Chapter 55
The Fundamentals of Interrogation
Isaac had a question.
There were three major forces gnawing away at Bern City:
Duke Dietrich, Mayor Baris, and the Weissman gang.
The duke and the mayor were figures who had gradually built their influence within the city.
The duke had frequented Goethe as an inspector and cultivated ties with key figures of the city council. Mayor Baris had amassed enormous wealth and earned the trust of the guilds.
After building friendly relations with the merchants who formed the backbone of Bern City, they had eventually become capable of envisioning a grand plan to swallow the city whole.
Records from previous generations mentioned as much, and it was not difficult to predict.
But then where had this group called Weissman come from?
Where had these bastards suddenly appeared from, taking control of the slums and the sewers, even extending their reach toward the duke and the mayor?
Had all of this happened during the mere few months Isaac had been away?
Or had it been progressing quietly in the shadows before finally revealing itself?
Whatever the case, they were clearly different from an ordinary gang.
“So you’re Isaac von Goethe?”
Even imprisoned in the deepest underground cell where not a single ray of light reached, the assassin remained composed.
Hidden beneath a ragged cloak, his appearance was surprisingly neat.
A trimmed mustache. Short hair slicked back. His beard had been shaved close, clearly maintained on a regular basis.
“Correct. I’m Isaac von Goethe.”
Isaac dragged a chair over and sat in front of him.
The assassin’s wrists were shackled with cuffs infused with Demegitrium.
Demegitrium was a mineral that dispersed mana.
Compared to the knife-wielder captured at the brothel in the slums, this man clearly knew how to use proper aura.
Measures of this level were necessary.
“So the duke misjudged things. You really were the one who sent that note. Young master, was it?”
“Exactly.”
“So now you’re going to torture me?”
The assassin asked calmly.
This situation clearly wasn’t unfamiliar to him.
“Maybe. I’m still thinking about it.”
“No matter what you expect, you won’t get what you want.”
“You sound pretty confident.”
“Have you ever heard of a ‘room of the mind’?”
“A room of the mind?”
“Exactly what it sounds like. A room inside your mind. People like me all have one. When the body suffers, we hide inside it.”
“Interesting story. Go on.”
Isaac crossed his arms and responded casually.
“My master died under torture. First they cut out his tongue. Then his ears. Then his nose, and after gouging out both eyes, they cut off his fingers one by one. After taking all ten toes, they even cut off his balls. He survived like that for three days. But not once did he scream. In the end, he died smiling.”
“A story some might find inspirational.”
“No, my master wasn’t the sort worthy of admiration. Personally, I suspect he spent his final moments rolling around with naked women inside that room of the mind. That’s what he always did. Said that if you want to keep your room secure, you need to fill it with things you love.”
“Then perhaps I should test yours next? See how sturdy your room is.”
“Sure. I always figured my turn would come eventually. Just didn’t expect it to happen in some miserable backwater like this. Well then, if you’re going to do it, hurry up and start.”
The assassin sighed.
“Before that, I have a few questions.”
“Are you stupid, young master? You tied me up and brought me here because you already know I won’t give you any information.”
“Why didn’t you kill the captain of the guard? You smashed a huge lump into the back of his head, but why hit him with the flat of the blade instead of the edge?”
“…Why ask something so pointless? You’re making me feel embarrassed.”
“If it’s so pointless, you can answer it easily.”
“Because there was no reason to kill him.”
The assassin shrugged as though it were obvious.
“One more thing. When you came at me, you used aura. Why did you withdraw it the moment you broke my sword? If you’d kept going, you could’ve killed me.”
The assassin let out a disbelieving sigh.
“You really are an idiot, aren’t you? I had high expectations after hearing you sent the note directly to the duke. Heh.”
“Answer.”
Carlson gripped the assassin’s shoulder hard.
Bound by Demegitrium, the man couldn’t reinforce his body with aura.
“Hey, easy there. You’ll crush my shoulder. Hurt me too much and I’ll crawl into my room of the mind like a hermit crab.”
“Go ahead. Then I’ll storm into that room, kick your ass, and drag you back out.”
“I knew from the moment we crossed blades—you’re a forceful one. I like that. Ngh—ow, that hurts!”
Carlson tightened his grip even further.
The assassin twisted his body and kicked wildly, yet somehow there was still no tension in him whatsoever.
“Alright, alright. It’s not some grand question anyway. I didn’t kill you because killing you wasn’t the objective in the first place. Isn’t that obvious? Besides, killing you and drawing the count’s wrath would’ve been a nuisance.”
“I see.”
Isaac nodded and rose from his chair.
“What? That’s it already?”
“I’m tired today.”
Isaac stretched with a yawn.
He had spent the night assassinating Baris, torturing the knife-wielder Carlson captured, confronting his father, and stopping an assassination attempt.
After staying awake for two straight days, his mind was no longer functioning properly.
“What kind of lunatics are you people?”
The assassin laughed incredulously.
“You two. Keep watch. Carlson.”
Leaving two guards behind, Isaac exited the underground prison with Carlson.
“What do you think?”
Isaac asked as they walked through the garden.
The outside air cleared his head somewhat.
The window to the count’s private study was still lit.
The count had surely noticed the commotion, yet he appeared willing to pretend ignorance and leave matters to Isaac.
After all, Isaac had effectively declared his intention to behave unlike a proper heir.
“At the very least, it’s clear the assassin came to silence the knife-wielder I captured.”
“But he avoided unnecessary killing. He had confidence, and he talked well too. The fact he addressed me immediately as ‘young master’ suggests he’s familiar with nobles. A swordsman sworn to aristocrats, perhaps?”
“Possibly.”
Carlson nodded.
The two silently circled the garden several times.
Isaac had expected an assassin would come to silence the captured man.
But this person was very different from what he’d anticipated.
This Weissman fellow becomes more interesting by the minute.
Neither the knife-wielder Carlson captured nor the assassin who infiltrated the estate showed the slightest intention of talking.
The knife-wielder lacked the assassin’s sly personality and instead cursed and raged violently, yet he too never revealed anything important.
How could the leader of a sewer gang command such tight-lipped subordinates?
A gang, in the end, was just another kind of merchant.
Unlike mercenaries, they simply lacked professionalism. But both made a living selling violence.
Yet these men refused to speak even with death looming over them.
There was something more than simple greed involved.
“I can’t be certain…”
Carlson, who had been quietly following Isaac, finally spoke.
“Hm?”
“The assassin’s swordsmanship. I’ve seen something similar before.”
“You’ve seen it? Where?”
“It was heavily altered, but it resembled the swordsmanship used by the Republic’s guard corps.”
Carlson explained.
In the Republic, magi-tech weapons were highly developed, so heavy armor was unpopular.
After all, if something like a hand cannon hit you directly, armor would be pierced anyway.
And armor capable of resisting magic cost as much as an entire mansion in the Republic’s capital.
So instead, they abandoned shields and armor altogether and adopted swordsmanship focused purely on offense.
“Are you sure?”
If Carlson was right, it would become much easier for Isaac to infer Weissman’s intentions and circumstances.
If Weissman’s leader came from the Republic, many missing pieces would suddenly fit together.
“It’s not just the swordsmanship. The assassin mentioning the room of the mind was decisive.”
“Why?”
“After executing their king, the Republic’s Revolutionary Party split into several factions. Urban warfare and espionage became common. The room of the mind wasn’t just the foundation of the Republic knights’ aura cultivation—it was also preparation against torture. Training to ensure they’d never reveal information no matter the pain. The official term was ‘inner sanctuary.’ Among themselves, they called it the room of the mind. Most people don’t even know what it is, let alone its connection to the Revolutionaries.”
None of this had appeared in the history books Isaac had read.
Books like The Continental Wars merely summarized that after purging the king and adopting a republic, the nation fought wars against surrounding feudal states.
“How do you know all that?”
“Because I lived in the Republic before serving Winterband.”
“I heard you served Winterband for a long time. Then you must’ve been pretty young back then. Were you a spy too?”
“I was probably a year or two older than you are now. I was an adult, and circumstances forced me into it.”
Carlson answered flatly.
“Really? Interesting.”
“What will you do now? If neither of them talks, we’ll get no clues about Weissman. The duke will arrive at the estate within two days.”
“Let me think.”
Isaac sat on a bench in the garden and took a deep breath.
For his plans to proceed as intended, both the knife-wielder and the assassin needed to talk.
After shaking the board with Baris’s assassination, the next step was either persuading Weissman or eliminating him.
Then he would tighten the noose around the duke and seize his weakness firmly.
If he held that weakness in his grasp, the duke would never dare covet Bern City recklessly again.
Moreover, Isaac could use him to strengthen Goethe’s standing.
At present, however, it was difficult to determine whether Weissman would become an ally or an obstacle.
But if Carlson is right, and Weissman is connected to the Republic’s Revolutionary Party…
After thinking for a while, Isaac slowly nodded.
“I might have a method.”
Splash!
“Ghk—!”
The knife-wielder gasped as icy water poured over his head.
The prison was already freezing, and the cold water immediately sent chills through his body.
“W-What the fuck?!”
Shivering violently, he glared forward.
Isaac was already sitting there with crossed legs.
“It’s over.”
Clang!
Isaac tossed a bloodstained falchion onto the floor.
“W-What’s over, asshole?”
“The owner of that sword came to kill you yesterday. Looked like he was trying to silence you.”
“…So?”
“….”
The knife-wielder’s eyes trembled violently.
The owner of that falchion had been the strongest man in Weissman.
He wasn’t particularly likable, but his mastery of aura rivaled even trained knights.
At least in terms of strength, the knife-wielder respected him.
But why was his sword here?
The curved blade.
It was the weapon that man treasured above all else.
The knife-wielder’s thoughts spiraled chaotically.
“So what happened?!”
He trembled from both cold and panic.
“….”
But Isaac only stared silently at him.
“Answer me, you little bastard!”
“He was executed.”
“…What?”
“First, we gouged out his eyes. Left the tongue intact so he could still talk. Then we cut off every finger and toe. After that, we cut off his balls…”
Isaac calmly and methodically described the torture.
He borrowed the assassin’s story and exaggerated it further.
The knife-wielder’s face gradually twisted.
“Y-You demon!”
“He kept babbling about rooms of the mind and resistance to pain, so I got curious. Wanted to see how much he could endure. Turns out he couldn’t endure to the end.”
“You fucking monster!”
The knife-wielder thrashed wildly against the chair, but couldn’t move.
Carlson was pinning both his shoulders down.
“Hah… Fine. I admit I went a little overboard. Maybe because I cut and carved too much in one night, he didn’t last very long. What was it again? Some low-ranking Revolutionary Party lackey from the Republic. Said he’d been scheming together with Mayor Baris and Duke Dietrich…”
“……!”
The knife-wielder’s face turned deathly pale.
He had never imagined the man would reveal that much.
He hated to admit it, but within Weissman, that assassin had been the strongest.
To think that man would betray them after brutal torture—
Despair flooded the knife-wielder’s face.
“Well, lucky you, right? He died chopped into pieces, but you’ve only lost ten fingernails so far. And as you can see, you’re still perfectly healthy.”
Isaac smiled coldly.
The knife-wielder felt goosebumps crawl over his entire body.
“I once read in a book that a truly effective interrogation works even better when mixed with a little personal resentment. So I brought someone.”
Creeeak—
As the iron bars opened, a familiar face entered the cell.
Bill.
“Good morning, Gerald.”
Thud!
Bill dropped a heavy sack onto the floor with a bright smile.
The knife-wielder’s eyes widened.
