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I Was Mistaken for a Saint in a Dark Fantasy

Chapter 9: Limbus Pit Ecological Report (1) · Oct 17, 2026

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Chapter List (202)

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1 Chapter 1: I Think I’ve Been Possessed by the Protagonist Who Becomes a Saint 2026-10-17
2 Chapter 2: Is This Possession or Reincarnation (1) 2026-10-17
3 Chapter 3: Is This Possession or Reincarnation (2) 2026-10-17
4 Chapter 4: Angel of the Red-Light District 2026-10-17
5 Chapter 5: You Gotta Oil Up While Living (1) 2026-10-17
6 Chapter 6: You Gotta Oil Up While Living (2) 2026-10-17
7 Chapter 7: You Gotta Oil Up While Living (3) 2026-10-17
8 Chapter 8: You Gotta Oil Up While Living (4) 2026-10-17
9 Chapter 9: Limbus Pit Ecological Report (1) 2026-10-17
10 Chapter 10: Limbus Pit Ecological Report (2) 2026-10-17
11 Chapter 11: Limbus Pit Ecological Report (3) 2026-10-17
12 Chapter 12: Bastard of a Bloodfiend (1) 2026-10-17
13 Chapter 13: Bastard of a Bloodfiend (2) 2026-10-17
14 Chapter 14: Bastard of a Bloodfiend (3) 2026-10-17
15 Chapter 15: Bastard of a Bloodfiend (4) 2026-10-17
16 Chapter 16: Protagonist is always busy 2026-10-17
17 Chapter 17: Protagonist is always busy (2) 2026-10-17
18 Chapter 18: New Skill Tree Unlock? 2026-10-17
19 Chapter 19: New Skill Tree Unlock? (2) 2026-10-17
20 Chapter 20: Limbus Pit’s Winter (1) 2026-10-17
21 Chapter 21: Limbus Pit’s Winter (2) 2026-10-17
22 Chapter 22: Limbus Pit’s Winter (3) 2026-10-17
23 Chapter 23: Limbus Pit’s Winter (4) 2026-10-17
24 Chapter 24: Limbus Pit’s Winter (5) 2026-10-17
25 Chapter 25: Limbus Pit’s Winter (6) 2026-10-17
26 Chapter 26: Flower Blooming in the Plague (1) 2026-10-17
27 Chapter 27: Flower Blooming in the Plague (2) 2026-10-17
28 Chapter 28: Flower Blooming in the Plague (3) 2026-10-17
29 Chapter 29: Flower Blooming in the Plague (4) 2026-10-17
30 Chapter 30: Flower Blooming in the Plague (5) 2026-10-17
31 Chapter 31: Firefly Prince (1) 2026-10-17
32 Chapter 32: Firefly Prince (2) 2026-10-17
33 Chapter 33: Firefly Prince (3) 2026-10-17
34 Chapter 34: Firefly Prince (4) 2026-10-17
35 Chapter 35: Firefly Prince (5) 2026-10-17
36 Chapter 36: Firefly Prince (6) 2026-10-17
37 Chapter 37: Firefly Prince (7) 2026-10-17
38 Chapter 38: Firefly Prince (8) 2026-10-17
39 Chapter 39: Demon Disease (1) 2026-10-17
40 Chapter 40: Demon Disease (2) 2026-10-17
41 Chapter 41: Demon Disease (3) 2026-10-17
42 Chapter 42: Was Mistaken for Daddy-Long-Legs (1) 2026-10-17
43 Chapter 43: Was Mistaken for Daddy-Long-Legs (2) 2026-10-17
44 Chapter 44: Was Mistaken for Daddy-Long-Legs (3) 2026-10-17
45 Chapter 45: Was Mistaken for Daddy-Long-Legs (4) 2026-10-17
46 Chapter 46: Was Mistaken for Daddy-Long-Legs (5) 2026-10-17
47 Chapter 47: Was Mistaken for Daddy-Long-Legs (6) 2026-10-17
48 Chapter 48: Entering High Society (1) 2026-10-17
49 Chapter 49: Entering High Society (2) 2026-10-17
50 Chapter 50: Entering High Society (3) 2026-10-17

It was a night of shallow sleep.

Linier kept tossing and turning from an unidentifiable discomfort.

Her un-sunken consciousness drifted through the darkness.

Wandering through the familiar room, the familiar ceiling, the familiar breath sounds—

Suddenly, the thought that she had taken a wrong turn struck her.

▽▽▽

This is perhaps— a daydream on a path not taken

▽▽▽

“...”The cradle that had been warm just a moment ago is now cold.

She reaches out to touch her child.

But all she feels are empty blankets.

There are no breath sounds.

Ah, right.

I closed Fried’s wooden coffin yesterday.

A wail akin to a scream wells up from the depths of her being.

But for the past three days, her throat had been raw and cracked.

The unfinished wail leaks out as a sob.

When she barely manages to turn her head—she sees an empty dining table.

Her gaze wanders over the cold food.

Caudle.

She had heard it was made with her husband’s prized liquor and fresh eggs.

But she felt no desire to eat it.

Her body is cold.

She wished someone would hold her.

Linier gets out of bed and walks down the hallway.

To the room where the boy should be sleeping soundly.

The child of my husband’s first love.

By the time she reaches the front of the room, a jam knife is in her hand.

She doesn’t remember when she picked it up.

’It’s your fault.’

Why.

Why did you grow up so healthy.

Why did my child.

Her hand touches the doorknob.

In that moment, a memory from two days ago flashes by.

When the newborn Fried couldn’t let out the cry he was supposed to,

when the healer who was supposed to come couldn’t make it due to the heavy snow.

This boy had appeared before Linier, who was screaming while holding her pale child.

—It’s not too late. I can help. Please give me the baby.

But Linier had pushed his hand away.

She doesn’t quite remember why.

Was it because the pain of childbirth hadn’t subsided?

At the time, she could barely move a fingertip, and her vision was blurred by cold sweat.

And amidst it all, her baby, unable to cry.

Fear swallowed all her judgment.

Perhaps that’s why she couldn’t trust him.

Or maybe it was because of the traces of her rival in love that she sometimes saw in the boy’s face.

Exhaustion, fear, and jealousy.

In the moment all those things became tangled, only raw emotion burst from her lips.

—Get out! How dare you, with the blood of that whore in you! What do you know!

The boy’s eyes wavered for a moment upon hearing the verbal abuse.

Then he turned away.

Two days later, Fried stopped breathing, without ever letting out a proper first cry.

And a fact she learned too late.

The boy who tried to help her was a healer known as the Angel of the Red-Light District.

“...”

Her hand falls from the doorknob.

Right.

She was the one who pushed away the helping hand.

The one who did that to Fried was...

Linier turns back.

To her own room.

Thump, thump.

She kneels before the empty cradle.

She hugs the blankets that still hold the faint scent of her child.

“...I’m sorry.”

To whom was this apology truly directed?

Fried? Her husband? Her daughter?

Or... that child?

Perhaps it was for everyone.

She drinks the cold Caudle.

She closes her eyes in the intoxication that rises immediately.

A cold piece of metal touches the inside of her wrist.

And—

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hgh!”

Linier’s eyes flew open as she gasped for breath.

Her heart was pounding violently.

She couldn’t remember what she had dreamed.

But it was clearly a nightmare.

However, in the rapidly evaporating memory, she only remembered making some kind of unsettling choice.

Her trembling eyes turned to the side.

Inside the cradle, her beloved youngest son was sleeping soundly.

The little blood clot, who seemed like he could stop breathing at any moment, had now put on some weight and gained cute contours.

After completing 40 weeks, the same gestational age as other normal babies, his breath sounds had become quite even.

Hee, hee.

Linier listened to those breath sounds for a long time.

Only then did her racing heart begin to calm down.

She turned her head to the other side.

On the small bed, the blankets were neatly folded.

It was the spot where Yulian, the eldest son of the Nihilrit Family and a healer, was supposed to be.

Linier was not surprised that he was gone.

Because the child would always watch over the room all night, then quietly leave around dawn.

“...”

She didn’t know why, but she suddenly wanted to see Yulian, that child.

Linier got out of bed.

***

A month and a half had passed since the new family member arrived.

Fried finally reached 40 weeks, meaning he’s the same 0 years old as other normal children!

Ah, since this is based on Western Culture, would that be one year old?

Anyway.

A lot happened to get to this point.

So much that I can’t describe it all, but I can definitely say I went through a lot because of our youngest child.

Good job, me.

Pat, pat.

Sometimes my heart sank when Fried’s body weight dropped, but thankfully, it was just because of a bowel movement.

He pooped a lot.

’Fried’s condition has stabilized.’

Of course, just because he’s past 6 weeks and reached 40 weeks doesn’t mean he doesn’t need care anymore.

But since he’s out of the premature infant stage, there was no need for 24-hour close monitoring.

It was a time when just checking that Fried played well and ate well in the evening was enough.

’It’s about time I returned to the Red-Light District.’

Sick children and mothers in childbirth don’t just exist in our house.

There were still many people in the world who needed the protagonist’s saving hand.

Before returning to the Red-Light District.

I headed to the kitchen to prepare a lunch box for the first time in a while.

’Doesn’t seem like anyone’s around.’

On the way to the kitchen. It was still early dawn, so I confirmed no one was there.

Originally, when I was in the annex, I didn’t have to be so cautious.

There was no one watching and no one who cared.

But after moving to the main building, I had to be careful even when going to the kitchen.

Because there was someone who disapproved of me going into the kitchen.

’Then for today’s lunch box menu, should I use the ingredients left over from yesterday...’

I was thinking about the menu like that when I quietly arrived at the kitchen.

Just before my hand touched the doorknob, I suddenly heard the sound of a cough from behind me.

“Yulian.”

I turned around to see Mother Linier standing at the end of the hall.

Seeing the frown on her brow, I could guess what she was about to say.

“I told you the kitchen was off-limits.”

“...I’m sorry.”

I immediately bowed my head in apology.

At my apology, Mother’s lips trembled ever so slightly.

A few months ago.

I thought she’d given me permission after being so moved by my cooking.

But she hadn’t.

Something about how enjoying my food was a separate issue from her son getting grease on his hands.

Since that day, Mother began to scold me for going to the kitchen.

Just like now.

Mother turned her head to look out the window as if avoiding my gaze and let out a deep sigh.

“...I know your heart well, my dear. But you are the eldest son of the Nihilrit Family now. There are eyes watching, so you must be mindful of your face.”

“I apologize, Mother. I was thoughtless. I won’t do it again.”

“Even if you say that, you... haa... never mind.”

Of course, this was the 20th time we’d had this exchange.

Mother was well aware that my answer was soulless.

Nevertheless, she gave in to me every time.

“Only for today.”

“Thank you, Mother.”

Of course, I feel bad saying this, but I think we’ll be having this exchange for the rest of our lives.

Cooking is part of my individuality.

Still...

’Thank you for scolding me.’

It felt good.

It meant she saw me not just as a godson, but as a biological child.

***

Today was the day I headed to the Red-Light District for the first time in a while.

To check the monorail and tram schedules, I looked at the newspaper’s route announcement section for the first time in a long time.

’That route is blocked because of the heavy snow, and that one is too much of a detour...’

I thought while looking at the route map overlaid on the map.

The gravity of this city flows strictly according to social status.

It’s not a vertical structure, but rather like a pyramid, getting higher as you go toward the center.

’The tram won’t be operating for a while because of the snow, so I’ll have to take only the monorail... a direct route is...’

My finger traced down the route map.

Sanctum Hill.

The center of the city, the sanctuary of the nobles who look down on everything.

This is my starting point.

A little further down from here is Civitas Square.

The commoners’ square, which serves as the city’s waist.

I transfer here.

And at the very bottom is Limbus Pit.

Located at the foot of the mountain or on the outskirts, the gutter for the un-chosen.

This is my destination.

’Okay. Today, the No. 14 monorail is at 8 o’clock.’

Needless to say, the Red-Light District is located in Limbus Pit.

The commute there takes a full two hours.

Just thinking about the crowds at the transfer station, Civitas Square, made me feel my faith in humanity hitting rock bottom.

’Why is my commute pattern the same as my previous life even though the world has changed?’

There is a difference.

Instead of going from the outskirts to the center, I’m going from the center to the outskirts.

Just as I was organizing my thoughts and getting ready to leave.

“Yulian. You said you’re going back to that place starting today.”

When I finished getting ready and went to the entrance, Father was standing there.

“I’ve had a car prepared outside. Take it.”

“A car... you say?”

Looking outside, I saw the car Father originally used for his commute.

“If I take that, how will you get to work, Father?”

“I bought a new car.”

Aha.

So he wanted to buy a new car and used me as an excuse.

No wonder the newspaper’s automobile advertisement section was always open whenever I went to his office lately.

“I’m asking just in case, but did Mother give you permission?”

“...I’m sorry. I used your name a little.”

I can roughly picture the situation.

He probably put on a passionate act in front of Mother, saying something like, ’How can a father sleep when his son has to walk all the way to that gutter?’

Even in an age where the head of the house’s power is absolute, you can’t ignore the mistress of the house.

Furthermore, he would need a justification and permission for a large expenditure.

Well, since it’s good for me and good for Father, I decided to think of it as mutual aid.

“I’m fine with it.”

“Thank you. I recently bought it thanks to the stake in Quinine you registered under my name. Don’t feel burdened and use it every day.”

He spoke nonchalantly, but the corners of his mouth were twitching.

Was he happy because he bought a new car?

Or was he proud that he could buy a car for his son?

I decided to think it was both.

“Thank you, Father.”

“Can’t you call me Dad at times like this?”

“Thank you, Father.”

“...Right.”

I gratefully accepted my father’s goodwill.

Outside, a black, square sedan that looked like it came out of a late 1800s black-and-white photograph was waiting in front of the mansion.

Then there was the long running board for getting in and out, the brass ornaments embedded here and there, and even the engravings on the doorknob.

Anyone could tell it was a vintage-style luxury limousine.

Ah, by this world’s standards, I guess it wouldn’t be vintage.

’But it’s safe, right? Right?’

The problem was elsewhere.

The spoked wheels that exposed the interior, reminiscent of a bicycle,

the long copper exhaust pipe running along the side,

the ember of the blue mana-stone engine visible through the front grille.

These things made me a little uneasy.

From a doctor’s perspective, they looked like a skinned leg bone, an exposed blood vessel, and a heart visible between the ribs, respectively.

Well, this must be because I don’t know much about cars.

I’ll just have to trust that the Dwarfs knew what they were doing and made it safe.

I stepped on the running board below the door and got into the back seat of the car.

’Oh. The smell of leather.’

As soon as I got in the car, I felt like it had been broken in.

The unique comfort of a seat someone has sat in for a long time, perhaps.

It didn’t take long to realize its source was my father’s body odor, lingering in the leather.

’Ah, now that I think about it, who’s driving?’

My father’s chauffeur was the head butler.

Naturally, the head butler would be assigned to the new car.

Then what about this car?

I looked toward the driver’s seat.

A dense iron grille was installed between the back seat and the driver’s seat.

Beyond it, I could see an unfamiliar back.

Perhaps sensing my gaze, the chauffeur met my eyes through the rear-view mirror.

The chauffeur turned his body and greeted me through the partition.

“I am Otto. I will be in charge of driving this vehicle and serving as the Young Master’s bodyguard.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

That was the end of the conversation.

It would have been better if they had assigned me someone more talkative.

Even better if they had great reactions.

“...”

Otto’s thoughts were transmitted through the rear-view mirror.

—’Our social statuses are too different, so please, let’s not get close.’

I know that look all too well.

It’s the same look military drivers give to the company commander in the back seat.

I know because I’ve seen it a few times from the passenger seat.

Fine.

I won’t talk to you.

The car descended toward Limbus Pit in an awkward silence.

My impression of riding in a limousine for the first time in both my previous and current lives.

An expensive car is better in every way, from ride comfort to speed.

When we departed, the limousine’s windows were clean.

But as we descended through the city, the windows grew dirtier.

In step with this, the white marble of Sanctum Hill changed to the gray bricks of Civitas Square, and those gray bricks gradually blackened.

Before long, a single scene began to repeat itself outside the window.

Under the bridge, in the dark shade, a long line had formed.

Tags, like the quality tags on livestock, were hung around the necks of the people in line.

, , ...

It was called a transfer, but the direction was always the same.

From top to bottom.

As if the city were excreting the dregs it couldn’t digest,

the sick, the disabled, the bankrupt, and so on were silently walking down toward Limbus Pit.

The iron masks of the soldiers sending them down showed no emotion.

Indifference toward one’s neighbors was one of this city’s essential moralities.

Knock, knock.

It was while we were waiting for a signal.

Someone knocked on the car window.

I could see a grimy finger.

It was a child.

What they held in their hand was not a can for begging, but a crumpled piece of paper.

Their eyes were pleading for something.

As I reached out to lower the window, the chauffeur looked at me in the rear-view mirror and said,

“Young Master. Do not lower the window.”

He was my bodyguard before he was my chauffeur, so he did not permit me to lower the window.

“The collection team will dislike it, too. It will interfere with their duties.”

The collection team.

The word rolled around in my mouth.

The next moment, a soldier in an iron mask snatched the child’s wrist.

The child didn’t scream.

Not because they didn’t know how, but because they knew it would be useless.

The iron mask fastened something to the back of the child’s neck.

It was a small iron tag.

And so, the child became a part of the line.

And the soldiers who dragged the child away bowed repeatedly to this car, as if in apology.

Watching that scene, what I felt was not a sense of superiority, but discomfort.

I readjusted the gloves on my lap.

’...More patients.’

In this city, the reasons for a protagonist to be good are always delivered in the most gruesome ways.

Entering the Red-Light District, a scene reminiscent of London’s Chinatown in the 1800s unfolded.

I don’t know if Chinatown existed in that era, but anyway.

The limousine stopped beneath a massive paifang.

The red-lacquered pillars, their paint all peeled off, and a dragon sculpture with a broken neck greeted me.

’Swoop... haaah.’

I took a deep breath inside the car.

This street, which I had returned to after six weeks, was still filled with the stench of filth and burnt kerosene.

Of course, the air wasn’t particularly good anywhere inside the walls, as a rule.

But as if to say there is a bottom to the bottom, the air quality changed class as I went lower.

And this foul stench of the slums, which seemed to pierce my lungs, reaffirmed that I had returned to where I belonged.

’...Ugh, the smell.’

I took out my crow mask and put it on for the first time in a while.

Originally, I had no intention of plagiarizing a plague doctor.

But as I pursued various functions, I circled back to a crow mask.

Is this what they call convergent evolution?

’Hoo... that’s a little better.’

I took a deep breath of the scent of herbs filling the beak of the bird mask.

For a moment, I felt like I had escaped the rotten air of this city.

Though it was just an escape from the smell.

I got out of the car with the mask on.

’Every time I come here, it feels like I’m in Chinatown.’

Unlike other districts of the Empire, the buildings of the Red-Light District followed the architectural style of the Beastkin cultural sphere.

Roofs with eaves curving up towards the sky, pillars with faded red paint peeling off, and lanterns hung in every alley.

This was a unique landscape that only the Red-Light District possessed, even within Limbus Pit.

“I will park the car and come right back down, Young Master.”

“Thank you, Mr. Otto.”

Otto bowed his head and drove the car up to Civitas Square.

There was no place to park in this slum, so we had to resort to this cumbersome method.

I put on my mask and walked towards the clinic.

On the way to the clinic, several lines of black chalk marks were layered under a wall with the faded trace of the character for fortune (福).

It was a place of communication where the residents here communicated anonymously, a sort of bamboo forest, or what you might call the Red-Light District’s gallery.

[Fucking Guards, only show up after three bodies pile up. They ignore two.]

[Saw those Sanctum bitches using Heal on a dog. If they treasure them that much, they’re definitely fucking those mutts.]

[Why do you collect taxes? You don’t even give us clean water.]

[I hope the wall collapses. Then I’ll throw those bastards off first.]

ㄴ You and your family will be thrown off instead.

[Called a healer but he left when I said I had no money. Rita died that night. And they talk about God’s love. God’s a miser.]

ㄴ I know him. Heard the baby went too.

ㄴㄴ There was no baby. It died because it couldn’t come out.

[Loa, I’m sorry your brother couldn’t protect you. I’ll be joining you soon.]

ㄴ If you’re going anyway, can I have your address?

ㄴ ㄴ Go fuck yourself.

[