Chapter 55
The Basics of Interrogation
Isaac had a question.
The three forces devouring Bern City:
Marquis Dietrich, Mayor Varis, and the Weissman faction.
The marquis and the mayor were figures who had gradually built their influence within the city.
The marquis, by moving in and out of Goethe as an inspector and forming connections with key members of the city council.
Mayor Varis, by amassing immense wealth and earning the trust of the guilds.
By forming friendly ties with the merchants who formed the backbone of Bern City, they had eventually been able to devise a grand plan—to swallow the city whole.
This much was recorded in the archives of their predecessors and was not difficult to predict.
But then—
where had this Weissman faction come from?
Where had they appeared from, suddenly taking control of the slums and the sewage tunnels, even extending their reach toward the marquis and the mayor?
Had all of this happened in just the few months Isaac had been away?
Or had it been quietly progressing in the shadows until now?
Whatever the case, they were clearly not an ordinary gang.
***
“You’re Isaac von Goethe?”
Despite being locked in the deepest underground solitary cell where not a single ray of light reached, the assassin’s attitude remained composed.
Though his tattered cloak had concealed it before, his appearance was neat.
A trimmed mustache, short hair slicked back.
His beard was cleanly shaved, as if maintained regularly.
“Yes. I am Isaac von Goethe.”
Isaac pulled a chair over and sat in front of him.
The assassin’s wrists were bound in shackles infused with dimeztrium, a mineral that dispersed mana.
Unlike the swordsman captured from the slums, this man was capable of properly using aura.
Such restraints were necessary.
“It seems the marquis made a mistake. The one who sent that note really was you. Young master, correct?”
“Correct.”
“Then what—are you going to torture me now?”
The assassin asked calmly, as if such situations were nothing new.
“Well… I’m thinking about it.”
“No matter what you expect, you won’t get what you want.”
“You sound quite confident.”
“Have you ever heard of a room of the mind?”
“A room of the mind?”
“Exactly what it sounds like. A room inside one’s mind. People like me each have one. When the body suffers, we retreat into it.”
“Interesting. Go on.”
Isaac folded his arms and listened.
“My master died under torture. First, his tongue was cut out. Then his ears. After that, his nose. Then his eyes were gouged out. One by one, his fingers were cut off. Then his toes. And finally, even his testicles were removed. He lived through all of it.”
The assassin smirked faintly.
“And yet, he never made a single sound. Not once. In fact, when he died, he was smiling.”
“A story some might find inspiring.”
“No. My master wasn’t that kind of man. If I had to guess, he was probably rolling around with naked women inside that ‘room of the mind.’ He was always like that. Said if you want to protect that room, you have to fill it with things you like.”
“Then shall we test yours? See how strong your ‘room’ is?”
“Sure. I always knew my turn would come eventually. Just didn’t expect it to be in some shabby frontier like this. Go on—start already.”
The assassin let out a sigh.
“Before that, I have a few questions.”
“Are you an idiot? You tied me up like this because you know I won’t give you information.”
“Why didn’t you kill the captain of the guard? You left him with a massive bump on the head. Why strike with the flat of your blade instead of the edge?”
“…Why ask something so trivial?”
“If it’s trivial, you can answer it easily.”
“Because there was no reason to kill him.”
The assassin shrugged as if it were obvious.
“Then one more. When you charged at me, you used aura. Why did you withdraw it the moment you broke my sword? You could’ve killed me.”
The assassin let out an incredulous sigh.
“You really are an idiot. I had expectations when I heard you sent that note to the marquis… what a joke.”
“Answer.”
Carlson gripped the assassin’s shoulder tightly.
Bound by dimeztrium, the assassin couldn’t reinforce his body with aura.
“Hey, you’ll crush my shoulder. If you hurt me too much, I’ll just crawl into my ‘room of the mind’ like a hermit crab.”
“Go ahead. I’ll barge in and drag you out by kicking your ass.”
“Heh… I could tell when we crossed blades—you’re quite intense. I like that. Ah—hey, that hurts!”
Carlson tightened his grip further.
The assassin twisted his body and struggled, but strangely, there was no tension in him.
“Alright, alright. What’s so special about that question anyway? I didn’t kill the young master because killing him wasn’t my objective. Isn’t that obvious? Besides, killing him would just earn me the count’s wrath. Too much trouble.”
“I see.”
Isaac nodded and stood up.
“What, that’s it already?”
“I’m a bit tired today.”
Isaac stretched and yawned.
He had stayed awake all night—assassinating Varis, interrogating the captured swordsman, meeting his father, and fending off an assassination attempt.
After two days without sleep, his mind wasn’t functioning properly.
“What kind of people are you?”
The assassin laughed in disbelief.
“You two—keep watch carefully. Carlson.”
Leaving two guards behind, Isaac exited the dungeon with Carlson.
***
“What do you think?”
Isaac asked as they walked through the garden.
The fresh air helped clear his head.
The window to the count’s private study was still lit.
He must have noticed the commotion, yet chose to pretend otherwise—leaving everything to Isaac.
After all, Isaac had effectively declared he would act in ways unbefitting a typical heir.
“For now, it’s clear he came to assassinate the swordsman I captured.”
“But he tried to avoid unnecessary killing. He’s composed, articulate. The way he addressed me as ‘young master’ suggests familiarity with nobility. Perhaps someone who once served a noble?”
“That’s possible.”
Carlson nodded.
They walked in silence for a while.
Isaac had expected an assassin would come to silence the swordsman.
But the man who appeared was quite different from what he had anticipated.
Weissman… I’m even more curious about him now.
Both the captured swordsman and the assassin who came for him showed no signs of breaking.
The swordsman wasn’t as sly as the assassin—he cursed and raged—but he revealed nothing of importance.
How could a gang leader who seized control of the sewers through brute force command such tight-lipped subordinates?
At the end of the day, gangs were merchants of violence—
not much different from mercenaries, just less specialized.
And yet, even with their lives at risk, these men refused to speak.
There had to be something more than simple profit driving them.
“…I’m not certain,” Carlson said quietly behind him.
“Hm?”
“The assassin’s swordsmanship. I’ve seen something like it before.”
“You have? Where?”
“It’s been modified quite a bit, but… it resembled the swordsmanship used by the Republic’s guard.”
Carlson explained.
In the Republic, magical weapons were highly developed, making heavy armor less practical.
A direct hit from something like a hand cannon would pierce it anyway.
And armor capable of blocking magic was absurdly expensive—costing as much as a decent mansion in the capital.
Because of this, they abandoned heavy armor and shields, favoring swordsmanship focused entirely on offense.
“Are you certain?”
If Carlson was right, it would become much easier for Isaac to deduce the nature and intentions of the Weissman faction.
If their leader was from the Republic, a large piece of the puzzle would fall into place.
“I’m not saying this based on swordsmanship alone. What the assassin mentioned—the room of the mind—that was the decisive clue.”
“Why is that?”
“After purging their king, the Republic’s Revolutionary Party split into several factions. Street battles and espionage were common. The room of the mind isn’t just the foundation of the Republic knights’ aura training—it’s also a countermeasure against torture. It’s a method of training oneself not to speak under any pain. Its proper name is Inner Sanctuary. Among themselves, they call it the room of the mind. Ordinary people wouldn’t even know what it is, let alone its connection to the Revolutionary Party.”
Carlson’s explanation wasn’t something Isaac had ever seen in history books.
Works like History of the Continental Wars only briefly mentioned that after adopting a republic, the nation fought wars against surrounding feudal states that opposed it.
“How do you know all this?”
“Because I lived in the Republic before serving in Winterband.”
“I thought you served there for a long time. You must’ve been quite young back then. Were you a spy too?”
“I was a year or two older than you are now. An adult—and in a situation where I had no choice.”
Carlson replied flatly.
“Really? Interesting.”
“What will you do now? If those two don’t talk, we won’t get any leads on Weissman. The marquis will arrive at the estate within two days.”
“…Let me think.”
Isaac sat down on a bench in the garden and took a deep breath.
If things were to proceed as he intended, both the swordsman and the assassin had to talk.
After shaking the board with Varis’s assassination, the next step was to either win over Weissman—or eliminate them.
After that, he would tighten the noose around the marquis and seize his weakness.
If he could control that weakness, the marquis would no longer dare covet Bern City.
Moreover, Isaac could use him to tilt the balance of power in Goethe’s favor.
As for Weissman—whether they would be an ally or an obstacle—he still couldn’t tell.
But if Carlson is right… if Weissman is connected to the Republic’s Revolutionary Party…
Isaac nodded to himself.
“I might have a method.”
***
Splash!
“Gah—!”
The swordsman gasped as cold water poured over his head.
The already freezing dungeon, combined with the icy water, quickly sent chills through his body.
“W-What the hell… you bastard!”
Despite shivering uncontrollably, he glared forward.
Isaac was already sitting there, legs crossed, as if he had been waiting.
“It’s over.”
Clang!
Isaac tossed a bloodstained falchion onto the ground.
“What… what do you mean it’s over, you bastard?”
“Yesterday, the owner of that sword came to kill you. Looks like he was trying to silence you.”
“…So?”
The swordsman’s eyes trembled violently.
If that blade belonged to him—then it was the strongest man in Weissman.
He wasn’t someone the swordsman particularly liked, but his strength—his mastery of aura—was undeniable, comparable even to a proper knight.
At least in that regard, the swordsman respected him.
But then—
why was that man’s sword here?
The curved blade.
It was the weapon he treasured above all.
The swordsman’s thoughts spiraled into chaos.
“S-So what happened!?”
He asked, trembling from both cold and confusion.
“….”
Isaac simply stared at him without answering.
“Say it, you little bastard! What happened!?”
“He was executed.”
“At first, we gouged out his eyes. We left the tongue so he could talk. Then we cut off his fingers and toes. After that, we cut off his balls…”
Isaac spoke slowly and clearly, describing each step of the torture.
He exaggerated and borrowed from the assassin’s earlier story.
The swordsman’s face twisted.
“Y-You demon!”
“He kept talking about the ‘room of the mind’ and resistance to pain, so I got curious. I wanted to see how far he could endure. But… he didn’t last to the end.”
“You son of a bitch—I’ll tear you apart!”
Bound to the chair, the swordsman struggled violently, but he couldn’t move.
Carlson held his shoulders firmly in place.
“…Yeah, I admit, maybe it was a bit much. Doing all that cutting and gouging in a single night—he didn’t last long. What was it again? Some underling from the Revolutionary Party. Said something about working with Mayor Varis and Marquis Dietrich on some kind of plot.”
The swordsman’s face turned pale.
He had never imagined it would go that far.
Even if he disliked the man, he was still the strongest among them.
There was no way he would betray them under torture.
And yet—
the thought that he had broken…
Despair filled the swordsman’s face.
“He died before finishing, so it felt like stopping halfway through a good dump. Still, you’re lucky, aren’t you? He was cut to pieces, but you’ve only lost ten fingernails so far. And as you can see—you’re still in great shape.”
Isaac smiled coldly.
The swordsman felt goosebumps spread across his body.
“I read somewhere that mixing a bit of personal malice into interrogation can be quite effective. So I brought someone.”
Creak—
With the sound of iron bars opening, a familiar figure stepped inside.
Bill.
“Good morning, Gerald.”
Thud!
Bill dropped a heavy sack onto the floor with a bright smile.
The swordsman’s eyes widened.