Chapter 55
The Proper Way of Interrogation
Isaac had a question.
The three major forces gnawing at Bern City—
Marquis Dietrich, Mayor Baris, and Weissman’s gang.
The Marquis and the Mayor were men who had gradually built their influence within the city.
The Marquis, through his role as an inspector, frequently visited Goethe and built connections with key members of the City Council.
Mayor Baris, through accumulating vast wealth and earning the trust of the guilds, had likewise established friendly relations with the city’s major merchants.
Through these efforts, they had formed a foundation of alliances across Bern’s commercial elite, eventually enabling them to conceive a grand plan—to swallow the city whole.
All of this was recorded in the previous generations’ archives. It was not difficult to predict.
Then what about Weissman’s faction?
Where had they come from?
How had a group suddenly seized control of the slums and sewer systems—and even reached the Marquis and the Mayor?
Had it all happened in the few months Isaac had been away?
Or had it been progressing quietly in the shadows all along, only now revealing itself?
Whatever the case, they were clearly not an ordinary gang.
“Are you Isaac von Goethe?”
Even though he was imprisoned in the deepest underground cell where not a single ray of light reached, the assassin’s demeanor remained calm and proud.
His appearance, once the filthy cloak was removed, was neat.
A trimmed mustache, short hair slicked back.
His beard was carefully maintained and closely shaved.
“Yes. I am Isaac von Goethe.”
Isaac pulled a chair in front of the assassin and sat down.
The assassin’s wrists were bound in handcuffs lined with dimizetrium.
Dimizetrium was a mineral that dispersed mana.
Compared to the swordsman captured from the slum brothel, this man clearly knew how to use aura properly.
So precautions like this were necessary.
“The Marquis made a mistake. It really was you who sent that message. Isn’t that right, young lord?”
“Correct.”
“So are you going to torture me now?”
The assassin asked calmly, as if he was used to such situations.
“Not sure. I’m still thinking.”
“Whatever 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 retreat into it.”
“Interesting. Go on.”
Isaac folded his arms, listening.
“My master died under torture. First his tongue was cut out, then his ears, then his nose. After that, his eyes were gouged out, and his fingers were removed one by one. All ten toes were gone, and then even his testicles were cut out. He lived like that for three days. Yet he never once groaned. In the end… he was smiling.”
“A story worthy of admiration to someone.”
“No. My master wasn’t exactly admirable. I suspect he spent his ‘room of the mind’ rolling around with naked women. He always said that to protect the room of the mind, you must fill it with what you love.”
“Then should we test yours now? How strong your room of the mind is?”
“Yes. I expected my turn would come someday. I just didn’t think it would be in such a remote place. Go on, start already.”
The assassin sighed.
“Before that, I have a few questions.”
“What? Are you an idiot, young lord? You already know I won’t give you what you want, yet you bind me and plan to torture me anyway.”
“Why didn’t you kill the captain of the guards? You gave him a big bump on the side of his head, but why strike with the flat of your blade instead of the edge?”
“Why ask such pointless things? How embarrassing.”
“Then just answer. Since they’re pointless.”
“There was no reason to kill him.”
The assassin shrugged as if it were obvious.
“One more thing. When you attacked me, you used aura. Why did you withdraw it the moment you broke my sword? If you hadn’t, you could have killed me.”
Isaac’s question made the assassin sigh in disbelief.
“You really are an idiot. I expected more since you even sent a message directly to the Marquis. Tsk.”
“Answer.”
Carlson grabbed the assassin’s shoulder firmly.
Because of the dimizetrium restraints, the swordsman could not reinforce his body with aura.
“Hey, you’ll break my shoulder. If you hurt me too much, I’ll retreat into my room of the mind like a hermit crab.”
“Be my guest. I’ll break into that room, kick your ass, and drag you back out.”
“I knew I liked you from the moment we crossed swords. Very forceful. I like it. Kgh—hurts, it hurts.”
Carlson tightened his grip further.
The assassin twisted his body, kicking in the air—but there was still no trace of panic.
“Alright, alright. It’s not such a big question anyway. I didn’t kill you because that wasn’t the objective. Simple as that. And killing you would only bring the Count’s wrath, which is even more troublesome.”
“I see.”
Isaac stood up from the chair.
“What? Already done?”
“I’m a bit tired today.”
Isaac yawned and stretched.
He had stayed up all night assassinating Baris, interrogating the captured swordsman, confronting his father, and stopping an assassination attempt.
After two days without sleep, his mind wasn’t working properly.
“What kind of people are you…?”
The assassin let out a hollow laugh.
“Keep an eye on him. Carlson.”
Isaac left two guards in charge and walked out of the dungeon with Carlson.
“What do you think?”
Isaac asked while walking through the garden.
The fresh air cleared his head a little.
The Count’s private study window was still lit.
He had likely noticed the commotion, but chose to pretend ignorance and leave it to Isaac.
He had already heard Isaac’s declaration—that he would not act like a proper heir.
“First of all, it’s clear they were trying to assassinate the swordsman I captured.”
“But he avoided unnecessary killing. Skilled, composed, and articulate. The way he called me ‘young lord’ immediately suggests contact with nobility. Perhaps he once served them?”
“Possibly.”
Carlson nodded.
They walked the garden in silence.
They had anticipated that an assassin would come to silence the swordsman.
But the man who appeared was different from what Isaac expected.
“I’m getting more curious about Weissman.”
Neither the swordsman Carlson captured nor the assassin who came to kill him showed any intention of speaking easily.
The swordsman wasn’t as slippery as the assassin, but even he cursed and raged—yet revealed nothing important.
How could a gang leader who took over the sewer districts with force command such tight-lipped subordinates?
In essence, gangs were merchants too.
They simply sold violence instead of goods.
But these men refused to talk even under threat of death.
There was something beyond simple profit.
“Not certain, but…”
Carlson spoke quietly behind him.
“The assassin’s swordsmanship… I’ve seen it before.”
“You’ve seen it? Where?”
“It was heavily modified, but it resembled the sword techniques used by the Republic’s royal guards.”
Carlson explained.
In the Republic, mechanized weapons were highly developed, so heavy armor was not favored.
A direct hit from handheld cannons or similar weapons would pierce it anyway.
And armor capable of blocking magic cost as much as an entire noble estate in the capital.
Because of this, they abandoned shields and armor and focused on offensive swordsmanship.
“Are you sure?”
If Carlson was right, it would narrow down Weissman’s origins significantly.
If their leader came from the Republic, many pieces would fall into place.
“It’s not just the sword style. It’s the ‘room of the mind’ he mentioned.”
“Why is that important?”
“After the revolution, the Republic’s revolutionary faction purged the king and split into multiple groups. Urban warfare and espionage were common. The ‘room of the mind’ is part of their knightly aura training, but also a method of resisting torture. It trains them not to speak under any pain. The official term is ‘Inner Sanctuary.’ Among themselves, they call it the ‘room of the mind.’ Most people don’t even know it exists, nor its connection to the revolutionary faction.”
This information was not in Isaac’s history books.
According to History of Continental Wars, the Republic merely overthrew its king and adopted a republic system, later clashing with neighboring feudal nations. That was all.
“How do you know all this?”
“I lived in the Republic before serving in Winterband.”
“I heard you served in Winterband for a long time. So you were quite young then. Were you a spy too?”
“I was a year or two older than you, young master. I was already an adult. I had no choice.”
Carlson spoke flatly.
“Interesting.”
“So what now? If neither of them talks, we gain no leads on Weissman. The Marquis will arrive at the estate within two days.”
“Let me think.”
Isaac sat on a bench and took a deep breath.
If things were to go as planned, the swordsman and assassin needed to talk.
After shaking the board by assassinating Baris, the next step was either to recruit or eliminate Weissman.
Then they would pressure the Marquis and exploit his weaknesses.
With that leverage, the Marquis would no longer dare interfere with Bern City.
And through him, Isaac could strengthen Goethe’s position.
Whether Weissman would help or hinder that plan was still unclear.
But if Carlson was right…
“If Weissman is connected to the Republic’s revolutionary faction…”
Isaac nodded slowly.
“There might be a way.”
Splash!
“H-Huh?!”
Cold water poured over the swordsman’s head.
He gasped violently as the freezing liquid hit him.
Already in a cold prison, the water made his body shiver uncontrollably.
“What the—FUCK!”
He glared forward, trembling.
Isaac was sitting there, legs crossed, as if he had been waiting.
“It’s over.”
Clang!
Isaac threw the bloodstained falchion onto the ground.
“What do you mean over, you bastard?”
“Yesterday, the owner of this sword came to kill you. Probably to silence you.”
“…So what?”
The swordsman’s eyes trembled violently.
The owner of the falchion was the strongest member of Weissman’s group.
He was arrogant, but his aura technique made him comparable to knights.
The swordsman respected that strength.
But why was his blade here?
The curved blade—his pride and weapon.
His thoughts spiraled.
“S-So?!”
“…”
“Say it, you bastard! What happened?!”
“He was executed.”
“…What?”
“First his eyes were gouged out. His tongue was left so he could still speak. Then his fingers and toes were cut off. After that—”
Isaac calmly described the torture, slowly and precisely.
Reusing and amplifying the assassin’s own words.
The swordsman’s face twisted.
“You… monster…!”
“You said something about a ‘room of the mind,’ didn’t you? I was curious how far that endurance goes. Turns out… not very far.”
“You damn—!”
He struggled violently, but Carlson held him down firmly.
“Yeah. I admit it was a bit much. But he didn’t last long after a night of that. Said he was from some revolutionary faction or whatever, working with Baris and Marquis Dietrich.”
“…!”
The swordsman’s face went pale.
He never expected that information to be revealed.
Even among Weissman’s group, that man was the strongest.
And yet he broke.
Despair spread across his face.
“By the time he died, it felt like I was left halfway through something. But lucky you—you’ve only lost ten fingernails so far.”
Isaac smiled coldly.
“I read somewhere that good torture benefits from a bit of personal resentment. So I brought someone you know.”
Creaaak—
The cell door opened.
A familiar figure stepped in.
Bill.
“Good morning, Gerald.”
Thud.
Bill dropped a heavy sack onto the floor and smiled brightly.
The swordsman’s eyes widened.
