Ch.134134. ‘That Thing’ (2)

The two guards—soldiers of the Legion of Avengers—were enraged to the point where veins bulged in their necks.

How dare, how dare someone desecrate the symbol of the Holy One, the Great Bleeding One?

These men, who were already religious fanatics on par with those Middle Eastern wand-wielders, had been conditioned through various methods to heighten their religious fervor to maddening levels.

Right now, they wanted nothing more than to skewer this punk with their spears or throw him into a camp to be turned into a golem.

So these two sturdy adult men glared at the punk with murderous intent in their eyes.

“…What? Why are you looking at me like that?!”

Unaware that he had stepped on a landmine, the punk shouted nervously at them, then turned to his father with an irritated expression.

“Old man! How do you manage your subordinates?!”

He believed that his father would surely punish these insolent subordinates who dared to give such looks to his heir.

In the past, his father had only pretended to discipline others for show, but the punk, not knowing this, acted based on his previous experiences.

He firmly believed his father would punish them, but…

“…O-old m… Father?”

What entered the punk’s vision was his father—Gracchus—wearing an expression the punk had never seen before in his life, openly displaying contempt, disgust, and rage toward him.

It was worse than when he had impregnated a married woman and kicked her to cause a miscarriage, worse than when he deliberately broke his mother’s most treasured vase out of spite.

Intimidated by his father’s expression that looked like he might kill someone at any moment, the punk, for the first time in nearly five years, regained his manners and called him “Father”…

The punk didn’t know.

That his action had crossed the line by far.

“Y-y-you…”

Gracchus trembled violently, releasing the presence of a mid-level priest that he had been suppressing.

“…Urgh!!”

An excellent and devout priest—bordering on fanaticism—he had received all sorts of blessings from the god, befitting the original revenge cult.

Thus, the presence emanated by Gracchus, effectively the second strongest priest in the cult, completely overwhelmed and crushed a mere punk like him.

And exposed to this presence, all sorts of thoughts flooded the punk’s mind.

Why is he so angry and directing such killing intent toward me?

What’s so special about that crude, unimpressive gold necklace?

Is it some symbol made by his mother?

As he was thinking about the cause, his thoughts reached his father’s presence.

How could his middle-aged father emit such a presence?

How did he obtain such power at that age?

No, is this really the father I know?

As his brain worked frantically, recognizing the crisis, the trembling Gracchus pulled out something like a thick book from inside his desk—

“—You blasphemous wretch!!!!”

WHACK!!!

He struck the punk’s head with the book in his hand, slamming to the floor the one who had ‘dared’ to insult the great god.

It was only natural that the punk lost consciousness from this powerful impact.

※ ※ ※

‘…Ugh, uuugh.’

Consciousness returns like a power switch being turned on.

And from that very moment, a terrible pain begins to radiate from the crown of his head.

There’s also stiffness suggesting he’s been immobile for several hours, along with dizziness and other symptoms derived from the headache.

Moreover, his entire body feels creaky, something is gagging his mouth, and decisively, his body won’t move as if tied up.

‘I-is this what they call kidnapping…?!’

Naturally assuming he’d been kidnapped based on these circumstantial evidences, the punk, amidst the maddening headache, suddenly wondered:

What had he been doing until he ended up like this?

No matter how hard he tried to recall, nothing came to mind.

So, after confirming there was no blindfold on his face, he carefully opened his eyes… and…

‘…?!!!’

The scene that entered the punk’s eyes was a hell of unspeakable horror.

This was a sealed room.

The walls were lined with hundreds of various metal tools, and the interior was so stained with blood that it was impossible to tell what color it had originally been.

Rotting flesh, dismembered corpses, and even skeletons were displayed throughout, and decisively, his body was tied to what seemed like a metal chair fixed to the floor.

And not just tied—he was secured with the very metal that made up the chair itself.

“Mmph! Mmph! Mmmmmph!! Mmmmph!!!”

No matter how hard he struggled or tried to scream, escape seemed impossible.

The firmly fixed chair didn’t budge an inch, and not even the slightest noise reached his ears.

Naturally beginning to tremble in fear, the punk suddenly recalled the memory of being hit on the head by his enraged father before waking up here—

—BANG!

At that moment, he heard the sound of someone kicking open a door behind his head.

He wanted to turn his head to see who it was, but it was impossible in his completely immobilized state.

So he could only tremble in fear, and before him appeared three people he never could have imagined.

One was his father, Gracchus.

However, he wasn’t wearing the luxurious noble attire the punk knew, but rather a hat and robe reminiscent of a pious religious figure.

In his hand, he held a mechanical device with a metal rod about 3 meters long connected to some kind of wire. His cold, angry, unfamiliar expression was enough to terrify the punk.

Another was a man wearing a black coat with his face hidden behind a mask.

Carrying a large sword meant for executions and something like a censer overlaid with a skull, he exuded an atmosphere that seemed to reek of blood.

He looked even more cruel than the famous executioner the punk had met at the Temple of Phobos.

The last one was a beautiful woman.

A white-haired, red-eyed girl so extremely beautiful that the punk momentarily felt lust despite the situation.

Wearing a robe and leaning on a staff, she gave off the impression of a magician, a person wrapped in a mysterious and extraordinary aura like a cloak.

“Mmph! Mmmmph! Mmph mmph—!!!!”

Despite the punk’s attempts to struggle wildly right in front of them, the three looked at him with contemptuous and disgusted gazes without saying a word.

Their gazes, which seemed to reject his very existence, were enough to make the punk instinctively stop struggling and cower.

And as the punk cowered…

Shing…

Thud, thud, thud, thud.

The man in black approached, holding a rectangular-bladed sword (a Chinese cleaver) from among the various metal tools hanging on the wall. The punk tried to shout something—

Thunk!

Crack!

“—————!??!!!!!!?!”

But faster than that, the man began to chop off the punk’s right hand with the sword, and the punk screamed in terrible agony.

However, the screams flowed out only as wails that weren’t even language.

Although he had gone around committing evil deeds, he had never been beaten before, and these unfamiliar screams continued endlessly.

Slash, thunk! Slash, thunk!

The man swung the short sword, which looked like a butcher’s knife, slowly carving away the punk’s limbs. Whenever he seemed about to die from excessive bleeding or shock, the girl’s healing magic was cast.

Even when his mind was about to faint from pain or go insane, his mental state was invariably restored to its previous condition.

This torture, which seemed to have no purpose other than to cause pain, continued endlessly, completely crippling the punk.

Both arms were cut off, leaving only the portion between the elbow and shoulder, and his legs were not just severed but completely removed below the pelvis, leaving him in a state more wretched than a limbless doll.

What made it even more horrifying was that, thanks to various healing magics, the punk remained perfectly alive despite his condition.

Therefore, even as his restraints were removed and he was transported somewhere, he lay helplessly sprawled, but in the future, he would eternally regret this choice.

He should have embraced death now, at least.

His body was connected to the mechanical device his father had brought with metal wires (electrical wires).

The machine, reminiscent of a “breastplate,” constrained his body, and in that state, he was fixed to the top of the metal rod that rivaled 3 meters in length.

And in this state.

Flames, flames began to burn inside the mechanical device.

The punk’s body burned completely, leaving only bones, but his soul remained bound to his body and the mechanical device for eternity.

Without a single moment of mental blur, without becoming accustomed to the pain, in the terrible burning agony of repeatedly burning a body that infinitely regenerated.

Kept forcibly alive by life support, burning for an infinite time, the punk…

Unable to stop thinking even though he wanted to in the endless burning agony, he ultimately became the cult’s living teaching material that burns eternally and his father’s excellent weapon.