou cut the log into small pieces and let them drift away downriver. The two exited the water and watched the city from afar.
They had traveled for hours, and Shirou was nearly drained. Fortunately, his training to the limit kept him conscious, and Kurono's support had eased some of the burden. It showed just how much Kurono had grown—going from mana-less to possessing a significant reserve in just six months. A miracle, perhaps. Or maybe Kurono truly was someone blessed with rare magical potential.
Still, considering the two trackers from earlier, Shirou assessed that while troublesome, they weren't powerful enough to truly threaten his world—so he wasn't worried about an invasion.
---------------------
The sun was beginning to rise over Assyria, casting gold and rose hues across the horizon, but beneath the city, there was only darkness.
Cold, damp, and foul.
Shirou dropped down from the stone ledge first, landing with a splash in ankle-deep water that smelled of rot and time. The narrow tunnel loomed before him, the curve of the sewer ceiling just high enough to stand if he kept his head down. Behind him, Kurono dropped in silence, the shadows swallowing his lean frame as if he had never been there.
The sound of distant city bells echoed faintly from above. The gates had opened. People were lining up, showing identification. Passes, crests, tokens, official paperwork.
They had none of that.
"Which way?" Kurono murmured, voice like a flicker of breath.
Shirou turned, staring down the long, grimy channel. The sewer system was ancient, lined with green-black moss and cobwebs, crisscrossed with maintenance grates and half-rotted ladders. There were no signs. No maps. Just darkness and the slow, steady drip of water echoing off stone.
"We follow the flow," Shirou said, his voice steady, quiet. "Sewers always lead toward the heart. Waste goes out. We go in."
Kurono gave a nod, almost imperceptible. He said nothing else.
They moved.
The water was icy and clung to their boots. Rats scurried along the ledges. Once or twice, Shirou caught a glint of red eyes staring from a nook in the wall—sewer creatures, small and feral. The air was heavy, metallic, and foul, but neither of them flinched. They had known worse.
The tunnels branched in all directions, and each fork was a gamble. Sometimes, Kurono would tap Shirou's shoulder and point left. Or right. His intuition was strange, but it proved useful. Every time they followed it, the air grew warmer, the hum above stronger. Footsteps, wagons, distant voices. Civilization overhead.
At one point, they heard guards above a grate, their voices echoing through the drain.
"Triple-check the passes. No exceptions."
"Yes, Captain. One halfling tried to bluff his way in with a fake crest. He's down at processing now."
"Good. Make an example of him."
Shirou and Kurono froze beneath the sound, not even daring to breathe. Shirou pressed his hand against Kurono's chest to keep him still, eyes fixed on the light filtering down through the grate.
Then silence.
The guards moved on.
They exhaled and slipped deeper into the underbelly of the city.
Eventually, they reached a culvert where the sewer widened into a half-submerged maintenance tunnel. Here, the stones were newer, reinforced with silver runes that glimmered faintly—detection wards. Old, but functional.
Shirou knelt and drew a sigil in the grime with his finger. He muttered a small incantation under his breath, letting a thin shimmer of mana wrap around them like mist.
"Concealment," he said simply.
Kurono blinked slowly. "Safe?"
"Safe enough," Shirou replied.
They slipped past the wards, ducking beneath old pipework and rotting planks until finally… light.
A broken grate. Half-rusted. A backflow tunnel where the sewer met an old, forgotten drainage line. Through the bars, they could see it—the city proper. Stone steps, a narrow back alley. A stack of crates and a wooden door half-hidden behind hanging laundry.
Shirou knelt and pressed a hand to the grate. With a whispered word, the metal bent slightly, silently. Enough.
Kurono crawled through first, emerging like a shadow from the filth. He turned back and helped pull Shirou through. The two crouched there for a moment, breathing hard. Dirty, wet, but unseen.
Above them, the walls of Assyria towered, beautiful and proud. Enchanted stone. Guard patrols. A river like a moat, watched at all hours. And yet, here they were, inside.
Unnoticed. Unwelcomed.
Kurono leaned back against the stone wall, his breath shaky. "We made it."
Shirou nodded.
------------------
"Should we find some shelter?" Kurono asked, leaning against the wall, eyes scanning the street.
"Yes," Shirou replied, revealing a pouch filled with money. "Let's find an inn."
Invisibility was, after all, a thief's best tool.
Kurono didn't argue. He had already made peace with what it took to survive in this world—and stealing was far from the worst. He'd already accepted the possibility of killing, should it come to that.
Before heading to the inn, however, they needed to change clothes. Still dressed as priests, their garments bore bloodstains—hardly ideal for blending in. While Shirou could use his projections to create new clothes, there was always the risk of anti-magic interference. For now, real clothing was the safer choice.
Using illusion magic, Shirou altered their garments to resemble the common clothing he'd observed in the city. With their appearances disguised, the pair exited the alleyway and headed toward a clothing store.
Assyria truly lived up to its reputation. The city radiated elegance and order. Streets were pristine, with not a speck of filth in sight—not even in the alleyways. Signs lined the roads, clearly marking rules and directions. There was no chaos, no confusion—only structure.
Fortunately, they had landed near Market Street, one of the city's most famous and vibrant districts. A haven for merchants and travelers alike.
The street was bustling with activity, filled with enticing scents, colorful storefronts, and stalls of every size. Yet despite the crowd, there was an unmistakable sense of order. Even the street vendors followed clear patterns, as if everything were choreographed.
After all, the Duchess abhorred disorder.
Semiramis had proven herself a wise and powerful ruler, one who held no bias when it came to enforcing the law. Noble or commoner, anyone who broke her rules paid the price. One noble family had been publicly executed for riding their carriage through a forbidden zone. Others had been punished for exceeding speed limits or starting fights in public.
She demanded absolute adherence to her law—and saw rebellion, even in the smallest form, as a direct challenge to her authority.
To her, obedience was beauty. Discipline was elegance. Education was not just a right, but a requirement. Semiramis had made schooling mandatory for all, believing that ignorance was ugliness, and ugliness had no place in her city.
However, despite her half-elf heritage, Assyria was not a utopia of equality.
Humans remained at the top of the hierarchy and lived in the city's finest quarters. Halflings were second-class citizens, confined to separate districts. And all other races—be they beastkin, elves, or anything else—were regarded as slaves. Beneath notice. Beneath respect.
Assyria was a city of beauty, yes, but it was also a city built upon rigid control and social stratification. A place where the law was as sharp as any sword—and where the wrong step could cost you everything.
On the way to the clothing shops, the duo witnessed the strange harmony of Assyria. The humans walked with content expressions, their confidence stemming from the strict but fair rule of law. The White Sacrament, the feared enforcers of the city, ensured that any violation was dealt with swiftly and without mercy. Discipline wasn't just expected—it was absolute.
Shirou and Kurono passed by groups of children running excitedly down the streets, books in hand, headed for school. What caught their attention wasn't the children's laughter, but the quality of their clothing.
They weren't dressed in bland rags or rough leathers like one might expect in a medieval world. No—these kids wore clean, well-tailored outfits made of cotton and even polyester blends. Fabrics and designs that clearly didn't belong to this world.
Shirou narrowed his eyes, realization dawning.
This knowledge... it came from Earth. From the summoned children.
He clenched his fist, recalling the day he'd first awoken in this world—naked and alone. They had taken everything from him. His clothes, his phone, his digital watch—all gone.
So that's where it went...
He wasn't sure if it was the church or some other organization, but someone had looted the summoned for their knowledge and possessions—and put them to use.
Kurono noticed the shift in his expression. "You okay?" he asked, low enough not to draw attention.
Shirou shook his head, brushing off the storm of thoughts. "Yeah. Just seeing pieces of our world in theirs. It's irritating."
Kurono didn't push. He understood. In a world where survival meant adaptation, some things had to be swallowed—but that didn't make it right.
-------------------
The clothing shop was tucked neatly between a perfume house and a jewel merchant, its sign swinging gently with the breeze. The wood had been carved with flourishes, painted a creamy white with gold leaf inlays: "Finest Threads of Assyria." It looked out of place amid the hustle of the market, like a noblewoman attending a street fair—too elegant for the dust, too poised to care.
Shirou and Kurono entered, the chime of a soft, delicate bell greeting them with a note like a whisper of glass.
The interior of the shop was quiet, polished, and pleasing to the senses. The scent of lavender and old cedar hung in the air, mingling with something sweeter—perhaps vanilla. Shelves lined the walls, folded tunics and robes in neat stacks by color and size. Glass displays held accessories: belts, light cloaks, soft slippers.
A woman stood behind the counter. She was tall, sharp-eyed, and graceful in posture—her curly black hair piled neatly atop her head and fastened with a pin shaped like a crescent moon. She wore a deep green dress that hugged her figure in the Assyrian fashion, and a golden merchant's sigil hung from a chain around her neck.
She smiled faintly when she saw them.
"Good morning, sirs. Welcome to Finest Threads. May I assist you in selecting your garments today?"
Kurono stepped forward, letting Shirou remain silent. His voice was polite but light. "Just travel clothes. Comfortable and durable. We'll need three sets each."
"Ah. Newly arrived, I see," she said with a nod, already walking toward one of the side aisles. "You came through the gate this morning? From Redfield or Ferron's End?"
Kurono hesitated just a second. "Redfield," he said smoothly.
The shopkeeper nodded as if satisfied. "A good route. The roads are better there."
Kurono caught Shirou's glance—so, they assumed they had come in legally. Through the official gates. Registered, processed, and already in the city's records. That explained why she didn't ask any questions or offer any guidance. They were just two more travelers in a city that had a system for everything.
As they followed her, Shirou caught sight of them—elves.
Two of them worked quietly near the side wall: a female with silver hair braided down her back and a male with a long scar over his collarbone. They wore clean cream-colored tunics with the store's insignia—no collars, no chains. Their skin was unmarred, their hands quick and practiced as they folded tunics and arranged displays.
One of them glanced their way, offering a quiet, deferential smile. Not the nervous, haunted kind Shirou had seen in other worlds, but something more subtle. Polite. Trained. Still, they weren't free.
"They're slaves," Kurono whispered under his breath as the shopkeeper rummaged through a drawer.
Shirou nodded slowly. "But regulated," he murmured back. "No abuse. They're assets. Clean, skilled, obedient."
"It's almost worse," Kurono muttered. "Slavery dressed up in civility."
The shopkeeper returned with two bundles. "Try these on. The fitting room is enchanted for privacy."
They stepped into the small curtained area and quickly changed. The clothes were surprisingly comfortable—stitched from soft cotton and something synthetic-feeling. Shirou ran his fingers along the hem. "Polyester?"
Kurono grunted. "Imported knowledge. From otherworlders like us."
Shirou stared into the mirror for a moment. He looked… ordinary. Blending in. A necessary step, but still unsettling.
Once dressed, Kurono packed the rest into his dark-space storage. The shadows curled greedily around the cloth bundles and swallowed them whole.
At the counter, Kurono handled the payment—sliding silver coins into a waiting tray.
"Do you need directions?" the shopkeeper asked politely, though she didn't look like she expected a 'yes.'
Kurono smiled. "To the weapons market and magic district, if you don't mind."
"Of course. Follow Market Road east until you see the old clocktower—can't miss it. Weapons and arcana are sold near the Tower Square. Most reputable shops have crest flags—swords for weaponry, stars for magic." She paused. "And inns?"
Kurono nodded.
She raised a hand and ticked off two fingers. "The Golden Hearth—quiet, safe, good for new arrivals. Or the Brass Griffin, if you like music and a crowd. Prices are fair, and all are under the Duchess's code."
No token. No warnings. Because they were assumed to be in the system.
Kurono gave a small bow. "Thank you for your help."
"Of course. Be careful with your spending until your permit tier rises. Enjoy your time in Assyria."