“……Stop this. I’ll send you back to prison.”
“Hmm?”
Miseria’s gaze, which had been fixed on the man, slowly shifted to Rouge. Her cheerful expression remained unchanged.
“Just a few more rounds, and he might crack. And yet, you want me to stop?”
“……I never asked for this from the start.”
“But it’s the most efficient way, isn’t it?”
“……Just stop.”
“Is this about your pride as an investigator? There’s no one else here. Relax—even if you sacrifice him, no one will ever know.”
“……I’ll never listen to a witch.”
“Mhm,” Miseria mused, resting her chin on her hand.
“So you’re absolutely refusing?”
“……Like hell I’d allow it.”
“Does that mean you want to save him?”
A snap of fingers echoed, and Miseria’s voice changed—lower, heavier.
“Then I’ll grant your wish.”
At the same time, Rouge’s body froze. From head to toe, he was completely paralyzed. He couldn’t even shift his gaze. The only thing he could do was swallow saliva inside his sealed mouth.
(I’ve been had.)
There had been no sign of magic being cast.
How the hell did she—?
As his mind raced, he saw the man trembling, curled up on the floor. Then, he sensed a presence behind him before the witch’s voice rained down from above.
“What you’re about to experience is what he was supposed to endure. Shall I explain?”
Her voice, now cheerful in contrast to before, was accompanied by the sight of a saw entering his vision.
“First, we’ll take off one arm and one leg—”
An electric drill appeared.
“—then drill a few holes in your stomach—”
A hatchet flickered into view.
“—and finally, split your skull open. You’re quite the hero, taking his place like this.”
As the list continued, reality began to feel distant. Am I dreaming? Yet, Rouge’s mind remained sharp. This is real. The witch is doing this—some kind of magic. Puppeteering humans. The signature spell of the Puppet Demon.
The more he thought, the more trapped he felt.
In a final act of resistance, he tried to bite off his tongue—his teeth clamped down inside his mouth—
“Ah-ah, you’re my puppet now.”
Even his mouth was under her control.
The witch rested her chin on Rouge’s shoulder, peering at his face from the side. It was as if she had read his mind.
“Let’s see this through to the end, shall we?”
She whispered it right into his ear.
At her words, his right arm moved on its own, gripping the saw’s handle pressed into his hand. He pressed the blade against the elbow joint of his left arm and violently dragged it back and forth. His jacket and shirt split open, and he felt the coldness of the metal.
The blade touched his skin.
The next moment, crimson beads sprayed out lightly. It didn’t stop. The beads kept gushing, raining down, bouncing across the floor. As he listened to the sound of each bead clattering, the noise morphed into someone’s voice.
“I’ll talk! Please, stop!”
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“……Huh?”
Rouge was sprawled on his stomach, his right cheek pressed against the cold floor.
“Ah, good morning.”
At the sound of the voice, he looked up. The girl who had just killed him was clinging to the back of a chair, spinning on its casters, her hair swaying.
“Quite the long nap you took. I got bored waiting.”
“W-what are you talking about?”
He scrambled to his feet. Miseria stopped the chair’s rotation and smiled.
“What? It was a dream. You two were just playing happily in a little world I prepared. Don’t worry—it was all the same. No unfairness here.”
A dream?!
Rouge touched his limbs. No pain, no wounds. Yet the agony he had felt moments ago was vivid.
So none of that was real?
“Haha. Your shock is delightful.”
“……Why would you do this?”
“For fun, of course. Wasn’t it interesting?”
Glaring at the laughing witch, Rouge glanced at the man crumpled nearby. He clutched his left hand, whimpering weakly.
“Now, now, don’t give me that look. It was just a joke. I got the information, though.”
“……I told you not to torture him further.”
“Torture? Don’t be dramatic. It was just a dream. Besides, I went easy on you.”
“Went easy?”
“Of course. I could’ve kept the spell going until his mind shattered. Or I could’ve used another technique—”
Miseria stepped down from her chair and pressed a finger to the man’s temple. Instantly, he screamed.
“W-wait! I said I’d talk! You promised!”
“Relax. Just a little demonstration.”
“Wait, st—AAAAAAAAAH!!”
Before Rouge’s stunned eyes, Miseria pulled her finger away. The man stopped screaming and collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut.
“Memory Reading (Reading). I can see into others’ lives, but it has a flaw—touching memories directly scrambles them. Like doing a puzzle blindfolded. At this level, I barely read anything, and he just lost consciousness. But push further, and—well, you get a perfect puppet. Understand? I chose my method.”
“……”
An indescribable sense of defeat weighed on Rouge. It was as if she was saying she could solve any case effortlessly.
“What’ll it be, Rouge? Should we try the no-holds-barred approach?”
Again, Miseria watched him, eyes narrowed in testing.
“……Stop. His memories would be destroyed.”
“My, how kind.”
“……Shut up.”
He couldn’t accept it.
Not the witch, who treated others’ suffering as nothing more than a means to an end. Not himself, for feeling fear even for a moment.
(Damn it.)
As he spat the curse mentally and moved to rouse the unconscious man, a sound escaped him.
“Wha────”
The man’s nails were intact.
“……Since when? Since when was it a dream?”
He muttered, dazed.
“Since the moment you brought up the law, sleepyhead.”
The reply came instantly.
“……Why?”
“Oh? Did you want his nails ripped off? I could still do it if you insist.”
It felt like a punch to the gut.
“……You witch.”
“Witch indeed. ……By the way, do you know one of my favorite things?”
Rouge didn’t answer.
Instead, he looked at the witch’s face over his shoulder.
“Watching people like you fall into darkness. Be ready, Rouge.”
Her face was terrifyingly beautiful.
Light flickered in the pitch-black room.
The Life-Taker, having returned from outside, examined the prey caught just this morning. No signs of disturbance. No intruders.
—Not that anyone could find this place.
The prey was exhausted, but its eyes still burned with defiance.
That wouldn’t do. The Life-Taker bore no hostility. So, it spoke.
“Don’t worry. You’re lucky.”
Confusion flashed in the prey’s eyes.
“You have an important role. One that will change the world.”
A flicker of hope—perhaps thinking it would be spared. But misunderstandings were troublesome. The Life-Taker clarified.
“Your role is to grow old. To wither. To endure until your life scatters away. That is your fate.”
The prey groaned, the sound piercing even through the gag. The Life-Taker reached out, and the groans continued.
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