This wasn’t the first time Isabel had found herself in this situation.

She had turned Meli away more than once when the maid tried to tend her wounds. So it became routine: the same questions, the same refusals, over and over—but Meli never seemed to tire of her. She was always looking out for Isabel.

Why is that?

Shouldn’t she have gotten fed up by now, after being rejected so many times? Isabel wondered for a moment. But in the end, she nodded. Maybe just this once, she could let herself accept Meli’s care.

“Thank goodness! Here, please sit down.”

Almost as if she’d been waiting for this, Meli quickly settled Isabel into a chair and began tending to her injuries.

With practiced hands, she prepared ointment and gently dabbed it onto the wounds on Isabel’s shoulder.

The cold salve quickly warmed to her body temperature.

As the bittersweet scent of herbs spread, Isabel listened to Meli’s fussing.

“Oh, how can people treat another human being like this? Really, those scoundrels—do they have no fear of the heavens at all? They’re just begging for divine punishment!”

Isabel managed a faint smile, watching Meli work herself into a fluster.

“I suppose so.”

She replied, but something about the moment felt unfamiliar. Somewhere along the way, being bullied and hurt had become so routine for her that she’d forgotten it was something to be angry about.

“You should really go to His Majesty and report them, you know. Tell him those bastards keep beating you and making your life miserable. Maybe if they’re properly punished just once, they’ll finally stop!”

After slathering ointment onto every one of Isabel’s wounds, Meli pressed a steaming cup of tea into her hands, insisting it was good for bruises. Only then did she finally step back.

The warmth of the teacup seeped into Isabel’s hands, spreading through her body.

🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁

The air in the interrogation room was icy cold.

With no ventilation at all, the coppery stench of bl＊＊d hung thick in the cramped space, scratching at the lungs of the three prisoners gathered at its center.

Their hands and ankles were all tightly bound, and under the harsh, pallid light of the ceiling lamp—like a spotlight—bruises and marks from beatings were obvious on their faces, around their eyes, and on the exposed skin between the stained stripes of their prison uniforms.

“Hurry up and say something!”

The interrogations had been going on for days, but yielded nothing. Even when a whip sent their faces snapping to the side, the prisoners only grinned and sneered at their torturers, as if to mock their efforts.

“Ha! Can’t you hear? I told you, it’s all pointless.”

The rebellion on the border was swiftly crushed, particularly as the Emperor had led the attack himself.

Some of the masterminds were unfortunate enough to be captured alive, robbed of the chance to end their own lives. Yet even then, not a single one showed the slightest intention of surrendering.

They were determined to remain silent until death, as they had been taught.

“You can do this for a hundred days and it won’t matter. You’ll never get anything from us.”

Their cult’s doctrine was absolute. From the moment they joined, they had been prepared for martyrdom. After so many days of interrogation, their sense of time had become blurred, yet none of them were planning to break.

“That’s right, it’s useless! None of us will ever talk, isn’t that right?”

One of the others nodded, then another nodded back. They had only met after being brought here. It wasn’t unusual—in their order, even members often didn’t know each other’s faces until right before a mission, for security’s sake.

But enduring interrogation and t＊rture together had forged a strong camaraderie between them.

“So you might as well give up and just kill us—”

Suddenly, his comrade’s words were abruptly cut off. The atmosphere shifted in an instant, and he turned instinctively, a chill running down his spine.

Only when he saw a head tumble across the floor did he grasp what had happened.

There had been no warning, no sound—his comrade was already dead.

“W-what…?”

What just happened?

The blade that killed his friend in an instant had come from somewhere outside the lamplight’s reach, launched from a shadowy corner.

He realized, too late, that someone had been watching from within the pitch-black darkness, their gaze fixed squarely on him.

Suddenly, the figure drew close, closing the distance in an instant.

He looked up.

But the man’s hands were empty. What had he used to kill with? There was no time to think.

The newcomer’s silhouette loomed over them like the angel of death. As he took another step, the light fell behind him, casting his whole body in darkness.

Even backlit, his identity was unmistakable.

It was the Emperor of the Empire—Kailhart.

“Y-your Majesty, surely there was no need for you to trouble yourself to come here personally—”

The interrogator, flustered, bowed his head and stammered, but at the emperor’s brief jerk of his chin, he immediately closed his mouth, clasped his hands, and stepped respectfully aside.

Why is the emperor here in person?

The question flashed through his mind, but before he could think about it further, he caught the scent of the Emperor on the breeze, which caused his eyes to widen.

That scent—could it be…?

“How—!”

He shouted, suddenly overcome with panic.

“Why did you kill him?!” We’re the ones who have what you’ve been searching for! Only people like us know about it, which is why you kept us alive and tortured us for days!”

“One mouth is enough.”

“W-what…?”

“You’re not planning to talk anyway, are you?”

The emperor gave a casual smile, then reached inside his coat and pulled out something larger than his palm. He tipped it over—and a bottle, filled with crimson liquid, poured its contents over the prisoner’s head.

“Ah, aaagh—!”

At the sudden, sharp scent that invaded his nose, he screamed instinctively.

He recognised the smell — he had baptised new recruits himself. Applying this much undiluted liquid directly to the skin could cause death from an immune reaction alone.

The thought of imminent death made him shudder; already, his whole body was stained red.

“Kh, kuh…!”

The red liquid seeped into his body, running down his legs and pooling on the floor. Kailhart’s hand, arm, military uniform and coat were also splashed with bl＊＊d, but the emperor didn’t even flinch.

After all the brainwashing, this was to be expected.

Kailhart grabbed his soaked hair with a bare hand, holding him steady with an utterly expressionless face, and poured out the rest of the bottle.

The prisoner’s uniform, ragged and filthy, was now stained with bl＊＊d and muck, but the emperor’s touch never wavered.

“W-wait, stop—!”

This substance was the drug used for official baptisms in their cult. It was produced by crushing and distilling the petals of a rare, crimson flower. Although it was known to cause hallucinations when inhaled, its use and distribution had long been banned due to the horrific side effects.

“Kh, kuh… There’s no way you could get this ink on the Nova continent anymore… Cultivation, harvest, and distribution have all been banned… How did you—how did you get this, kuh!”

There was only one possible way to obtain it: by k＊lling someone of his own rank or higher within the cult.

“Who gave that to you—?”

“I’ll give you a chance to live.”

The emperor’s icy voice cut him off. A chill ran down his spine, but the emperor’s utter calm was even more terrifying than his threatening demeanour.

“A chance? What are you—?”

He, too, had heard all the rumors about the emperor.

Even after he became emperor, people said his demeanour never changed. Despite being the son of a pleasure-seeking king, Kailhart was always precise and bold. He never hesitated to get his hands dirty when the situation called for it, and the results were always decisive.

There was another thing everyone knew: No one had ever survived after becoming the emperor’s target.

So, there was no way the emperor would offer a real chance at survival.

“To one of you two.”

One of us?

At those words, the prisoner jerked his head around. The man beside him let out a wild, broken laugh, then toppled sideways, chair and all, and pressed himself flat to the bloodstained floor.

“Ah, so what Your Majesty means is, one of us can walk out of here alive! Such mercy—please, ask me anything!”

The first man realised he had lost his chance, and panic set in. As he hurried to speak, the other man beat him to it.

“Do you want to talk?”

“Yes! I’ll tell you everything I know!”

No, wait—don’t!

“The… the island!”

So he blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“Just recently, the cult leader purchased an island in the Valkinen Archipelago, near the Kingdom of Sainte-Au! He said it was for securing food supplies and setting up a base in preparation for a prolonged conflict…!”

He babbled every scrap of information he could remember, desperate.

But just then, the man who’d flung himself to the floor slowly raised his head.

“Huh?”

He wasn’t his comrade.

Staring in horror, he saw the stranger with red hair, dripping and swinging carelessly, grin up at him with an unfamiliar face.

Only then, far too late, did he realise he had made a terrible mistake.