Chapter 8
The sun was still high above Re-Eztize when three faces peeked behind a corner in the worst part of the city. The mouth of the wrinkliest face opened and voiced: "The place is behind this door. According to the assassins, there's also an entrance in that building over there."
Standing in front of the brothel, near the same door Tsuare had been thrown out of, Sebas pointed to a structure a few doors down. Brain and Climb had been there when he'd acquired the information from the assassin, but they had never been to the brothel before, being it a secret of the city's underworld, so they listened deferentially to his explanation.
Then, Brain nodded. "Yes, he did say that. This entrance could serve as an escape route, and they have at least two people guarding it. Maybe we should split into two teams. What if you handle the front on your own and Climb and I attack from over there?"
"I have nothing against that. What do you think, Climb?"
"No objections here, either. Sir Unglaus, what will we do when we get inside? Search together?"
"I'd really like you to start calling me Brain. Sebas, I'd be happy if you'd do the same. As for your question…really, it'd be safer to go together, but we need to search the building as fast as we can while Sebas is keeping them occupied with the head-on attack. There might be secret passages the assassins didn't know about." Then he softly added, "Sometimes there are hidden corridors that only the leaders know about," as if he was remembering something.
"So you mean we should split up inside?"
"… If we're going in there with an understanding of the danger, we should probably operate in a way that will give us the best results."
Sebas and Climb nodded at Brain's remark.
"Then since you're stronger than me, Sir Un— Brain, do you mind if I ask that you do the search?"
"That sounds good. I'll have you camp at the exit."
Naturally, there was more danger awaiting the one who searched inside the building because of the higher chance he would encounter an enemy. Since Brain's strength far surpassed Climb's, it made sense for him to do it.
"Then we're all set for our final preparations, right?" Sebas asked.
They had discussed a rough strategy on the way over, but there had been certain things they just couldn't decide without seeing the place. But now that they'd decided, there were no objections.
Sebas took a step forward toward the thick metal door. Climb would never be able to wrench it open, but before Sebas, it looked as flimsy as a piece of paper. Only a single man was going to assault the front gate, the most highly guarded area, but there was no need to worry: the one attacking was said by Brain Unglaus to be stronger than him and Gazef Stronoff put together. The only word to describe him was exceptional.
"Okay, then. Let's go. For that entrance, according to what the man said, the sign that you're friendly is four knocks in a row. Not that I think you've forgotten it but just in case."
"Thank you." He hadn't forgotten, but Climb thanked Sebas.
"Then I'll be taking prisoners to the extent possible, but if I meet resistance, I'm planning to kill without mercy. Are there any problems with that?"
Sebas was smiling kindly, but Climb's and Brain's spines both froze. It was an utterly normal approach to the situation, not wrong in any way. They both thought they'd do the same under similar circumstances. What sent the fear creeping up their backs was the sense that Sebas had a dual personality. An extremely tender gentleman and a hard-boiled warrior… Extremes of both generosity and heartlessness coexisted within him. If they let him go in without comment, it was possible he'd kill every last person in the place. Brain knew the reason why: his duty was to kill everyone in the path of Nazarick's rulers. Not that I care about those people, but Lord Oshikuru wanted the criminals' leaders to be arrested, how do I tell him that?…
Instead, Climb nervously addressed Sebas. "Ahem, we should try to keep needless loss of life to a minimum. We're outnumbered, so some casualties can't be helped, but if there is anyone who seems like one of the Eight Fingers executives, could you please do everything you can to restrain them? If we can catch them alive and interrogate them, we can reduce the harm they can cause in the future."
"I'm no fan of murder. It's not as if I came here to kill everyone, so never you fear."
His gentle smile was a relief to Climb. Brain almost scoffed at that while Sebas continued. "Then please excuse me. Shall we get going?"
"All right then. Let's annihilate them all at once here to buy some time."
If I crush this brothel, the thugs would stop interfering, at least temporarily. If we're lucky enough to get ahold of top-secret documents, Eight Fingers might put so much effort into dealing with it that they could very well forget about Tsuare and I completely. Anyway, soon enough the Supreme Beings will decide what to do with these criminals and that'll be the end of it. Now…
Sebas faced the thick iron door once more. Remembering how Tsuare had been tossed out here before, he touched the massive door of iron-plated wood. A glance was enough to tell that it wouldn't break down easily without some tools. He was about to break it down when he wondered if Climb will be all right.
He didn't feel like he needed to worry about Brain Unglaus. Even if Brain fought Succuronte, Sebas felt he had a good chance of winning, even without the extremely powerful weapon Lord Oshikuru had so kindly lent him. But not Climb. Climb had next to none. He was the one who offered his cooperation in storming the brothel, so he was surely ready for whatever would happen. Still, Sebas thought that losing his good, young life would be a waste, even if he was not part of the Great Tomb of Nazarick.
"I'd like that sort of boy to live a long life…" He voiced a thought appropriate to one who had lived a long time himself. Of course, Sebas had been created elderly, so if one counted the time between his creation and the present, he would actually be younger than Climb.
"I suppose it would be much better for me to be the one to dispose of Succuronte. I hope they don't run into him." Sebas prayed to the Supreme Beings for Climb's safety.
If Succuronte was the strongest power in this facility, there was a good chance he would attack Sebas, but if he was acting as someone's bodyguard, he might focus on protecting his charge while trying to escape.
Feeling a bit anxious, Sebas grabbed the knob and turned. It moved only a little and then his hand stopped. Of course the door of an establishment like this would be locked.
"I'm not very good at picking locks… No way around it. I'll have to open it my own way," Sebas murmured with chagrin and lowered his hips. He drew his right hand back, formed a striking edge with it, and held his left hand forward. It was a collected posture with a core as solid as the trunk of a thousand-year tree. "Hup!"
What happened next seemed impossible. His arm pierced through the iron door, through a hinge at that. No, that still wasn't all. It thrust farther and farther in, scraping along the wood and metal.
The hinge gave a scream and bid farewell to the wall. Sebas casually opened the door that had lost all means of resistance.
"What! …The hell?!" Inside was a hallway, and at the end of it, a large bearded man stood outside a half-open door, stupid, wide-eyed, and agape.
"It was rusty, so I took the liberty of using a bit of force to open it. I recommend oiling the hinges," Sebas addressed the man as he closed the door. Well, it would probably be more accurate to say he stood it against the frame. As the man stood there stunned, Sebas moved unreservedly into the building.
"Hey, what's going on?"
"What was that noise?"
From behind the man came other male voices.
But the one looking straight at Sebas didn't respond and addressed the terrifying visitor instead. "Uh… w-welcome?" The utterly bewildered man watched in a daze as Sebas approached him. As an employee in this sort of place, he was probably used to violence. Still, what he just witnessed was beyond the common sense he'd lived with his whole life.
"Ignoring his colleagues' questions, he smiled in an effort to appeal to Sebas. All of his survival instincts were screaming to convince him that flattery would get him furthest. He hoped Sebas was no enemy, but a butler in the service of one of their customers.
The bearded man, cheeks twitching as he forced a grin, was not a pretty sight. Still, Sebas smiled at him. It was a kind, gentle expression, but his eyes contained not the slightest hint of goodwill. Their glint was more like the mysterious, bewitching sparkle of a sword.
"Could you please move?"
Ba-boom. Or maybe, guh-bang. A stomach-turning sound.
The robust, fully armed, grown man probably weighed over 100 kg. He flew to the side, spinning comically through the air at a speed human eyes could barely register. Then his body smashed into the wall with an impressive watery splat. The building shook as if it had been pounded by a gigantic fist.
"…Shoot. If I had killed him a bit farther in, he would have made a good barricade. Well, it seems there are others in the back. I'll just be more careful from here on out."
Telling himself he'd better hold back just a little more, Sebas stepped around the blood and gore as he continued down the hall. He opened the door wide, entered the room and scanned it with elegance. He acted less like he was invading enemy territory and more like he was taking a stroll through an empty house.
Inside were two men. They were staring speechlessly at the crimson blossom staining the side of the hallway behind him. It took but a moment for the reek of organs, their contents, and blood to mix with the room's smell of booze, so cheap that one would never find in Nazarick. It all created a nauseatingly unpleasant aroma.
Sebas consolidated the information he'd gathered from Tsuare and the assassins and tried to recall the layout of the building. Tsuare's memories were in pieces and she didn't remember much, but she did say the real brothel was underground. The assassins had never been below, so their information wouldn't help him past this point. He looked at the floor, but he couldn't find the stairs leading down. Perhaps they were ingeniously hidden? If he couldn't find them himself, he simply needed to ask someone who knew.
"Excuse me. I have a question…"
"Aaargh!" One of the men he'd addressed shrieked hoarsely, suggesting the option to fight was already out of his mind. That put Sebas at ease. It seemed like whenever he remembered Tsuare he couldn't hold himself back and ended up doling out instant death.
If they didn't want to fight, breaking both their legs would be plenty.
The trembling men pressed themselves against the wall, trying to get even a little farther away from Sebas. Eyeing them emotionlessly, Sebas smiled with just his lips.
"Eegh!"
Their terror intensified. The smell of ammonia filled the room. I guess I scared them a little too much. Sebas frowned. One of the men's eyes rolled, and he crumpled to the ground. The extreme stress had "caused him to lose consciousness. The other man looked enviously down at him.
Sebas sighed. "I mentioned I had a question… Actually, I have some business down below. Could you tell me how to get there?"
"…Th-that's…"
Sebas saw the fear in the man's eyes as he hesitated to betray the organization. The assassins had been the same way. It seemed they were afraid of being ejected from the organization, or rather... Recalling the behavior of the first man he'd met, the runaway he'd given money, Sebas figured that must mean death.
As the man faltered Should I say it? Should I not?, Sebas ended his hesitation with a remark. "There are two mouths here—I don't necessarily have to hear it from yours."
The man's forehead oozed sweat, and he shuddered. "I-i-i-it's over there! There's a trapdoor!"
"Over there?" Now that he knew, he saw scuffs on the floor in the area. "Aha. I thank you. And now your role is done." Sebas smiled, and the man guessed the meaning behind his words. He turned pale and shivered.
Still, he harbored a tiny flame of hope and put it into words. "P-please… don't k-kill me!"
"That won't do."
The room froze at the immediate reply. The man's eyes bulged—the human expression of denial in the face of something unbelievable.
"But I talked, didn't I? C'mon, I'll do anything—just spare me!"
"That's true, but…" Sebas let out a breath that was part sigh and shook his head. "… No."
"You…gotta be kidding me!"
"You can believe I'm joking if you like, but there is only one outcome here."
"… Oh gods…"
Sebas remembered how Tsuare had been when he found her, and his eyes narrowed slightly.
There was no way someone who had contributed to something so horrible had the right to make entreaties to the gods. And to Sebas, the Supreme Beings were the only gods. He felt like it was an insult to them.
"You reap what you sow. Actually, you should be thankful to be given a quick death."
With those words of steel, which cut off the discussion, the man sensed his impending death.
Run or fight? The moment the choice was thrust upon him, the man unhesitatingly elected to flee.
He knew what would happen if he fought Sebas after seeing what was left of his much bigger friend. If he ran, he had at least a sliver of a possibility of surviving. As a result, his life span lasted a few seconds, no, a few fractions of a second, longer.
He darted for the door, but Sebas caught up to him in an instant and lightly spun him around. A gust of wind rushed around the man's head and his body collapsed like a rag doll. Something whapped against the wall, leaving a bloody splotch before bouncing to the floor. A beat later, the man's headless neck began flooding the ground with blood.
The technique was excellent. The roundhouse aimed specifically at the man's head, its speed and power were awe-inspiring enough on their own, but the most horrifying part was that the shoe on the foot he'd kicked with remained spotless.
Heels clicking, he approached the man who had fainted and brought a foot down on him. Together with a sound like a dead tree snapping, his body convulsed. After several spasms, it stopped moving completely.
"If you think back on your actions up until now, it was only logical that this would happen, don't you think? But take peace of mind from the fact that you've compensated with your life."
Sebas collected the corpses. The bodies were mutilated in ways too horrible to behold for most humans, so by lining them up by the stairs, he could scare anyone trying to escape this way and make them think twice. That was the deterrent Sebas had thought up for the case where he wasn't able to destroy the entrance.
After placing the corpses, Sebas stomped the trapdoor. With the sound of metal fittings breaking, the floor opened up. The broken door made an unexpected racket bouncing and sliding down the sturdily built stairs. "I see… If I destroy this, then it'll be hard for anyone to escape this way."
It wasn't a very big room: the sparsely furnished space contained a wardrobe and a bed, nothing more. The bed wasn't a humble affair of straw with a sheet over it, but a cotton-stuffed mattress. The frame was well-made, like something a noble might use. But, favoring function over form, it had no decorative elements whatsoever.
On top of it sat a naked man. He was likely long past middle age. His indolent physique was perhaps the aftermath of an insatiable appetite. Though his face might have been nearly average, it lost a dramatic number of points for the sagging excess flesh on top of it. Anyone who saw him would describe him as a piglike man. Pigs are by nature clever, charming animals. But the image of the pig in this case was the basis of the word's more insulting meaning: dim-witted, greedy, and unsanitary besides.
His name was Staffan Heivish. He pounded his raised fist down toward the mattress. The sound of flesh on flesh followed. An expression of delight appeared on Staffan's sagging face. Along with the sensation of the body warping under his hand, he felt something pleasurable creep up his spine. He shivered due to that with an "Ooh…"
There was sticky red blood clinging to his fist as he slowly brought it up. Staffan was on top of a naked woman. Her face was hugely swollen and here and there the skin was mottled from internal bleeding. Her nose was crushed and the blood that had run from it had coagulated. Her lips and eyelids were seriously inflamed and her once-pleasing features were now nowhere to be seen. The signs of internal bleeding on her body were not so bad compared to her face. The sheets around the pair were also discolored with blood. Up until a little while ago, the woman had been desperately holding up her arms to shield her face, but they now flopped limply on the bed. The way her hair was spread out over the sheets made it look like she was floating in water.
"Hey! What's wrong? Done already? Huh?"
It didn't seem like she could possibly be conscious.
Staffan raised his fist and brought it down. He slammed it into her cheek and the bone beneath it, so a little pain shot through his hand. He grimaced. "Tch! That hurt, bitch!" In his anger, he hit her again. The bed creaked, and there was a splorting noise. The woman's skin, swollen like a ball, had popped, and he got blood on his fist. Fresh, thick red blood spattered the sheets, turning them crimson.
The woman no longer moved even when she was struck and her body barely responded. This was enough beating to be life-threatening. The reason she was still alive was not because Staffan was going easy on her, it was because the mattress was absorbing some of the shock. If she had been taking these blows on the hard floor, she probably would have died already.
But Staffan wasn't hitting with all his strength because he knew about the effects of the mattress, nor because he cared if the woman died. But he'd have to pay a certain amount for the disposal fee. He'd already beaten several women to death at this establishment. Thanks to the dent in his pocketbook from those accumulating disposal fees, Staffan was now holding back a little, after all.
Gazing at the woman's body, which didn't so much as twitch, he licked his lips. This brothel was the best place to satisfy special kinks. In a normal brothel, this sort of thing would not be allowed. Well, maybe it would have been if someone paid enough for it, but the risks were too high now. It had been great when there were slaves. Well, slaves were assets, so there was a tendency to view those who used them roughly with disdain, in the same way that people earned contempt for all those who were spending their fortunes in showy, wasteful ways.
But for Staffan and others with peculiar fetishes, slaves were the quickest way to satisfy their lust. With that avenue taken from him, all Staffan could do was come to a place like this for relief. What would have become of me if I hadn't found out about this? Unable to bear the desire, he probably would have committed a crime and been imprisoned. He couldn't thank the noble—his master—enough for introducing him to the last piece of heaven in the Kingdom. Although in exchange, he had to use his authority to do his master's illicit biddings.
"I'm grateful to you, master!"
There was calmness in his eyes. It might have been hard to believe considering his fetish and personality, but toward his master, and only his master, he was truly, deeply grateful. But then,
a flame steadily grew in the pit of his stomach: fury. The emotion he felt toward the woman responsible for the loss of slaves as an easier, cheaper outlet for his desire.
"That little bitch!" His face flushed with rage, and his eyes took on a bloody tinge. He saw the face of the princess he was supposed to be serving superimposed over the woman he was straddling. He concentrated the irritation building inside him in his fist and hit her. With the sound of the flesh being pounded, fresh blood went flying. "I wonder how amazing it would feel to crush her face…"
He punched the woman's face again and again. Perhaps it was due to a cut inside her mouth from the impact of his fist on a tooth, but a surprising amount of blood suddenly flooded out of her burst lip. Now she only twitched when he hit her.
"Phew…" After the flurry of punches, Staffan's chest was heaving. His forehead and body were covered in an oily sheen of sweat. Staffan looked down at the woman beneath him. She'd gone past looking awful, even half-dead, and was a few steps away from lifeless. She was a puppet with broken strings. Staffan swallowed audibly. Nothing aroused him more than sex with a woman beaten ragged. The more beautiful she was before the beating, the better. Nothing satisfied his sadistic hunger more than destroying beauty.
"How great would it feel to do this to her?"
He remembered the haughty face of the mistress of the house he visited earlier. She had a beauty equal to that of the princess who was said to be the loveliest woman in the kingdom. Of course he knew he'd never get to do anything with a woman like that. The only women who would satisfy his fetish were the ones who had fallen far enough in life to end up in this lawless brothel, one step from being thrown away.
For a woman that gorgeous, one hell of a noble would have to spend one hell of a fortune to buy her and keep her locked up in his domain so word of the sale wouldn't get out.
"I'd like to hit a woman like that someday…beat her to death. How fun, how satisfying that would be!" Needless to say, it was an impossible dream. He glanced at the woman beneath him. Her bare breast was moving faintly up and down. Confirming that, he curled his lips into a nasty smile.
He clutched at her breasts and they deformed to extremes under his grip. She didn't react at all. She was no longer in a state where she could register even such excessive pain. The one and only difference between the woman beneath him and a doll at this point was that she was soft.
But Staffan found this lack of resistance ever so slightly dissatisfying.
"Help!"
"Forgive me!"
"I'm sorry!"
Oh, stop!"
He heard the pleasant cries of the woman again in the back of his mind. Should I have fucked her while she was still screaming? Feeling a hint of regret, Staffan continued kneading her chest. Most of the women who ended up in this brothel were mentally absent, their spirits broken. Considering that, he could say the woman he'd been with today had been on the normal side.
"Was she like that, too?" The woman he recalled was Tsuare. He didn't want to know what fate the man who'd let her get away had met. But he couldn't hold back the sneer that came over his face when he thought of the butler he'd met at that mansion earlier. The woman had been fucked by any number of men, possibly even some women and nonhumans, how could she possibly be worth protecting? It was all he could do to not burst out laughing at how that butler had seemed ready to shell out several hundred gold pieces for her.
"Now that I think of it, that runaway screamed nicely, too." He sifted through his memories and recalled her shrieks. Yes, she'd been fairly normal for someone he'd been with at this brothel.
Staffan grinned and moved to satisfy his animal desire. He grabbed the women's legs and spread them wide. He could see the bones in them, they were so thin his hands could wrap completely around them. He shifted himself into the space of her gaping nether regions. Then he grasped his member, now hard with desire, and—
He heard a click as the door slowly opened.
"—The hell?!" When Staffan looked toward the door, there was an old man he'd seen somewhere before. He realized immediately who it was: the butler from that mansion. The old man strode ever so casually into the room, his steps clicking against the floor. His movements were so natural and elegant Staffan was speechless. What is the butler from that mansion doing in here? Why is he coming into this room?! Faced with a situation he could not account for, his mind went blank.
Sebas stood next to Staffan. After glancing at the woman beneath him, he fixed him with a cold gaze. "So, you like hitting."
"Huh?!"
The strange atmosphere compelled Staffan to stand up and move to grab his clothes. But Sebas went into action faster than he could. There was a smack and Staffan's field of vision lurched violently. A beat later he felt his right cheek growing hot as a throbbing pain spread across it. He'd been hit, no, in this case slapped was the word. He finally realized what had happened.
"You bastard! You think you can—"
The smack against his cheek rang out again. And it didn't stop. Left, right, left, right, left, right…
"Zdap it!"
Staffan was used to hitting, not being hit, and tears formed in the corners of his eyes.
He brought both hands up to guard his face as he retreated.
Both his cheeks were flushed with stinging pain.
"Cuss you ! You zink you can ged away wizzis?"
Talking made his red, swollen cheeks hurt more.
"I can't?"
"Of couwse nod! You idiod! Do you know phoo I am?"
"Merely a fool."
Easily closing the distance Staffan had created, Sebas created the same sound from his cheek. Smack!
"Sdap it! Pleazsdap!"
Staffan tried to shield his cheeks like a child being beaten by a parent. He liked violence, but the people he'd been hitting had always been helpless. Sebas may have looked like an old man, but Staffan was too scared to hit him. He couldn't strike anyone unless he was absolutely sure they wouldn't strike back.
Perhaps having inferred as much, Sebas seemed to lose interest in him and turned to the woman.
"This is simply awful…"
Staffan slipped past Sebas as he stood next to the woman. "Idiod!" His mind was feverish. What a foolish old man. I'll call everyone in this building and they'll teach him a hard lesson! He's not going to get off easy after doing all this to me. I'll give him a good dose of fear and pain!
In the back of his mind was the butler's master, that beautiful woman. A subordinate's failure is the master's responsibility. I'll have both master and servant take responsibility for this pain. I'll make them understand exactly who he hit!
His flabby stomach jiggled up and down as he jumped out the door.
"Somepodyyy! Issomepody dewre?" he shouted at the top of his lungs. If he screamed, some employee or another should come immediately. But that expectation was betrayed. He realized it when he went in the corridor. It was completely silent, not a soul was there. Staffan, stark naked, glanced around anxiously. The peculiar atmosphere in the corridor, the unexpected silence and absence of employees terrified him.
There were doors to either side, but it was only natural that no one would come out of those. The rooms of this establishment, for people with peculiar, even dangerous fetishes, were completely soundproof. But there was no way the employees couldn't hear him. When he'd been led to this room earlier, he'd seen a number of them. They were all hardy, well-built men who Sebas's old body would be no match for.
"Why awn't you coming?"
"Because they're either dead or unconscious," a quiet voice responded to Staffan's scream.
Flustered, he turned around and saw Sebas standing there with a calm expression.
"It seems like there are a few people in the back, but most of them are asleep."
"D-dad can'd be! Dewre's lods of people!"
"…There were three people who appeared to be employees upstairs. Ten downstairs. Then there were seven others like you."
What is this guy going on about? Staffan's expression asked as he stared at Sebas.
"In any case, there's no one here who is able to come to your rescue. Even if the employees who still live have regained consciousness, I crushed their legs and snapped their arms. All they can do is crawl around like inchworms."
Staffan's face registered his surprise. What Sebas was saying shouldn't have been possible, but the oddly quiet atmosphere in the building told him it was true.
"Now then, I don't feel any need to leave you alive. I'll have you die here."
He didn't draw a blade or hold up any other weapon, nothing like that. He approached silently at a leisurely pace. Those utterly normal movements frightened Staffan. It dawned on him that Sebas was serious about killing him.
"Waid! Waid! Led's megh a deal. You won'd wegwed id."
"It's hard to make out what you're saying. A deal I won't regret, you say? I see… I have no interest in that."
"Why awe you doing dis?"
There is no reason for this to be happening to me. Why should I have to be killed?
Finally, Staffan's thoughts on the matter reached Sebas.
"…Think about the kinds of things you've done. Do you still not know?"
Staffan reflected on his behavior. Have I done something wrong? No, nothing!
Sebas sighed. "I see." As the words left his mouth, his front kick slammed hard into Staffan's abdomen. "So this is what being unworthy to live looks like."
Several of Staffan's internal organs burst, and an unbelievable amount of pain assailed him. Although one might have expected him to faint and die on the spot, he was somehow still dimly conscious.
It hurts!
It hurts!
It hurts!
He wanted to writhe around screaming, but the pain was so intense he couldn't move.
"Go on and die like that," a cold voice said to him.
He tried to shout, "Save me!" but his throat wouldn't move.
Sweat ran into his eyes, and his vision blurred. Through the haze, he saw Sebas walking away.
He managed to let out a weak "Save me! If it's money you want, I'll give it to you—just save me!"
But there was no longer anyone to respond to his last pleas for help. Slowly, Staffan died in the agonizing pain coming from his abdomen, without knowing why. He'd only ever done what made him feel good.