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Fremd Torturchen - Volume 8 - Chapter 2




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2

The Suffering Women

The room was red.

It was dyed all over with the color of fresh blood, and it was the kind of scene that burrowed into your eyeballs and chipped away at your brain. However, the room itself was constructed in a normal manner. Firewood was stacked beside its hearth, and it had a cupboard decorated with ornaments.

A chessboard sat atop its plain, well-built desk.

Of all the room’s minor sundries, it was the only one that stood out.

For one, it had far too many pieces. Given the size of the desk, it shouldn’t have been possible for the hundreds and thousands of them to all fit, but fit they did. There was clearly something odd about the board’s width.

And for another, each and every one of the pieces was intricately crafted.

The knights were armed with swords, the bishops held their staves high, and the king was adorned with a proper crown. However, the pawns were all empty-handed.

That in and of itself was yet another of the board’s oddities. After all, what could be stranger than unarmed soldiers? But that was just the thing. The pawns represented the greatest force on the board, but although they resembled soldiers at first glance, they were actually something else entirely.

In truth, they were the powerless masses.

The vast majority of them had no ability to fight in their own defense the way the knights could.

Even if calamity were to befall them, most of them would have no choice but to wait for the end to come.

Suddenly

a sonorous sound echoed.

The boy had picked up a pawn and tapped it against the board. When he did, the pawn swelled between his fingers, popping and rupturing and transforming into chunks of blood and viscera. Its remains stained a section of the board dark red.

Kaito Sena then spoke, his youthful face somber and grim.

“Izabella and I had a conversation once. I told her that I couldn’t save everyone.”

“Was that the one you two had the night before Ragnarok, when you came to the Capital to pick me up?”

“Yeah, that’s the one. That was the first time I learned that the mixed-race folk were being massacred.”

Kaito narrowed his eyes. Pureblood humans made up over 80 percent of the Capital’s population, but that hadn’t stopped the tragedy from occurring there. Up in the poverty-stricken north, where mixed-race people were more plentiful and therefore more visible, it went without saying how grim things had gotten.

Especially once you considered how many of the attacks had gone unreported, the incident was bad enough to leave an ugly stain on the annals of history.

That much had been apparent even as it was happening. Kaito’s expression clouded as he went on.

“This is what Izabella was worried about.”

“What is?”

“‘Even if we overcome this challenge, the world is too steeped in malice,’ she told me. ‘With all the animosity and fear the people will bear, I have no faith we’ll be able to keep on living like normal.’ Well, bad news…”

Hina nodded sadly from the seat across from his.

“It would appear that her fears were realized, weren’t they?”

The army facing off against Kaito was splayed out before her. However, she wasn’t the one he was playing against.

In fact, they weren’t even playing chess.

The scene laid out on the board was no game. It was a microcosm of the world.

Either that or perhaps a grim parody made to look like one.

Kaito picked up another piece. Yet again, it swelled up and burst. However, none of that was his doing. The pawns had been bursting all on their own for a while now, and each time they did, the enemy’s ranks swelled by the same number.

The new pieces looked like hideous babies, wet with blood and amniotic fluid.

Demon grandchildren.

They dwelled in the wombs of captured pieces—human beings—and were born by devouring their mothers from the inside out.

Kaito spoke as he watched the detestable process repeat itself again and again.

“You and me, we’re not gods. And for that matter, even God is just a naturally occurring phenomenon around these parts. Nobody has the power to save everyone. And that means…anyone who wants to save as many people as possible needs to know when and where to cut their losses.”

His voice was tinged with anguish.

Such was the unpleasant choice the powerful sometimes found themselves faced with.

Their forces were meager, and the territory to cover was vast. In other words, they could only station their soldiers in a finite number of places.

Because of that, the rebels’ raids had forced the three races to make a decision while they searched for the enemy stronghold.

On Vlad’s suggestion, they’d identified the areas where the rebels were likely to strike, ranked them in order of strategic importance…

…and abandoned everything below a certain threshold.

The places they deemed unworthy of defending were left with little more than warnings and occasional patrols, and it was exactly such places where the mixed-race forces carried out their slaughter. Coldhearted as the three races’ decision had been, though, it had proved fruitful. Ever since the loss of the first and second imperial beastfolk princesses and the saint representative, they’d avoided suffering any more notable deaths. “Of course you did,” Vlad had quipped. “How could you get laid low by underhanded tricks when you have the help of the most underhanded man around?”

However, the greatest outcome was, as always, the greatest good for the greatest number.

True dominion of the board lay with those powerless pawns.

In a sense, the masses were like a single sprawling ruler. The things they thought and said had profound effects on the rest of the board.

For how could they not?

“Revenge is impatient. Corpses speak louder than words. Fear warbles. And a fell wind blows. Now, then…”

As he wove his abstract statement, Kaito carefully picked up another piece.

It was a piece modeled in the shape of a slender woman—the sinner, lording over the battlefield with long sword in hand. As always, it had been placed in front of the other pieces, protecting the powerless by squaring off against the grotesque enemy army. Yet despite that, there wasn’t the slightest hint of fear on her face.

She was unflinching, valiant, and beautiful.

It was the saddest thing imaginable.

Kaito narrowed his gaze.

“…What’s your play, Elisabeth?”

The piece clicked against the board as he placed it back down. Then he snapped his fingers, and the chessboard vanished without a trace.

All that remained

in that red, crimson, scarlet room

was silence.

A loud clap echoed through the timeworn hall, casually shattering the still silence.

It was followed by the sound of Vlad’s overly theatrical voice.

“Now, then! Some silly little questions to sort through what we know!”

The plaster wall he was standing before was adorned with etchings of ivy and grapevines. However, the fine furniture the room should have housed was nowhere to be seen, and the windows were all shuttered up.

The manor itself was lavish, but it was all too evident how long it had been abandoned for. The air inside hung gloomy and stale.

Empty as his stage was, though, Vlad’s voice rang as sonorously as ever.

“How much do the masses truly know about the particulars of the reconstruction? On the night they survived the end of days, did the foolish sheep dream of the unvarnished truth? There can be but one answer!”

His heels clicked as he strode forward. Suddenly, though, he wheeled around with an elegant spin.

With his right palm laid atop his chest, Vlad extended his left hand before himself, chewing the scenery for all it was worth.

“Nay. Nothing changed. The sheep remained as ignorant as ever, for they had nobody to hand them the fruit from the tree of knowledge. Now, of course, there were a great many things that did come to light in the end of days’ wake.”

He paused for a beat, as though to gauge his audience’s reaction. Ignoring Vlad would only make him all the more annoying, Elisabeth knew. Dealing with him required a certain degree of forbearance.

As such, she decided to play along. She gave him a nod as she leaned against the wall.

While she did, she quietly went over her own memories of that time.

The three races forming their joint army. Their valiant battle against the higher entities at the World’s End. The noble sacrifice of the mage who called himself the Mad King. Those were the kinds of glorious tales that had been recounted to the masses by none other than the human king himself. However, much of the information on Ragnarok had nobody to tell it but the mage merchants who took part in the battle themselves.

All things considered, it was a fine trick.

Many parts of the story were moving, well worthy of being passed down and told for millennia.

Meanwhile, the less savory information could be quietly hushed up and forgotten.

After all, the existence of Jeanne de Rais, a second Torture Princess, and the fact that Vlad Le Fanu and the Kaiser aided in the three races’ struggle were but the tip of the iceberg. The Grave Keeper’s true role, where the First Demon had lain, the Saint’s malice, the details on how alien and cruel the God pillar was—that information was as dangerous as a poisoned blade or a sulfurous flame.

If any of that had become widely known, it would have dealt a crushing blow to humanity’s recovery. At best, it would have led to civil unrest and mass suicides, and at worst, it might have even sparked a war. To prevent that, those who knew the truth decided to extract the palatable bits alone in order to dress them up and present them to the world.

“As naked men and women hide their unmentionables and mask their faces with makeup. As flowers are pruned, with their rotted stems coldly discarded. Such is the nature of our dilapidated legend.”

What had been left at the end was a tale of love and miracles.

Vlad’s voice flowed through Elisabeth’s ears so eloquently it made her skin crawl. However, she was only half paying attention to him. The rest of her focus was commanded by a quote she’d just remembered, one she’d heard in a dream within a fictitious castle of sand.

It had been spoken by someone who was Vlad yet wasn’t him at all.

“In a sense, we stand at a legend’s end. The space beyond the fairy tale.”

At present, those words were quite literally true.

In order to varnish over the truth, Ragnarok had been glorified in poems, songs, plays, paintings, epics, and novels, and thanks to endorsements from the government and the Church, the people had amused themselves with such art all throughout the reconstruction efforts.

To them, the entire story was already nothing more than a fairy tale.

Alas, one can hardly blame them.

From the people’s perspective, the underlings had shown up to attack and devour them out of the blue. As they prayed to the newly manifested God pillar, Diablo had subjected them to calamities untold. And then, without warning, the nightmare had ended just like that.

They were told that a grand battle had taken place behind the scenes, sure, but just hearing about it couldn’t possibly have made it seem real.

To them, the things that had transpired out of their sight were no different from legends and fairy tales.

As far as many are concerned, the Mad King may well have never truly existed.

Long ago, an ordinary woman had been made into the Saint, a being of unsullied beauty and boundless mercy.

And someday, an ordinary boy would be made into the Hero, a wise and powerful being who knew no pain.

With each telling, the sheep would embellish the tale a little further. They wouldn’t mean any harm by it—after all, they were dealing with a figure from legend.

Why not make him out to be as legendary as could be?

They knew nothing.

Not a single, solitary thing.

He was no hero. No fairy-tale protagonist. No one to be revered.

He was just a man. Just a boy.

And yet in spite of that, Kaito…

…would remain at the World’s End forevermore.

Vlad continued on, his voice as pompous as ever.

“As such, the masses have no idea the true danger behind the rebels’ demand. In fact, it’d be a problem if they did, no?”

Hearing him brought Elisabeth back to the here and now. She shook her head.

Seemingly unconcerned with his listener’s reaction, Vlad continued his enthused monologue.

“And besides, the Mad King is but a hero from a legend. Even if they learned the truth, the blood and tears they themselves shed would still feel far more vivid, to say nothing of their fear of the pain yet to come. Compared to their own well-being, his well-being would be an afterthought of an afterthought. And what’s more, revenge is impatient. Corpses speak louder than words, fear warbles, and a fell wind blows. To wit…”

“…Disquieting rumors will begin circulating among the people.”

Vlad gave Elisabeth’s reply a nod.

By carrying out the massacres in the way they had, the rebels had set the stage. Then, before sending their demand to the Capital, they’d also prepared a number of familiars and communication devices with the same message and sent them to broadcast it through the air.

All across the land, birds were crying out, eagles were crying out, and crows were crying out.

“If it’s clemency you would ask of us…”

And that had gotten the people talking.

“Did you hear about those villages that got burned down?” “Did you see those corpses with their bellies torn open?” “Did you hear that message that was coming from the sky?” “The attacks are indiscriminate, and they’re still happening.” “But it’s not like we can turn to the king for help.”

And if that’s the case… If that’s the case…

“Precisely, my precious. It won’t be long at all before the people start demanding you be handed over! I warned you, did I not? That those massacres weren’t an act of war but a publicity stunt designed to stir up a fell wind—that is to say, those disquieting rumors. And oh, how their audience responded. Why, they’ll turn out in droves! And you know what that means, I take it.”

“It means that.”

Elisabeth let out a sigh. Vlad, seemingly satisfied, concluded his speech with a graceful bow. Electing not to offer him any further response, Elisabeth glanced at the others.

Over by the window, Izabella was squeezing her forehead with her beautiful heterochromatic eyes closed. The whole situation was giving her a headache. An unusual blue ring gleamed on her middle finger.

Beside her, Jeanne was raising and lowering her hands. She clearly wanted to offer Izabella some words of encouragement, but she was anguishing over what exactly to say. Although her intentions were serious, her hand motions made it look like she was performing some sort of pagan ritual.

Although the two of them were both worrying in silence, the room was noisy all the same.

That was thanks to the mob outside, audible even through the closed window.

Loathsome Elisabeth, repulsive Elisabeth!

Cruel, hideous Elisabeth!

“’Tis a chant I’ve not heard for some time… Why, the nostalgia is getting me all misty-eyed.”

Elisabeth thought back to the scene they’d seen outside.

People dressed all in black were marching down the main street. They had looked almost like a funeral procession, which had been accentuated by the fact that they were carrying a set of three coffins. Each one had been stuffed full of flower petals as vivid and crimson as if they’d been packed with human viscera. It was clear they were meant to symbolize the three people the rebels had demanded. The mob’s footsteps were heavy, and the constant fear they lived in was visibly weighing on them.

Even now, they were still continuing their hoarse, joyless chant.

Loathsome Elisabeth, repulsive Elisabeth!

Cruel, hideous Elisabeth!

It was like they were reciting a fearful, hate-filled curse.


Either that or perhaps a nursery rhyme.

“Well, at least they’re being reasonable enough not to wave axes and torches around,” Vlad remarked. “But still, this is just the Capital we’re talking about. The poverty-stricken north is another beast altogether. After all, there are plenty of people up there who are no strangers to carrying pitchforks.” He wrapped his point up with a pleased-sounding murmur. “Who knows just how bad things will get from here?”

Elisabeth took a moment to listen to the tumult, basking in the familiar cries of hatred. A little while later, she shook her head and gave Vlad his orders in a sharp tone.

“…Vlad.”

“Yes?”

“Change it back.”

Vlad responded with an elegant bow, as though to say, Your wish is my command. With a snap of his fingers, azure flower petals and thick darkness swirled through the room like a whirlwind.

Then everything in view began to crumble.

The room they were in was changing from the ruin into somewhere else entirely.

Scaly cracks spread across the plaster walls as the ceiling splintered into cubes and the windows broke into bricks. And not only was the room fragmenting, it was being peeled away like wallpaper. Its chunks fluttered through the air one after another.

As they did, they too gradually transformed into azure flower petals.

The polished floorboards disappeared as well, slowly but surely overwritten with a seamless swath of living wood.

As the dimly glowing azure fragments drifted through the air like dead butterflies, they collectively burst into flame.

Then the flame vanished, leaving not even ash in its wake.

At the end of it all, they were in a completely different room than the one they’d been in before.

It was strangely smooth and composed entirely of white wood.

The floor and ceiling weren’t parallel but gently sloping, and the walls were curved as well. There were no seams anywhere. It didn’t look man-made, and in fact, it wasn’t. The entire room had been set up in the hollow of a massive tree. And in all the three races’ territories, there was only one tree large enough in which to pull off such a feat.

In short, Elisabeth and Vlad were in the home of the Three Kings of the Forest, one of the sacred places in the beastfolk lands.

The World Tree.

Neither Izabella nor Jeanne was present. The two of them had been stripped away at the same time as the old ruin had been. Just like the contents of the previous room, the two of them weren’t actually present in the World Tree.

Elisabeth gave the transformed room another glance over.

“One does wonder, by the way, why you felt it necessary to project an image of that ruin in the Capital across this entire room as you spoke. Are you truly that fond of idly squandering your mana?”

“Ha-ha! Come now, precious daughter of mine—what’s the harm? Why, at the moment, our entire world sits atop a farcical stage! And what better way to celebrate that fact than with theatrics? We’re here—might as well make the most of it.”

Vlad laughed as innocently as a child. Elisabeth gave him a disdainful sigh.

The peeled-away scenery—the abandoned room with blocked-off windows—was the image that Izabella’s magic ring was “perceiving.” By projecting that image, Vlad had made it appear as though their room in the World Tree had transformed into the one in the Capital. However, doing so had been a meaningless act bereft of any real purpose.

Vlad had merely done it to amuse himself.

Izabella and Jeanne, on the other hand, were stationed in the ruin for real. They needed to be able to deal with things if the mob got out of hand.

However, diplomacy hardly fell in Vlad or the Torture Princess’s wheelhouse, so they decided to relocate to the World Tree. At present, they were standing by and waiting to serve as Maclaeus Filliana’s guards once he got out of the three-race meeting that was currently going on.

They also had another important reason for being there, but they hadn’t been informed of any progress on that particular front. Unable to rein in his boredom, Vlad had transformed their room and launched into a monologue under the pretense of sorting through the information they had at their disposal. As an aside, he was the one who’d adorned Izabella with her ring, and Jeanne had made a big fuss about refusing to let him put it on her ring finger when he did so.

Elisabeth let out a third sigh.

Everywhere she turned, she was surrounded by people with petty agendas. What a pain.

“Jeanne’s bellyaching was annoying, granted, but I supposed it didn’t grate on ears nearly as badly as the march at the Capital did. To them, Kaito Sena is a hero, a character from a fairy tale, so they’ve been reluctant to lambaste him quite the way they do me. No matter, though. They can chant my name till their tongues grow numb, for all I care. At the end of the day, though, I doubt it shall stop them from trying to offer all three of us up.”

Elisabeth shook her head from side to side. There was nothing to be done about it.

Ever since the end of days, the suicide rate had doubled. People were killing themselves from being overwhelmed with despair, and the atmosphere of fear and sorrow was still just as pronounced as it had been back then. After the demons and the end of days, it was only natural that some people would seek refuge in death rather than endure a third such calamity.

Elisabeth nodded deeply.

The mob was making an understandable decision. An understandable, irredeemable, and utterly asinine decision.

“Dullards, the lot of them. They think they can outmaneuver their foes without even understanding the basic situation they’re in? Simply relinquishing something when told to hand it over is naught but folly and intellectual sloth. They can flee punishment for their crimes, aye, but all they will find is another brand of pain waiting just around the corner.”

“Oh, I agree wholeheartedly, my precious. Hope is a thing more brittle than glass. You only ever give it to people so you can crush it later—and oh, how sublime it is to watch that light fade from their eyes.”

Vlad smiled sweetly. Not only was his remark in poor taste, but it also applied to the wrong side of their particular conflict.

Elisabeth decided to start ignoring him again, and as she did, she realized something.

…Hope, eh? ’Tis much the same arrangement as the Mixed-Race Massacre. How ironic.

During the end of days, the devout killed those of mixed race in hopes that it would lead to their salvation, and now the stupid sheep were trying to offer up yet another sacrifice. It was an act with no creed behind it, no devotion.

It was just an intense, desperate scream—I don’t want to die.

I don’t want to die

So you should die instead

You should die in my place

Someone other than me should die.

It was all so irrational it defied belief. However, fear of death was a powerful enough motivator to render morality impotent.

Who could cast judgment on a man who pushed another off a raft to save himself?

With the avengers preceding over the trial, however, there could only ever be one verdict.

“Why’s it wrong to do unto others as I had done unto me?”

“…What a pain they all are. And how utterly vexing.”

Sighing yet again, Elisabeth leaned forward from the wall. Her black hair fluttered around her as she strode forward and made for the room’s sole door.

Vlad called out from behind her.

“Oh my, you’re leaving? When you haven’t even been called for yet?”

“Ha, ’tis odd in and of itself it would take them so long. ’Twould be faster if I simply went there myself, no?”

“True enough. I can’t say I don’t have concerns about your ability to resolve things peacefully, mind you… Come now, my precious. Firing off stakes without so much as turning around? Why, if it wasn’t me you were dealing with, you might well have killed someone there.”

A stake had appeared out of nowhere and come hurtling toward him, but Vlad snatched it out of the air with ease. He squeezed his slender fingers together.

Cracks ran across the length of the hard stake, and it soon shattered and dissolved into crimson flower petals. Vlad grabbed one of them out of the air and raised it to his lips. Even without stopping or turning around, Elisabeth could tell full well what had happened.

Still facing forward, she gave him a light wave.

“Worry not—I launched that with every intention of it being lethal. Go on and let it run you through for all I care.”

“Goodness gracious. Your brutality is beautiful enough to be worthy of admiration, but you really ought to tone down the rudeness. It makes me want to have words with your parents, but I suppose now that would just entail talking to myself… Oh, come now!”

“Louisette.”

Elisabeth whirled back as though performing a pirouette.

She then lashed out, launching a blade at him as though drawing a sword from its scabbard at point-blank range. Vlad blocked it with his palm, but even so, it gouged deep into his flesh and cast a magnificent spray of blood through the air. The Torture Princess had nearly cleaved his hand in two.

Elisabeth gave Vlad a steely, crimson glare.

“You’re no father of mine. Hold your tongue unless you wish to see it sewn to your jawbone.”

The message was clear—that would be his last warning.

Vlad shrugged, rivulets of blood gushing from his hand as he casually plucked the blade out. His arm sagged lifelessly to his side. A few drops of blood had landed on his cheek, and he licked them off with great fervor.

For some reason, his newly reddened lips were curled into a smile. However, it was different from his usual sinister smirk.

It was the sort of expression a parent wore when admiring their child.

Elisabeth scoffed, then set off once more. She strode quickly toward the door and reached for the handle.

Behind her, Vlad spoke through a mouthful of blood.

“Ta-ta. Oh, and do give my best to the Suffering Woman.”

Elisabeth opened the door, then headed into the hallway alone and slammed it shut behind her.

She was off to see a proud, solitary woman who bore a heavy burden.

Normally, the Suffering Woman was a term that referred to the Saint. However, the Saint wasn’t in the World Tree at the moment.

In fact, her current whereabouts were a mystery.

After her chance encounter with the Mad King, she had gone missing.

The current Church and reconstruction sect alike had devoted no small amount of effort toward trying to find her but had come up empty-handed time and again. As long as she wanted nothing to do with the world, finding her would be impossible. She may have long since lost the boundless fonts of mana that were God and Diablo, but that didn’t change the fact that her magical prowess was as yet unequaled.

As far as the world was concerned, though, her decision was a rather fortunate one.

After all, there were no shortage of things she knew that could easily set off society’s current powder keg.

With the exception of the Church, most powerful mages shared the sentiment.

She should go live somewhere else, and someday, she should die there.

Just so long as it isn’t here.

As such, the “Suffering Woman” Vlad had referred to wasn’t the Saint.

But if she wasn’t the Saint

then who was she?

Elisabeth headed deeper and deeper into the World Tree’s interior. The farther down she went, the fewer people she passed by.

Eventually, she made her way to the very bottom of a spiral-shaped stairwell and made her way to the left. She was told that the path before her had once been blocked by tough roots, but at the moment, it was wide open.

A pair of guards, one human and one beastfolk, were standing watch by the entrance. Ever since the demi-humans’ betrayal, they’d been excluded from such roles. Both guards were clearly exhausted, and Elisabeth’s arrival caused them to become visibly alarmed.

The eagle-headed soldier nervously spoke up.

“Forgive me, Madam Elisabeth, but I don’t believe we’ve called for you yet. Even as captain of our late Lady Valisisa Ula Forstlast’s Peace Brigade, I’m afraid I cannot let you through.”

“’Tis taking too long, and I’ve grown weary of waiting. Stand down.”

“…I understand how you feel. However, there’s a danger this could give rise to a serious interracial issue, so I must ask that you—”

“Oh, enough with the blathering. As I’m sure you’re aware, we’ve long since passed that point.”

Elisabeth looked to the side, focusing her bloodred eyes on the beastfolk man. He gulped. Even with his tail curled up into a ball, though, he was clearly about to continue making his diligent plea.

Elisabeth chose to beat him to the punch.

“I shan’t kill her.”

She knew, as did they, that her word would be sufficient for now. The time to carefully consider what to do with the prisoner they were guarding had long since passed them by.

Now it was time to let the Torture Princess do her work.

The two soldiers looked at each other, then silently stood aside.

“Much obliged.”

With that, Elisabeth took off down the straight path. The entire corridor was made of unseasoned wood so white it threatened to throw her sense of time out of whack. Eventually, at its end, a boy wearing a scarlet outfit came into view.

It was La Christoph’s attendant. With his master now dead, he was serving in a similar function to the one he had before.

Elisabeth stopped in front of him. He looked up at her, then abruptly spoke.

“You…remind me of him.”

“Hmm? What’s this now? Who is it I remind you of?”

Elisabeth frowned at the sudden assertion. Those in the boy’s role normally placed great value on silence, so she hadn’t expected him to speak up like that. He continued on in a faltering murmur.

“You remind me of the Mad King… So tense and so sad. My master… La Christoph was the same way. People who bear such burdens seem so sad, each and every one of them.”

After hoarsely inflecting the end of his statement, the boy went quiet again. Elisabeth wasn’t sure how to respond. There were any number of truths she could offer him, but each one seemed a mistake to voice aloud.

In the end, she decided to act as if she hadn’t heard anything.

As for the boy, it would seem that his comment had been nothing more than a slip of the tongue, likely from the shock of having lost his master. He stepped to the side without waiting for the Torture Princess’s response.

When he did, the door carved with the Three Kings of the Forest’s coat of arms came into view.

Elisabeth pressed her finger against its engraved surface.

When she pushed, the door readily swung open.

Just like the corridor, the room within was completely white. A heavy silence rose up to greet her. The Mad King’s window had long since vanished, and the only furniture within was a modest bed. It was like a hospital or perhaps a prison.

Atop the bed’s clean sheets

sat a thin woman.

She must have been able to hear the door opening, but she sat motionlessly, her gaze fixed on the wall. She was staring at a single point, as if there was genuinely something there.

Elisabeth spoke.

“Now, I hear you’ve been adamant in your refusal to be questioned. I must ask, are you feeling all right?”

Even she was surprised at how gentle her own voice came out. And the woman must have known that her question was free of sarcasm.

However, that wasn’t to say she didn’t take it as a death sentence.

She slowly turned around.

Golden light burned in her reptilian eyes.

“I have been much better, but I have also been much worse, Torture Princess.”

“Well, that’s good to hear, Suffering Woman.”

Aguina Elephabred’s wife?

Thus began a meeting between two women

both of whom bore terrible burdens

and each of whom was held dear by an enemy of the world.



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