587. Flowery Interrogation

587. Flowery Interrogation

* * *

Withering bodies emerged from the ground in pods made of vibrant, green vines. They upheaved the marble as though it was as malleable as dirt. Blood trickled down the brambles of the near one hundred pods which ensnared them.

The image of a spider feeding on its prey with its arms wrapped around it came to mind. Each pod was spread equally as vines smothered the carpets, creating a malevolent, pulsating bed.

And in the center of it all was a black dahlia that blossomed in the presence of sin-rich blood. Frost had become exceedingly proficient in her interrogation methods.

“Sins and memories can be absorbed like this, huh. ‘Relevant memories.’”

The dahlias that grew on the withered bodies of those she had condemned had their Sins devoured to nurture the flowers and herself, as well as the relevant memories that correlated with the color of that flower.

For example, a blue flower appeared in the place of a man’s eye for the sin of adultery, which fell under the category of lust. Another was stricken with unending envy to the point where she had killed her own sister – a sin of green envy that colored the petals of her dahlia all the same.

The memories were so vivid that Frost fell into a silent trance as she kept the head of the cultist leashed by her side. He could not move even if he wanted to. The state of his body was like that of a shredded stuffed teddy bear, held loosely at the wrist by its owner.

“It’s like looking into a kaleidoscope. Still doesn’t compare to her items but they both serve different purposes anyway. Now compared to the Mantle of Sin… I guess both have their uses. That seeks the worst sin a person’s committed. This is more of a scraping tool to get both.”

Furthermore, serious sins lacked clarity and depth, to the point where Frost could only categorize them by the type of sin. She was only given a vivid glimpse. In the end, the purpose of this power was not to arbitrate, but to reveal it to the ones caught in her brambles.

It was to expose the colors of their sins.

To nurture and to color the world with the proof of how they lived. Guilt sunk its fangs into their hearts as much as the thorns of the brambles. Surprisingly, the head cultist heavily resisted her power.

This meant that she could not puppeteer him.

“Could it be that you don’t feel guilty, or is that your RESIST stat is higher than the others?”

“’Stat’… How can you utter the tongue of the Blessed… and look like that!?”

A gargled yell came from the cultist.

He wasn’t spared even a single glance as Frost tested her newfound powers.

She puppeteered those stricken afflicted by her flowers.

They were driven involuntarily by the weight of their guilt. Flowers sprouted along their limbs, coating them like giant pimples as a relevantly colored flower sprouted from the back of their heads, much like hers.

If she commanded them to speak, then they’d speak. If she ordered to starve, then they’d do so sorrowfully. If she ordered them to die, then they’d strangle themselves unwillingly thanks to her total control over them.

This was of course, so long as they were connected to her brambles. At this point there was no need to keep them wrapped in pods. A single connection at the base of their feet was all that was needed now.

And like insects infected with a mind-controlling fungus, they positioned themselves somewhere with the intent of germinating after their inevitable blossoming.

In the meantime, Frost also observed her surroundings.

By now a few of the entranced victims were recovering their minds, only to find themselves in the thick of a bloodbath.

Around eighty remained in their sudden sleep. The remaining twenty were paralyzed with fear, seeing Frost only as a monster rather than their savior. However, few like the girl she rescued as well as the Demi-humans she released from her brambles previously knew exactly the kind of person she was.

However, it did not change that her appearance hardly led one to believe that she had good intentions. The fifty additional Demi-humans arose with wide eyes. Color had returned to their eyes, some silently thanking Frost whilst others immediately dropped to their knees, the memories of their awful torment finally sinking in after all this time.

Tiny and large hands alike grasped onto her brambles on the floor as form of comfort, because the same warmth that saved them coursed through it.

Had Frost not been so furious then she would have shed tears with them.

So the Unfair Tale took their personalities and memories. Their egos and self.

She then looked over at Deiman, who to her shock, did not have the same glean in their eyes like the others.

They were like that even before the Corrupted. Because of these people… Because of them…!

“So you can still talk even with your tongue ripped off.” Frost finally addressed the cultist. “I shouldn’t be talking out loud when so many are listening. Luckily, they seem to be redeemable. As for you…”

Status.

Cult of the Mad Slippers Leader

???

LEVEL : 83

ORIGIN : Human

HP : 2,300

ATT : 340

MAG ATT : 500

ATT DEF : 350

MAG DEF : 400

MP : 1,300

RESIST : 35

AGI : 20

“Well, we’ll find out soon enough. Deiman. And you.”

Two vines tapped Deiman and the girl Frost had saved earlier on the head. It was a gentle tap compared to what the girl expected it to be, as she flinched like her life was about to be taken.

“… Yes…? Y-Yes!”

The girl slapped her freckled cheeks to see if she was still alive. Judging by the stinging sensation and the reddening of her sore cheeks, she was clearly spared by Frost.

“Let them know that they’re safe now. Inform them immediately. I’m here specifically for this one.”

Frost lifted the body of the cultist by his lower jaw. He hung from the overstretched muscle, wriggling in the air like a fish caught on a hook.

“Yes! Immediately!” The girl shouted, bowing before taking off to lend her hand to the still unconscious many, as did Deiman.

A look of confusion briefly appeared on her face as she touched her back, wondering if she had imagined being stabbed.

“Leave the ones with the flowers alone. Don’t pity the ones that lured you with false promises. Besides.”

“You wouldn’t be able to save them anymore.”

The flowers became a part of them, growing from the marrows of their bone and vital organs that removing them would cause death. It was likely that Healing magic could help them, as this was no longer an effect of the Black Dahlia, but a disease.

Even if Frost were to unequip her Corrupted Persona, then the Dahlias would remain on their bodies.

A cocoon of vines trapped the cultist with Frost a second later. The soundproof barrier prevented his mangled screams from reaching anyone’s ears. He was now entombed with a being he could only associate with the Alraune race.

Finally, Frost’s eyes met his. Dread overwhelmed him but he surprisingly remained defiant. Puritas bred their members well it seemed. Were Frost an ordinary person then even bringing him to the brink of death would not break him.

But unfortunately for him, Frost was something beyond the realm of unordinary.

“Are you a member of Puritas?”

Her question was a simple ‘yes or no’. She hoisted him half a meter away as his limbs stretched to all four corners, exposing him helplessly.

“You think a shabby –”

An arm was severed. The stinging, raw pain that he should have been used to had exceeded every combined pain he had ever experienced. As a result, his jaw hung loosely as his shrill was instantly absorbed by the wall of vines.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA –!”

The lack of a reverb only intensified the rawness of his agony, to which Frost found pathetic as it was hardly comparable to the pain of his victims. This combined with the glimpses of traumatic memories committed without a semblance of regret, and Frost was finally pushed to manifest an old friend.

“What happened to Puritas after Paradise fell?” Frost asked another rapid question, giving him no time to recover.

“It – It… It was prosperous – GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”

Another arm was severed clean, right as the other had completely healed thanks to [Corporeal Restoration]. This combined with [Prolonged Stasis] was torturous for the receiver. The former did not recover HP but allowed one to rapidly restore lost body parts, but at an agonizing cost. The latter simply recovered HP and did not allow them to perish under any circumstances.

“You seemed to have recognized me. Explain.”

“Please – no more – I’ll speak – AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”

This time, both his legs were snapped in five different places along the femur. All Frost did was gently press her thumbs through. To think someone of his level – which was considered exceptional – had bones no different from a twig she could find on any forest floor.

“Who came to mind when you addressed me like you knew me?”

“*Sobbing* The devil… THE DEVIL! – Gggggghhhhhhkkkkk!”

She flayed him this time rather than claiming a limb, giving him a small fragment of hope that his agony would subside.

“Elaborate.”

“Thirteenth… Order…! The traitor! Black hair that’s short! Eyes that don’t belong! And – a stick too long to be a club! Too hollow to be a staff!”

Black hair, weird eyes, and a gun?

It matched Frost’s own description. The problem was that he was referring to someone from the past.

Possibly an Alter me, or is it just a coincidence? The important part is the description of a gun.

“What was their name?”

“How – how am I supposed to know when I’m just –!? AAAAAAAAAA! BELIEVE ME! I KNOW NOTHING!”

His resistance was rapidly dwindling now that Frost activated her Beyond the Threshold Ability, dressing herself in darkness that housed his deepest fears.

“Then where did you find this information?”

“Taught… We were all taught! From the King! From history! Fifty-five years ago, someone of your description betrayed our kingdom! The 13th Order! Believe me! I’m telling you everything I know!”