Chapter 2
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 2
Chapter Title: One Hour Later
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One hour later.
The interrogation room held only a heavy silence and the acrid smoke billowing from the burning torches.
The relentless clanging of the iron chains still rang in my ears.
Blood continued to seep from the gash on my wrist.
"Hoo..."
I let out a ragged breath and set down the iron chains clutched in my hand for a moment.
As the tension eased, a dull fatigue washed over my entire body.
It had been less than an hour since I'd possessed this body, yet it already felt like I'd brushed death several times.
I turned my head to look at her.
Elena.
She gazed at me blankly, her breaths coming in fragile gasps as if they might snap at any moment.
Her eyes swirled with unwavering hatred toward me—and something even deeper: utter confusion.
Seeing the faint improvement in the status window floating above her head, I let out a small sigh of relief.
Affinity was still rock bottom, but at least her body was recovering a little.
'...Can't be helped if she hates me. Even if it was just for show, I couldn't half-ass it.'
I picked up the leather coat discarded on the floor and roughly wrapped it around the wound on my wrist.
The cold air of the underground chamber stung my skin even as I tied it tightly to staunch the bleeding.
I approached Elena cautiously and inspected her restraints.
"Ah..."
Elena let out a short groan and trembled.
She must have thought I was about to resume the torture—or do something even worse.
"Stay still. Make any sudden moves, and we'll get creative with methods even nastier than before."
With that, I pulled a small pair of tweezers from my pocket.
They were torture tools, but now they'd serve to remove the metal shards embedded in her wounds.
But there was no gentleness in my movements as I wielded them.
Instead, each time I extracted a shard, I inflicted just enough pain to make her body shudder.
"You... why..."
Her cracked voice shattered the silence.
"Why? If your body breaks down already, I won't get to use any of the things I've prepared. If a noble saintess like you seals your lips forever over wounds like these, poof—there goes my chance."
I carefully—but with chilling mechanical precision—cleaned the blood-caked area around her shoulder.
'Fear cuts deepest when the body is intact.'
Even this act of mending her flesh would look, to the church's eyes, like preparation for greater despair. To her, it'd lodge as suspicious kindness from an inscrutable stranger.
I met her gaze head-on, unflinching from the raw terror radiating from it, and twisted my lips into a smirk.
The magic listening device embedded in the corner of the wall.
No eyes from the church's crows, but their ears were everywhere.
And silence would only deepen their suspicions.
I gripped the chains again.
Clang—!
I deliberately slammed them against the wall with a loud crash, then brought my lips close to her ear.
"Scream, Saintess. That's the only way they'll be satisfied and leave us alone. You don't want to be questioned by those third-rate hacks either, do you?"
With that, I swung the chains again, shouting curses laced with venom.
"You stubborn bitch! Haven't you learned your lesson yet?! You think you can still escape this place?!"
Elena shrank back in terror once more.
Outside, I could sense them recoiling from the brutal inquisitor's roars.
But even as I whipped the chains mercilessly, my mind raced with complex thoughts.
According to the original novel's knowledge, Mirabel—the Empire Intelligence Bureau's key informant—was currently infiltrated here in Camp 1, disguised as a high priest.
She was the most reliable person to handle the saintess rescue operation's aftermath and the defection.
'The problem is how to approach her.'
To convince a thorough pragmatist like Mirabel, I'd need solid justification and intel.
She likely hadn't grasped the full extent of Elena's dire state yet.
[Elena's Status: Extreme Confusion]
Amid hellish agony, I must have become a frightening, unpredictable figure to Elena.
I deliberately thrust the tweezers near her face and shouted toward the outside.
"Good! That's perfect! Your eyes are starting to look just right! Let's keep that momentum going tomorrow!"
Then, staring straight into her eyes, I added in a very low whisper.
"And remember this: Even if God has abandoned you, your hatred will never betray you. Isn't it fine to use that hatred as fuel and find a way to survive this place?"
Elena's pupils shook as she blankly stared into my eerie, gleaming eyes.
Those last words must have sounded profoundly meaningful.
"Time's up."
I checked the hourglass and straightened my clothes.
My forearm throbbed, but I didn't let it show.
This play was only just beginning.
As I stepped into the dilapidated corridor, Elena's trembling breaths followed behind me.
Her affinity was still scraping the bottom, but it didn't matter.
As long as her hatred kept her alive, that was enough.
Clank!
As the heavy iron door swung open, Vargas and the priests waiting in the corridor greeted me.
"Whoa, Brother Ian! Looking at your face, you must've drained her good! Never heard the saintess wailing like that before!"
Vargas approached with a forced hearty laugh.
His reaction suggested my performance had landed perfectly.
He slung a thick arm over my shoulder, acting chummy as if to erase the memory of cowering pathetically earlier.
A sticky, unpleasant sweat stench hit me.
"Knew my eye for talent never fails! That... soul-crushing interrogation of yours? Heard it from outside—gave me chills!"
Vargas glanced at the surrounding priests and raised his voice.
He was trying to salvage his dignity in front of his men by packaging me as his 'discovered rookie talent.'
Obvious ploy, but I'd play along.
His influence could be useful in the church, if nowhere else.
"You're too kind, Interrogator Vargas. All thanks to you setting the stage perfectly. This place—Camp 1—runs because of your magnanimity in overlooking a junior's rudeness."
I narrowed my eyes and flashed a sly grin.
Flatter types like him just enough, and they dance in your palm.
"Hahaha! You get it! Yeah, I was a bit hasty earlier. Place is so brutal, just wanted to toughen up the newbie. You understand, right?"
Vargas patted my shoulder with exaggerated flair.
His desperate wriggling to salvage his pride was almost pitiful, but I just nodded and kept up the act.
"Of course. How could I not grasp your deep intentions, sir?"
"Right, right! You're the Heretic Interrogation Office's gem! Drinks tonight—share some of those secrets."
"Afraid not. She's tighter-lipped than expected; drained me dry. Rest up tonight, then we can catch up properly once I get answers."
I smoothly shrugged off his arm and took a step back.
"Heh, professional through and through! Fine, rest well. Can't wait for the results!"
Leaving Vargas's boisterous send-off behind, I walked down the cold corridor.
Alone now after leaving the interrogation room, I traversed the long hallway.
Camp 1 blurred the line between surface and underground.
Mana stones embedded in the walls like clamshells emitted a pale glow, conjuring the illusion of wandering a massive tomb.
I headed to my quarters, scanning my surroundings.
Purification priests in white robes passed with expressionless faces, and occasional groans echoing down the hall reminded me of this place's nature.
'What a madhouse.'
I hurried past and locked the door behind me upon entering my room.
The cramped space held only a rickety bed, desk, and washbasin.
I hastily stripped off my shirt and properly cleaned the wound on my wrist.
The cold water stung, the sharp pain snapping my fading consciousness back to alertness.
"Haa... ha..."
My reflection in the mirror felt alien.
Ian.
The fallen noble family's third son—the villain from the original story who tortured Elena indiscriminately to impress his senior inquisitor.
His shadowed eyes and gaunt frame stared back.
I ran wet hands over my face.
Glancing down, my fingertips trembled faintly.
Elena's eyes, wide with terror as she gasped for air.
The desperate struggle as she bit her lip to stifle screams even a little—it all came rushing back through my fingertips.
"Damn it..."
A low groan escaped me.
The mad grin I'd worn in the interrogation room was gone.
What remained in the mirror was a man consumed by visceral self-loathing and nausea for the atrocities he'd committed—unbearable to witness.
No matter that it was an act, no matter it was the only way to save her.
Pushing a person's humanity to the brink was devouring my own soul.
A chilling fear gripped me: if I kept this up, I'd truly be consumed by this Ian shell.
But I clenched my teeth and gripped the washbasin edge hard enough to crush it.
'No. If I stop here, she'll really die.'
The moment I extended a gentle savior's hand, the listening crows outside would swoop in, and Elena would be dragged to the execution block.
In this hellish world, saving someone meant donning the devil's mask willingly.
"I'll tear it all down. This hypocritical camp, this insane church that sacrifices people in the saintess's name."
I glared into the mirror, sharpening my gaze.
The trembling stopped.
Now the real game began.
Scratch, scratch.
I quenched my thirst with holy water from the desk, then pulled out a worn notebook from my pocket and began scribbling.
No divine power flowed through it, but its coolness chased away the drowsiness.
Soon, the pages filled with church secrets derived from the original novel's knowledge.
Mulling it over, I recalled the most critical info for now.
'Second Saintess, Seraphina.'
Once Elena's execution date was set, the church would summon her to fill the vacancy.
Her arrival would complicate things beyond control.
Trained by the church far longer than Elena, she was more weapon than human—emotions dried up.
Whether my clumsy deception would work on her was doubtful.
So I needed to set the board first.
'Starting tomorrow, find a way to contact Mirabel.'
The Empire's shadow embedded in the church.
Fail to pull her to my side, and the rescue was doomed—hell, I'd be branded a heretic and lose my head.
I tapped the windowsill, sifting through the novel's memories.
Where Mirabel appeared most. Her codes. The intel she craved most.
All locked in my mind.
I stared out at the papal palace, night air seeping through the frame.
The ugliest hole, hidden beneath dazzling holy light.
The root of everything that had to fall someday.
"Just wait, Mr. Author. I'll save her for sure."
I murmured low, glaring at the darkened palace.