The Slime Doesn't Die from Mana Transfer-Chapter 119 : Identifying by Socks

“But that’s about all there is to me.”
Chris spoke calmly.
“The ceiling of a rogue’s profession isn’t that high. Picking locks, setting traps, scouting, disarming traps, covering allies, leading the way—that’s about it. Outside of being an adventurer, there’s not much else we can do.”
“In our party, everyone else was impressive. A noble-born master swordsman, an elven archer from Freya Forest, a former mercenary who was invincible on the battlefield... Compared to them, I’m just some slum-born thief who survived by petty stealing. Nothing worth mentioning...”
“That’s not true at all.”
The voice came suddenly from behind Chris—it was Zig.
Russell glanced at him, only then realizing that despite Zig’s scruffy beard, his voice carried a trace of childishness.
A bearded man with the voice of a boy… it was unsettling.
“Everyone respects Big Sister Chris. She’s our role model. If we train hard, someday we can make something of ourselves too.”
Zig spoke earnestly.
“One day, I want to be an adventurer respected like Big Sister Chris!”
“Ahh...”
Chris sighed helplessly.
“Since when are adventurers respected?”
Even S-rank adventurers, in the eyes of nobles and high-ranking officials, were nothing more than tools—paid to do whatever job they were given.
But she didn’t say that aloud.
She did see potential in Zig.
Maybe one day, he could leave the slums behind, just as she had, and take hold of his own fate.
…
After completing the subjugation of the S-rank monster, the Blue Falcon squad had returned to the capital, receiving a hefty commission reward. Being a royal commission, the payment was generous. Otherwise, Thomas would never have chosen to take on such a long-distance quest.
After distributing the money, Captain Thomas gave the team a holiday, suggesting they stay to watch the upcoming coronation ceremony.
Chris used the opportunity to return to the place she’d grown up.
It was more or less the same as she remembered—unchanging, stagnant.
She decided to spend her holiday here.
Who knew she’d end up dragged into something like this after only a few days.
“Winnie is in the city too?”
The one asking this time wasn’t Russell—it was Rozelite.
“Of course,” Chris replied.
“I’d guess she’s at some tavern drinking right now. That’s what she always does. When there’s no work, she likes drinking alone. She doesn’t drink with others, except when Captain Thomas occasionally joins her.”
“If I have time, I’ll go see her,” Rozelite said softly.
Back in Flemont, she had told Winnie:
“When the truth becomes clear, and I am once again the Seventh Princess... then we’ll return to how we were before.”
Guided by Chris, Rozelite soon circled through the entire slums.
Along the way, they encountered various problems, but Chris smoothed them over with her familiarity. Having grown up here, she knew every alley, every face. Thanks to her, the process went smoothly, saving a great deal of effort.
And yet, even after searching the entire slum, Russell found no trace of the Shadow Race operative.
He had checked every status panel, one by one, but the figure from that night was nowhere to be seen.
Which meant they weren’t hiding here.
“Could it be that night, they just happened to pass through?”
But the way that figure moved—so familiar with the terrain—it suggested they had ties here, even if they weren’t currently hiding in the slum.
Russell turned to Chris.
“Is anyone missing?”
“Uh, I can’t think of anyone.”
Chris shook her head. Even she couldn’t possibly keep track of every resident. And besides, people in the slums often came and went. In a place like this, if a few of society’s bottom rung suddenly disappeared, no one would notice.
Suddenly, Zig lifted his head, face pale with panic.
“Shira’s gone.”
“Big Sister Chris, Shira hasn’t come back. And just now, she wasn’t home either!”
“Could something have happened?”
At those words, everyone’s attention sharpened. They all asked: “Who’s Shira?”
“She’s that... uh, the girl with light yellow hair.”
Zig stammered and gestured awkwardly until Chris finally recalled her.
A girl with pale yellow hair, freckles on her face, usually lively. Every time she saw Chris, she’d greet her. As a fellow child of the slums, Chris had some impression of her, though they’d never spoken much.
And now, she was missing.
In fact, she hadn’t been seen in several days. Zig had just assumed she was staying home.
But they had already visited every corner of the slum—including Shira’s home. She wasn’t there.
Russell frowned.
“So... does anyone know where this Shira might have gone?”
Zig hesitated before answering.
“The night before last, I saw her carrying a basket of dirty laundry. She said she was going to the river to wash. That was the last time I saw her.”
“The river?”
“The one flowing through the south of the city,” Chris explained.
“There’s a branch from the moat that runs past the southern district. Most of the slum residents wash clothes there. Shira was a neat freak. She often went, and she knew the place well.”
“Alright. Lead the way,” Russell ordered curtly.
Zig glanced at Chris, and when she nodded, he led them on.
The group passed crooked shacks, walked several hundred meters, and reached the river not far from the slum.
The afternoon sun scorched the riverbank, its surface reflecting glaring light.
Scattered across the bank were gray-white stones of varying sizes. Some larger, smoothed by long wear, were clearly regular washing spots. The river water was murky, tinged with yellow, flowing lazily into the distance. Sparse water-tolerant weeds sprouted by the shore.
Zig ran straight to a large slab downstream. Half-submerged, its slick surface bore the marks of long friction from wet cloth.
He bent to examine it carefully, running his fingers through the cracks.
Suddenly, he froze.
When he raised his hand again, pinched between his fingers was a soaked, gray sock, dripping water from its coarse fabric.
A sock?
Russell tilted his head.
Just as he was about to speak—
Zig suddenly lifted the sock to his nose, sniffed it twice.
Then his voice trembled.
“Yes, this is Shira’s! This is the sock she wore! I’d never mistake it!”
“...Well, who would’ve thought. Thick brows, honest face... and turns out the kid’s a foot freak.”