Chapter 107

The room on the opposite side was set up like a butcher shop.

The two that Milia handled were relatively calm, just with a few extra holes for ventilation.

Yeah, the day finally came when I had to use that dagger.

Meanwhile, the other three were experiencing a real-time C-section by a quack doctor.

The silver-haired girl wiping off the blood looked quite satisfied with her work. The patients, though, didn’t seem too happy.

Well, when you’re using a saw instead of a scalpel, it’s only natural they’d be upset.

Their lower bellies, split open like frog mouths, spilled intestines instead of drool, making a mess of the floor.

The guts of three people were scattered in a pool of blood, tangled up so badly you couldn’t tell whose was whose.

A piece of intestine, pulled out from someone’s belly, hung over the edge of the bed like a Christmas rope decoration.

“Grrrr…”

“Aaahhh! It hurts! Save me…!”

Still clinging to life, the three soon-to-be corpses writhed on the wooden floor, swimming in their own blood and guts.

Like a baby swimming in amniotic fluid, umbilical cord still attached.

“Mom…!”

And now this guy’s calling for his mom. If she knew what you’ve done, she’d probably beat your head in herself in the afterlife.

Six men entered the room, but only five were rolling around. Where’s the sixth?

Well, he managed to escape while the other five were being slaughtered. Lucky him.

But then he ran into me in the hallway, screamed, and fainted. Unlucky him.

Now he’s tied up and handed over to Damien for some questioning later.

“Wow, look at this mess.”

“You’re late. Did you catch the runaway?”

Freide, who had just been sawing people apart, asked me casually, as if she hadn’t been doing anything out of the ordinary.

Why do the Empire folks call me a barbarian? I’m just a bit strong. The real barbarian seems to be right here.

“The runaway? He’s nicely tied up outside. You think I’d let a guy like that slip away?”

“He was at the back. Guess they have some manners, coming at me in order of age. Ridiculous.”

One of the men writhing on the floor reached out and touched Freide’s ankle.

As if it were a lifeline, he desperately tried to grab it with his hand, smeared with blood, fat, and fluids. Freide’s expression twisted in disgust.

“Don’t you dare touch me with that filth!”

Her saw swung down in a fit of rage, slicing the man’s face vertically.

“Grrreeeek…”

With his face split open, spilling all sorts of things, the man let out a strange groan and bowed his head as if apologizing.

I whistled in admiration at the sight.

“Now that’s some barbarism. You sure you don’t want to join the Ka`har? You’d get a wild welcome.”

“From what I see, there’s no difference between the Ka`har and these guys.”

Freide snorted, kicking the corpse.

—

While Freide was packing up, Milia just stared blankly at the dagger in her hand.

I carefully stepped around the guts to approach her and check on her.

Blood dripped from her green hair onto the floor. Her face was pale as a patient’s, and her body trembled slightly.

Was she shocked by the brutality? Or did it trigger some old memories?

From my experience, probably the latter. People shocked by violence usually just puke, not tremble like this.

“Milia, are you okay?”

“Huh? Oh, um… yeah, Halshar. I’m fine. Thanks for worrying.”

Her eyes told a different story. Trauma’s like that—you either suppress it, overcome it with a stronger mind, or never escape it.

What should I do with Milia? I tilted my head, pondering.

We’ll have to fight again soon. Should I include her at full strength?

Soldiers with trauma either die pathetically on the battlefield or go half-crazy and turn their guns on themselves.

But letting her rest just delays the problem.

If we’re going to keep fighting in this world, we’ll run into guys like this all the time. We can’t have her breaking down every time.

Come to think of it, she didn’t react like this when we fought Kobolds. They’re just as bad, attacking and violating women.

Is it the human element that triggers her trauma?

If so, maybe I can convince her to see them as less than human…

I placed a comforting hand on Milia’s shoulder.

“Milia, these guys aren’t people. They’re just like Kobolds—monsters who attack and kill innocent people.”

“Ah. Ka`har, huh?”

Freide, who’d been listening, chimed in sarcastically. It was just a joke, no malice intended, but… read the room, will you? We’re having a serious moment here.

Then again, if she had that kind of awareness, she wouldn’t be wandering alone with that face.

Not knowing when or how to joke appropriately—classic problem of the friendless.

I still don’t know if it’s because I’m lacking something or if it’s because I act like this that I don’t have any friends.

“Hey, this is a delicate matter, so don’t interfere and just clean yourself up. Do you know you smell like feces because of your torn intestines?”

“What? Oh, no, that can’t be, right?”

Flustered, Freide raised her arm and sniffed it. It wouldn’t smell, of course. It was a lie.

The spilled intestines and their contents seemed to have avoided her on their own.

“Anyway, Milia, just think of them as monsters. Don’t think anything else, just consider it as eliminating one more evil monster from this world. Didn’t you say you wanted to be a knight?”

“Yeah, I got it…”

She didn’t seem entirely convinced, but that was all the advice I could give. I’m not some kind of psychologist, after all.

For this battle, I’ll just have her shoot arrows. Killing from a distance with a bow is less repulsive than with a sword.

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

Freide, sniffing her wrist, the inside of her elbow, her armpit, and even inside her 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 knew it.”

Freide turned her head, seemingly relieved.

—

Leaving the two men who were still twitching with life, we packed our belongings and headed to an empty room. The fact that only two rooms were left was also a lie from the start.

One room seemed to be used as a workshop, with a large bed and various furniture and tools scattered around. They must have been very busy making babies. The stench was terrible.

Fortunately, the other room didn’t smell as bad. It could be called a staff waiting room, or perhaps a rapist waiting room.

In the middle of the room were several chairs and a table. On the table were ashtrays, cigarettes, alcohol, and the like.

I handed the bound young man to Damien and dragged him into the waiting room. It was time for some fun Q&A.

“Damien, wait at the inn’s entrance and guard the carriage if anyone tries to break in. Milia…watch the village from the window over there and let me know if anyone comes this way.”

“Okay, got it. I’ll do my best.”

Milia nodded, picked up her bow and quiver, and headed to the room I was resting in.

“What are you and Freide going to do?”

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

I sent them out and closed the door.

Actually, since both Freide and I had already shown them how to turn people into chunks of meat, saying this now might be redundant. But still, there’s a difference between just brutally killing someone and outright torturing them.

I picked up a cigarette from the table, pushed the rest onto the floor, and placed the bound young man on the table.

Time to wake him up. I lit the cigarette, took a puff, and pressed it against his forehead.

“Ugh…hot, hot…!”

“Did that wake you up?”

I looked down at the groaning young man as he slowly woke up, rubbing the cigarette into his forehead.

“Ah, my forehead is hot…huh?”

The young man’s eyes widened as they met mine.

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

The young man shook his head wildly, screaming as if the inn would collapse. Foam formed at his mouth, and he wet himself.

…What on earth do I look like to these guys? This was beyond ridiculous.

Freide, who was watching from the side, burst into laughter.

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

Hoping he would come to his senses, I smashed a bottle of alcohol and poured it over his face. The grateful young man coughed and cried.

“Cough, cough!! Please, spare me!! I’ll tell you anything, just don’t eat me…!”

What kind of guts do these idiots have to commit such heinous crimes? Did they do it so often since childhood that it became routine and lost its impact?

“If you answer my questions honestly, I won’t eat you. Got it?”

“Yes! Yes!! Ask me anything…!”

The young man nodded furiously. If his limbs weren’t tied, he would have been begging on his hands and knees.

Why are you so scared? It’s not like I’m the bad guy here. You’re the trash.

“First, what’s your name?”

“J…Johan…!”

…What a needlessly grandiose name.