Chapter 42: Black Parade (2)

Humans are creatures of adaptation. No matter how terrible the pain or stress, they eventually become accustomed to it.

It has already been three years since Johan, a low-ranking soldier of the Gluttony Legion, started working in Tartarus.

During that time, he gradually adapted to his new workplace. To the scorching heat spewed out by the smelting furnace, to the harsh atmosphere where a mistake is immediately met with a beating,

and to the screams of the slaves on the verge of being “thrown in.”

“No, no…! Please, save me! Please! Pleaaaase!”

Another sacrifice, bound in chains, was being dragged toward the cauldron.

Unlike the frantic victim, pouring out every emotion a human could muster, the expressions of the men surrounding her, escorting her, were surprisingly calm.

Or rather, to be precise, it might be more accurate to describe them as indifferent than calm.

They too had felt a twinge of unease when they first arrived here.

Anyone who isn’t a pure-blooded demon must have at least a small piece of conscience in some corner of their heart.

Even if it has been forgotten in the hustle of a busy life, it surely exists somewhere deep within the soul.

And the desperate screams of those clinging to life have the power to shake even the faintest conscience.

But that sense of guilt only lingers for the first month.

When someone’s death becomes less a shocking sight and more a repeating pattern. When it is reduced to a mere number recorded in a ledger, soon forgotten.

Tragedy becomes part of the routine, and slaughter turns into monotonous labor. And they eventually adopt an attitude much like any other salaried worker.

With faces worn down by annoyance, engaging in trivial chit-chat with the colleague next to them, sometimes even slacking off—an ordinary demeanor.

And so, today as well, they continue the massacre with indifferent expressions.

“Aaah! Aaaaaah! No, let go, you bastards, aaaah!”

The woman began to struggle violently in a fit of rage. Of course, the soldiers, experienced workers, restrained her skillfully, unfazed by her flailing.

Once, Johan had asked Karma a question. Was there really a need to throw living people, fully conscious, into the cauldron? Wouldn’t it be easier to make them unconscious with something like a sedative before throwing them in, instead of wasting effort on resisting people?

To this question, Karma, who usually maintained a gentlemanly demeanor, kindly replied.

“In the process of making bloodstones, we put people in to imbue the attribute of ‘life.’ The purity of that attribute varies depending on how desperately the subject was clinging to life right before their death.

If we put in unconscious people, we’d only get weak, low-quality bloodstones.

The more desperately and miserably a person pleads and screams right up to the moment of their death, the more likely the result will be of higher quality.

Now, do you understand why we don’t use sedatives?”

Karma shrugged, saying, “There’s a reason for everything.”

“Then why not at least use a gag? It’s too noisy,” Johan retorted, but Karma just smiled quietly at that, saying Johan would understand why if he stayed here long enough.

And in his third year on the job, Johan now knew the reason very well.

“You…! I curse you! The goddess will surely judge trash like you who commit such vile acts someday! You’ll weep bloody tears of regret when that time comes!”

Realizing that resistance was meaningless, the woman screamed in rage, cursing them. Her eyes were bloodshot, filled with a menacing energy, as if they were about to explode at any moment.

Johan turned his head slightly toward the colleague next to him.

“Score?”

“30 points. The visuals are decent, but the content lacks originality.”

“Just the same old, predictable repertoire, right?”

The two exchanged glances and chuckled.

Johan, too, eventually came to understand.

The grueling labor of melting ores all day, stirring molten metal, and matching the ratios of the samples. The only time any “stimulation” was provided in this process was when they dragged in a new sacrifice.

And if one could rid themselves of unnecessary guilt, they could find a certain vitality in it.

The woman just now was not very interesting, but occasionally there were those who hurled incredibly creative curses.

People who could crack everyone up with their relentless stream of savage insults.

Those kinds of people might even be granted a special mercy to live for an extra day. It’s a small acknowledgment for bringing laughter to the weary hearts of the staff.

Of course, that mercy rarely extended beyond three days, and after that, they were thrown in anyway.

“Damn, when the hell is that bastard Karma coming?”

Meanwhile, a demon woman, supervising the entire process from a distant platform, spat out curses.

“That damn bastard is supposed to be the site supervisor today, but he’s nowhere to be found after setting me up as a stand-in, claiming he was in a hurry.

Whoever he brought in, can’t he just drop them off at the infirmary and get back? Is he sitting there singing lullabies to them or what, damn it?”

The more she thought about it, the more it infuriated her. She had been enjoying a rare, deep sleep in the break room, only to be dragged out and left standing here while Karma slacked off.

This is exactly why one should never get involved with a bunch of lousy wizards. Sophia, an officer of the Gluttony Legion, reaffirmed her usual belief.

“Directional material, ready for input!”

“Throw it in.”

“Yes, permission confirmed! Toss!”

As soon as Sophia uttered those words in a disinterested tone, the woman bound in chains was thrown into the cauldron.

The liquid inside was not something as ordinary as “boiling water.” It was molten metal at 1,500 degrees Celsius, in which a massive amount of decomposition stone had been dissolved.

The human body, made of fragile flesh, would be instantly obliterated at such a temperature.

In fact, the woman, who had let out a short scream of “Aaah—” just before falling, melted away the moment she touched the molten metal, disappearing instantly.

A futile end, considering how pathetically she had struggled just moments ago.

“Directional material input complete. Proceeding with final stabilization.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Now, all that was left was to check for any flaws in the finished product. Then, they would send it to the freezing unit for a simple cooling process, and the bloodstone would finally be complete.

And with that, one cycle would be over. The process took roughly 10 minutes, excluding the time it took to melt the decomposition stone.

What comes next? Naturally, it all starts over from the beginning.

“Prepare the next in line.”

“Yes.”

One of the lower-ranking soldiers descended to the underground prison. To select a new “material” from those below.

This was the daily routine at Tartarus, the bloodstone production facility of the Demon King’s army.

An unprecedented mass-slaughter site that had remained undetected for 500 years. The most fundamental support of the current generation of the Demon King’s army.

The bloodstones produced here were supplied to demons and monsters across the continent, providing them with the vitality to survive in the low-magic environment of Elpidion.

One could say that this place is what makes the existence of the Demon King’s army possible.

Thus, the Demon King’s army goes to great lengths to keep this place concealed.

Not only do they surround the entrance with the highest-level barriers and illusion spells, but they also perfectly block any traces of magic.

However, on rare occasions, those who see through the illusions and manage to enter are captured and brainwashed with the [Eye of the Dominator].

Since this facility is located in the remote Sarangs Mountains, where people rarely come, there is seldom any need to use artifacts.

The internal defenses are also solid; not only is one of the seven legions stationed here in its entirety, but they are also equipped with various fierce monsters.

Even if the Church of the Goddess were to gather all its forces and invade, they could match them to some extent—a security level of this caliber.

Thus, Tartarus will not fall. It has stood firm until now, and it will continue to do so in the future.

The furnace, forged with blood, will continue to roar, spitting flames of hatred today and tomorrow.

Sophia, along with all the soldiers of the Gluttony Legion, believed this without a doubt.

“Oh, is the tossing already over?”

Until, suddenly, an outsider appeared in the middle of the workshop.

A sudden, unfamiliar voice rang out, prompting Johan and the other soldiers of the legion to stop their work and look toward the source of the sound.

To find out who had spoken.

And then—

“You’ve come at just the right time. Having civilians with any awareness left in a place like this only makes controlling my strength and cleaning up afterward more of a hassle.”

They saw her. A silver-haired girl who exuded an unreal atmosphere that seemed out of place in this location.

A girl carrying a sword as large as her own body on her back.

Despite finding herself in a place teeming with the Demon King’s army, her face showed not the slightest hint of alarm.

Yet, there was also a holy and dignified look about her, which somehow harmonized with that air of carefree disregard.

As if she were merely out for a stroll, Sophia frowned at the sight.

“What are you?”

“….”

Instead of answering, the girl looked around, counting the people gathered in the place.

Ten, twenty, thirty…

Maybe around a hundred or so?

Having finished her calculation, she finally spoke.

“First, allow me to express my deepest regret to all of you.”

“…?”

Johan, upon hearing the girl’s voice, tilted his head in confusion.

It wasn’t the sort of speech you would expect from a girl her age. It was the kind of tone used by an elderly gentleman or a noble of high rank.

Had her soul somehow gotten mixed up with someone else’s by mistake?

But the girl continued speaking, undeterred by the odd looks directed at her.

“Although it was never my intention, it is true that I am the one who laid the groundwork for the birth and continuation of this organization.

Originally, I should have stood alongside you all, dreaming once again of the great ambition that we could not achieve in the past.

Yet here I am, feeling somewhat uneasy, even as I prepare to slaughter those who act in my name under my banner.

But what can I do? I was born a human, not a demon, and what’s more, I’m currently treated as a hero by those around me. I believe that every person must strive to do their best in the position they are given, regardless of what their previous life might have been.”

As she spoke, the girl slowly raised her hand.

Toward those gathered in the place, as if delivering a death sentence.

“So, even if I must inevitably oppose you today, I ask for your understanding.

In fact, if you think about it, betraying you so ruthlessly, without a shred of loyalty, is perhaps the true nature of a demon.

If you see it that way, perhaps this isn’t such an unnatural thing after all. I hope you will consider it that way.”

The girl smiled faintly.

And then, slowly, she uttered words that would forever be engraved in the ears of everyone who heard them.

“Black Parade.”

Immediately, the slaughter began.