Ch.107The Men with a Second Umbilical Cord

The room on the opposite side was set up like a complete slaughterhouse.

The two men Millia had dealt with looked relatively tame, with just a few more air holes in them.

Yes, the day finally came when she had to use those three swords.

Meanwhile, the other three were experiencing a live amateur cesarean section.

The silver-haired young lady wiping away splattered blood seemed quite satisfied with her procedure. The patients, however, appeared quite displeased.

Well, when you perform surgery with a saw instead of a scalpel, dissatisfaction is only natural.

Their lower abdomens gaped open like frog mouths, spilling intestines instead of saliva across the floor.

Three sets of internal organs lay sprawled across the sea of blood, tangled together so thoroughly that it was impossible to tell which belonged to whom.

Small intestines pulled from their bellies hung over the edge of the bed, continuing downward. Like Christmas rope decorations.

“Guhhhhhh…”

“Aaaaaargh…! It hurts…! Please save me…!”

Still not having breathed their last, the three soon-to-be corpses moaned as they swam across the wooden floor.

Rolling around in their own blood and entrails.

Like newborns swimming in amniotic fluid with umbilical cords still attached.

“M…mother…!”

What’s with this one calling for his mother at a time like this?

If she knew what you’d done, wouldn’t your mother in the afterlife be the first to crack your skull open herself?

Six men had entered the room, but only five were rolling around.

Where did the remaining one go?

That one managed to escape the room while the other five were being slaughtered. Lucky him.

But then he ran into me in the hallway, screamed, and fainted. Not so lucky after all.

I’d roughly tied his limbs to prevent escape and left him with Demian.

I was planning to interrogate him about various things later.

“Wow. Look at the state of this room.”

“What? You’re late. Did you catch the one who ran away?”

Frider turned toward me and asked casually.

As if she hadn’t just been sawing people apart moments ago.

Why do Imperial people call me a barbarian?

I’m just a bit stronger than most, but the real barbarian seems to be right here.

“The runaway is safely tucked away outside. How could I possibly miss guys like these?”

“He was at the very back. Seems they maintain some sort of etiquette among themselves—they approached in age order. Not even funny.”

The fingertips of one man still squirming on the floor touched Frider’s ankle.

He was desperately trying to grasp it like a lifeline. His hand was covered in blood, fat, and bodily fluids.

Frider’s expression twisted with disgust.

“How dare you touch me with your filthy hand!”

The saw swung irritably, scraping vertically across the man’s face.

“Graaack…”

Spewing all sorts of matter through his split face, the man let out a strange moan and bowed his head as if apologizing.

I whistled in admiration at the sight.

“Now that’s barbarism even barbarians don’t practice. Want to become a Ka’har? I think you’d receive quite the passionate welcome.”

“In my eyes, Ka’har and these guys are no different.”

Frider kicked the corpse and snorted.

—-

While Frider was packing up, Millia was staring blankly at the three swords in her hand.

I approached Millia carefully to avoid stepping on intestines and examined her complexion.

Blood matted in her green hair dripped onto the floor.

Her face was as pale as a patient’s. Her body was trembling slightly.

Was she sickened by the cruelty before her eyes? Or had old memories resurfaced?

Based on my experience, probably the latter.

People sickened by cruel sights usually retch and vomit; this blank trembling was rare.

“Millia, are you okay?”

“Huh? Oh… ah, Haschal. I’m fine. Um, thanks for worrying.”

Despite her words, her eyes showed she was clearly not doing well. Well, that’s how trauma works.

Either forcefully suppress it, overcome it with strengthened resolve, or never escape it.

What should I do with Millia?

I tilted my head slightly, considering.

We’d have to fight again soon, and I wondered if I should include her as combat-ready.

Soldiers whose trauma had been triggered either died helplessly when sent back to battle or went half-mad and turned their guns on themselves.

But letting her rest continuously… that would just be postponing the problem.

If she’s going to keep fighting in this world, she’ll frequently encounter scum like these.

It would be troublesome if she reacted like this every time.

Come to think of it, she didn’t react this way when fighting kobolds, did she? Even though they also assault women.

Is it the human aspect that triggers her trauma?

If so, perhaps I should guide her to stop seeing them as human altogether…?

I placed my hand on Millia’s shoulder comfortingly.

“Millia, these guys aren’t people—they’re no different from kobolds. Monsters who attack, kill, and violate innocent people.”

“Ah. You mean Ka’har?”

Frider, who had apparently been listening, made a snide remark.

It wasn’t malicious, just a simple joke, but… I wish she’d read the room before speaking.

We’re having a serious conversation here.

Then again, if she had that kind of social awareness, she probably wouldn’t be alone with that appearance.

Not knowing when to joke and how far to take it—typical problem of people without friends.

I still don’t know if they have no friends because they’re like that, or if they’re like that because they have no friends.

“No, this is a delicate matter, so stop butting in and clean yourself up. Do you realize you reek of feces from the torn intestines?”

“What? No, that can’t be right?”

A flustered Frider lifted her arm and sniffed it.

Of course, she wouldn’t smell anything. It was a lie.

She must have avoided the spilled intestines and their contents.

“Anyway, Millia, just think of them as monsters. Don’t think about anything else—just consider it as removing one more evil monster from this world. You said you wanted to become a knight, right?”

“Yeah, I understand…”

She didn’t seem particularly convinced, but this was all the advice I could offer.

I’m not a psychological counselor or anything.

I’ll have her stick to archery in the next battle.

Killing from a distance with arrows tends to cause less aversion than using a sword.

“Hey, do I really smell like that? I can’t tell no matter how much I sniff…”

Frider, who had been sniffing her wrists, inner elbows, armpits, and collar, asked with a slightly reddened face.

“It was a lie, so stop sniffing and pack up. Let’s go to the next room.”

“What? So it was a lie after all. I thought so.”

Frider turned her head, looking relieved.

—-

Leaving behind the two men who were still squirming, somehow still alive, we gathered our belongings and headed to an empty room.

Even the claim that only two rooms remained had been a lie from the start.

One room seemed to have been used as a workshop, with all sorts of furniture and tools spread across a large bed.

They must have been very enthusiastic about their baby-making work. The fishy smell was terrible.

Fortunately, the other room didn’t have such a strong odor.

Should I call it a staff waiting room, or a rapist waiting room?

Several chairs and a table were placed in the center of the room.

The table was covered with ashtrays, cigarettes, and alcohol.

I took the youth with bound limbs from Demian and dragged him into the waiting room.

Time for a pleasant Q&A session.

“Demian, wait in front of the inn entrance and protect the carriage first if anyone tries to attack. Millia… watch the town from that window and let us know immediately if you see anyone coming this way.”

“Okay, I understand. I’ll do my best.”

Millia nodded, grabbed her bow and quiver, and headed to the room where I had been resting.

“What are you and Senior Frider going to do?”

“Things sixteen-year-olds shouldn’t see.”

I sent the two away and closed the door.

Of course, both Frider and I had already shown these kids what turning people into meat looks like, so saying this now might seem odd.

But there’s still a difference between simply killing someone cruelly and actually torturing them.

I grabbed a cigarette from the table, shoved everything else onto the floor, and placed the bound youth on the table.

Time to wake him up, I suppose?

I lit the cigarette, took a drag, and pressed it against the young man’s forehead.

“Ungh… h-hot…!”

“Doesn’t that wake you right up?”

I looked down at the young man who was groaning and gradually waking up, grinding the cigarette into his forehead.

“Argh, my forehead is burn—huh?”

The young man’s eyes widened to the point of tearing when they met mine.

“AAAAHHHH! Monster! Monster!! Why is there a monster?!!”

The young man thrashed his head wildly and screamed loud enough to bring down the inn.

Foam formed at his mouth as he wet himself between the legs.

…What exactly do I look like to these bastards?

This was bewildering.

Frider, watching from the side, burst into laughter.

“Hey, hey. I’m not a monster. Get a grip. I have a lot of questions for you.”

Hoping he would come to his senses, I smashed a bottle of alcohol and poured it over his face.

The grateful young man wept and coughed.

“Kack, kuhack!! P-please spare me!! I’ll tell you anything, just please don’t eat me…!”

How did these idiots have the nerve to commit such heinous crimes?

Had they been doing this since childhood, making it so routine that they felt nothing?

“Just answer my questions honestly and I won’t eat you. Understand?”

“Yes! Yes!! Ask me anything…!”

The young man nodded frantically.

If his limbs hadn’t been tied, he would have been on his hands and knees begging.

Why are you so scared? You’re making me look like the bad guy. You’re the trash here.

“First, what’s your name?”

“Y-Yohan…!”

…Unnecessarily grand name for someone like him.