Fifteenth Chapter
The End of the Horrible Dream
The incident with Godma was wrapping up for now.
For now referred to the fact that Alus’ mission changed from the assassination of a single man, to what was practically the massacre of an army, so not even the top brass could fully conceal the matter. Things were far from a perfect ending.
The majority of the aftermath consisted of rumors from unknown sources, and would have a lasting effect. But its spread remained limited to whispers within the military.
It was normal for Magicmasters in the military to keep their focus toward the Outer World. The other nations had the same tendency, and keeping their nations unified against the threat of Fiends was an effective strategy. Because of that, crimes and incidents within the borders were usually kept under wraps. Especially when the military’s Magicmasters were charged with dealing with it.
By staying at the level of a rumor within the military, even the name of the Dolls born from inhuman experiments would disappear soon.
The military headquarters was located within the human realm, but it was right next to the barrier to the Outer World.
Inside the headquarters was a room, in a section Magicmasters weren’t easily allowed access to.
There were other prisons as well, but only criminals whose existence was being covered up were accommodated here, or rather, were being imprisoned here.
The man lying down on a simple bed inside this room had several tubes going into him for the treatment of his injuries, and he had shackles on top of that.
Considering there wasn’t a single window in sight, it was clear that this was an isolated room underground. The room itself was a simple square with plain white walls, and medical equipment in every corner. The bed was fixed in the very center of this desolate room.
And the man, Godma Barhong, was tied down and in a sleep so deep one might suspect he was dead.
Even if he woke up, whether he needed shackles or not was questionable. He’d already lost his consciousness, any human will long gone, and he could barely move his eyeballs let alone his remaining arm.
Even as someone entered the dim room, Godma showed no response. He probably didn’t even register it.
His body was gradually turning back to that of a human being after his transformation, but he was horribly weakened, and was only being kept here as a unique sample due to his singular experience. The fact that he was alive was ironically enough thanks to his being unable to write or even talk anymore.
It wasn’t yet time for a guard to check on him, but the door opened quietly all the same.
One could just barely make out the military uniform the person wore in the faint light of the room.
The echoing footsteps grew louder until a shadow fell on Godma’s face. The intruder leaned over and looked down as if they were staring at a doll that continued to exist for no reason.
“Hello there, Doctor.”
The voice was strangely high-pitched, which felt off to hear in an isolated room like this. With their dark brown hair hanging down, the person smiled complacently.
But by the time they actually took a look at Godma’s face, their clothing suddenly changed. They were now wearing a thin white gown like a patient’s gown, with two knives hanging off their waist. Just when had they changed? There wasn’t any spare clothing in the room either.
The voice continued whispering.
In the next moment, a strange phenomenon occurred.
Godma, who’d lost his sanity and become an invalid, opened his eyes wide. While he couldn’t raise his head, his eyes moved busily, seeking the person who’d forcibly woken him from his slumber.
His wide-open eyes spotted a woman smiling at the side of the bed. Godma stirred ever so slightly, a muffled sound escaping his throat. The woman was holding an old book, showing it to Godma.
That book... it was one of the Four Books of Fegel.
Finally, she smiled again. Or rather, probably smiled was more accurate.
She didn’t have the look of a person who was lovingly thinking of someone, nor did she have the empty eyes of a person who’d lost their sense of self. On her face was what could only be described as an uncanny smile. As if someone who didn’t understand the concept of smiling was trying to mimic it. There wasn’t a trace of emotion in it, not the usual joy or delight, nor was there sarcasm or mocking in this smile. It was like wearing a mask with a smile on it.
Suddenly, Godma’s lips began to tremble, limply moving to form a name.
He let out a noise that wasn’t quite a shriek or a scream at the woman that couldn’t possibly be there.
The woman gave him a high-spirited smile.
The sound of sliding metal rang out. Before he knew it, the woman was holding a knife in a reverse grip.
However, the restrained Godma’s focus stayed on the woman’s face instead of shifting to the knife. A hoarse sound that couldn’t be described as a voice continued escaping from his mouth.
The next moment—
The knife was swung with resentment, sinking into Godma’s chest, without any hesitation. Again and again the knife plunged down, gouging out the wound, as Godma’s body shook with each swing.
He could no longer form human words as he either groaned or vomited blood. But they were all terribly faint sounds, and he gradually fell silent.
The woman licked off the blood splatter that had fallen on her lips. Her distorted smile grew bigger.
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