Fremd Torturchen - Volume 8 - Chapter 4

4

Atop a Farcical Stage

The room was red. It was dyed all over with the color of fresh blood.

As always, a chessboard sat atop its plain desk.

Things had been bad to begin with, but now the pieces were truly scattered all over the place. The lines of marchers and throngs of rioters had only grown, and it was clear at a glance that the game had been thrown into disarray.

Most noticeable of all, though, was the fact that the person sitting in front of the board was gone.

In his place, there was but a single cold cup of tea.

There was a figure in one of the other seats, though.

Not a human, mind you.

No, it was Hina, the Mad King’s eternal lover and beloved automaton bride.

For some reason, she was looking down.

She bit her lip, a curtain of her silver hair hanging down around her face. Her petite fists were clenched tight atop the hem of her maid uniform’s skirt, and her emerald-green jewel eyes were like veritable oceans of sorrow.

Let us briefly entertain a hypothetical.

If, at that moment, the Torture Princess had been there with her

she would have spoken to her in the gentlest of voices. Come now—there’s no need to be so sad, she’d have said.

Then she would have stroked her head. A smile suits you far better, does it not?

But hypotheticals are inherently meaningless creations. And without meaning, a creation is good for nothing.

Hina’s dearest lady wasn’t there. That was the truth, and that was all there was to it.

She was all alone.

And off in the distance

she could hear a girl singing.

Apparently, the protests in the Capital came to a surprisingly peaceful conclusion.

To borrow Jeanne’s explanation, “Hags don’t fuck around!”

In a sense, it was utterly incredible how she had managed to convey no information whatsoever.

Afterward, Izabella filled in the blanks.

“When the people were marching, an old woman went and stood in their way, you see. Then she faced the people demanding the Torture Princess be turned over and called them ‘FOOOOOLS!’ at the top of her lungs.”

Then, without so much as faltering, she addressed the crowd.

She said that if they wanted to keep going, they’d have to kill her first.

As she put it, “If y’all aren’t willing to cut down a single old bat like me, then how great can your cause really be?”

It was a dangerous, stupid thing to do. But it worked.

The old woman was dead serious, and in contrast, the throng was utterly exhausted. The march ground to a halt. Eventually, a priest popular among the masses came out and was able to peacefully defuse the situation.

Hearing that last bit came as a surprise to Elisabeth. Not long ago, such a thing would have been unthinkable, but it would appear that after the deaths of Godd Deos and La Christoph, the Church was slowly becoming more proactive. It was a welcome change, as any organization that sat silently and watched events unfold from on high was all too liable to grow twisted and rotten.

Thanks to their efforts, the situation had been resolved without incident. However, one mystery yet remained.

“The thing is, neither Jeanne nor I had any idea who the old woman actually was,” Izabella had concluded her report.

However, Elisabeth had a hunch.

Long, long ago, the Capital was on the verge of being engulfed by a horrible mass of flesh.

Before dealing with the mass, she and Kaito had gone around dispatching underlings. And in the course of doing so, they saved an old woman.

Afterward, the woman got down on her knees and thanked them over and over again. And right before the Torture Princess’s execution, she had grabbed at the spectators’ sleeves and desperately begged them not to execute her rescuer.

Even so, Elisabeth never imagined that she would show up again and with such vigor.

What in the heavens compels her so? …Nay, ’tis simple.

The woman was simply full of regret.

Regret at not having been able to save the person who saved her.

When Elisabeth laid out her theory, Izabella smiled and nodded. “Then this, too, is the fruit of your labors.”

Elisabeth elected to withhold her modesty and simply agree. Blood drenched as their world was, it still had budding seeds of hope—seeds that the Torture Princess and her dim-witted servant had strewn behind them as they went.

But in spite of that, the Torture Princess was going to betray everything.

In order to save

the person who saved her.

“Well, it’s not like I didn’t see this coming!”

Of late, Vlad’s incessant cheer had become even more pronounced. It was unclear when it had started or what had brought it on, but once again, he was merry as could be. He went on in a lilting tone.

“After all, our original plan was to smash the Diablo pillar, and you at its core along with it, before it could collapse of its own accord! Of course, that plan got shelved when a certain fool decided to shoulder God and Diablo himself, but that in itself was an aberration. As such, returning to the whole smashing plan seems an entirely natural course of events. I have to say, though, what an ungrateful lot they are!”

That was simply the way the world worked.

After all, creation was but an unwanted child born from a single woman’s despair.

“And as such, there’s little point expecting anything from it! Wouldn’t you agree, my precious?”

Vlad thrust his index finger straight at Elisabeth and held the pose.

He was clearly waiting for some sort of response. Again. It would seem that his love for friendly banter with his beloved daughter had not waned. Elisabeth begrudgingly posed a question to him.

“Vlad, why is it you’re so needlessly chipper? …And why did you come along, for that matter?”

“What a silly question, my darling. Why, I’m just trying to help my beloved dau— Oh dear, I felt that one.”

A needle buried itself in Vlad’s left eye with a squik. It was one of Elisabeth’s Silk Pins. Vlad plucked the blinding weapon out. Just as Elisabeth expected, there wasn’t so much as a scratch left on his eye afterward.

In a way, it was impressive how his entire being managed to be so completely and thoroughly farcical.

Elisabeth shrugged, then turned to face forward once more.

A magnificent snowscape lay spread out before her.

They were in a place with no day or night, a pure place crafted from snow and water, wind and mana.

Above them, a rainbow sheen hung in the milky white sky. In truth, though, it was no sky at all.

It was just a hollow space with no sun, no moon, and no stars. The ground was piled high with delicate little snowflakes, like tiny ice sculptures that been dumped out across the ground at random.

…The World’s End.

That was how the Saint had designated it.

Elisabeth strode forward through the beautiful, empty, unchanging landscape.

Behind her, Vlad followed along. He claimed that his aim was to help his beloved daughter, but there was no way of telling how true that was. Trying to understand what made He Who Rears Hell Within His Mind tick was no easy feat.

And to obfuscate matters further, Vlad was wearing a most enigmatic smile.

His buffoonish diction remains much the same as always, but that expression of his seems…different somehow.

Elisabeth shook her head. That might be true, but so what?

Now was no time to be getting caught up in his nonsensical pace. She needed to hurry.

After hearing the news from Lute, Elisabeth refrained from immediately acting so as to at least carry out the bare minimum of her duties. Instead, she headed back to her room and waited for Izabella. Izabella gave her report, and Elisabeth conveyed Satisbarina’s information to her in turn. Then, once the tripartite conference was over and Maclaeus gave her the order to stand by for the time being…she slipped out of the World Tree.

In all likelihood, the decision to destroy the crystal was made midway through the conference. Yet the order I was given was to stand by for a time. In short, that time is precisely when they aim to mobilize the paladins. If I don’t make haste…

Elisabeth had but one objective—to take the crystal with Kaito and Hina sleeping inside and hide it somewhere safe. She already had a spot in mind, so the one issue was how she was going to get the crystal there in a way that couldn’t be tracked.

After considering a number of different methods, she eventually just shook her head.

“Eh, I’m sure it’ll work out. I am a genius, after all…and more to the point, I haven’t the time to spend racking my brain.”

Elisabeth’s voice trailed off into a hoarse murmur, and as it did, Vlad let out a cry of wonderment.

“Oh-ho, now this is a nostalgic sight! Magnificent as always, I see.”

Everything else paled in comparison to the oddity of the sight before them.

It was physical proof of the miracle they had borne witness to.

And it was the image that marked the end of their dilapidated fairy tale.

Resting before them were two toppled-over pillars of ivy.

They were like corpses of giants, each lying atop the other and propping it up.

A cave sat at their center, like a profane little shrine, and the ivy’s surface was still dotted with azure and crimson roses. Because of that, petals of both hues fluttered through the air without end.

All in all, it made for a magnificent, florid sight, like something out of a pagan festival.

And at the very center of it all, deep within the cave, sat a crystal.

A man and woman were sleeping inside it.

Their expressions were tranquil, and because of how transparent the crystal was, they looked almost close enough to touch from the outside. In truth, though, they were farther than the World’s End, like unreachable flowers frozen in ice.

And in front of Kaito Sena and Hina’s unwaking forms—

“…I see. I’d not have thought you’d go to such lengths. ’Twould seem the Craven King has become quite the force to be reckoned with.”

—stood a young man clad in fine furs. A sizable group of paladins stood at the ready behind him.

Jeanne and Izabella accompanied him, too, as did a number of saints. His hands were clasped together sadly.

It was Maclaeus Filliana.

As the human king stood before the crystal of sacrifice at the World’s End

he slowly raised his head.

“So you anticipated my actions, then… Or, no, you intentionally let the information slip to Lute, didn’t you?”

“It’s sad, Elisabeth. Every person in this world owes their life to the Mad King.”

Maclaeus answered Elisabeth’s question by talking about something entirely unrelated, which she took as an affirmation. She narrowed her eyes threateningly. However, Maclaeus didn’t falter.

“Sir Kaito Sena was a much better king than I am. In fact, you could even call him a messiah. And yet nobody cares in the slightest for his well-being. It’s a sad state of affairs, and honestly, quite shameful. 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?

“Peace needs to be… I need to maintain peace, so this is the only choice I have.”

“Hmm. ‘Choice,’ eh?”

Lute was a sworn friend of Kaito Sena’s and the person who regretted Ragnarok’s outcome the most. With him stationed in the tripartite conference, ’twas but a matter of time before the information made its way to me. ’Tis a simple enough trap, but… No…

Something was off—Elisabeth could feel it. But then—

Clang.

A hard noise rang out, as though to cut off her train of thought.

Two women stood before Maclaeus.

To his left, silver. To his right, gold.

Like a silver rapier and a golden flower.

Both were breathtakingly beautiful, and both were well acquainted with the landscape of the World’s End.

And there was something else they had in common, too, Elisabeth knew—they were both terrifying to have as enemies.

“Izabella and Jeanne… I never imagined I would end up fighting you two lovebirds.”

“Nor did I. It’s regrettable that things have come to this,” responded Izabella.

“Is it? I myself think it’s quite wonderful. Somehow or other, the lady and I have never had a proper battle. This might not be half-bad. Also, we ain’t lovebirds! And not for lack of tryin’, but that shit’s easier said than done!”

Jeanne ended her comment on an expressionless lament. As always, she knew where her priorities lay.

Now that she had Izabella and Jeanne’s reactions to go off, Elisabeth thought back over the situation.

Ah, aye. Sure enough…

She wordlessly cast her crimson gaze toward Maclaeus. However, he too said nothing.

The paladins and saints lined up behind him were silent as well. One of the saints, a young girl with both legs bound, returned Elisabeth’s gaze with a cold glare. Next, Elisabeth turned around.

Unsurprisingly, Vlad was smiling. This time, though, it was back to his normal condescending smirk.

Now Elisabeth could tell exactly what was going on. However, she nodded nonetheless.

“Very well—then battle it shall be.”

Her tone was that of a child who had just been invited to play.

She tapped her toes on the ground twice, and the snow crystals falling around her cracked and shattered. Their fragments glinted radiantly as they floated through the air. The Torture Princess, surrounded by their light, extended her fair arm straight out.

A long sword’s handle fell into her upturned palm.

Elisabeth grabbed her blade. Jeanne raised her hand, the very image of an orchestral conductor. Izabella dropped to all fours like a feral animal. The paladins gulped. The saints offered no reaction. And the king closed his eyes.

Elisabeth twirled her sword, its blade carving through the air as it turned. She held it at the ready.

That moment, everyone present saw the same vision.

It was as though rich music had just filled the air—

“Executioner’s Sword of Frankenthal.”

“Waltz.”

—for it was clear to all that a ball had just begun.

A ball replete with the sound of blades lightly clashing.

Azure and crimson petals danced in unison. Crystalline snowflakes glinted in the light.

And beneath the milky-white sky, they were joined by a series of sharp silver flashes.

Izabella wielded her arms as weapons, each one like a metal whip, their strikes arcing through the air like a blow from a scythe.

Many of her fingers had been replaced with mechanical substitutes, and any one of her attacks would be sufficient to rend flesh and crush organs. Yet not only did Elisabeth evade her deadly strikes, she did it with footwork reminiscent of a dancer’s.

Then she leaped backward with feline agility, landing on her feet with a light tap.

Her black hair hung in the air.

Before she had a chance to blink, Izabella closed the gap and bore down on her. Normally, no human could have possibly moved that fast.

However, Elisabeth just snapped her fingers without so much as pausing.

“Recreation of the Plain of Skewers: Impaled Victim.”

An ugly noise rang out as the earth split open and stakes exploded up from the ground.

Izabella reacted immediately, twisting her body at a sharp angle as far as it would go to avoid the stakes. “Flexible” didn’t even begin to describe it—if anything, she looked like a puppet being pulled about by strings.

And what’s more, she even evaded the stakes coming at her from her blind spots. Even so, it would appear that she was still the one in charge of regulating and maintaining her core strength. As Elisabeth watched the unified decision-making in action, she gave an admiring nod.

Ah…’tis well and truly a waltz for two.

The women of gold and silver were dancing as a pair.

All of a sudden, Izabella grabbed a stake as it sprouted up beside her, wrenched it from the ground like an animal gnawing off a hunk of meat, and hurled it at Elisabeth. It shot through the air with the speed of a cannonball. Elisabeth brandished her sword.

Then the world stood still.

Or at least, that was how it looked to the paladins.

As the stake approached her head-on, the Torture Princess cut it down.

While the thunderous noise of her slash rang out, a great rush of crimson flower petals flew through the air like a chorus of cheering voices.

And for a moment, neither side moved.

Elisabeth and Izabella faced each other, neither saying a word.

The silence was almost deafening. The air was fraught with tension. And as before, the saints didn’t move. Nor did Vlad. Nobody wanted to break the unnatural stillness.

Two pairs of eyes, one crimson and the other a mismatched blue and purple, stared into each other.

Both women smiled ever so faintly.

Then they dashed forward in unison.

Elisabeth held her long sword aloft. Izabella reached out with her armored arms.

The two clanged into each other. Both sides mercilessly pressed forward, each refusing to give so much as an inch.

All the while, the gears in Izabella’s face continued turning, their constant ticking and tocking a complete tonal mismatch with the rest of the scene.

The woman of black and the woman of silver drew together, their lips so close they were practically kissing.

Then Izabella let out a whisper that was barely more than a sigh.

“I take it you’ve noticed, Elisabeth?”

“Of course. Izabella Vicker…you’re holding back.”

Sparks flew.

And as they did, the two parted.

Silver and black hair became intertwined, got entangled, then came free.

It made for such a bewitchingly beautiful sight one almost forgot they were watching a battle.

The two women twirled round each other thrice, then came back together. Sword and palm met, as hands would of partners reuniting in a ballroom dance. Elisabeth and Izabella shared another surreptitious exchange.

“Good, then we’re on the same page. King Maclaeus knows as well. Destroying the crystal with God and Diablo inside would eliminate a great weakness of ours, but it would also remove the sole thing keeping the rebels from going completely on the warpath. We would ensure our safety for a time, but it would eventually lead to our ruin. As such—”

“—our best option is to steal the crystal and hide it beyond the masses’ reach. ’Tis quite the crafty plan, to say nothing of the fact that it forces sin upon my shoulders without so much as my consent.”

“Yes, that’s the problem. I know it’s a lot to ask of you, but would you be willing to bear that burden?”

“’Tis a good plan. I’ve no objections. I am the Torture Princess, after all. A woman steeped in sin. Crown me with thorns and cast stones at me all you please.”

Elisabeth’s voice was quiet but dignified all the same. Izabella gave her a small nod.

All the while, their blades kept screeching against each other.

Elisabeth jumped back, casting a shower of sparks in her wake. She took another look around. The paladins couldn’t intervene for fear of exacerbating the situation, and moreover, they had been swallowed up by the atmosphere of the scene. However, Vlad was staying just as motionless as the saints.

And this was why.

In a sense, their current situation was taking place atop the farcical stage as well.

All the people gathered there were but witnesses to the charade, and in all likelihood, many of them had no idea about the Torture Princess’s arrangement with the king. And that was for the best.

The fewer people who knew, the less likely the truth would be to get out. That was probably also why he hadn’t told Elisabeth about it beforehand. Deciding to have her pull it off with no advance warning had been a risky gambit, but he had threaded the needle excellently.

Plus, there was something else the Torture Princess knew.

This choice of his…’Tis not only I who bear a heavy burden but Maclaeus as well.

There were many who had their eyes on the throne, and given how weary and angry the people were, there was a fair chance the mob would hang the king for his failure. Elisabeth shot Maclaeus a questioning gaze. Are you really fine with this? However, he offered her no answer.

And that in itself was answer enough.

There was no need for him to say it aloud.

“…Good heavens. I commend him on his growth, but perhaps he’s matured too much for his own good.”

Elisabeth’s voice was a low murmur. Maclaeus looked up to Kaito Sena, and he deeply regretted having forced everything onto him. Now, though, the king who once fled on his own had braced himself for the weight of responsibility.

Elisabeth thought back on what La Christoph’s disciple had said.

“People who bear such burdens seem so sad, each and every one of them.”

However, her ruminations were cut short.

Taking advantage of her lapse in concentration, Izabella drew a concealed knife and threw it at her. The Torture Princess tilted her neck, but her decision to evade using the smallest motion necessary ended up being a poor one. A thin red line appeared across her fair throat.

And a moment later

fresh blood splattered across the frozen ground.

Red, crimson, scarlet.

Soiling the pristine earth.

Without even sparing a glance toward the blood, Elisabeth snapped her fingers. There was no time to neatly heal the wound. Instead, she chose to roughly stitch it closed with string, an act that bore a striking resemblance to torture. More knives followed the first, but this time, Elisabeth sliced them away.

Upon catching one knife on the tip of her sword, she spun her body in a half-turn. The knife, newly propelled, shot back toward its original thrower. Right before it landed, though, Izabella leaned forward and bit down. A horrible ringing noise reverberated through the air.

The blade glinted as it sat pinned between her teeth.

The paladins let out cries of shock and amazement.

And thus did the extravagant dance continue.

Meanwhile, the blood that fell from Elisabeth’s throat began moving.

Its crimson trail slithered across the ground like a snake, carving through the ice and forming a precise pattern. Finally, crimson met crimson. The snake had swallowed its own tail, and the trail’s start and end were linked.

A complete teleportation circle now sat on the ground with Kaito and Hina’s crystal at its center. The blood began glowing.

Feigning surprise, Izabella stopped in her tracks.

And Elisabeth, presented with a flagrant opening, took it. She fired off a roundhouse kick.

“Gah!”

The kick landed squarely in Izabella’s gut. After going still for a moment, she went hurtling out of the teleportation circle’s radius, bouncing off the ground several times and crushing piled-up snowflakes beneath her with each step. Eventually, she rolled to an unseemly stop. With an injury like that, not even a seasoned veteran would guess that she’d taken the fall on purpose.

Jeanne bit her lip. In all likelihood, she objected to the decision. However, Izabella’s had been a necessary sacrifice. The more pain that was suffered, the better it would sell the lie.

That went for Izabella, Elisabeth…everyone.

And so without pausing to reflect, the Torture Princess raised her voice, loud and brazen.

“You’re finished!”

“My liege, get back! It’s dangerous!”

Just as she expected, the paladins quickly moved to get the king outside the circle. They readied their shields and drew their swords, but they knew full well how powerful the Torture Princess was. They made no moves other than to protect the king. It was a prudent decision.

Elisabeth nodded. All the audience members had left the stage.

Now it was time for the ball’s curtain to fall.

The Torture Princess gave an elegant bow, and her black hair fluttered as she raised her head back up. Maclaeus was standing silently behind the paladins’ guard. The Torture Princess mouthed a silent whisper.

“Farewell, Maclaeus, O tragic king of man, O wise fool who admired the Mad King.”

“Good-bye, Elisabeth Le Fanu. May you find yourself in good health until the day they string us both up.”

The two of them locked eyes for a moment, knowing it might well be their final parting. Then they quietly averted their gazes. A wall of crimson rose up between them. Light from the teleportation circle danced through the air, and the petals began hardening.

The cylindrical pillar was complete. And in that moment

“Ah!”

the moment before the crimson blocked out everything

they sensed a wave of malice so hideous it was almost palpable.

“Daughter of mine!”

Vlad let out a rare scream. The pillar cracked. There was a hole right in the middle of its wall. And through it…

…a massive amount of blood could be seen gushing from Elisabeth’s shoulder.

“Wha—?”

That was enough to strike even the Torture Princess speechless. Not only had the attack pierced through her teleportation circle, but it still had strength after breaching the wall. That was a feat no ordinary attack could boast. To say it was unexpected would be an understatement. However, Elisabeth choked down her alarm and focused her attention on her shoulder. Upon seeing what was squirming atop it, she finally realized what had happened.

It was a divine beast in the form of an albino rat snake. Its long body was faintly luminescent, and its scales rippled and flowed.

If you wanted something to bite holes in dark magic, you’d be hard-pressed to find a better option.

“Bah, how annoying!”

Fully removing its fangs would take time.

Instead, Elisabeth chose to prioritize mending the teleportation circle while still keeping its destination masked. If the unthinkable happened and she got caught, it wouldn’t just put her in jeopardy but Maclaeus as well.

Between the pain and the blood loss, her body temperature began rapidly dropping. However, she chose to ignore that fact.

Pain was but something to be swallowed down.

That was what Kaito Sena had done.

Seeing her lack of resistance, the snake began slithering around and trying to gnaw through her shoulder. Elisabeth scoffed.

I can reattach it later or else find a replacement. In fact, you’d be doing me a favor—with the arm loose, I can crush it and you in one fell swoop.

But right when the Torture Princess made her decision…

“…Hmm?”

…a splat sounded out…

…and the snake’s belly went limp.

Golden light poured from its body in place of blood.

Elisabeth furrowed her brow, then looked over in the direction of the most likely culprit.

However, Vlad wasn’t the one she had to thank. He hadn’t so much as moved from his spot. He had merely thrust out his arm, as though calling something. There was a rare serious look in his crimson eyes, and he was staring at the empty sky.

It was a peculiar gesture, but it seemed to have done the trick.

Upon further inspection, the snake had been pierced through by a beast’s fangs.

A displeased voice rumbled up, as though coming from the bowels of the earth.

“After all this time, this is what you call me for? I am not a snare for snake hunting, and you would do well not to treat me as one.”

The voice belonged to a black dog the size of a small cow.

Each of his eyes burned bright with hellfire.

After pinning the divine beast’s tail in place with his forepaws, he ripped through its torso with his jaw, swallowing it down without allowing it so much as death throes. Divine beast or not, the gap between its power and his was unimaginably vast.

Elisabeth pressed down on her shoulder as she called out his name.

“…It’s been some time. It wouldn’t have killed you to show up a tad sooner, though, Kaiser.”

“Ha, it seems you don’t know your place. Would you like me to pick up where the snake left off?”

The Kaiser, supreme hound and strongest of the fourteen demons, snorted derisively.

His existence was the primary reason Vlad hadn’t been executed.

After the end of days, the Kaiser declared that he had grown bored of humans and disappeared. It was a completely demonic yet utterly un-demonic act of capriciousness. However, the fact remained that Vlad was the one who’d inherited his contract from the Mad King.

And executing the Kaiser’s contractor was easier said than done.

If they tried to behead him or trigger his self-destruct device, there was a fair danger that the executioner would find themselves on the business end of a black dog’s fangs.

Of course, in his case, even if Vlad were about to be executed…would he show up? One wonders…’Twould depend…on his mood…no…doubt… Ah, this is bad. I feel faint…

Elisabeth took another look at her wound.

Crimson streams were pouring out from between the fingers she was using to press down on it.

Dark magic matched up poorly against divine beasts. She was losing too much blood.

Elisabeth leaned back against the shattering teleportation circle’s wall, then slid down until she was seated atop the icy ground. She took a moment to think back on what she’d just seen, blurry as her vision had been.

“That…was…”

The young saint girl’s eyes

had been burning with a brutal, intense hatred.