No. 13
The elevator doors slide open, revealing a dimly lit, unsettling corridor marked only by faint lights along the floor and walls. This is… definitely the floor where the Alchemist’s containment room is located, yet the oppressive darkness sets it apart from the upper levels. Even though I’ve been here before, I can’t help feeling tense. I’ve come to despise dark corridors. Maybe that’s why cold sweat is prickling down my back… or perhaps it’s simply because the temperature really is higher here.
I still can’t quite believe it until I see it with my own eyes, but if the Team Leader wasn’t joking, there’s supposedly a hot spring facility on the seventy-ninth basement floor. The heat rising from the eighth layer couldn’t be fully contained even by the thick partition walls, so they installed the facility on the leftover floor. With winter drawing near outside, this persistent warmth makes me wonder just what kind of place the eighth layer below must be. Of course… that doesn’t mean I have any desire to go down there myself.
“Did you know that prisoners bear two kinds of marks?”
“Marks… you mean?”
“One is the Stigma, which you’re already familiar with, Ung-ssi. That vivid, cross-shaped scar that looks as though starlight is sparkling within it—that’s the mark. When a prisoner tries to disobey or refuse an order, the area bearing the Stigma begins to burn. No matter what the command is, the pain is apparently so excruciating that they have no choice but to obey.”
“The location of the scar varies from person to person, but in the case of humanoid entities or ability users, it’s usually found on the lips, cheeks, forehead, nape, or near the collarbone. So it isn’t particularly difficult to check.”
If the samples show a certain degree of consistency, then the marks aren’t being placed arbitrarily, though the exact criteria remain unclear. The locations feel oddly familiar somehow… or maybe that’s just my imagination.
“The other mark is the prisoner’s identification number. In every case, it’s tattooed right in the center of the chest—around here.”
“Huh…?”
The Team Leader’s hand catches my chin, then a single finger traces slowly down my throat, past my collarbone, and lightly pokes the center of my chest. Apparently that’s where the tattoo is located. The unnecessary contact suggests she simply wanted to see me flustered, and her plan worked far too well.
“Ahem, ahem.”
“Hehe. That’s why prisoners are often called by their numbers instead of names. It’s the same within the Inquisition. Prisoners like Scarlet, who are granted their own names, are quite rare.”
Scarlet…? At the unfamiliar name, I tilt my head slightly, and the Team Leader kindly elaborates.
“I’m referring to the one we call Fire Chicken.”
“That ability user’s name is…”
Indeed, amid the raging flames and the brilliant light, those vividly fluttering red locks had been beautiful. Yet because of the violent desire gleaming in her crimson eyes, I never once felt inclined to approach her.
“Her personality is even more unhinged than the Field Team Leader’s, but thanks to the sheer power of her ability, she was granted a name. Prisoners can only receive names from the archangels. Because of that, she takes great pride in her name. If you call her Fire Chicken to her face, she’ll probably try to tear you apart.”
…That’s certainly useful advice. I’ll have to watch my mouth.
“We’ve arrived.”
[ No. 13 ]
“This number is…”
It’s written differently from the usual format. If so, then the nameplate that isn’t classified by risk level must be the prisoner’s identification number. After completing the authentication, the Team Leader opens the door and continues speaking while keeping her gaze forward.
“Come to think of it, there’s one thing that’s been bothering me.”
“…?”
“As far as I know, the way the Inquisition assigns identification numbers to prisoners isn’t random. And if that system still hasn’t changed…”
Tap. Stepping slowly into the containment room, the Team Leader stops in front of the reinforced glass partition that divides the space in half, just like the Alchemist’s room. Beyond the glass, on the bed, lies a figure dressed in clean white clothing.
“The closer the number is to one, the more useful—or dangerous—the Inquisition considers them. It’s surprising enough that someone like Scarlet, who received a name, is in the teens, but this one’s number is even higher.”
Beyond the glass is a woman with dark purple hair and an extremely slight build. The same woman who had so carelessly kidnapped me. The fact that she possesses an identification number higher than even Fire Chicken—who turned the entire previous scene into a sea of flames—feels strange even to me.
“Of course, this is all based on what I knew before leaving the Vatican, so I can’t be certain it’s still the same now… but these are the items discovered at the scene where you were kidnapped, Ung-ssi.”
One is the pitch-black horn that Founder broke off her head. The other is a sturdy-looking silver suitcase. Click, click. When the Team Leader opens it, the interior is packed with light gray sponge to cushion impacts, with indentations precisely shaped to fit the contents. Most of the dozens of slots are empty, indicating that items of roughly this size and shape had once been stored inside. Only a single slot still holds a small glass vial that fits perfectly.
The Team Leader takes it out and gives it a light shake. The thick, viscous, unidentified black liquid inside sloshes heavily—its color nearly identical to the horn beside it. I had no desire to learn its identity, yet regardless of my wishes, I’m told what it is.
“This is demon blood.”
“Pardon?”
“And it seems this prisoner drank demon blood.”
Then the thing I touched with my own hands… was a demon’s horn? But—
“Yet this prisoner is merely an ordinary human who possesses an ability. Normally, even a single drop of demon blood would cause the body to rot and die, unable to withstand the poison. However…”
“Then how?”
“Because this isn’t ordinary demon blood. Haah…”
At the Team Leader’s sigh, I immediately understand whose blood it is.
“To be precise, it’s the blood of a fallen angel, not a demon. And this prisoner’s body already bears the sacred authority of an archangel. Perhaps some kind of interaction occurred between the two.”
“…The Stigma.”
Setting aside how they managed to obtain demon blood—which should not exist in this world—perhaps they succeeded in neutralizing the poison by satisfying several conditions. Even without knowing the details, simply hearing about it makes me feel that someone has crossed a taboo that must never be broken.
“It feels as though they deliberately attempted to mix demonic authority with an ability. The reversed space maze and the fallen being of light we saw earlier are the results of that.”
“Why would they do such a thing…? Who on earth…?”
“Who knows. It might be an effort to justify oppression by linking ability users with demons, or perhaps simply an attempt to create stronger ability users. Or maybe…”
“…It could be both.”
The Team Leader nods at my words, then suddenly pauses, murmuring in a small, uncertain voice.
“Gabriel… surely she wouldn’t try to appear in this world…”
“Team Leader…?”
“No, never mind. Even so, that’s probably just speculation. More importantly, the prisoner’s condition.”
She seems eager to change the subject, but I’m still concerned. Thanks to the improved restraint, she’s temporarily free from the Stigma’s punishment, yet her first impression and emaciated appearance are nothing short of precarious.
“Founder must have done something for her. The fact that a horn grew—even if only one—means the demonification from the demonic creature had progressed quite far… yet the examination results show she has returned to a completely pure human body.”
“Yes, I saw Founder touching her body here and there at the time.”
It had seemed strange that she spent so long fiddling with her, unlike usual. Apparently, she had been searching deep within the prisoner’s body to locate and erase every last remnant of the demon.
“It would be troublesome if we were seen protecting someone who has partially accepted demonic authority. It could provide justification for a holy war.”
“…You mean not only the Inquisition, but the entire Vatican could mobilize.”
“Exactly. For now, since she’s undeniably human, the matter has been settled. However, there’s still a problem that the new restraint alone cannot solve.”
The pain from the Stigma has been temporarily resolved thanks to the restraint Founder provided, and the issue with the demon seems manageable for the time being. So what problem remains?
“Do you remember why the Alchemist was physically restrained with earplugs and a blindfold?”
“Ah.”
Now that she mentions it… there was another troublesome aspect of the Stigma. It was possible for the owner of the authority to possess the body marked with the Stigma and move it according to their will.
“If the other side notices the plan has gone awry and attempts possession, your identity will inevitably be exposed to them, Ung-ssi.”
“…”
“Are you truly all right with conducting this counseling session?”
In short, it means the risk of exposure to danger has increased significantly compared to before.
“I…”
But if I think about it differently… I’m already risking my life with cooperative entities like Undine. Things probably won’t get much worse than that here. Perhaps the reason Undine was allowed to stay with me without additional measures is because of that. Besides, if possession occurs, I’m the only one who can notice it first by hearing the other party’s inner voice and request an appropriate response. So… this is something only I can do.
“If someone seeks salvation, they won’t give up on anyone.”
Because that voice reaches my ears. If I hadn’t heard it in the first place, it might be different, but now that I have, there’s no helping it. If I turn away from that desperate voice out of fear for my own safety at the very moment someone is pleading for help, I won’t be able to shamelessly return to my previous life. That’s why, even if the place is filled with raging flames or thorny thickets, I may hesitate out of fear, but in the end, I will reach out my hand.
I’m not some saint or holy figure out of scripture, so I know full well that reaching out won’t guarantee I can save everyone. But if I don’t even try… then in front of those I’ve already saved with my meddlesome nature, I’ll become nothing but a hypocrite. To avoid that, I can only do my best within the limits of what I’m capable of and strive to remain true to myself. That’s all one person like me can do. Even so, knowing how precious the sincere smiles of those who have been saved are, I can’t give up so easily.
