Chapter 39. Northern Faith (4)
Deep within the outer walls of the High Tower.
Screams echoed through the dimly lit underground chamber.
“AAAAAAHHHH!”
“KYAAAAAHHH!”
This place, which had been relatively quiet for some time, was once again filled with familiar cries of agony.
Forty-one adult men and women were being interrogated there.
Among them were six lords who directly participated in the plot and thirty-five others—merchants, officials, knights, and adventurers—who were indirectly involved.
All were implicated in the recent loss of soil fertility and the installation of the obelisks.
“AAAAHHH! Please… just kill me… I’m begging you…”“I TOLD YOU EVERYTHING! EVERYTHING!”
Yet, the method of interrogation was unusual.
Forty-one chairs were arranged neatly in the basement, each occupied by a naked prisoner. Beneath each chair, a sinister purple magic circle blazed ominously.
That was the extent of the “torture.”
Even so, blood poured relentlessly from their eyes, ears, noses, mouths, and other orifices.
“Just a bit more, alright? You never know, there might still be something left to say,” cooed a witch with a mocking smile.
Each of these violet magic circles was powered by three to four witches from the High Tower, pouring their mana into the spells.
“Utterly foolish. This is why even wrongdoing requires some intelligence,” said a figure observing the scene.
The one overseeing this gruesome spectacle was none other than Isabelle, the Archwitch of Spring.
She managed the affairs of the High Tower and served as the head maid to Grand Duchess Arina Rune Renslet.
“What could have possessed them to plant those obelisks on their own lands?”
Isabelle sat on a platform, dressed in her usual plain elderly attire. However, her demeanor was icy, her gaze sharp, and her usual warmth nowhere to be found.
Had Arad seen her in this moment, he might not have recognized her.
“At first, it seemed so obvious that I suspected a trap. But no, they openly extorted their tenants through usury,” she muttered, her voice cold and detached.
“AAAAHHHH!”
“HUHHHH…”
The prisoners’ screams wove a macabre symphony with Isabelle’s musings.
“Or perhaps they didn’t even think they needed to hide it. Were they expecting a massive famine and rebellion to engulf the North?”
Isabelle’s expression remained bored as she listened to the wails.
Six masks lay discarded beside her chair, the ones used by the traitors during their secret meetings.
After some time.
One of the witches participating in the torture approached Isabelle.
“Lady Isabelle, we’ve learned everything.”
Hearing this, Isabelle opened her previously closed eyes and nodded.
“It was the Empire, wasn’t it?”
“Yes. Apparently, the leader of Sigma, Astra, came in person this time.”
“Utterly audacious,” Isabelle replied with a sharp click of her tongue.
“It’s infuriating!” the witch added.
“They know perfectly well that neither we nor they can afford a full-scale war, so they pull stunts like this,” Isabelle remarked, her gaze falling on the bloodied testimonies before her.
“And the motive for the rebellion?”
“As expected, dissatisfaction with the High Tower’s strict limits on estate taxes and interference in local governance. They also lamented that their children studying in the Empire weren’t treated as proper nobles.”
“Fools. Did they really think the Imperial nobility would respect them if they were more extravagant?”
Isabelle let out a derisive chuckle.
No amount of extravagance would change the Imperial perspective. To the Empire, a poor Northerner was a filthy barbarian, while a wealthy Northerner was merely a barbarian with riches to plunder.
“What do we do with them?”
The witches assisting in the torture turned to Isabelle for guidance.
“First, let me thank you all. You’ve been immensely helpful, even following my instructions without question. Truly admirable.”
“Hehe, well, we rarely get opportunities to use black magic, so we were eager to help!”
“I thought as much,” Isabelle replied, her tone unusually light, bringing a brief warmth to the grim setting.
“In any case, I believe we’ve caught all the rats in the North, and perhaps even those within the High Tower.”
Isabelle stood, carefully lifting the hem of her dress to avoid letting it touch the bloodstained floor.
“Inform the knights outside to execute all forty-one of them.”
“And their families?”
“For nobles, demotion to commoners will suffice. Their descendants will be barred from holding major positions for three generations. The Frost Knights are already handling this, so there’s no need for further intervention.”
“Wh-what? Even for treason, is that really enough punishment?”
“Miss… no, it’s Her Highness’s decree.”
“Ah…”
“If we shed any more blood, the knights and officials of the High Tower might get tangled in the retribution.”
The witches seemed conflicted, their expressions tinged with confusion.
The North was known for its harsh motto: Twofold mercy, tenfold vengeance.
But this response to treason seemed unusually lenient.
“Come to think of it, didn’t the last rebellion end similarly?”
“Back then, it was mostly commoners involved, so I thought that was why… but this feels the same.”
“It doesn’t feel very Northern!”
Isabelle responded to their murmurs with a sly smile.
“I feel the same way.”
“Revenge only begets more revenge. And I cannot ignore my own failures that led to their discontent.”
Arina’s words, spoken before Isabelle descended into the depths, floated back to her mind.
“Where is Her Highness now?” Isabelle asked, suddenly curious.
“She’s at the training grounds,” replied one of the maids stationed at the basement entrance.
“Let’s go there.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
As the Archwitch of Spring and head maid departed, the prisoners’ voices trailed after her.
“Th-thank… you…”
“Thank you… for granting us death…”
“Most of all… thank you for sparing our innocent families…”
Isabelle paused briefly, her tone icy as she replied, “Thank Her Highness, not me.”
With that, she exited the torture chamber.
“Renslet… Rune Renslet…”
“Renslet… Rune Renslet…”
The eerie echoes of praise for the Grand Duchess’s mercy reverberated hauntingly through the underground.
***
Meanwhile, Arina.
Recently, Arina’s life had been akin to a roller coaster—a whirlwind of events, a tumultuous mix of betrayal, despair, and triumph.
Now, as the storm settled,
“The sky is so blue.”
She felt a peace and satisfaction that few could ever dream of.
The betrayal of trusted vassals had scarred her deeply, but a new bond with Arad had come to soothe those wounds.
“Arad… Arad…”
Arina silently repeated the name of the man who had saved both herself and the North, granting them the peace they now enjoyed.
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