Chapter 16
Chapter 16
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: uly
Chapter: 16
Chapter Title: The Hand That Doesn't Let Go
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Upon seeing Christina's startled and wide-eyed face, I finally realized that I had barged into her private room without even the courtesy of knocking.
However, going back out and knocking just to re-enter would look absolutely ridiculous, so I decided to brazen it out and remain where I was.
That awkwardness aside, she truly was injured quite severely.
I knew it was inherently rude to stare at a patient, but I simply could not tear my eyes away—the sight was just that fascinatingly grim.
"M-Minister!?"
"How is your body holding up under the strain?"
"Uh, y-yeah... I am f-fine..."
Like hell she was fine. From the looks of her weeping just moments ago, she must have been enduring a tremendous amount of pain.
Well, getting run through the gut in such a brutal manner—who on earth wouldn't be in agony?
Thinking it over, if it hurt enough to move her to tears and then her boss suddenly shows up, she had to be feeling super uncomfortable. Perhaps it would be better if I headed out.
"Get some much-needed rest."
"W-Wait just a second!"
I turned my back to leave, but my sleeve was suddenly caught in a firm grasp. Looking back, I saw Christina gazing up at me with eyes brimming with tears.
"D-Don't go..."
It was a frail and vulnerable side of her I could not even begin to imagine—the very same woman who normally tore people apart with her bare hands.
I suppose even Christina got lonely when she was hurting and left all alone, huh.
I didn't have anything particularly urgent to attend to anyway, so I nodded, grabbed a nearby chair, and sat down by her bed.
"…………"
"Why exactly are you staring at me like that?"
"Ah!? S-Sorry about that."
There was certainly no need for her to apologize for something like that.
Still, just sitting there in silence doing nothing was incredibly boring, so I pulled out the notepad and pen I always carried and started jotting down my to-do list for the upcoming week.
Let's see... I cleaned the bathroom last week, so that chore is handled. Laundry is piling up dangerously, though—I had better do it today or early tomorrow.
And I must stock up on food ahead of time... Ah, it seems my pen is not working once again.
It feels like I just purchased a new one, but is it already dead and empty?
I pressed down hard on the paper, trying to coax out the stubborn ink, when Christina, who had been watching me quietly, finally spoke up.
"Minister... why don't you just throw it away?"
"Nope."
Why would I ever do that? I can just replace the cartridge, and then it is as good as new. Besides, this is actually a pretty decent and reliable pen.
I had been using it non-stop since someone gifted it to me about five years ago, so it possessed some genuine sentimental value.
"Why?"
"What exactly do you mean by that?"
"Why don't you just throw it away?"
"That is a dumb question. Do I really need a specific reason not to toss my own stuff?"
It wasn't anything worth bragging about, but I always made a point to use things until they were truly spent and finished.
There was this unique, quiet satisfaction in squeezing every last drop of utility out of something. You would know what I mean if you've ever tried it yourself.
"Your... stuff?"
"Whose else would it be?"
"N-No way! That is absolutely, positively not the case!"
"Good, I'm glad you get it."
Hmm. No dice after all. The cartridge must be totally and completely empty.
Resigned to the fact, I tucked the notepad and pen back into my inner coat pocket.
I must not forget to buy a new one on the way back home today.
"Um, Minister."
"Yeah?"
"Could you... perhaps hold my hand?"
Hold her hand? That seemed like no big deal at all.
I held out my hand toward her without a second thought—then the reality hit me a moment too late.
This was the very same hand that was notorious for ripping people apart.
"J-Just a little bit tighter, please..."
"Christina?"
I tried yanking my hand back in a sudden panic, but there was absolutely no escaping her grip with my meager strength.
Oh crap. She had fallen asleep already—what am I supposed to do now?
Worst case scenario, should I call the guards waiting outside? That was when I suddenly noticed something off.
It hurt. My hand, specifically—it was starting to really, truly hurt.
Wait a minute. This is actual, physical pain.
Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow!
This wasn't just simple numbness. It felt as though my bones were being ground into fine powder in real time!
How the hell do you even grip someone like that? My bones and flesh appeared intact, but the inner agony was unreal.
How does this even happen? Is this some kind of secret assassin technique or something!?
Cold sweat began to pour down my face.
Danger. My vision is starting to fade!
"Nng...?"
Christina stirred awake and looked around the room.
The Minister was still right there beside her, exactly as he was before she dozed off.
He was gripping her hand with a tight, unwavering intensity.
"Minister?"
There was no response from him.
Realizing he was asleep, she quietly and tenderly turned her body toward him.
'He said he wouldn't throw it away. He said it was his.'
Those were the exact words she had longed to hear most in the entire world.
He had nailed her deepest, most hidden desire, almost as if he had peeked directly into her heart.
'I see. I have been his all along.'
She reflected on her recent despair. Thoughts of ending her own life were now utterly and strictly forbidden.
'Because my body, my heart, and my very life—they all belong to the Minister.'
Realizing that truth anew made her heart pound painfully hard against her ribs.
She could actually hear the loud thumping right in her own ears.
Without thinking, she lifted their clasped hands and pressed his hand firmly to her chest.
It backfired immediately.
Her heart began to race even more wildly than before.
'Ack.'
It actually hurt.
But it felt so incredibly good.
The Imperial Intelligence Department enjoyed various unique privileges due to the high-stakes nature of its work.
A prime example was Owl's "kill-on-sight" authority over designated targets.
This was something utterly taboo in normal society, but the Empire showed no mercy to its designated enemies.
Beyond the elite Owl unit, the department itself had perks like the notorious "torture privilege."
"Talk now. Who are you? What is your deal?"
"……"
"What is the size of your group? Where is your base? Do you have anything on the boss?"
"……"
In the cold darkness of the department's basement.
A man hung from heavy chains bolted to the ceiling, surrounded by grim-faced agents.
The intruder caught trying to sneak into the Minister's office last night looked absolutely wretched.
His nails had been yanked out, blood was dripping steadily; he had been beaten with clubs and branded with irons—his body was a mangled mess.
Still, one particularly pissed-off agent rubbed salt into an open wound, making the man writhe in agonizing silent screams.
"Grrgh...!"
"You seem to be confused. We don't actually care if you talk or not. You targeted the Minister. Did you think you would get an easy death? That was a big mistake."
Strictly speaking, they had gone for classified documents, not the man himself—but to the department, any threat to the Minister was unacceptable.
The agents carried out the torture relentlessly, truly indifferent to his persistent silence.
They were even patching him up occasionally just to prolong the duration of his suffering.
With no sleep and over 24 hours of nonstop torment—his body and mind crumbling—that was the moment the Minister arrived.
I had meant to come down here yesterday, but Christina's visit and my subsequent blackout made me forget entirely.
Whoa, it looks like they really went all out on him again.
I was practically just a figurehead, but after over ten years as Minister, I had seen this kind of thing plenty of times.
Still, watching people unleash pure, unadulterated malice on each other never got any easier to stomach.
"Let him down."
"Yes, sir."
The agents promptly dropped the mangled man to the cold floor.
Hey now, easier does it with him.
I approached the man, set down a fresh water bottle, and said,
"Drink this."
"……"
He flinched visibly at the sight of the bottle but did nothing else.
Odd. His throat had to be completely parched and dry by now.
"Can't you move?"
"……"
I propped up his limp torso and held the bottle directly to his cracked lips.
He gulped the water down like a desperate desert traveler who had finally found an oasis.
Once the bottle was empty, I sat him up, stood, and asked the agents,
"Did you get anything?"
"Nothing yet, sir."
Then what was the point of all this effort? It was totally useless.
"Release him. And don't forget to treat his wounds first."
"Yes, sir."
My job here was done, so I headed back upstairs.
Dumped unceremoniously outside the capital, the man began to run.
He spent the whole way mocking the spineless and soft-hearted Minister.
It was unbelievable. That clueless idiot was supposed to be the Iron-Blooded Minister?
He stayed vigilant just in case of a trap, but after days out of the capital—there was no surveillance and no encounters.
Fully relaxed now, he reveled in the joy of survival, sprinting on with renewed vigor.
His torture wounds throbbed with every step, but that pain meant he was alive—which only made him laugh harder.
Finally, he reached the edge of the "swamp."
And with that achievement, his role in this world ended.
"So that is the cave, huh."
"………?"
He simply could not comprehend what was happening.
Nor why a cold blade had suddenly pierced his chest from behind.
He never did figure it out.
There had been no surveillance—he just hadn't been capable of noticing it.
"Idiot. If you had talked when you were told, you could have died without all that false hope."
The agent yanked out the sword; the man's body crumpled forward into the mud.
In his final, fleeting moment, he finally got it.
He understood why the Minister's moniker was Iron-Blooded.
"We will take it from here."
At John's firm words, the regular agents scattered.
They positioned themselves at a safe distance just in case Owl failed their mission.
"Let's go."
The owls—minus the hospitalized Christina—followed their leader deep into the cave.
There was no doubt about it this time.
A massively powerful and oppressive presence pulsed from within the darkness.
"There are lots of them. Stay sharp."
At the cave entrance, John drew his sword to swing inward—
The cave suddenly exploded outward. The newly dubbed "hybrids" swarmed out in a wave.
But what seized the Owl members' eyes amid the rising dust was the colossal thing finally revealed.
"Foolish whelps! You dare to invade this sacred place uninvited!?"
The old man's screeching voice came from a grotesquely chimeric beast.
It was giant-like at a first glance, but fused with traits from countless monsters—a truly indescribable horror.
"I'll handle that big one. You guys mop up the rest of the hybrids."
And with that, the battle was joined.
"Were you looking for me?"
"Yes, sir."
While I was sitting there clueless, my capable subordinates had tracked the raiders' base, crushed the boss there—and now he apparently wanted to see me.
Why on earth would he want to see me?