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There are buildings standing shoulder to shoulder, each tall enough to claim a head start over a person.

In the streets, there are rare buildings resembling mushroom houses that I used to be obsessed with during my elementary school days, as if possessed by some spirit. The tightly packed wooden houses, each at different heights, look like a piano’s black and white keys.

Clack! The lock turned, and the iron door groaned, letting out a long, dry sound as it opened.

“Please come in.”

“Thank you, Bereda-san.”

The Dark Elf smiled and slightly tipped his hat.

Episode 17 – The Tree That Drinks Blood

Bereda, a distant relative of Hormuz, was said to be in charge of market research within the guild.

Having profited from the Northern conflict, Hormuz turned his attention to the Mauritania Continent, focusing on the potential of the “Port of the Dead Whale,” where outcasts from society had gathered, thanks to its geographical proximity to the coast.

As a side note, the ship that brought us here was originally owned by a paper company managed by Francesca through a proxy. Having been acquired by the Palm Tree Trade Guild about four months ago, it seems Hormuz had been planning business expansion since around March.

“This will be your home from now on, specially prepared by the Guild Master.”

As I looked around the safe house, Bereda signaled to the Orcs and Goblins.

Employees of the Palm Tree Trade Guild brought our luggage from the carriage and set it down in the living room before leaving. Once the employees left, Bereda neatly clasped his hands and began to inquire with a composed demeanor.

“Is there anything uncomfortable for you? Well…”

“Muir. Nation Muir.”

“Yes, Muir-san. Is there anything uncomfortable?”

I shook my head.

Hormuz’s work ethic was impressive, rivaling even Francesca’s. Perhaps it was because he was a Dark Elf with an uncanny knack for scenting money. The moment I mentioned wanting to quietly visit the Necropolis for a few days, he promptly arranged a perfect getaway.

As Camila sparkled with curiosity, observing her surroundings, I threw a glance at Bereda.

“I have a favor to ask of you, Bereda-san.”

“Please feel free to say anything.”

Bereda softly encouraged me, reminding me not to feel burdensome since I was a guest of the Guild Master.

“First… I need news about the city.”

“Delivering news is not difficult. After all, in business, capital is half the game, and intuition is the other half.”

“And I would like you to help me find someone.”

“Shall I call them? Or—”

Bereda’s smile deepened.

“Would you like to go directly?”

*

There’s a saying about cancerous beings.

Once a part of us, they committed the folly of invading others’ territories and were cast out. Even if you cut them off, they cling to life, burrowing deeper and deeper.

Considering that the term originates from the mutation of cells spreading elsewhere, with treatments requiring the most potent of poisons, calling something a cancerous being is truly an apt metaphor.

So, what constitutes a cancerous being? What falls within the category of a cancerous being?

If it merely refers to criminals, there’s no need to attach the word cancer. There exists a broader term that implies diseases.

In this light, the term cancerous being can be interpreted as referring not just to harmful elements but also to something so deeply rooted that it poses a risk to its surroundings if left unattended.

Like students creating a disruptive atmosphere or parachutists who receive salaries akin to others while doing little work.

And here, we have a cancerous presence in society.

“Huh… hiccup…”

The Ratman Lihere sobbed, clutching his face. Drops of sweat flowed down inside his damp clothes, soaking the floor.

Calling someone a rat is a highly insulting affair, yet anyone who has met Rihere once would use the term without hesitation. Because he really was a rat.

The Rat Beastman, trembling, felt his own face with shaky hands. For a moment, he brushed his snout with his four clawed toes. Then, Rihere began to scream.

“I… I didn’t do anything! I didn’t sell anything, you bastards!”

As Rihere’s sobbing plea followed, the Orc opened his mouth.

“Shut up, Rihere. Where are you lying?”

The Orc propped a massive forearm on one knee, leaning forward. His thick arm was as stout as an athlete’s thigh, and as he leaned in, it was intimidating.

It looked like a Golem was moving.

“I, I am innocent! Believe me!”

“What are you innocent of?”

“You know! Our goods… We agreed not to sell our products in your area! I’ve been paying my dues on time, so why…?”

Rihere trembled, pleading with his shaking hands.

The Orc, watching the Ratman’s display, tossed a bag conspicuously in front of the Beastman.

“Then what is this?”

The thick-fingered Orc pointed at the bag. A transparent bag containing white powder.

It was unmistakably a drug.

“Why is your clan’s ‘product’ wandering around here?”

“……”

Seeing the product on the ground, Rihere’s eyes darted left and right. He gingerly reached for it with trembling hands.

As an eternity seemed to pass in that split second, the rat found an escape hole and belatedly stammered, “This… This isn’t something we sold! The Clan would never encroach here, especially in the area of the Elixir Street traders… No, wait. How could the Palm Tree Trade Guild invade? Please believe me, I truly have no idea—”

Bang!

The sharp sound of metal striking metal cut off his words. It was powerful enough to peel the rust off a warship’s surface, rendering the weak and delicate bones to shreds.

Just a single hit effectively sealed the Ratman’s mouth. Choking on his breath, Rihere twisted his body, crying out as if his lungs were being torn apart.

“Ugh—!!”

Every time the Hammer of Verdant struck, a scream erupted like the resonance of a tenor’s slap. Thud! Thud! Thud! The Orc aimed the bloodied hammer at Rihere, smashing the Rat Beastman’s hands into a pulp.

“Where’s the trickery happening? Tell me immediately! Who ordered the sale of drugs?”

“Huu, cough-”

“Who is it?!”

“I can’t say! If I do, they’ll kill me! I didn’t want to do this either,”

“You little brat.”

A rough grip seized my wrist. The orc placed the severed fingers of a rat on the table.

According to the scriptures, the great Mother of all beings forbade alcohol that muddles the mind, yet a curious angel trespassed and consumed it. Before the soul could even dwell within the body of the creature created by the Mother, it hurt its thumb, and thus the rat was born incomplete from the start.

The four fingers born from the angel’s mistake were now ragged, but thankfully, the great Earth God, Mother of all beings, granted the mice roaming in her embrace two hands.

Meaning, don’t just awkwardly maim one side when catching; ensure to finish the job completely by leaving one behind.

“Cough-”

As the orc raised the hammer high, the rat beastman shrank its neck.

Tensed muscles constricted, threatening to snap the rope, and amidst the precarious shadows cast by an old magic lantern, a tearing scream burst forth.

“Arti! It was Arti who ordered it!”

Liher, pulling at his captured wrist, confessed desperately.

“I just had to deliver the goods to the port; I’d only get paid for that, and the rest… the dealer would handle the distribution. I don’t know anything beyond that!”

“And what about the ones who bought the drugs?”

“What did they say… some religious group… their name, it was a bit short. Ka, Kai? Something like that.”

Perhaps the hammering hurt more than I expected.

The answer I’d been waiting for came out surprisingly bland.

“…Hmm.”

I opened the door and gestured outside. It meant to leave now that he had worked hard.

Understanding my intent, the orc exited and soon the sound of footsteps on the stairs echoed. The rat beastman was still sniffling, tears welling in its eyes, and I rubbed my ears with my fingers.

“Mr. Liher?”

Huffing warm air on my fingers, I continued nonchalantly.

“Why don’t you tell me what you were doing here?”

*

Leaving aside the fact that torture violates human dignity and fundamental rights, doubts about the ‘effectiveness of torture’ have long been raised.

“Would they really tell the truth under torture?” “Is there any value in random ramblings?” “Would they spill information even if tortured?”

But the information agencies aren’t fools; they wouldn’t maintain useless torture for no reason.

In other words, this indicates that there is some degree of effectiveness, which is why such violent means are retained.

Among those, swiftness is the clearest reason that keeps the unethical and immoral practice of torture alive.

When information needs to be extracted as quickly as possible.

The swiftness of torture comes into play right at that moment.

Of course, torture doesn’t merely end with beating someone senseless. That’s a method of gangsters or mafia, not an information agency’s approach.

Rather, the company’s ‘information extraction techniques’ have advanced in a very scientific and statistical manner. Delicate, and refined.

“Oh, so you’re part of a clan? Hmm. Alright, let’s explain about this clan of yours.”

Interrogation by the information agency starts with questions confirming known information.

For instance, when the National Intelligence Service investigates defectors, they first ask about facts obtained through the family or acquaintances who have entered the country. This process helps determine whether the subject is lying and how much credibility their testimony holds.

Of course, the first set of questions isn’t supposed to be related to the purpose of the interrogation. If significant questions are asked right from the start, the subject is likely to try to conceal the truth.

With tears streaming down, Liher continued to speak in bits and pieces. His responses matched the pre-gathered data, leading me to conclude he wasn’t lying.

“…….”

Once the first stage is complete, less critical questions begin.

The second question, much like the first, inquires about information unrelated to the purpose of the torture, but such questions create significant confusion for the subject. Meaning they lead to misunderstandings.

For example, it goes like this.

“Why is the clan selling drugs? Breaking agreements with the guilds.”

I asked the drug dealer a rather obvious question. Isn’t the reason for selling drugs simply to make money?

Information about the power struggles between the inland drug gangs and port guilds poured out of the rat’s mouth, but I didn’t pay it any mind.

After all, second questions serve no purpose other than to cloak my intentions.

However, from the perspective of the tormented, this was highly valuable information. Liher believed it was so significant that it might get him killed if he revealed it. The harbor guilds are wary of the gangs intruding into their territory, after all.

“…….”

Someone who is led to misconceive the intent behind the questioning tends to try to hide relevant information. Then, unable to withstand the torture, they finally yield, and with a sense of hopelessness, believing it’s all over, they spill everything they know.

And right at that moment, it becomes the most critical point to extract real information.

“Hmm….”

Having completed the questions, I moved on to the third stage.

“But why did the cultists suddenly procure drugs?”

 

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