Fremd Torturchen - Volume 8 - Chapter 1

1

A Publicity Stunt

The room was red.

Its walls, floor, and ceiling were all dyed the color of fresh blood.

It was the kind of scene that burrowed its way into your eyeballs and chipped away at your mind. After all, staying calm and levelheaded when your entire field of view was filled with crimson was no easy task. In contrast with its violent hue, however, the room itself was constructed in an exceedingly normal manner.

Firewood was stacked beside its hearth, and it had a cupboard decorated with modest little ornaments. The room also had a plain, well-built desk, and atop it sat two teacups. Each was filled with milk tea.

Suddenly, a pale hand holding a silver spoon reached out. Grains of sugar cascaded down from the spoon and sank into the piping hot beverage.

There, in that red, crimson, scarlet room—

—in that room that looked like a gaping wound gouged out of flesh—

—the two of them spent their days as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

“Here you are, Master Kaito. It’s still hot, so do be careful.”

“Got it. Thanks, Hina.”

Kaito Sena nodded as he took the cup. His short hair’s tied-back knot swayed as he took a sip.

Sitting in the seat across from him was a beautiful maid.

It was his eternal lover, his beloved automaton wife, Hina.

Aside from their seats, the dining table also had a third chair. But that chair was empty.

The vacuum it left was hollow and lonesome. Not only was the room itself perverse, it was also missing something important. However, they enjoyed their peaceful teatime all the same. But all of a sudden, that genial silence was shattered.

A ghastly noise was ringing off in the distance.

It was frail and shrill yet ominous all the same. It sounded like someone screaming or perhaps someone wailing in resentment.

It was the sound of swords ringing, of flesh being eaten, of people being consumed, of crying, of screaming, and of all other noises combined.

Hina turned her emerald eyes downward and let out a quiet murmur.

“It’s started…hasn’t it?”

“Yeah. It has.”

Kaito looked down at the faintly cloudy surface of his tea and nodded. However, even though he himself was the one who fended off the end of days, he didn’t seem particularly surprised. He went on matter-of-factly.

“I mean, I always knew it was going to happen. Every living creature is ignorant, every living creature is like a stupid animal, and every living creature is precious. And that’s why they’re worth protecting. But at the same time, it’s also why they can never escape ruin. It’s just the way they are… But still, just three years? That’s crazy fast.”

“It is, but it seems the stone began rolling before the final battle even began.”

“Yeah. The question is, what’s gonna happen now? The mixed-race folk are one thing, but the bigger problem is this new reincarnation. I dunno if she and her allies even realize that…or I guess I should say I dunno if they realize just how dangerous she is. ‘This time, I’m going to accomplish everything I set out to do,’ huh?”

Kaito frowned. He himself was proof of the power of that sentiment. That “conception” possessed by those who met cruel deaths could form the basis for limitless magical growth. But what if there wasn’t anything that the person in question wanted to accomplish?

A hollow vessel had the power to change its shape at will. It was impossible to tell what it would give the world and what it would do.

Would it love or would it hate?

Would it be just or would it be evil?

“In my case, I was filled with love. That much I know. But what even is justice? I’m still not sure.”

Back when he was alive, the Mad King obtained unrivaled power. Yet even so, he wasn’t able to save everyone. He was aware of countless tragedies yet didn’t reach out to prevent more than a scant few.

And Kaito wasn’t alone in that.

The innocent begged for mercy, but nobody lent them an ear. Many committed horrible acts, and those who didn’t merely stood by as spectators.

Eventually, punishment always caught up with sin.

Stupid sheep only saw what they wanted to see and only heard what they wanted to hear.

Would they be granted salvation? Even just asking was completely shameless. In a world where God and Diablo actually existed, wishing for convenient miracles to occur was nothing short of comical. The living needed to learn their lesson already.

Salvation wasn’t coming.

Eventually, all of them would die and the world along with them.

That was the answer. Not a single person had the right to criticize the current rebellion.

However, a single foolish person murmured,

“Yet even so…”

And now it was all beginning.

“Yeah, Elisabeth, that’s right… Yet even so…”

Kaito didn’t finish the rest. Now that he noticed, the noise was gone. Everything was quiet again. Of course, the room was completely sequestered from the outside world. It was distant from everything. It would be strange if anything were audible.

The room was red. It had no windows. It had no doors.

No one could leave. And no one could enter. It was almost like a graveyard. Or perhaps a prison.

And in that place, that place where no one ought to be

the two of them just sat.

The sound of burning meat filled the air, as did the smell of charred flesh.

Somewhere, people were burning.

A bell rang off in the distance. The ground was hot, and the sky was black with smoke and ash.

The land, the trees, the grass—everything was burning. The water was bitter, and countless were dead. A single bird flew through the sky, crying loudly as it went.

A slender man gazed up at it. The hem of his black, aristocratic coat swayed as he murmured.

“‘A calamity cometh. A calamity cometh. To all the people of the land. The coming messenger aims to blow the bugle of the end.’ …Or something to that effect, I imagine. It does resemble the second coming of the end of days, though, doesn’t it?”

“Still thy tongue, Vlad. If you wish to wax poetic about tragedy, then go become a wandering minstrel or something.”

Someone standing behind Vlad shot him a biting remark. However, Vlad offered no response. He just kept gazing upward.

Hard footsteps echoed out as the other speaker approached from behind. Her black hair and the hem of her lascivious bondage dress fluttered behind the beautiful woman when she came to a halt. She looked up as well, her crimson gaze cutting through the ashen wind.

Then the Torture Princess—Elisabeth Le Fanu—spoke.

“At the moment, we’ve no messenger, no God, no Diablo. Just a fat lot of survivors from the end of days trying to kill one another. Yet again, you succeed in being naught but foolish and annoy— Hmm? You’re finished? Were there any survivors on the east side?”

“A-allow me…to give my report…”

The answer to Elisabeth’s question came from the human conscript a little ways off.

He had come running over from the houses to the east. Behind his metal epaulets, she could see a group of soldiers carrying bodies out of the still-burning houses. It was clear that most of the victims had already perished.

The soldiers carried the brutalized corpses to the central plaza one after another.

Although she was still waiting for the conscript’s answer, the number of bodies she saw gave Elisabeth a fair inkling of what it would be. He came to a stop before her. Not forgetting to salute, he placed his arm horizontally across his chest as he spoke.

“No luck… It was horrible! As far as we can tell, they slaughtered the entire town! Women, children, even unborn babies… It was just like all the others.”

He clamped his mouth shut, no doubt resisting the urge to vomit. His face was blackened with soot and swollen from inflammation. The air inside the houses was still scorching hot. They had fought back the fires as part of their search-and-rescue mission, but they hadn’t had time to put them out completely.

In spite of all that, he was shivering as badly as if he’d just taken shelter from a blizzard.

Upon hearing the peculiar phrase even unborn babies, Elisabeth clicked her tongue.

“Tch, again? How tasteless. And how persistent. This goes beyond the level of mere amusement.”

All of a sudden, Vlad slowly turned to them and spoke.

“Isn’t it just proof of how exceedingly deep the rebels’ hatred runs, precious daughter of mine? Not to say that there isn’t a pragmatic reason as well, but as for their fundamental motive, I’ve little doubt that it’s just pure unadulterated loathing.”

Elisabeth made no efforts to hide her grimace, and the conscript let out a small gasp.

Vlad grinned gleefully. It was a decidedly unsettling sight in a place as hellish as that. He went on, seemingly unfazed by the other two’s revulsion.

“‘You’re different from us… That means I can do whatever I want to you.’ It’s a cruel piece of rationalization some humans once came up with. Depressingly shallow logic, to be sure, and nothing but base sophistry designed to ward off feelings of guilt. You see, the true reason people have to show compassion to others is so they don’t get killed themselves. But those humans violated that rule, taking those of mixed race just as intelligent as them and butchering them like animals.”

And that had led directly to this.

“A natural conclusion,” Vlad whispered softly.

“How can you even say something like that?!” the conscript cried back. However, Elisabeth placed a hand atop the man’s shoulder to settle him down. There was nothing to be gained from getting worked up about the things Vlad said.

Even as she ignored him, though, Elisabeth couldn’t help but have a thought cross her mind.

’Tis far too indiscriminate to be neatly written off as retribution.

She closed her eyes, then opened them.

Now then, what to make of the grisly spectacle laid out before the Torture Princess?

Buildings were burning. People were dead. Their corpses lined the streets. And ash rained from the sky.

At the moment, Elisabeth and the others were in a nameless, medium-size village.

It had been attacked by the rebels, and everyone within had been slaughtered.

Originally, it had been just another unremarkable remote village.

Its population was on the larger side, and it produced a decent amount of wheat. However, it wasn’t linked to any major roads, didn’t have any large farms or factories where magic item components were produced, and wasn’t home to any rich deposits of ore.

Attacking it might earn you a little money but nothing beyond that. By the time news reached the Capital that something had happened there, though, Elisabeth and the others were already too late. The village had been set ablaze, and the slaughter was finished.

Because the villagers had chosen to prioritize looking for survivors, the fires in the fields and storehouses yet raged, but the dirty rain would take care of them in time. A charred weather vane creaked as it spun atop a burning roof.

And down beneath its watchful gaze sat the villagers’ corpses. However, the fire wasn’t what had killed them.

Their chests had been ripped open, their rib cages smashed, and their hearts extracted all while they were still alive. And the pregnant women’s children—the aforementioned unborn babies—were no exception. They, too, had been ripped from their mothers and had their organs savagely extracted, an act so barbaric it called into question the sanity of the perpetrators. However, there was a reason why the horrific acts had been carried out the way they had.

After all, of course there was. Neither side had completely descended into madness just yet.

In other words, there had to be some reason.

At least for the time being.

Elisabeth murmured the rebels’ original motive aloud.

“Revenge for the fact that the Mixed-Race Massacre continued even after Ragnarok, then?”

The story began a little while before the three races successfully staved off the end of days.

When confronted with the annihilation that was the end of the world, many people lost their minds. As a result of that, they began killing heretics despite the fact that none of their doctrine called on them to do so. It was their attempt at demonstrating their piety toward God and begging for salvation.

Because the mixed-race people looked different from them and were close at hand, they made for obvious targets.

And the incidents continued even after the end of days was averted. There were myriad reasons why, such as the reconstruction sect pulling strings and people fearing that another calamity was on the horizon.

The widespread knowledge of Diablo’s confirmed existence also caused a marked increase in people conducting ritual sacrifices. When it came to piety, though, that village fell in one of the former categories.

At times, rustic simplicity and zealous devotion can make for an alarming combination.

Elisabeth sifted through her memories.

There was an incident she could recall from about a year back.

A disturbing report had been brought to a church near that village.

According to the report, a group of mixed-race vagrants had gone missing one after another in the area around the village she was now standing in.

That led to a party of truth seekers being dispatched, but the villagers all seemed like devout people; none of them said anything suspicious, and the group couldn’t find proof of any actual wrongdoing. And how could they? The villagers blindly believed that their actions were just and good. There was no reason why any of them would slip up, and there was no way they would leave any evidence. With all the villagers working together, it was nigh impossible for a rural church’s investigation to see through their cover-up.

And thus, the truth vanished into darkness…or so they thought.

“’Twould seem our mixed-race friends caught wind of what they did. One of them must have plied some friendly peddler with booze, and once their tongue slipped, that was that. Given the uniformity with which the villagers were slain, the mixed-race people were no doubt trying to repay like with like.”

As Elisabeth swept her gaze over the bodies, she narrowed her eyes. The putrid stench of death was strong and traveled well.

The truth had been leaked, and revenge had been carried out. Retribution had caught up with sin.

Still, the act of butchering not only children but also babies goes beyond the pale. In all likelihood…

Perhaps having guessed what Elisabeth was thinking, Vlad let out a quiet soliloquy and voiced the words in her stead.

“Gender, age, creed…they didn’t have the freedom to weigh such things when determining who they should and should not kill, my precious daughter. Not if they wanted to blindly insist that justice was on their side, like the villagers themselves did back when they were alive. For they knew that when they sobered up from their stupor of blood and pretext, all that awaited them were their own broken souls.”

In short, such was the nature of the act. He shrugged calmly as he gazed at the grisly spectacle.

“Avengers really are a troublesome lot, aren’t they? The more righteous a man’s motives, the deeper his obsession, the crueler his methods, and the sooner he brings about his own ruin… I can’t say I hate it, but it is a little gloomy for my tastes.”

“Vlad, no one gives half a damn about your opinions. As I just said, if you intend to compose poetry like a jester, then go find yourself a more suitable profession and venue. If you have time to wax poetic, that time would be better spent doing your job.”

“Oh? And what job might that be, my precious daughter? What is it you would ask of me?”

Vlad tilted his head to the side in a feigned display of innocence. As he did, his malevolent smile broadened.

Instead of immediately answering him, Elisabeth began walking. The conscript hurriedly followed after her. She was headed to the plaza, where the soldiers were still in the middle of moving the victims. The body count was high, and their work had no end in sight.

As such, Elisabeth knew what they needed to do.

“That should go without saying—help carry the bodies.”

A bird cried out. An eagle cried out. A crow cried out.

A calamity cometh. A calamity cometh.

To all the people of the land.

A few days ago, the world’s peace had been shattered once more.

The mixed-race people had declared war against the three races.

Not only had the rebels’ spokesperson Lewis inherited the mixed-race organization’s assets, knowledge, and technology, he had also successfully created the Fremd Torturchen, Alice Carroll, and the demon grandchildren.

In contrast, the three races’ preparations for war were decidedly lacking. After avoiding the end of days, they chose to pour all their resources into the reconstruction efforts. Plus, humanity’s repeated battles against demons had left them exhausted.

It was hard to find anyone who hadn’t lost something important to them. They weren’t mentally ready for another war.

But revenge waits for no man.

The curtain had risen on a new stage, whether the performers wanted it to or not. The conflict had begun. However, no large-scale fighting had broken out yet. At the moment, the big battle they were expecting had yet to come.

Even so, the death count was soaring higher by the hour.

And the people who were directly slaughtered weren’t the only victims.

“Where are we putting the bodies we’ve yet to examine? Ah, I see. Very well… Hmm?”

Elisabeth, who’d been transporting the corpse of a middle-aged man, suddenly stopped. She looked up.

Over by the plaza’s well, a silver-haired woman was talking to a mage from the royal castle.

Noticing Elisabeth’s gaze, the woman returned it and looked over at her. Her face was beautiful and well proportioned. However, it was also covered in bizarre machinations, and a good half of her cheek was full of spinning cogwheels.

Izabella Vicker narrowed her dignified blue and purple eyes and called over to Elisabeth in a solemn tone.

“Elisabeth, just the person I was looking for. I have news. Just as you suspected, the water was poisoned.”

“Sure enough. So that’s the cause behind the strange acrid odor I smelled.”

Elisabeth nodded. She’d first noticed it the moment they arrived at the village.

The air was thick with smoke from the burning bodies, but she’d been able to make out a faint irritant amid the other smells. The bitter aroma had already been scattered by the wind, so it was hard to make out, but given the fact she could make it out at all, it must have pervaded the entire area during the time of the attack.

Izabella held up two small vials between her fingers. One had water from the well and the other had water from the village’s irrigation channel, but both had a layer of viscous green liquid floating at their tops.

Izabella grimly gave voice to her mage companion’s hypothesis.

“It’s the same kind as what the underlings emitted during Ragnarok. I never would have imagined that anyone but us got their hands on any, much less analyzed it and managed to reproduce it. Now, fortunately, they weren’t able to amplify its strength the way Sir Kaito did. If anything, they diluted it. Even so, any attempts to use this water to fight the fire would have caused a massive cloud of poisonous haze to spread through the town in an instant. That’s undoubtedly why we didn’t find any traces of the villagers fighting back.”

“The haze cleared in time, but even then, the poison remained in the well and channels. As always, it seems they’ve little interest in keeping the land fit for future use. It’s as though their goal is merely to dot the human map with unhabitable blots. Between that and the fact that they raid with small groups, set fires, spread poison, kill all they can, and promptly flee…”

“That’s right. In short…it’s the same as the other villages that were hit.”

With a stern expression on her face, Izabella pointed at the rows of corpses.

Elisabeth followed her finger. The first responder combat medics were conducting an inspection of the bodies. Their skill with healing magic was lacking, but they made up for it with their unparalleled knowledge of anatomy.

At the moment, they were using gender, age, and any other characteristics they could make out to compare the dead against the village’s population register.

Given their clouded expressions, Elisabeth could guess at their findings.

“Too few corpses to account for the whole town, eh… Again?”

“Of course. The ones slaughtered weren’t the only victims. Many, such as the village leaders and their families, were abducted. And hoo boy, they’re in for some nasty shit! Hell, they’d be better off havin’ their hearts ripped clean outta their chests! At least that way they’d die quick!”

For how crass the words were, the voice was surprisingly demure.

Elisabeth and Izabella turned.

A girl who resembled a mannequin was coming toward them from the main road that led to the village’s meeting hall. Her porcelain skin gleamed under a bondage dress even more risqué than Elisabeth’s. The girl shook her head lightly to the side.

Doing so caused her golden hair to sway luxuriously. Her rose-red eyes were fixed emotionlessly on the scene before her.

It was yet another Torture Princess—Jeanne de Rais.

“As suspected, I found this lurking in the belfry. Fucker was watchin’ us pull cleanup duty!”

Jeanne took what she was holding and violently tossed it on the ground.

The hideous creature crashed onto the cobblestones with a thud. It was a familiar, one that looked like someone had taken an eagle and affixed it to a piglet. There was no doubt that it belonged to the rebels. Izabella grimaced and shook her head.

Jeanne’s tone was dispassionate, but her eyes gleamed like rubies.

“I also found traces of a teleportation circle behind the meeting hall. It was the same as the ones we found in the other villages’ churches, graveyards, and other large buildings. And just as before, it was impossible to trace back to its source. Those punks are a lotta things, but weak ain’t one of ’em. They work quick and dirty, but that just ends up makin’ it harder to track ’em. Shit’s like tryin’ to follow a hunting hound who dug up the whole damn neighborhood along the way.”

“That’s what they used to abscond with the villagers, no doubt.”

Jeanne gave Elisabeth’s low murmur a nod. Izabella clenched her fists tight.

“Not again… They can’t keep getting away with this barbarity. Their desire for revenge is one thing, but these acts are beyond forgiveness.”

“That goes without saying, my lady. Thing is, though, they don’t give a rat’s ass if you forgive ’em or not. That’s just how avengers roll.”

Elisabeth thought over one of the words Izabella just said.

It was that again.

All the other attack sites they’d gone to had had the exact same pattern of victims. The kidnappings were no doubt happening because the rebels needed “mothers” for their demon grandchildren. Jeanne was right. Death would be far preferable to the fate that awaited the taken.

To hammer that point home, the rebels had begun leaving the burst corpses of such victims in various towns and villages, almost like a warning.

Committing sporadic acts of slaughter and plunder and leaving provocative displays in their wake… This is no normal war.

Elisabeth narrowed her eyes as she thought. Jeanne, guessing at what was going through her mind, replied.

“That’s right—what they’re doing isn’t warfare. And it’s different from the underlings’ indiscriminate destruction as well.”

“In short, this is all one grand act of revenge—nothing more, nothing less? Is that what you’re saying?”

Jeanne gave Elisabeth’s question a nod.

Elisabeth turned to Izabella, wanting to hear her take on the matter. When she did, though, she realized something.

At some point, Izabella had begun looking at Vlad.

The man in question was standing in front of the crushed familiar with a thin smirk on his face. The viewpoint he had to offer on “evil” was valuable to them, so he was being allowed to travel alongside them, but by all rights he was a criminal who was supposed to be locked up.

That made him suspicious even under the best circumstances, and what he was doing now certainly wasn’t helping his case. Izabella squinted at him, trying to figure out what he was after.

Noticing her apprehension, Vlad spread his arms wide.

“Ah, was I being too quiet? I suppose if all I do is attract suspicion, that makes me rather useless indeed. I’m not a jester sent to liven up the proceedings, after all. I suppose it’s high time I did my job and elucidated the situation a little.”

Then his expression did a complete one-eighty and became as serious as could be.

There were some truths that could only be gleaned by the truly evil. Vlad began giving his explanation.

“These massacres were no act of war. They were a revenge drama, a performance designed to stir up a fell wind. A publicity stunt, if you will. The main act is sure to follow soon.”

“A…fell wind? A publicity stunt? What in the world are you going on about?”

Vlad’s words were as cryptic as they were irreverent. Izabella’s distrust grew deeper yet. However, Elisabeth understood what he was getting at. Vlad went on without offering Izabella any clarification.

“‘A calamity cometh. A calamity cometh. To all the people of the land.’ That is what our mixed-race friends are trying to convey, and therein lies their plan. After all, total war is a fool’s errand.”

An image from the past flashed through Elisabeth’s mind.

Dark figures blotting out the sky like clouds.

Massive flocks, all taking off from the forest around the World Tree at once. Birds crying out. Eagles crying out. Crows crying out.

Then a familiar blowing the bugle.

“I’ll take this world, I’ll make it my own, and I’ll kill every last fool who walks upon it. And at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter whether I do anything; it won’t affect our ultimate fate. Salvation isn’t coming, ladies and gentlemen. Not for you, not for anyone. And certainly not for me.

“The sun has gone dark—now, let the killing commence.

“We, the mixed-race folk, hereby declare our rebellion against you.”

That was the declaration of war Lewis made. But even with a few of the demi-humans on his side, wiping out the three races was still a distant pipe dream. His side was far better prepared, but he was also facing down an overwhelming disparity in manpower and resources. That said, the same had been true of the Mad King. And in his case, even though it had taken a fair number of accidents and coincidences to get there, he had nonetheless obtained power sufficient to overthrow the entire world.

Depending on the Fremd Torturchen’s strength, it might well be possible to overturn the world’s power structure.

However, maintaining power and stability for any length of time was another matter altogether. Trying to lump the three races together and rule over them as a single unit was just asking for disaster.

Lewis and his people knew that.

Yet even so, they were trying to become proper shepherds. After rooting out everyone responsible for the Mixed-Race Massacre, their goal was to rule over the world to prevent such a tragedy from ever happening again.

In other words, their dream was the realization of a perfect, idealized utopia.

Short of a literal miracle, such an absurd future will never come to pass.

Alternatively, they could merely obtain so much power that people would have no choice but to obey them unconditionally.

That would require an immense deterrent, exactly like the kind the Saint had sought out.

Namely, God and Diablo.

And if that’s the case, then it’s all too clear what this “fell wind” of theirs shall be.

Before she could finish her thought, though, Elisabeth found herself interrupted.

The sound of a bell clanging rang out.

It was a signal from their lookout stationed by the teleportation circle just outside the village.

Someone was coming.

“Messenger! Messenger!”

Before anyone could jump to conclusions, a deep voice cut through the air.

It was the lookout, stating the nature of their new visitor. It was just a messenger from the Capital, nothing more. Once the soldiers realized that there wasn’t an emergency, they visibly relaxed. However, Elisabeth took off at a dash.

Izabella, Jeanne, and even Vlad, for some reason, raced along after her.

The four of them whizzed past scorched buildings as they raced down the road. Elisabeth was filled with an ominous premonition.

Right now, the three races are constantly exchanging communications.

Consequently, operating the communication devices was taking all the personnel the Capital had. They certainly didn’t have the manpower to spare by sending valuable civil officials off to minor villages with no strategic value. Something major must have happened to warrant taking such measures.

And even if not, no good can come of anyone arriving under such circumstances, regardless of their allegiance!

Eventually, Elisabeth and the others arrived at the humble fence that surrounded the village.

Dirt flew up by Elisabeth’s feet as she skidded to a halt. Before her sat a teleportation circle enclosed in a cylindrical wall of light. A moment later, that wall cracked and shattered, descending to the ground in a rain of glowing droplets.

Standing atop the circle was a man clad in a silken robe—a man Elisabeth recognized.

He was normally stationed in the tomb that served as the temporary royal castle, and his job was to keep an eye out for if the rebels tried to make contact.

As Elisabeth took that fact in, the man strode forward. His stride was sure, but his face was flushed and damp with sweat. After taking a moment to catch his breath, he spoke.

“I come bearing news! The rebel forces have added more to their proclamation!”

“Now, eh? I’d have thought it would come a good deal sooner—either that or not until after they’d made a big show of flattening another two or three villages! To think that they’d go for it right in the middle like this… Well, I do love me a good surprise. Go on then—give us the rest!”

Vlad clapped his hands together. However, his cheery response was an odd one. Even though he was on provisional release, he was still technically a prisoner, and he certainly didn’t have the authority to be giving orders.

However, he had given them so brazenly that the official was at something of a loss. He darted his gaze to and fro, not sure what to do. Eventually, Izabella freed him from his plight by gesturing for him to go on.

The official straightened his posture, then bowed.

“Thank you, ma’am. Then by your leave.”

“Go on.”

“The addendum goes as such. ‘You people lived lives of arrogant bliss, never once sparing a thought for the destitute and the needy. Your deeds were as haughty as they were heinous. As such, the lot falls on us to lop off your sinful heads. It falls on us to spill rivers of your blood, stack mountains of your corpses, and reduce you all to ash. For us, our victory lies in slaying as many of you as we can until the day of our ultimate defeat. However, if it’s clemency you would ask of us…’”

Suddenly, the flowing narration came to an abrupt halt. The official began coughing.

It would seem that the smoky air was starting to get to him.

Vlad slumped his shoulders in contemptuous exasperation, an act that earned him a sharp glare from Izabella. Seeing that, Jeanne just barely managed to stop herself from shrugging as well. She quickly righted her drooping posture.

As all of that was going on, Elisabeth surreptitiously frowned. Something had caught her attention.

It was the civil official. As he coughed, he was glancing in her direction, asking her with his gaze if it was really all right for him to read the rest aloud.

Is the information dangerous to me in some way? But if so, why bother warning me? Wait…

Suddenly, Elisabeth remembered something—she knew him. That in and of itself was odd, given that she had little interest in any of the civil officials or their business, nor did she even know the man’s name.

However, there was a good reason she recognized him.

It was from when they took her verbal testimony when compiling records on Kaito Sena.

Out of all the people there, he was the only one who’d had the decency to so much as offer her a cup of honey tea.

Afterward, he told her that his brother was one of the paladins who fought in Ragnarok. Then he went on.

“‘The Mad King’s the only reason any of us made it out of there,’ my brother kept telling me. ‘If it weren’t for him, we would’ve all just died.’ The way I see it, it’s our job as survivors to pay our respects to the person the Mad King was fighting to save… Even if that person is the Torture Princess.”

That was undoubtably what was causing him to falter. He was afraid that giving his report would be doing wrong by her.

Upon realizing that, Elisabeth returned the man’s gaze with a sharp one of her own. “Out with it already,” she urged him.

I’ve no need for compassion from a softhearted fool. And besides, the die’s already been cast.

His silence would do nothing to improve the situation. They could close their eyes and stuff their ears all they liked, but the tragedy would unfold all the same.

Fleeing was no longer an option.

Not for anyone.

Certainly not for the Torture Princess.

And as such, their only choice was to fight back.

The civil official gulped at Elisabeth’s stern glare. Then he spoke with renewed solemnity.

“Forgive me… Now, it continues with the rebels’ demands. Shall I read them out?”

“Aye, tell us what it is they want.”

This time, Elisabeth urged him on out loud. He nodded and steadied his breathing.

Then he gave them the rest in one go.

“‘If you would have us put a halt to your judgment, then we require compensation. A victim. A sacrifice. If you want us to spare you, then give us the Mad King and his bride in their crystal—as well as the Torture Princess Elisabeth Le Fanu.’”

There was a perceptible shift in the air. Everyone present gasped in unison.

Izabella squeezed her forehead. Jeanne shrugged. And Vlad let out a small chuckle.

Elisabeth, however, was silent. Their demand fell within her expectations. It was hardly worth getting worked up about.

Though, that said…

…she was also acutely aware of what would happen next.

Soon, the masses would become her greatest foe.

That was the true threat lurking within those words.