Harsh Words Don't Bother Me

I didn't really mind his harsh words. A cornered human will naturally do anything to survive. Filgret, however, did not seem to share my patience.

"Urgh...!" Before I could even think to stop him, Filgret grabbed the old man by the jaw. Though he was undoubtedly furious, his movement was so swift and precise it could have been featured in a military manual under the chapter 'How to Apply Physical Threats.' Which, of course, only made it more terrifying.

"You dare run your filthy mouth," Filgret hissed. "Utter another word of such blasphemy, and I will rip your lower jaw clean off."

"W-what did you say...? It is parricide! Parricide, I tell you! Poisoning... the current King..."

He was clinging far too desperately to a plan that had already failed. But I suppose that only proved how cornered he truly was. Before Filgret could accidentally apply too much force, I signaled for him to step back. Filgret immediately released the old man and returned to his position behind me.

"Yes, you are quite right," I said. "I poisoned my father. It is indeed parricide. But even if ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that is the truth, what of it? There is no one who would believe you anyway... Hehe. At best, it would simply give us another excuse to wipe out the Kakas tribe for spreading treasonous lies and deceiving the public."

"Ugh..."

"Besides, to spread such a rumor, you would first have to escape this place, wouldn't you? With that old, withered body ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of yours, do you really think you can navigate this incredibly complex underground labyrinth? Ah, but I suppose untying your bonds would have to come first."

It was a foolish attempt, hardly worthy of being called a strategy. Did he honestly think my closest confidant would be swayed by such accusations during a secret interrogation? Well, I suppose it is common for people to do absurd things when they are desperate.

"You have only one choice: open your mouth. That is, unless the information you are trying to hide is more valuable than your own life—and the lives of all your kinsmen living within this kingdom."

The old man hung his head, falling silent for a moment. When he finally looked up, his voice trembled.

"I understand... I will tell you everything. If—if I do, you truly won't touch my people, right?"

"Of course. I swear it in the name of the Goddess."

The old man took a deep, heavy breath, as if making a monumental decision, and began to speak.

"Mystil... no, mistletoe, as they call it here. That twisted mistletoe branch is a method used by a certain group living in the coldest, harshest regions of the north."

"Which group?"

"You likely have never heard of them. They are a faction known as the Black Goat Association... Even among us shamans, they are considered so extreme that we rarely associate with them. They are truly, utterly mad..."

The Black Goat Association. So they were the culprits behind the curse constantly feeding hatred into Carmel's mind? Just learning their name made this interrogation highly worthwhile.

"The Black Goat Association... And where are they located?"

"Far, far to the north. They likely have no fixed base. It is only natural for those living in the polar lands to lead a nomadic life."

In other words, they were operating outside the borders of the Luistie Kingdom. Indeed, if such a suspicious group had been active within the kingdom, there was no way we wouldn't have caught wind of it. It seemed wiping them out immediately would be difficult.

"Thank you for the valuable information. Next, please tell me more about the object itself. Its principles of operation, or perhaps how to dispel it."

"That... I do not know."

"Are you saying that while risking the lives of your people?"

"I-I swear it! Their methods are strictly guarded secrets! B-besides, I am a merchant, not a shaman! What little I know is just hearsay..."

The old man cried out frantically. He didn't seem to be lying. For now, at least.

"Hmm, very well. I shall believe you."

"T-this is the end of it. I swear, this is truly all I know. Won't you please let me go now?"

"Of course ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I must let you go. However, that will only happen once I am certain that what you have told me is the truth."

"...Certain...? H-how...?"

To offer some small comfort to the trembling old man, I beamed at him with an angelic smile.

It was only after three days and three nights had passed that the old man was finally permitted to leave the dungeon.

"Are you truly alright with this, Princess?"

"With what?"

"That northern old man. Was it really wise to let him go free? You even handed him gold coins on his way out."

Perhaps because of the old man's initial slip of the tongue, Filgret seemed to have taken a deep dislike to him. I offered a gentle smile and replied.

"Do not worry. Even if he tries to blabber, he will only be arrested for treason and lèse-majesté. Besides, who would ever believe him? Who would believe a wild rumor that the angelic Princess Sera committed such a horrific act of parricide?"

"That is true, but..."

"Well, you can rest assured there is absolutely zero chance of him opening his mouth. He is a wise man who cares deeply for his people. Furthermore, he was paid handsomely. There is no better way for a person to rationalize their own actions than a massive reward."

"Mmh..."

"Besides, we might find ourselves in a situation where we need other information in the future. Granted, judging by what we saw this time, he doesn't seem to possess a wealth of highly useful knowledge... but he is undoubtedly well-versed in the northern tribes. He might prove to be a valuable informant one day."

"My foresight was lacking. You are entirely correct, Princess."

Filgret nodded in agreement. I picked up the notebook resting on my desk and began to read through it. It contained a summary of the information I had extracted from the old man.

This was the sum of the information we could extract from the old man. Having verified it multiple times, there was no doubt of its accuracy. Yet, there were still far too many unknowns. For now, the biggest question on my mind was this:

Was Carmel a member of the Black Goat Association?

Why was Carmel so intent on destroying Luistie? I had questioned this once before. If Carmel had been sent by the Black Goat Association specifically to bring about Luistie's ruin, the pieces would fit perfectly. However, I found it difficult to picture. The Carmel I knew, reduced to a mere lackey of some shady religious cult? A puppet being pulled by strings? No matter how much I pondered, it simply didn't suit her.

I remained lost in thought for a moment before speaking in a casual tone.

"The Black Goat Association... Have you ever heard of them, Filgret?"

"No, this is the first I have ever heard of such a group. I have experience subjugating heretical cults on a few occasions, but..."

"Mmh, I suppose it would be difficult for such a group to operate within the Luistie Kingdom, wouldn't it?"

"Yes. It should be considered virtually impossible. The Church and the Knight Order routinely root out and annihilate them."

"Indeed..."

So they really were operating outside of Luistie. If they had been within the kingdom, I would have had far more ways to investigate them.

"If I may, Princess, might I ask you one thing?"

"Yes? Go ahead."

"That object called Mistylia. Surely... the target of its curse is not you, Princess?"

Filgret's eyes were filled with unwavering concern. It was almost a little overwhelming.

"Of course not."

A simple denial left many things unexplained. How did I know about it? If I had actually seen it, where could I have possibly laid eyes on it when I had been confined for three weeks? Yet, Filgret pushed aside the countless questions that must have flooded his mind and replied.

"Then I am relieved."

He asked nothing more. For Filgret, that single truth was all that mattered. Pondering questions with no answers any further would be a waste of time. I pushed myself up from my seat.

"Where are you heading?"

"To see Mother."

I left my chamber and headed straight for Carmel's room.

"Have you been well, Mother? It has only been a few days, yet I already find myself missing the time we spent together here."

"Cut the useless pleasantries. You were the one who said you had something important to discuss, weren't you? Get to the point."

Carmel's cold gaze pierced through me from across the table. I lowered my voice slightly and spoke.

"Mother, do you know anything about the Black Goat Association?"

A brief silence fell over the room. During that time, Carmel stared at me with a face as cold and expressionless as a porcelain mask. It was difficult to read her. When she finally opened her mouth, she gave a dismissive reply.

"The Black Goat Association? What is that supposed to be?"

"Oh? Are you denying it? But it is already right here in this very room, isn't it? Their signature symbol, Mistylia."

The light in Carmel's eyes instantly sharpened like the tip of a spear. Glaring at me as if she wished to impale me, she spoke.

"How do you... Did you really open it? Just how on earth did you..."

"That is hardly important, is it? The real issue is that you brought such an object into the palace where the King and the royal family reside. A heinous artifact thoroughly steeped in a powerful curse."

The true nature of the object inside the box. I had wanted to save the card named 'Mistylia' until the absolute final moment. It was highly likely that I would never hold a card more powerful than this one in the future. However, resolving the current situation was of paramount importance to me. As long as the curse of Mistylia remained active, continuing Carmel's training would be utterly meaningless.

"Grr... You..."

Carmel let out a low, growling sound, her teeth clenched tightly as she glared at me. She seemed fully aware that she had been backed into a corner. It had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠been a while since I last saw that expression on her face. A face filled to the brim with hostility toward me, yet simultaneously crushed by an overwhelming sense of defeat. It was precisely the kind of look that sent a thrilling, spine-tingling wave of pleasure rushing through me.