The Dark Wizard and The Inquisitor - Chapter 87: The Interrogation

......

Why would this matter involve cultists? As interrogator Josaco descended the steps of the Tash Prison, he pondered. The deeper he went into the lower levels of the prison, the more eerie the place became. The walls, newly painted, were now covered with dampness and cracks, and everywhere was dirty moss, giving off an uncomfortable musty smell. The upper level was already underground, and the middle and lower levels were even deeper beneath the surface, making it feel like a tomb buried underground.  

How could this matter possibly involve cultists? Interrogator Josaco walked down the steep, dirty, and slippery brick steps without even glancing at them. His steps were heavy, yet each one was placed with precise accuracy—he had walked this treacherous path, where a single slip could result in a nasty fall, for decades, becoming more familiar with it than even his own front door.

Tap, tap, tap. Steady and precise, meticulous to the core. This was the rhythm of his walk.

The upper cells were still ventilated with steel bars—more symbolic of imprisonment, but in the lower levels, there were only heavy doors studded with steel nails and dirty stone walls covered in moss. Together, they enveloped the prisoners in darkness, leaving only crudely made narrow beds and holes for waste disposal—the kind that would not be cleaned until they left.

Every time he passed by these oppressive and eerie cells along the water-seeping corridor, he felt as if he could hear the muffled and pained screams behind the tightly closed iron doors. He wondered which unfortunate soul would be interrogated today? Whether they were guilty or innocent, whether they harbored secrets or were forced to confess to some non-existent crimes—it didn't matter. Once they entered here, they wouldn't leave unscathed.

Josaco's routine musings didn't last long, as today's target had arrived.

If he had felt disgust and sympathy for the prisoners' screams when he first started in this line of work, after decades of long years—his mentality had evolved from numbness and indifference to enjoyment.

Why would I not enjoy it? This terrifying and wonderful moment, the moment when I can arbitrarily decide the life and death of a prisoner, should I not enjoy its arrival, or should I resist it?

He deeply inhaled the foul stench of blood, breathing it in deeply, and looked at the heavy door before him.

I have arrived—

An indescribable, scorching spasm rose from his already atrophied genitals all the way to his neural center. He let out a long sigh, using his long, meticulously groomed, and powdered right hand to pluck the corresponding key from a jingling bunch, his knuckles cracking with the pressure.

Click.

Then, came the heavy and grating sound of the door opening, like cat claws scratching on a blackboard.

Creak—

He stepped into the room with his usual steady and dignified gait, entering his own domain. A slight and gentle smile played on his face.

This room was a dirty, moldy black box. Its six sides were enclosed by thick black rock, the ceiling was low, and the walls were narrow, making it feel like a flattened matchbox, and it was so oppressive that it seemed as though one would suffocate. Dirty mold clung to the walls, floor, and ceiling like exquisite tapestries, the moss emitted a musty smell, and the corner hole exuded the foul odor of waste. There was a long bloodstain on the floor leading to the corridor, as if someone had tried to wipe it away but failed to clean it thoroughly.

A middle-aged man, with his hands tightly bound in a specially designed prison garment, lay on a rusty iron bed, his feet connected to heavy iron balls and sturdy shackles. Hearing someone enter, he opened his eyes, the only intact one on his bruised and scarred face—the other had been gouged out, bit by bit, by Josaco himself—and he looked at Josaco with an expressionless gaze.

This isn't right.

He should be facing me with fear, loathing, and uncontrollable screams, but he isn't. Instead, he calmly observes me, as if he doesn't fear anything I do.

What an ugly, coarse face! What a despicable, ugly swine! Levis, you should confess, shouldn't you? Trico, that fool much softer than you, has already been executed after confessing under torture, so how long do you think you can last? I bet you'll be so eager to confess without a pause that I'll start vomiting.

Oh, sorry, it's impossible for me to vomit, so that was just a joke.

"You're here again, Interrogator."

Josaco heard the swine, with his mouth missing several teeth, speaking through his broken, whistling lips, uttering unclear words.

It's truly pitiful, why are you so stubborn? Why do you always hold such inappropriate attitudes?

"Levis, you're lucky. We have an inquisitor in the upper prison," Josaco said cheerfully to him. "Our methods don't work well on little piglets like you who believe in cults, but the Inquisitor might be different. Trust me, you'll like her. She's a beautiful girl—the most beautiful I've seen in this idiotic city that's always exploding all days. But no one dares to call an inquisitor of the Holy Cross Church 'beautiful,' do you dare?"

The swine stared at Josaco with his unmoving eyes, as if he were just a stone. His red eye didn't blink, lifeless like a corpse. This made Josaco feel a wave of disgust—a stubborn bastard! A pig meant to be roasted in fire!

"However, before the nun and the presiding judge finish their discussion," Josaco casually took out a pair of old, blood-stained leather gloves and carefully, meticulously, put them on his well-maintained white hands, one finger at a time. "I want to have one last good conversation with you about my increasingly outdated torture techniques—I'm getting old, and this stuff should be replaced. Alas... Even though a more perfect treatment awaits you soon. But, before the feast, a little appetizer is necessary, don't you think?"

Josaco took out a shiny little knife and began to tap it lightly.

"It's said that there's a poor young nobleman in the council who wants to meet this Inquisitor," he said in a casual tone, "But his father, who is high up in the council, specifically instructed us to let him come over only after the Inquisitor has interrogated you until you're a bloody mess. I'm sure that young nobleman will be very happy, very delighted to see your beautiful body trembling in the interrogation room. Ah—what a ruthless father, don't you think?"

A slightly off-key tune from Josaco echoed from within the cell.

.…..

Salser walked down the lengthy corridor, where rows of cells lined both sides.

He counted to the thirteenth on the left and gently opened the door. The corridor beside the cell was illuminated by white arc lights, which were not very bright, as some people were still asleep. The room exuded a drowsy, oppressive atmosphere. He held his breath.

On the bed inside the cell was spread a snow-white sheet, upon which lay a girl in black casual clothes, her body turned to the side. Due to the nature of the cell, it was not appropriate to undress for sleep; long eyelash shadows fell onto her fair cheeks; her brows were tightly furrowed, her expression solemn, as if she were a corpse. Even in her sleep, her demeanor carried a heavy atmosphere.

It took nearly half a month to transport the rescued civilians from the cult ritual site, traveling through mountains and tundra, and finally, they spent another month following a passing caravan. In these nearly two months, her changes were not significant, except for her beautiful golden hair, which had grown considerably: the once short hair now reached her elbows, and the tips turned slightly white under the light.

He glanced at the girl sleeping across from him, presumably Modred. However... this had little to do with him.

He plopped down on the bed and, as usual, gave the woman a gentle push.

Jeanne's eyelids fluttered, and she opened her eyes, letting out a long breath.

"You're earlier than I expected. I thought I'd have to wait one or two more days."

"Something happened," Salser shrugged.

"Let's not talk about that for now. Can you tell me what you're touching? If my memory serves me right, we've only been apart for one day and one night, haven't we?"

⏴ Previous chapter 丨Main丨 Next chapter ⏵

🔮Discord