The water's surface was so close, Thomas could feel his nose dipping into it. He was just about to spit out some random lie.
But in the next instant—before he could speak—he was shoved under again!
This time, the duration was long. So long that his chest filled with water, his lungs became completely saturated. Only then was he yanked back up. He emerged coughing violently, choking, vomiting water.
But Allen's tone had changed—no longer calm and slow, but sharp and pressing, shouting in his ear:
"Who?!"
"Cough! Da… Darius!!"
"Lie."
"It really was him!"
Submerged again.
Dragged back up.
"Who?!"
Through sobs:
"Cough!! Darius!! Darius!! It was Darius, I swear! I'm not lying!!"
"Lie."
"No!!"
"Who else?"
"Darius said he had help! I don't know who!"
"Lie."
Submerge. Raise.
"Who's the helper?"
"Cough! Cough! I really don't know!! I swear I don't!!!"
"How was the information passed?"
"Letter! A letter!!"
"Where is it?"
Thomas hesitated for a split second. But before he could answer, he was slammed again—his pupils filled with the magnified image of the water's surface.
"Under the bed!!! UNDER THE BED!!!!"
How much pain and terror does water torture inflict on the body and mind?
Perhaps Thomas's soiled pants spoke loudest.
Trembling from head to toe, he stared at the water touching his nose. The rippling surface, so familiar in daily life, now seemed like a lightless abyss.
He gulped hard, eyes shaking.
To the side—
A pair of dark gray eyes.
Floating just above the surface.
Unblinking.
The gaze of Death.
Then, Death spoke.
"Afraid?"
"…"
"Terrified?"
"…"
"Want to die?"
Thomas shook all over. But still clenched his teeth and muttered:
"N-No…"
Then he saw it.
A smile in those dark gray eyes.
Death can smile?
How could that possibly be mercy?
Tears streamed from Thomas's eyes as he broke down.
"Please! I shouldn't have done it! Please, just end it! Kill me! Kill me with your sword—just end it!!"
Allen looked at the naked, tangible terror in Thomas's eyes and smiled brightly.
It was spring morning—but to Thomas, it felt ice cold.
Then Allen's gentle voice whispered:
"Pray to the water."
Once again, he was dunked into the fountain.
Thomas fought frantically.
One minute.
Two minutes.
Five minutes.
Only when his body went limp, his life extinguished, did Allen pull him up and toss him to the ground like garbage.
Thomas's face, once so innocently blank, now frozen in horror. Water still trickled from his nose, mouth, and ears.
The sound of the fountain rang painfully clear in everyone's ears.
Allen turned to Sauros. The old man now held several letters in his hand, his face dark as iron. Ghyslaine stood beside him and nodded toward Allen when their eyes met.
That was what Allen had asked her earlier by the fountain:
"Ghyslaine, I need a small favor. Once Thomas gives up a clue, please retrieve the evidence and hand it to Sauros. Can I count on you?"
"…I don't fully understand what you're planning, but if he talks—I'll do it."
Now—
Philip stood nearby with downcast eyes. In the shadow cast by the sunlight, the gleam in his gaze was almost material—an unmistakable light of admiration, burning with excitement.
Allen had once again acted beyond his expectations.
And once again… had made the perfect decision.
By forcing Thomas to admit Darius's involvement in the assassination, Allen pushed Sauros to make a decision—one that Philip himself had been intending to provoke.
But Allen hadn't hesitated.
In a single moment, he had assessed the situation and chosen the most effective course. While Sauros still suspected his identity, Allen had used truth to win approval.
That… was the kind of person Philip needed. That… was his son.
Thump!
Thomas's corpse landed in front of Philip, interrupting his thoughts.
Lifeless, terrified eyes stared directly into Philip's.
He looked up slowly.
Allen gazed down at him with a blank face.
That gaze—coming from his own son—
Was it intimidation?
Mockery?
Blame?
Philip couldn't tell what Allen was thinking.
But he was sure of one thing: Allen did not seem pleased.
Philip blanked out, breaking eye contact, and looked back down at Thomas's corpse.
Thomas was dead.
Thoroughly, cleanly dead.
Sauros had finished reading the letters. His brows were deeply furrowed as he crushed the pages in his hand, then looked up—his eyes lingering on Allen with a complicated light.
And then he spoke.
Loudly, as ever.
But this time, his words were the complete opposite of before.
"…Well done. Adventurer Allen, was it? You have my approval. Stay. Teach Eris swordsmanship properly."
He turned and walked away.
Eris blinked, confused by the sudden change—but her joy was obvious.
She sprang from Sauros's loosened arms and ran straight to Allen.
Sauros just glanced back at her and shook his head as he left.
"Allen is awesome! Hmph! If Grandpa approves you, then Eris approves you too!!"
Her flustered pride had already vanished. She folded her arms, smug and satisfied.
But when she saw the corpse of the once-familiar "Thomas"—personally executed by Allen—her face paled.
Sylphy and Rudy wore similar expressions.
All three of the "little ones" had been shaken by Allen's near-torture and execution—so vastly different from the gentle Allen they were used to.
They couldn't digest what had just happened.
Did Allen do it on purpose?
Yes.
The absurd house rules… layers of probing… a sudden assassination…
He'd been holding back this fury for a while.
Sauros's noble attitude was the spark that set it all ablaze.
Could he have handled things more gently?
Yes.
But Allen didn't want to.
He wanted to vent.
He wanted to personally kill Thomas.
Screw the Boreas house.
He was so damn tired of it all.
(End of Chapter)
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