Chapter 794

“Did The Prophet kill Siegfried Bassmann?”

Huginn clamped his mouth shut at the killing intent in my voice. Just as he had for the past week. Just as he would forever, it seemed.

But unlike the investigators who’d interrogated him so far, I had no intention of backing down.

No matter what it took.

“What do you think of this room? Nice atmosphere, don’t you think?”

At my sudden question, Huginn’s eyebrow twitched.

I stood and slowly paced around the spacious room, furnished with nothing but a table and chairs.

“No cameras running twenty-four hours a day, no observation window. Must feel like paradise to a prisoner, right? I went through something similar once, so I know how awful it feels to be watched every second.”

“…”

“That’s why I brought you here. I thought it’d be more convenient for both of us. Like I said, no prying eyes, and…”

I dropped back into my seat with a thump. “The soundproofing magic is perfect, too.”

He didn’t answer, but I knew.

The look in his sunken eyes told me he’d understood exactly what I meant.

After a brief silence, a snicker slipped between Huginn’s lips.

Pfft.

The breathy sound grew louder until his laughter rang through the room. His shoulders shook for a long while before he finally spoke.

“Is that all?”

“What?”

“I asked if that’s all you’ve got. Torture, threats—whatever you’re going to do, do it properly. That isn’t even worth laughing at.”

This time it was my turn to keep my mouth shut. Huginn took the baton, his face full of scorn.

“You won’t get the answer you want from me, no matter what you try. Just like those bastards who came before you.”

Those bastards who came before me.

So that was why he’d grown so gaunt since I last saw him. Apparently, I wasn’t the first visitor.

Of course, I’d more or less guessed as much.

A bunch of countries could join forces, form the UN, and draft an international convention against torture. In the end, if no one found out, what did it matter?

And Huginn had been Michael Silbert’s right hand, handling missions both big and small.

A traitor to humanity who held a vital secret had locked his lips tight. The American torturers seasoned in the Middle East had probably put their skills to work while the leadership looked the other way.

And every one of them failed.

I studied Huginn after his outburst.

His mana was suppressed and his entire body bound, but he was still an S-rank Hunter. More than that, he was an exceptional fighter chosen to be Michael Silbert’s right hand.

Even torture and mental magic would struggle to break his will.

“Just talk and it’ll all be over. Like the others who were captured with you, all you have to do is tell the truth.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“Michael Silbert left you a final message, didn’t he? You’ve heard it by now.”

“I have. But this is entirely my choice. Ever since I was five—”

“Shut up. I don’t want to hear it. I don’t care if you were a piano prodigy at five or an orphan who grew to hate the world.”

Everyone had their sob story.

But I wasn’t some late-night radio host, and I had no reason to listen to a villain’s tired old backstory.

I did know what he wanted most right now, though.

“If you tell the truth, I’ll promise you one thing.”

“A promise?”

“Yeah. A promise.”

“Then you won’t get an answer. I don’t need any—”

I cut off his scornful reply with the one line I’d prepared.

“I’ll kill you.”

“…!”

“As painlessly as possible. Cleanly. I can’t promise to let you go—I couldn’t keep that promise. But I can do this today.”

“You bastard…”

“Don’t deny it. You’d rather die than keep living like this, wouldn’t you?”

He tried to hide it, but I could see it.

Resignation and spite mingled in his eyes as they began to waver. His tongue, though, still refused to swallow his pride.

“Cut the bullshit. There’s no way you can make me talk.”

“From what you’ve been saying, you definitely know something.”

“…”

“By the way, how old are you now? Around fifty, if I remember right… Still young. You’ve got a long life ahead of you.”

In Murim, fifty was old enough to be called a grandfather without anyone batting an eye. But in the modern world, fifty was still the prime of life.

Plenty of people with money lived past a hundred thanks to cutting-edge medicine and magical health care.

And Huginn was an S-rank Hunter. Even with his mana suppressed, his vitality was on a completely different level from an ordinary person’s.

“Our crow friend’s going to live a long time. Of course, he’ll spend the rest of it in prison.”

I leaned my chair way back and gazed at the pure white ceiling, my voice calm as I went on.

“A sealed room without a ray of sunlight. Someone watching you around the clock. Interrogations whenever they feel like it. Or should I say torture? After everything you’ve done, they’ll probably be pretty brutal for a long time.”

“…”

“You’ve been tough enough to make it this far, somehow… But what happens when it goes on for fifty years? Well, at least you’ll stay healthy. They’ll shower you with potions after every round of cutting.”

Millions had been killed or injured in the terrorist attacks.

In front of a humanity consumed by grief and rage, the word human rights had already become meaningless.

If an article appeared in the New York Times tomorrow morning saying Huginn had been tortured, people all over the world would be shocked—and start collecting donations.

Not for his legal fees. For potions to prolong his suffering forever.

And as time crawled by, Huginn’s mind would slowly fall apart.

Or maybe it had already begun to crack.

“Team Leader Choi told me something interesting on the way here. Apparently, you caused a bit of a commotion on the plane. Are you sick? Or was it a seizure?”

Probably the latter.

Pain was the same for everyone, even an S-rank Hunter with a strong body and mind. He just knew how to endure it.

Getting used to pain didn’t make it hurt less.

“Why aren’t you answering? You’re making me feel awkward for asking. If you’re already like this, how are you going to get through the rest of your life?”

Just as I straightened from my half-reclined position, a wet crunch sounded and blood poured from Huginn’s mouth.

He’d bitten his tongue.

“Ouch. That must hurt.”

I clicked my tongue, pulled a potion from my Inventory, and shoved it into Huginn’s mouth. The bleeding stopped almost at once, and his half-severed tongue healed.

“Let’s not make this harder on each other. I didn’t remove your gag so you could bite your tongue. Besides, I’m starting to run out of the potions I brought…”

Crunch. Splurt.

The moment I said I was running out, Huginn bit his tongue again. I sighed.

“I told you not to do that.”

Then I rummaged through my Inventory and took out a potion.

Or rather, a box packed full of them.

Thud.

“Please. I’m asking nicely. I’ve only got about three hundred left. Okay?”

“…!”

“At least this time you only cut off a little bit of your tongue.”

“…”

“Open your mouth. Come on. Say ‘ah.’”

Huginn stared at me blankly instead of answering, so I slapped him across the face.

Smack!

Teeth flew in every direction.

But I wasn’t satisfied with stopping there.

Smack! Crunch.

His jaw joint broke, and his mouth fell open on its own.

“That’s it. Good job. You listen so well. But you’ve got tartar buildup. When was your last cleaning?”

Blood smeared around his mouth, Huginn stammered out an answer.

“Tw-two years ago…”

“That’s a while. Potions aren’t a cure-all. Tartar isn’t an injury, so they won’t heal it. You need to brush your teeth. Or go to the dentist. What do you need to do?”

“Brush my teeth, go to the dentist…”

“What are you talking about, dumbass? Just use Clean magic. Is your head for decoration? Have you kept it around since birth so you can use it as a weapon in an emergency? Did you dream of becoming a Dullahan in elementary school?”

“Why are you even—”

“But you little shit. I’ve let you get away with enough. You fucking bastard, you keep dragging this out like you’re the last royal chef of Joseon, carefully tasting everything first. What is this, a royal banquet? You’re not leaving until you’ve used every potion in this box.”

“I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you everything—!”

“Shut up.”

I didn’t know what I was saying. Or why I was acting like this.

All I knew was that the heat that had been creeping up from my gut finally reached my head.

Grab. Wham!

I snatched up a potion bottle and swung it at the top of his head. At the dull impact and surge of pain, his tightly bound body trembled.

“W-wait!”

“This is reinforced glass, you bastard.”

Wham! Wham! Crash!

Even reinforced glass could only take about three hits.

Shards showered over the top of his head, now spurting blood. The potion inside poured down with them.

Splash.

Healing and pain at the same time. A miracle.

But before he’d finished healing, I grabbed another bottle.

Whack! Whack! Whaaack!

Crash!

When I came to my senses, I found myself pawing at an empty box.

“Is… is it over?”

“No.”

I pulled a fresh box from my Inventory.

“Hang in there. There are still two hundred left.”

“…!”

“You can do it. Let’s keep at it together. I can do this all day. I might even be fine doing it every day from now on.”

Huginn stared at me wide-eyed, then spoke in a trembling voice.

“I-I said I’d talk. Why are you…”

“Bullshit. When?”

“I’ve been saying it for ages. Over and over. The whole time…”

“What a ridiculous bastard. Do I look like an idiot to you?”

“I’m telling the truth! I really did!”

“Are you yelling at me right now? Do you—do you feel so wronged you can’t stand it?”

“N-no, that’s not what I—”

“Forget it. You hurt my feelings. I’ve already got this box out, so let’s finish it before we talk again.”

“…!”

I thought I might have vaguely heard him say something like that, but what did it matter?

Thanks to Huginn’s excellent teamwork, we emptied the second box of potions, too. When I took out a third, I heard his tearful voice.

“Stop! Stooop!”

The mouth even veteran torturers hadn’t been able to pry open was now running free.

Maybe the genuine madness I’d shown had moved him, I thought. I closed the box I’d opened halfway.

“You finally understand how sincere I am.”

“…The promise you made earlier?”

“I’ll keep it. If you want to die that badly.”

“How can I trust you?”

“That’s up to you. But I swear on everything I have. That’s all.”

“…”

“So? Your answer?”

Huginn swallowed, then finally spoke.

“He did.”

“Be precise. Again.”

“The one who killed Siegfried Bassmann… was the person they call The Prophet.”

There was no doubt. Huginn was telling the truth.

But just as my suspicion became certainty, another question came to mind.

“The person they call The Prophet?”

“…Ah.”

Maybe it was because his mind was foggy. He looked like he’d said something he didn’t need to, but it was too late to take back words once he’d let them out.

There’s more.

I’d thought Michael Silbert and The Prophet were connected, but I hadn’t been able to pin down exactly how.

I glared at him, my eyes sinking deep, and spoke.

“Tell me what you mean. Tell me everything you know about The Prophet.”

“T-that…”

It was ironic.

He had to struggle not to live, but to die. Yet Huginn had been driven to the edge of a cliff. He had no choices left.

“He’s Muninn.”

“What?”

The moment I blurted out the question, a memory flashed through my mind: the day Huginn first came to Ares Guild.

Two ravens engraved into a corner of his business card.

And… the conversation I’d had with Team Leader Choi.

“Huginn and Muninn. Those two ravens are symbols of a certain god from Norse mythology.”

“Who?”

“Odin.”

“…!”

I blinked.

Odin, the supreme god. And the two ravens who served him: Huginn and Muninn.

There had never been just one crow to begin with.