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Prima District, Thirteenth Street was different from the slums. It was a place where people could live without straying from the bounds of the law.
Buildings without owners were abundant, giving the homeless a place to stay, and people could earn just enough money to survive because of the availability of odd jobs. This was all thanks to none other than the Holy Church. Because nobles and caravans didn’t want to fall out of the Church’s favor, relief supplies—while not plentiful—were at least steadily provided.
With the basics of food, clothing, and shelter guaranteed, people stopped coveting or stealing from one another. That alone made this place fundamentally different from the slums, where survival of the fittest and the law of the jungle reigned supreme.
“Take one more, will you? You said you’ve got three kids, right?” said the man handing out the rations.
“O-oh! Thank you so much!”
A man from District Twenty-Three lowered his head, moved to tears by the unexpected kindness while the distributor just waved it off.
“It’s not like I brought them myself. If you really want to show thanks, go into that building over there and offer a prayer to the Goddess. Without the Church here, none of us would even dream of this kind of comfort.”
The poor knew it well. In a city where no one else...
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