Chapter 392: The Worst Torture (5)
"...?"
Sakkuth was just rolling his eyes as if he didn't understand what was going on.
Vikir spoke once more.
"Just in time for the Queen to save you. Did I nail it in your ear?"
"I, I'm listening. I hear you."
Sakkuth responded in a rush.
Vikir clicked his tongue at the sight of it.
"I'm glad you heard. Stupid."
"You bastard... I'm sure I'm not making a fool of myself when I'm always looking for my Queen...."
"Shut up, asshole. The Queen is still out there trying to get you out of here, which is why I'm here."
Vikir scolded Sakkuth and went out at his own pace
"The timing was the moment when the blue sphere in the deep center of the Level 10 construction area exploded. The original plan was to activate it and get you out of here. If it weren't for your foolishness, it would have proceeded as planned."
"Well, you want me to believe that? You might have listened to what I usually say and made it up..."
"Don't you want to leave? You've been uncooperative since the beginning."
"...It's not that."
"Then stop talking. Just close your mouth and open your ears."
"...."
Sakkuth shut his mouth with a look of frustration on his face.
In front of him, Vikir loosened his collar a little.
"I won't tell you to blindly believe what I say."
At the same time, Vikir showed Sakkuth an object he had retrieved from Andromalius's barrier.
A word sculpture with an impressive whitish lower part of the blade, a blackish middle part, and a reddish upper part, as well as a spiral embossed pattern.
Shaped like the horns of a Unicorn, it was a fragment of Orwell's The Sword of Winter.
It was once owned by Winston, the principal of Colosseo Academy, and is said to be a legendary sword that only those who have attained the highest level of mastery are allowed to wield it.
Sakkuth's eyes widened at the sight of it.
"That, that's the key to Nouvelle Vague's main gate...! No way!"
Vikir nodded silently.
The 'Queen' who had sent Sakkuth here.
And the object she had been searching for, 'Orwell'.
Imprisoned deep within the Nouvelle Vague by Orca and Winston during the 47 Man Riot, a long time ago.
Vikir opened his mouth, combining keywords in his head.
"Miss Uroboros sent me here. To help you."
"Oh oh...Ooohhh! Queen! You haven't abandoned me! You remembered me...!"
"Shut up, fool, the guards will hear you."
Vikir pushed his hat down deeply and lifted the brim.
Then, on his bare face, Vikir's face was visible.
"Huh!"
After swallowing the empty air, Vikir continued speaking.
"I told you, I thought you were pretty good."
When Vikir said that, Sakkuth's jaw dropped open.
It reminded him of a conversation they had before.
'You're going to break out of Nouvelle Vague? What 'He' could not do in the end is escape from prison. What kind of guy are you....'
'Why do you think it's impossible to jailbreak?'
'...what?'
'Is that all you can think about? You think you've been abandoned, but that's not true. That's because I think well of you.'
'...?'
'I've been watching you for the past two years. You might have no strength and lacks tenacity, but I like your brashness and action. Your loyalty is strong.'
'What the hell are you talking about?'
'You'll find out soon enough. After I break out of this place.'
After finishing his reminiscence, Sakkuth opened his mouth in disbelief.
"So, you've been here since the beginning...?"
"That's right. The Queen sent me to test you. And you were loyal enough not to reveal any information about her, which is why I gave you a passing grade."
It was a lie, of course.
It was only because of Decarabia's testimony that Vikir discovered the connection between Sakkuth and Sady.
[I wondered where I'd smelled that before, but now I know. His blood smells like Sady's. They must be related somehow].
Vikir was convinced after taking a drag from a cigarette stained with Sakkuth blood.
These were enough clues to guess who the Queen was and who had sent her minions down here to Nouvelle Vague to rescue 'him'.
Vikir snarled.
"I'm trying to get you out of here at the right time, and you pull a stupid stunt like this. What's more, you sell me to the guards?"
"Pah, I don't mean sell you, that's ridiculous!"
"I already know that you reported me to Souare. If you lie to me again, I will make you rot here forever."
"Huh! My apologies, well. I, I was completely unaware of Night Hound-sama's identity, so please stop...."
Sakkuth thought back to his past before he was trapped in this place.
Come to think of it, his Queen had talked about wanting to meet Night Hound quite often.
"At the time, I thought it was just a way of saying she was looking for a minion or partner, but... I, I was short-sighted."
Sakkuth was completely overwhelmed by the look in Vikir's eyes.
At the same time, his eyes sparkled with infinite trust and relief.
"So I'm going to live, then? I'm going to get out of here?"
"There's still a chance."
"Uh, what should I do?"
"I told you. We need to activate Level 10's blue orb, get 'him', and get out."
"Teach me!"
"Then from now on, you will do exactly as I say. Considering how you almost screwed up my plan, I'd like to take you out of the Great Escape, but...."
He flinched as Vikir showed his discomfort.
Then Vikir noticed the parade of guards sneaking up behind Sakkuth.
"If you can handle what happens between now and then, I'll let it slide. Until the next 'event', you will live like a mouse and be a model prisoner. Is that clear?"
"Yes, of course. I'll cover for you with my life."
"I'll try to trust you just this once more, and if you make another fuss, you'll get what you deserve."
"Yes!"
"Very well, then you will be arrested by the guards approaching from the rear. Just make sure you're acting reasonably aggressive."
"Yes! But if I get caught, I'll be taken to solitary confinement, and possibly executed...."
"You can take solitary confinement, I can't protect you from that. But don't worry, if you are sentenced to death, I'll speed up your escape."
After hearing Vikir's words, Sakkuth nodded with bright eyes.
At that very moment.
"Now! Pounce!"
Bastille's commanding voice came from behind.
At the same time, a group of guards, including Lt. Colonel Bastille, rushed toward Sakkuth's back.
"Whoa! What the hell, when did it come to this, I never thought it would happen, ouch!"
Sakkuth collapsed to the ground, making a fuss that made even Vikir, who was watching, fret.
Luckily, the atmosphere was so tense that no one was suspicious.
...peog! ...peoeog! ttudug! udeudeug! ...cheolkeong! ...cheolkeodeog!
Sakkuth's limbs were restrained with heavy bindings.
At that time, the suppressed Sakkuth and Vikir's eyes met.
Frown.
Sakkuth winked at Vikir and grinned.
Vikir nodded once, his expression impassive.
Before he knew it, his face had returned to Garm's.
Soon, the junior guards were swarming around Garm.
"Garm, are you okay?"
"Wow, that was a cool smoke, you!"
"What? Why is your face so bloody again? When did you get hit?"
By now, Vikir had recreated the burn marks on his face with the hot dirt he had picked up from the ground.
The slightly changed positions of the scars were not noticeable due to the dust, sulfur powder, and blood stains.
The junior guards crowded around Garm and chattered for a while longer.
Then.
"...!"
The junior guards who had been chattering around Vikir opened a path to the side in unison.
Vikir turned his head to see what was going on, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw a figure.
It was Kirko.
"...I."
Kirko approached with slow steps and stood in front of Vikir.
In a low voice, Kirko asked
"Are you okay?"
"...."
"Your face... looks like you're hurt a lot...."
She hesitated, unable to take her eyes off Vikir's face.
"It's okay. It'll heal if I leave it alone."
It was true. With Basilisk's power, a burn like this would take less than a second to regenerate.
But Kirko, unaware of that fact, hadn't left Vikir's side.
"Wait."
"...?"
Before Vikir had a chance to respond, Kirko pulled something out of her front pocket.
It was an ointment for burns.
"...That must have hurt."
Kirko let the word slip out unconsciously.
She kept her mouth shut from then on and began to apply the burn ointment to Vikir's face.
The junior guards around her were stunned. This was quite unexpected given her cold, detached image.
Meanwhile, Vikir tried to tell her that he didn't need it, but eventually left it alone.
Because there was something more important than that right now.
When Vikir turned to look, he saw that Sakkuth had been noisily grabbed by the senior guards and dragged off into the distance.
"Listen to me, you're in solitary confinement for three months!"
"It won't end with solitary confinement, after that I'll make you work like a madman!"
"And after that, I'll execute you! Do you understand?"
"I swear by my name! I will definitely put you on the execution platform!"
All of the senior guards were furious that they have been fooled by Sakkuth's bluff all this time.
Things must be done right. It was a natural result.
' ...I won't last long.'
Vikir clicked his tongue.
Ever since Vikir learnt that he was responsible for the Red Death among the natives of Jungle long ago, he had no intention of going easy on him.
If he survived the torture and solitary confinement, it wouldn't matter, because he'd already thought of the next step.
He could hear Decarabia chuckling in his chest.
[kkilkkilkkil- lulling a ruined prisoner into a false hope of escape. Your lying is top notch. Walking step by step to certain death without knowing he is being deceived, isn't that the cruelest form of torture, I don't know who is the demon and who is the demon hunter].
"Be quiet."
Vikir pounded his fist against his chest in frustration.
'Whatever. Is this the end of the situation?'
A riot of Level 8 prisoners.
The disturbance, which could have been catastrophic in the wrong hands, had been put down surprisingly quickly thanks to the efforts of a junior guard.
And then.
"Hey. Guard."
Behind him, Lt. Colonel Bastille, the chief officer in charge of the suppression, called out to Vikir.
"Well done. You did really well. I can't believe I have such a good man under me. How did I not recognize this talent before now?"
Vikir knew what was coming next as Lt. Colonel Bastille patted him on the shoulder and showered him with praise.
It was time for a reward based on merit.
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