Following the alleys, we make our way towards the cathedral with spires so high that they can be seen even from within the narrowest and deepest passages.
"Don't let it be known that you are a slave. The church despises the enslavement of other humans, and so is unlikely to provide us with service if they discover that you are a slave. And I don't think that I need to explain why that would be bad for you [and] us."
I'm not really sure how me selling for a lower value negatively impacts me, but it doesn't seem as though he wants to explain, so I stay silent.
As we walk through the alleys, I am impressed by the amount of [filth]. Dirt, sewage, the poor; all cluttered upon the edges of the gutterless alleys. It's almost impressive how bad it is [inside] the walled section of the city, especially when considering that the area [outside] the walls is exponentially worse.
"Spare a coin?" asked one of the poor, a hopeful expression on his face, reaching toward us in the center of the alley. Armor simply steps over the extended arm, but Gorbson stamps down on the extended limb. A loud [crack] emanates from the twisted bone, echoing sickeningly from the walls. He screams out in pain, withdrawing his shattered limb from our path and huddling at the filthy intersection of ground and wall on the edge of the alley.
The screaming annoys me, so I [gently] kick him in the neck. The screaming stops and he clutches at his neck, little more than a rattling breath escaping his mouth. Armor glances back at me and shakes his head before turning forward again, all without a word exiting his mouth. I accept his silent thanks and follow Gorbson with renewed vigor.
We eventually emerge from the alleys into a plaza in front of the cathedral. If anything, it is even bigger up close; I have to crane my neck to see the tops of its spires. The cathedral looks incredibly [sharp] . Countless spires form sharp points, and dark stone bricks support its colossal weight. Unlike Earth, with its stained glass windows, the walls here are covered with moving images, presumably projected with magic. I wish I had enough time to properly examine them, but sadly, that is not the case.
"We're here," says Mr. Armor, stating the obvious. "Now, make sure to act [normal] . If you get branded a lunatic, your days will be numbered. And again: don't let it be known that you are a slave. Otherwise they won't test you."
"Yeah, yeah, I get it already. Now let's go."
We walk in through the towering doors, masses of well-dressed people streaming both in and out. Inside is a long and wide hall, with many doors leading off of it. The walls are painted in beautiful murals, the most prominent of which focus on three beings. I don't have much time to observe them, but one looks like a giant human holding a smaller human in his hand, one is a woman, clad in a halo of light, handing a weapon to a human, and one is a man looking at a sea of stars. Mr. Armor leads me to a door on the left. I get a few dirty looks, probably due to the state of my clothes and how dirty I am in general. But honestly, who cares!
Inside is a woman in a plain white dress. Over her head is an orb of light, similar to the one that had been painted over the head of the woman in the murals. I take that to mean that she is a follower of that person? Her eyes scan me closely before she says "This is the Office for the Wellbeing of the Mind. How may I help you?"
Before Gorbson can say anything stupid, I respond "Apparently I need to get a sanity check. My madness skill is getting pretty high, and when they checked my skills when I tried to get a job they seemed pretty frightened."
"Well, that's what our department is for. Here at the Church of the Three Gods we don't put much stock into skills as a good method of measuring someone's mentality. Now, if you had gone to one of the heretical institutions that worship strength and the skills that grant it, however, someone with even a low level of madness would be put to death. Well, except for some of the excessively strength focused churches. There, even the clergy are mindless and insane berserkers. But I digress. Come with me this way. The fee will be discussed afterwards."
[Wow, she really does like talking!] I think to myself as I follow Blabbermouth 2. She leads me into a small room with a chair that is very reminiscent of the one that I had recently sat in, padded shackles in position to hold my entire body in place. I sat down in it, but thankfully none of the shackles were closed.
"Those are for if I, as the examiner, begin to feel threatened. So behave well, and they won't be needed. Now, friends of the patient, please exit the room. We don't need your distraction." she says while waving them out.
Once they have left, she says to me "Your friends are in much better shape than you are. Are you, by any chance, a slave?"
"No, of course not. In fact, I am rather insulted that you would assume such a thing. They are simply old friends who did much better for themselves than I, and are now financing this test because I cannot afford it." I say coolly.
"Oh! My apologies for assuming; it's just that many slavers bring in their more valuable slaves if they get afflicted with madness. It's much cheaper to have them be classified as 'not a threat' than to go through the immense trouble of removing the skill."
"Skills can be removed?" I ask, intrigued.
"Well, yes, but the process costs a lot, both in time and in money, and can only be performed by the most expert of mages. Our religion, which focuses on improving the mind and body as well as skills, as Aenea commands, doesn't put as much importance on removing negative skills."
"Alright. Thanks for the information. I live well away from the cities, so I don't know much about a lot of things. Anyways, are we about ready to start the evaluation?"
"Oh, we already have. Being able to have a polite conversation is an important part of assessing one's sanity. Next up, please tell me the level of your Madness skill."
"Well… it recently reached Greater Madness Lvl. 9."
The tea that she's drinking comes spraying out of her mouth. "Greater Madness?! Level Nine?!?! Why, this is quite a surprise. I don't think that I have ever tested anyone with such a high level. Normally, people at that level are on a rampage and need to be subdued. Well, I guess it doesn't matter so long as you are actually sane. Alright, next question: do you ever feel like killing an innocent person?"
"Of course not! I love people and would never kill anyone unless absolutely necessary!" I mean, if you ignore my previous life and only base the question off of my week or so in this world, then my answer is true!
"What are your thoughts on monsters?"
My mind goes to my innocent little friends who kindly gave me their xp while ensuring that I wouldn't feel guilty about it. "Monsters are wonderful little friends that should be reasoned with no matter what. Only return an attack if they attack first, I say!"
She gives me a strange look, but I must have answered well as she moves onto another question. "Where are you from?"
I see no reason to lie to this nice young lady, so I answer her truthfully. "I'm from the planet Earth, and I came here after dying."
And on and on the questions continue.
At the end she says to me "You are to be classified as level one insane. While you don't pose a threat to others, you are not in a proper state of mind either, and seem to be a bit delusional. You may struggle to find employment at higher skill level jobs, but you are still not a significant safety risk to the public. Take this card; it has your insanity level on it. Now, just pay and then you may go."
I want to respond, to complain that the test is obviously rigged as I am certainly not insane, but I hold my tongue and exit the room before she can declare me a threat to the survival of humanity.
"So? What did she say?" Gorbson asks.
"Level 1 insane. And she needs payment."
"Bah!" Gorbson says while throwing a handful of silver into the wall. "At that level, we'll barely make a profit after this fee!"
"There's nothing to be done about it." says the wise Sir Armor. "Now let's go."
As we are walking back through the maze of alleys to the auction house's back door, the sun begins to set. [Ah, another night in this world. I'm afraid that my time of enjoyment will surely soon come to a close.]
We reach the auction house without a single word being exchanged. I understand their frustration; my value is sure to be exponentially less if people think that I am too insane to properly fulfill my task. Well, at least I wasn't killed.
We come up to the back of the auction house, where I notice that the wagons are no longer there.
"Looks like they set off to our accommodations without us." Gorbson says to Mr. Armor.
"We'll be heading there soon as well. We just need to get enough money for this one, and then we're off." he says while knocking on the back door.
The door first opens a crack, then swings open when the auctioneer sees who it is. "Ah! You've brought the product! You have the sanity documentation, I presume?"
Mr. Armor simply holds up the card that I handed him.
"Hmm… well, that's unfortunate. The arena is among our highest bidders, and they have a strict 'no insanity' policy, so as not to offend our strange local church. Also, it helps keep their fighters alive longer. I'm sure the product will still sell, but probably only to the army which pays really low. Although the assassins' guild might be interested, with that swordsmanship and sight ability… anyway, I'm going to lower the offer. 400 silver is as generous as I can be for a fighter that the coliseum won't pay for."
A smile breaks out on Gorbson's face, and while I can't see Mr. Armor's expression I assume that he's happy with how quickly he says "We accept!"
The Auctioneer hands them a small pouch of coins, and they set off, presumably to where they have accommodations. Realizing that I may never see them again, I wave and say" Goodbye my friends! I hope to meet again someday so that I may repay the kindness that you have shown me!"
Apparently used to my antics, he continues away without a response. How rude.
"This way," the auctioneer orders. "And don't even think about trying to escape; I'm much stronger than I look."
I follow the auctioneer inside. He signals to the two guards still flanking the door on the wall across from the entrance and they open it. I follow him down the hallway on the other side until he opens a door on the wall to the left. I continue to silently follow him until the end of the hall, where a metal door is guarded by another guard. Mr. Auctioneer nods to him, and in turn he unlocks and opens the door he's guarding. From within the unlit room emanates a horrendous stench. Nothing but a light sob breaks the silence. An orb of fire appears above Mr. Auctioneer's palm, revealing the room in all of its splendor.
Cramped into dozens of tiny cages, stacked three tall and forming rows with only the tiniest aisles between, are hundreds of men, women, and children, ranging in age from only a few years to perhaps mid-sixties. Sensical, as no reasonable person would want a slave that they'd have to put too much effort into keeping alive.
One man comes walking out of an aisle, holding a young boy by his throat. The boy isn't moving.
"Oh, boss! I didn't see you enter. As you can see, one of our products expired. Really is a shame, isn't it?"
"That it is. And we paid well for it to… well, not much can be done; if a product doesn't sell for over a year, there's no way that it will last in storage for so long."
Wow! I didn't realize Sir Auctioneer was so logical!
We let the man pass, then continue on to an empty cage. "Get in."
I try, I really do, but the cage seems far too tight. However, my friend solves my problem for me with an obscenely strong shove from behind. Like magic, my body curves into itself in ways I never knew possible and he is able to force the door closed behind me, leaving me curled into a tight ball, so tight that it is quite hard to breathe. My knees compress my chest and my forehead rests on my knees, my arms crammed wherever they fit.
"Tomorrow we will install the obedience mark. So rest well." He then chuckles and walks away. Soon the lights go out, leaving me in total darkness and silence. I try to speak, but my lungs are too compressed for anything intelligible to be produced. [I really wish that the bars were spaced out just a bit more; that way I could store my arms outside.] Well, I'll get to stretch my limbs when I am marked tomorrow, so for now it would be best to fall asleep.