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Published at 13th of June 2020 12:13:40 PM


Chapter 11

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Good Nightmare

A high pitch scream echoed in the darkened, stone room.

“Aaaaaaa!”

Each time the whip, head spiked like a stalk of wheat or rice, cut through the air, René felt as if her tiny body would burst.

Normally, that building was to be used as a prison. A place where criminals were  thrown into and kept as their temporary stay before being sent to court for trial. However, now, it was a special place, a space made for René by the Royal Prince’s Knights.

Originally, this was not the place for torture, nor were there any torture tools present beforehand. The room for 6 had simply been turned into one, as they brought in the nefarious contraptions to that end.

 

René’s hands were bound with shackles extending down from the ceiling.

Their height had been adjusted to maximise suffering; always lifting one by their arms, but letting their toes touch the ground ever so slightly, causing them to instinctively try and gain a better footing and suffer because of their own weight. In addition, if one had a unfavourable posture, they became double as vulnerable to corporal punishment.

There were always several torturers waiting beforehand whenever René was brought there. And all of these torturers had their full Knight’s armor donned, as if inflicting pain upon her small life were their knightley duty, as if it somehow inflated their knightley prestige.

Their faces were always either in tight knots and wrinkles of wrath or in mocking grins bearing witness to a lowlife as it squirmed. Their beatings were always carefully given, never crossing a certain threshold of damage in fear of accidentally killing her. They chose the kicks that would bruise and blemish her skin a tint of dead blue but not rupture organs, the punches that would rock her brain back and forth in her skull but not crack her cranium. Of course, there was always a healer at the ready, closing her open wounds, mending her broken bones, restoring her lost blood, all so they could be pried open again, broken again, spilled again.

The only reason they refrained from outright killing her was because her public execution was quite close. The torturers repeated this at almost every turn. To corner her psychologically. To stomp out any feelings of rebellion she might harbor.

René screamed once more as whips cut across her bare torso.

The screams never exhausted, only igniting a fire that scorched her lungs and throat.

“Aaaaaa- Gh- Aaaaaah!!!”

“Crying’s not gonna help, fucking rat!!”

The thick, hysterical voice slapped her eardrums.

 

She knew so well that crying would never help. Nothing would make them stop, but there was nothing else she could do. It hurt and everything was scary. Tears would naturally well up, no matter how hard she tried to bite them back.

“You, filth born from the grimy seed of the corrupt once-king, your father sold our lives to the Federation! Why were you living on the border, so close to them!? What is your relationship with them!? Spit it out! Now!!”

Questions spun so many times, René had them memorized.

The reason she was living on their border was because the Federation had such vast and colorful a culture, it barely held any prejudice towards René and her appearance, a ‘Silver-Eyed Silver-Haired abomination’. Naturally, they had little to say about her physical appearance. And the relationship with the Federation back then were quite amicable (albeit hierarchical) so there was little to no fear of sudden invasions or one country attempting to invade the other, as was the case with the other borders of Ciel-Terra.

She understood these things quite well, partly because her mother mentioned them often, causing her to take them to heart despite her age.

And even if she were named as the King’s daughter every passing moment now, René never knew this fact before.

René was never involved with the backstage dealings the new King accused her of, nor had she ever known he was part of an Anti-Federation Party.

However, these seemed to never be the answers the torturers were seeking from her. No matter how many times she told the truth, spilled all that she could remember, they would only yell at her to ‘speak the truth’, and their whipping would only grow more intense.

She could no longer say or do anything but scream and cry.

“I… Aaa! I don’t… I don’t know- ghah!”

 

“Lies!!”

“Aaaaaah….!”

The whip cut into René’s back.

If she said she didn’t know, they would brand her a liar.

If there was a right answer, René would most definitely want to know. She would repeat it, word for word, no matter what it was.

But perhaps, there was never a right answer. Maybe, there was never an answer at all. If the purpose of her questioning was the torturing itself, then she could do nothing but simply let her body remain bare and hang her head.

Her shoulder blades creaked and ground against each other, but she could do nothing about it.

“Aa… Ghuh….”

“Tch… She’s not screaming enough. Time to change things up.”

“Yes, sir!”

 

Once ordered, the torturer left the room, but soon came back with something long and thin in his hands. It was a raker, one commonly seen near furnaces, used to clean up residual ash. And it was glowing hot.

“Here.”

He pressed the smoldering rod against her skin.

The sting of a thousand bees ran down her spine, searing open her senses.

“Ah- Aaaaaaaaaaaaa!!”

 

The scream squeezed itself out of her sore and broken throat.

“Fuck it, a kid’s scream’s all grating, no pleasure.”

The torturer spat out his opinion.

“Ah… hah… so… it’s so… hot… hot… hot… ho….”

After he listened to her feeble attempt to express pain, he grabbed a fistful of her silver hair and pulled her face up to his.

“Oh really? Is that really hot? Okkaay! Let’s cool it down! Come on!”

Another torturer stood, waiting behind the one holding her up, the one with madness in his eyes. He carried a pot full of boiling water with him.

“Ahh…”

“…this here’s a lot colder than a rod straight outta the furnace, right?”

Then the contents of the pot were dumped on-

 

“Waaaaaaah!”

René jumped out of bed, screaming with Iris’ voice, before she realised she was no longer in the dark cell, but on a warm and comfortable bed.

Through the small slits between delicately embroidered curtains, she caught sight of a purple-blue sky; it was dawn.

Her breath was as ragged as one who just ran a lap across Mt. Everest, and her body was drenched in sweat like some idiot who forgot to bring an umbrella when the forecast had clearly said there will be a downpour.

“….just a dream, it’s just a dream….”

She whispered to herself, as if to affirm that it was indeed just a dream.

As an Undead, René had no need for sleep or rest. However, the body she currently inhabited did. Iris still had the need to eat if she were hungry, sleep if she were tired.

And in that sleep, she dreamt of her hell.

Calling it a nightmare would unfortunately be a great understatement to what living hell those days were.

The Knights of the Royal Prince faction had apprehended her sole sake of torture.

Only in hindsight did René understand that they thought they were serving justice, that they were fighting the evil that was the once-King. Their abuse was never directed at her, but at the once-King’s bloodline.

Above all, they were frenzied fiends, spurred on by their twisted knowledge of current affairs and similarly frenzied companions. With René being so defenseless, their transgressions against could only progress in fierceness. Surely, this habit of turning into beings capable of unimaginable cruelty simply because one thinks they are superior, has been present since the time when mankind were still monkeys.

René looked around the still dark room. The fireplace remained dimly spreading the slight illumination of it’s smoldering coals.

Iris and Countess Catharine were to sleep in two separate guest rooms so that, if an assassin were to come upon them perchance, they would be confused as to which one was the Earl’s daughter.

The bed here was warm. A luxury a currently-working adventurer could afford.

Relax. I’m okay. This is not a prison, there’s no torturer here, no tools to hurt me over and over…

――Haha… What am I, an idiot? I’m the strongest undead there ever was.

René squealed out a bitter laugh.

As she were now, no matter who it was, if any dared touch her, or even on the off-chance, managed to capture her, she would make them regret being born. As long enemies, the likes of Lawrence, did not suddenly pop up.

Ever since she had regained the memories of her former self, she felt as if her will had strengthened.

However, the René in her dreams were still a child, a young girl who knew and understood nothing.

“I… I am strong now. Next time, I’m gonna kill them all.” she whispered, as if telling only herself what she wanted to hear.

As if the little girl were always in her mind, telling her to ‘never forget her grudge’.

Never forget the humiliation you faced, never forget the pain they inflicted on you, never forget the fear they carved into your skin.

Never forget what they did to our kind and beautiful mother. Never forget how they snatched away our peaceful life. Never forget the grudges we hold against them.

Nothing else but vengeance will ever heal the wounds this soul has suffered…!

René never once considered herself to be a harbinger of justice.

From now on, she would snatch away far more than what was taken from her, hurt far more than how much she was hurt. Brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers, children, the elderly, none were exempt from her enactment of revenge. Until their suffering crossed the bounds of eternity itself. And if any came, seeking vengeance against her, she would simply laugh as she crushed their aspirations. If need be, she would purge their entire bloodlines.

Such acts could surely never be ‘justice’. But she did not care. René would carry on until all around were burnt down by the pitch black fire blazing in her heart. Until they all crumbled to ash.

“Kill them…. I’ll kill them all!!”

When she slammed Iris’ tiny fist on the bed, she felt something damp on her skin. She followed the trail and saw that the area around her lower half was wet beyond the level only sweat could cause.

There was no trace of something as embarrassing as this in Iris’ memories. Then the case was most likely that René’s memories had caused this to happen. The nightmare was so vivid, it left its mark on the body long after it ran its course.

“Man… what the hell…” René sighed.

Translator: Fried Hedgehog

 





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