Chapter 91
Chapter 91
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 91
Chapter Title: War Against Crime (5)
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In pre-modern societies, one of the most commonly used methods to extract information was torture.
They sought to uncover the truth by inflicting pain, and indeed, they obtained information on numerous rebellions and various crimes this way.
However, in modern society, torture is not used for intelligence gathering based on bioethical principles...
This is just a dignified way of saying they don't torture; the reality is quite different.
First off, the primary reason for not using torture is, as stated, that ripping off limbs, breaking them, or sometimes gouging out facial skin and eyes to extract information is unethical.
Another reason is that information obtained through such torture is generally unreliable, as the victim will say anything just to survive.
For instance, if the torturer promises to end the session if the prisoner claims the Duke of Maxburg was behind the current incident, most spineless criminals would oblige.
Even if the real culprit was the Count of Peterburg.
So, I would extract information using a more efficient method, without smashing arms and legs or resorting to sexual torture.
The cell reeked of the musty stench unique to stagnant water, with a chill rising from the underground floor and cockroaches and rats scurrying about—it was where the prisoners were held.
As I entered, one prisoner—who knows how he caught it—was gnawing on a live rat raw.
Blood from the rat dripped from his face and mouth, but he was so starving that he devoured it voraciously, paying no mind.
I was shocked to see an executive-turned-prisoner eating an unwashed sewer rat, but as the interrogator, I couldn't show fear, so I forced a calm expression and asked,
"You rat bastard, who said you could eat rats here? Can't you rats even eat your own family? What a sight."
Hearing that, he thought the torturer had arrived, dropped the rat, knelt, and began begging.
"Mercy, sir! Please, just a bit of bread or gruel... I'm so hungry. I'm starving to death."
"That depends on your sincerity toward me. Answer well, and I'll give you meat instead of gruel... But if you don't answer properly, I'll have to let you chat with these friends."
With that, I clapped twice, and the torturer behind me brought spiked stones for the rack, heavy stones, pliers for pulling fingers, and a hammer for breaking bones.
All the tools were stained with the blood of past victims who had died under torture, and even I, with no connection to them, felt a chill.
Seeing the tools I'd brought, the prisoner went mad with fear and began trembling.
"Aaaah! I'll tell you everything! Please, don't use those!! Spare me!!!"
The torturer, wearing a black leather mask that covered his face, sneered at the prisoner.
"That's for the Count to decide. And these are just decorations... Deeper inside, there's a pretty girl staked with spikes, a hot iron to caress your skin warmly... Oh, and a magical device that stretches your limbs to make you taller..."
"Kyaaah! Spare me! I'll confess everything. I'll tell you all I know, sir..."
"Oh, this one... Such a pretty friend. Alright, shall we start by lightly crushing two toes? It'll hurt a bit, but don't bite your tongue?"
Hearing that, the torturers casually tried to seat him on a chair with short iron spikes embedded in the backrest and seat.
I raised my hand to stop them and said,
"He seems ready to talk now, so hold off. Yes, you rat. What did you do in the organization?"
"I mainly liaised with the district executives under the 5th District Chief, supplying women and alcohol to the noble executives in Blueport. I also kidnapped or sold off people from the families of those nobles' rivals."
"Honest, good. So, did the low-level grunts under the 5th District Chief help you directly?"
"No. The District Chief said that in this territory, even commoners with jobs wouldn't betray Count Kroitel, no matter how much money we offered... So I only used orphans and beggars from each district."
Professor once said that Luddite movements destroying machines and communism only appeal momentarily to people who have just enough to get by before fizzling out...
True to that, perhaps because my policies have ensured anyone with a job can live decently in our territory, hardly anyone has joined this criminal group.
Otherwise, a crime syndicate flush with cash—hundreds of gold coins stacked up—wouldn't have been caught so quickly.
Even scum like Jang Gilsan or Hong Gildong, pretending to be righteous thieves, were protected by most decent folk just because they tossed some money around for survival.
The Blue Mold gang must have enjoyed the same protection.
"Then, where are most of the organization's executives from?"
"Peterburg... We operated under the Count of Peterburg's orders. Especially Nikolai—he was promised a barony if things went well..."
This guy seemed to be spilling everything under the torture atmosphere, but...
Thanks to Lieutenant Short, I already knew Nikolai and the other executives were Holy Roman Empire natives disguising themselves with Northern Alliance cuisine, culture, and accents, so I wasn't fooled.
To get his cooperation, I smiled and signaled the torturer.
The torturer immediately forced the prisoner to kneel on the spiked iron chair and crushed his right big toe with an iron mallet.
The toenail splintered in multiple directions, blood gushed out, and the bone became visible.
As he tried to scream, the torturers—concerned for my ears—stuffed a rag soaked in sewage into his mouth to silence him.
After about 30 minutes, the convulsing prisoner calmed down, and the torturers removed the rag.
"Aaaah, aaaah... It's really Peterburg. Believe me... Really, truly Peterburg..."
Torturing him more here might be pointless for now.
At this point, he'd just keep insisting on Peterburg until near death.
"Calm down, calm down. I know it hurts."
The prisoner glared at me as if to say, "You crushed my toe and now tell me to calm down, you mad bastard," but I ignored him and continued gently.
"Your comrades have already confessed everything. You're the only one left. Don't you want to live? You have nothing but your life now—no loyalty to the organization or your lord. Even if I were your lord, with others spilling the truth, how would I know you alone stayed loyal?"
His eyes flickered, his resolve wavering.
"So tell the truth. Just talk, and I'll feed you well... And give you a special chance."
"A chance? What chance..."
"If you tell me Siel von Kroitel's real enemy... I'll reward you. Better than having your limbs severed or guts ripped out as a criminal. Wouldn't living as a free citizen with land in another country be preferable?"
With death inevitable, the spark of desire for life ignited in his eyes.
"If you want to live, spill it. Your death depends on the value of your info—peaceful in bed, or a horrific end too gruesome to describe... Your choice. Last chance. Who sent you?"
After five minutes of silence, the aroma of savory meat and fresh bread wafted from beyond the cell.
The smell was so enticing that even I, having eaten lunch two hours ago, felt hungry.
If I felt this way after a full meal, how starved must he be, surviving on a palm-sized bowl of thin gruel and water for days...
It was my ploy to break the hungry prisoner, but I didn't expect backlash on me...
Ugh, this is food torment—food violence, as they say.
"Ah, looks like special meals are being served to the confessors in other rooms. Must be delicious: roasted beef slathered in sugar-rich sauce, white bread loaded with wheat, butter, and milk, creamy soup with clams and fish made from fine flour and rich milk... Makes me hungry too. Want some? Talk quick, it's yours."
In truth, it's for tormenting late-confessors: guards eat in front of bound prisoners to stimulate appetite.
Well, for truly valuable info, a last supper isn't out of the question.
Moments later, the man before me, looking resigned and hollow, spoke.
"Nikolai is a bastard son from a collateral branch of Baron Horshov, a vassal of the Count of Peterburg. He was a knight receiving 30 mas of fief as a youth but was exiled for adultery with the baron's concubine. He attached himself to the Duke of Maxburg's service. Some of our executives are his vassals; the rest are knights from the Holy Roman Empire border near the Northern Alliance, exiled for causing trouble."
"Continue."
"Until this job, we were retainers in the duke's household. Nikolai got one gold coin monthly; we executives, five silver. We handled odd jobs. Then one day, the duke summoned us, gave 3,000 gold coins upon entering Blueport, and ordered us to sow chaos. We burned warehouses and kidnapped nobles accordingly."
The Duke of Maxburg likely only knows of the trade alliance between Kroitel and the Northern Alliance king for cultural exchanges and luxury goods.
From his perspective, assuming we'd form a marriage alliance next, he framed it as the royalist Count of Peterburg's doing to weaken us without war.
If caught in that cunning ploy, we might have been cornered into submission under Maxburg.
Betrayed by the Northern Alliance, we'd consider allying with the Holy Roman Empire, only for the Duke of Brussels to seize the moment, rally Elrain's great nobles around the county, and attack.
The reason? My position is the gateway to Elrain, and I'm filthy rich...
Fortunately, knowing it wasn't a Northern Alliance plot, the Holy Roman Empire is now exposed with its weakness in my hands.
This is heaven-sent luck.
Savoring that fortune, I decided to grant the pitiful man before me one final mercy.
If the info checks out, give him a lavish last meal laced with slow-acting poison to let him savor it before dying peacefully in bed.
"Understood. Thanks. Once verified, a delicious meal awaits. For now, ease your hunger with this."
I tossed a bundle of rusks, each about two fingers long, from my pocket to the floor.
He snatched them up, dirt and all, and gnawed away.
If a serf or beggar from our territory ate like that, it'd be pitiful; but this scum who targeted us? Just pathetic and amusing.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ With that, I passed the first intel to all interrogators, successfully outlining the Duke of Maxburg's perfect crime.
True to my promise, I had the prisoner I'd interrogated bathed and moved to a luxurious room.
Then served him my lavish meal laced with Jisung's poison; after days of feasting, he died peacefully in bed.
Executives got drawn and quartered; mere accomplices had limbs broken on the wheel.
Prostitutes were innocent and released, but those who tried seducing torturers or me got a month's confinement for insolence.
Now, I began plotting to deal with the Duke of Maxburg who tried to screw me over.
You tried feeding me a big, thick prank; I'll return one bigger, thicker, tastier—not jealous of Jeolla's pumpkin taffy.