Witch, Fireball and Steam Evil God

Chapter 431 The Thousand-Faced Witch
Imperial Prison, Level 5.

"Well? Has Balmont confessed?"

The moment the court members arrived to report, the eldest prince stepped forward and inquired.

During the wait, Balmont's calm gaze made him feel uneasy; he couldn't understand why this man could remain so calm when he was about to die.

Unlike commoners, Balmont, as the Imperial Chancellor, naturally understood the methods of the Inquisition. Although submission and compromise would not save his life, it would make his journey to the underworld easier.

This interrogation team was carefully selected from the trial process, and each member was a seasoned veteran, yet they now looked troubled.

"We've encountered some obstacles for the time being."

The team leader said, "We can't continue like this. We've given him a lot of sedatives to keep him conscious throughout the interrogation, but he... he seems to have no sense of pain at all."

Pain and itching are the methods they most often use.

They had adopted a more radical interrogation approach, using methods far exceeding previous standards. An ordinary person would have been driven mad long ago, but Balmon never even glanced at them.

“We are performing emergency treatment on him and we also need to conduct a full-body investigation to ensure that his negative senses have not been sealed by some kind of spell.”

"No matter what means you use."

The interrogator's report only fueled the Crown Prince's frustration. He waved his hand impatiently, "I just need results. I need him to explain how he left the capital and who secretly assisted him. If we can't find these things, you should know the consequences..."

The threat is self-evident.

The interrogators dared not speak; they knew the Crown Prince's methods and how he would treat worthless losers.

It seems they need to resort to more aggressive interrogation methods, even if it means Balmont doesn't survive the night.

“The methods they use to deal with this kind of person are ineffective.”

A woman's voice rang out, startling the guards around the prince, who drew their weapons. The man in the black cloak immediately stepped aside to shield the prince.

However, when they looked in the direction of the sound and around, they could not find the uninvited guest at all.

Logically, the jailers shouldn't have dared to barge into the eldest prince's room, especially when the eldest prince was in a fit of anger.

"That person before was the same, so similar, so incredibly similar."

This time, everyone in the room finally saw the source of the sound. All the sounds came from several masks hanging on the wall. These masks had different expressions: smiling, crying, angry, and melancholy. They had no idea when these masks had appeared.

The woman's voice seemed to possess a certain magic, echoing through the crowd for a long time. At first, it was the interrogators who found their limbs out of control, as if an invisible gaze was suspending them, making them unknowingly become puppets manipulated by the performers on stage.

Before they could utter a single word, the masks appeared before them and pressed firmly against their faces.

In an instant, a crazy and terrifying scene flashed through their minds.

Same location, same scene.

However, the person who was here at that time was Henry VI.

In his youth, he wore elegant clothes that now appear somewhat retro, yet he was just as furious.

The interrogators used every method they knew, but they still couldn't get the prisoner to talk. So, "they" saw their own fate.

As worthless losers, Henry VI ordered the jailers to drag "them" away.

They heard pleas for mercy and screams of agony, followed by excruciating pain that swept over them, as if their skin were being peeled off, or as if a scalding hot iron were being pressed tightly against their skin. These were the kinds of tortures they were familiar with, and now they were being used on them.

In the eyes of the eldest prince, all he saw were the masked interrogators falling to the ground, letting out heart-wrenching screams, their bodies convulsing uncontrollably, and then a disgusting stench spreading throughout the room.

Someone lost control of their bladder.

"Stop, Thousand-Faced Witch."

The man in the black cloak tried to appear calm, but his uncontrollable right hand and the sweat beading on his forehead betrayed his true feelings.

"You know me?"

The interrogators stopped crying and suddenly rose from the ground in a manner that defied human behavior, their feet off the ground as if lifted into the air by invisible threads. One of the interrogators floated toward the man in the black cloak and said in a mocking tone, "You're afraid of me."

"If this continues, I'm afraid you won't be able to explain it to the warden."

The man in the black cloak's heart pounded, but he did not deny the other man's judgment.

It would be abnormal not to be afraid of such a freak with an extremely unstable personality who could go crazy at any time.

Mania means her behavior is unpredictable, and she might even resort to violence against them.

He knew the truth about this prison: every year, a large number of Imperials were imprisoned here. They were usually not executed immediately, but were stored here as "expenditure" to prevent the freaks "sealed" here from breaking out of the prison and running to the surface after going mad.

Although these freaks go berserk in different ways, they all have the same way of calming them down—when that time comes, the jailers will bring them a reserve of prisoners.

Some of these prisoners were devoured alive, some were dismantled into parts, and some were treated as toys until they suffered a mental breakdown.

"So that's how you see me."

The woman's voice behind the mask was chilling: "I'm heartbroken, and as compensation..."

The man in the black cloak shuddered violently. He never expected that the other party would actually dare to ignore the warden and attack him. He made no defensive movements, so the interrogator's raised right hand pierced straight through his chest. He watched helplessly as the other party completed the pulling motion, and then his still-beating heart was forcibly ripped out of his body.

But he was still alive, and didn't even feel any pain.

"I'll keep this heart with me for now, and I'll return it to you once I've calmed down."

"You woman—"

The eldest prince was about to rebuke him, but was stopped by the gesture of the man in the black cloak. He gritted his teeth and said, "Please accept it."

The puppet being controlled ignored the man in the black cloak. He raised his hand and swept the "trash" blocking the prince's way into a corner of the room. The puppet then flashed in front of the prince, and the two locked eyes. Through the mask, a pair of eyes without pupils, completely filled with red, came into view.

"Go on."

The woman asked, "What's wrong with me?"

"No, nothing..."

At that moment, a suffocating fear overwhelmed all of the Crown Prince's anger, and his voice weakened.

"Is it?"

The deep voice lingered in the prince's ears. Just when he thought it was all over, he heard the sound of bones breaking. The sudden shock made the prince scream. His legs gave way and he collapsed onto the cold floor. The puppet's head, which had been staring at him just a second ago, was torn off by a tremendous force.

Blood gushed out, and the eldest prince felt his face covered in a sticky liquid as the severed head rolled to his feet.

"I was going to give you some advice." All the masks detached from their hosts at the same time, and the puppets, now out of control, fell to the ground, their eyes rolled back, and they lost consciousness.

The black-cloaked man's still-beating heart was smashed into the bottle, eventually embedding itself in the wall and disappearing.

Only after the room fell silent again, and the eldest prince confirmed that all the masks had disappeared, did he ask, trembling, "What was that just now?"

"The Witch with a Thousand Faces."

After giving his wounds a quick treatment, the man in the black cloak collapsed to the ground. "This level of surveillance."

The group of unconscious interrogators were no longer a viable option. The man in the black cloak stumbled back to the wall, and only after leaning against it did he finally relax.

"Antina Baroque, that's her real name."

"Baroque?"

The eldest prince racked his brains for a long time, but still couldn't remember which noble family's surname it belonged to.

“It’s normal that you don’t know. They were nobles who lived during the reign of Henry III. Antina Baroque was an exception,” the man in the black cloak said. “Henry III bestowed the ‘Fire’ upon the Baroque family. Her brother should have been the best candidate to fuse with the ‘Fire’. However, on the night of the ceremony, Antina Baroque, out of jealousy, took advantage of her brother’s inattention and stabbed him in the chest with an obsidian dagger, stealing the ‘Fire’.”

"……plunder?"

The eldest prince was increasingly puzzled; he couldn't imagine how such an abstract power as "fire seed" could be plundered.

"Antina swallowed her brother's heart."

The man in the black cloak recounted a story he had once read. Even he felt a distinct unease when he read those words. "The fusion failed, and she was executed by her tribesmen who rushed to the scene. But she, who should have died, came back to life three nights later. Perhaps influenced by the 'fire seed,' her appearance... changed."

After a brief pause, he said, "Antina-Baroque's crimes are murdering her brother and massacring her people."

A madwoman driven insane by jealousy.

Some people also believe that she was bewitched by some kind of evil magic.

The title "Thousand-Faced Witch" also originated around that time.

“Your Highness, I should have warned you before that the situation in this prison is somewhat special. Although the Thousand-Faced Witch will not harm your life, if you anger her, things will get very bad... So I suggest you leave here first, and leave things here to me.”

"I want to stay."

The Crown Prince clenched his fists as he recalled his humiliating moment. The black-cloaked man's mention that the Thousand-Faced Witch dared not harm him gave him some confidence. "Not only that, but when Cedric Thorne returns, I will also have to meet with the Warden!"

The man in the black cloak hesitated, then could only sigh helplessly.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the fifth floor.

All the jailers gathered in the hall, the atmosphere was extremely oppressive, and no one dared to make the slightest noise.

They could all sense that the Monitor was in a bad mood.

"Go, bring a few prisoners over."

Finally, the masked woman on the steps spoke.

The jailers finally breathed a sigh of relief, which meant they were safe for the time being. As for the fate of the prisoners who had been brought here, that was no longer their concern.

Before long, several prisoners who kept begging for mercy were forced to their feet by the guards and escorted into the hall. However, upon seeing the figure on the steps, all their voices fell silent. They knelt down in unison before the masked figure, humbly pressing their heads to the ground, not daring to look her in the eye.

Apart from one burly man who was two meters tall, after being released by the jailer, he moved his wrists a few times.

"Honestly, you guys, if you're going to come, then come. Why are you pushing me?"

This man is crazy!

The jailers were also terrified by the strong man's behavior.

They saw the woman on the steps walk up to the prisoners, her blood-red, pupil-less eyes beneath her mask looking down at the prisoners who were crawling before her.

"Looked up."

Before the prisoners could respond, an invisible force forcefully lifted their heads, twisting their bodies and contorting their faces in pain, yet they dared not utter a single complaint in front of the woman.

Tell me, am I pretty?

"Beautiful, you are the most beautiful person I have ever seen—"

The prisoner's voice stopped abruptly. Before he could finish speaking, his neck was broken. He then collapsed to the ground, lifeless.

"lie."

The woman said coldly, then went to the second prisoner and asked the same question, "Tell me, am I pretty?"

Having learned from the previous unfortunate prisoner's mistake, this prisoner did not answer immediately. Instead, he carefully examined the mask for a long time, as if he had given it much thought. Just as he was about to speak after gathering his emotions, another sound of bones breaking rang out.

Why take so long to think about it?

Then came the third person.

Seeing the necks of the two people in front of him twisted into pretzels, his mind went blank. Faced with the woman's question, he seemed to be in a state of shock and did not react at all.

Before his neck was snapped, just like the previous two prisoners, the burly man spoke up, saying, "There's something wrong with you. How can we give a fair evaluation if you don't take off your mask?"

This man is crazy!

He had no idea what he was saying!
You must know that the Monitor is a mind reader; no lie can fool her eyes!
This sentence successfully caught the woman's attention, causing her to skip over the remaining prisoners and come to the strong man.

"Are you curious about what's underneath that mask?"

The burly man said, "I'm not a liar; I always tell the truth."

"Then as you wish."

The moment the masks were removed, all the jailers closed their eyes in unison.

They knew very well that any offensive thought would be caught by the watchers, and that would make them just like those prisoners whose necks had been snapped.

The hall was eerily quiet. Just as they were all waiting for the sound of another neck being snapped, the burly man couldn't help but shout.

"Beautiful, so incredibly beautiful! God the Father!"

The burly man stared, unable to tear his gaze away from the woman's face. "V'cu shaa'thee! This is true art!"

(End of this chapter)