Descending the spiral staircase, he reached the underground, where not a single trace of light seeped in. As he inhaled the damp air, a sense of calm settled over him, as if he had returned home. As expected, darkness was far more familiar than light.
“I greet the young master of the district.”
The guard stationed at the prison entrance approached and bowed deeply upon seeing him. Passing by the guard without hesitation, he ventured into the depths of the prison without the aid of a flashlight to illuminate his path.
Moving past the husks of those who had long since lost their sanity in the darkness, he finally arrived at the innermost cell, where the Apostle was confined. Unlike the others, the Apostle sat upright in perfect posture. Sensing his presence, he turned his head.
“You’ve finally arrived.”
“Yeah, I took my time, didn’t I?”
Interrogation should have begun the day after his return to the estate. However, unforeseen circumstances had piled up, delaying the process until now. Though late, he had to extract information about the cult leader before the district’s day began. There was no time left. For the first time, he felt the stirrings of impatience.
“Then let’s begin.”
The guards who had followed him in lit up the surroundings and started preparing for the interrogation. A cloth was spread over the rough stone floor, and at the center, they placed a chair stained with old blood.
The Apostle was forcibly hauled up and seated in that chair, his hands and feet tightly bound to prevent any movement. Wearing gloves to avoid staining himself with blood, he stood before the small table filled with torture instruments.
Pondering which tool to use, he finally selected a simple implement designed to extract fingernails and toenails. He picked up a metal pincer, still crusted with dried blood, giving it a cursory wipe before stepping toward the Apostle.
“I’m going to ask you a few questions now. They’re not difficult—just answer honestly with what you know.”
“…….”
“If you cooperate, I promise both you and your followers will be sent away unharmed. But if you don’t—well, you might want to abandon any hope of walking out of here in one piece.”
Despite the chilling brutality of his words, he smiled brightly, an expression completely out of place in the death-laden darkness.
“You only have ten chances, so think carefully.”
The cold weight of the metal pincer pressed against one of the Apostle’s bound fingers. Foreseeing the agony that was about to come, the Apostle squeezed his eyes shut.
The interrogation ended much quicker than expected. Ten chances were wasted in vain. As anticipated, no matter what he asked, the only response was that the Apostle knew nothing. Even after every last fingernail had been ripped away, not a single useful piece of information was obtained.
Frustrated, he flung the blood-soaked pincer aside and swept back his sweat-drenched hair. Only then did he realize he had forgotten to remove his gloves, but it was too late—his face was already smeared with blood.
“Towel.”
As he removed his gloves and held out his hand, the waiting guards promptly handed him a clean towel. He wiped the filth off his face before giving the barely conscious Apostle a light kick with the tip of his boot.
“Wake up.”
The Apostle barely managed to focus his cloudy eyes and lifted his head to look at him. Tossing the towel aside carelessly, he strode forward and grabbed a handful of the Apostle’s disheveled hair before slapping him across the face.
Smack! Smack! The sharp crack of each impact echoed through the prison. The guards watching from the sidelines held their breath in tense silence, while the other captives, taken alongside the Apostle, trembled in fear, unsure of when their own turn would come.
The beating continued for a while before abruptly stopping. As soon as it did, the Apostle’s head, which had barely been held up, slumped forward. Unruffled, he gave the Apostle’s limp head a rough shake and spoke.
“Open your damn eyes.”
One side of the Apostle’s face was now swollen and bruised, and there wasn’t a spot left on his nose or mouth that wasn’t smeared with blood. Staring at the battered face he had just rearranged, he spoke again.
“I said, open your eyes.”
Faced with the relentless demand, the Apostle summoned the last of his strength to force open his eyelids, which had been struggling to close. Satisfied, he let go of the Apostle’s hair and walked back to the chair positioned across from him, taking a seat.
“Let’s try this again. Who is the cult leader of ‘Night’?”
“I… I don’t… huff… know anything.”
Still running in circles. Either the Apostle was willing to endure excruciating pain just to keep his mouth shut, or he truly had no idea.
Leaning back against the chair, he watched the Apostle, who was barely holding onto his consciousness. Resting his chin on his hand, he changed the question.
“Then let’s put it another way. Does the leader of ‘Night’ even exist?”
“…I don’t know.”
Up until now, the Apostle had answered without hesitation whenever asked about the cult leader’s identity. But when questioned about the leader’s very existence, there was a noticeable pause.
“Is the cult leader a real person?”
His crimson eyes gleamed menacingly. Unable to evade the piercing gaze now so close to his own, the Apostle trembled, his swollen lips quivering.
“Do… Do you believe in the district chief, Lord Vincent?”
“…Just tell me whether the leader is real or not.”
The Apostle had been on the verge of answering but suddenly veered off into meaningless nonsense. Clicking his tongue, he tapped the Apostle’s bruised cheek lightly with his fingertip, urging him to focus.
“I’ll ask again. Does the cult leader truly exist?”
“Do you really think the district chief can give you everything you want, Lord Vincent?”
The frustratingly evasive responses sent a sharp pain through his temples. If the Apostle wasn’t suicidal, he clearly wasn’t just playing word games for the sake of it. Yet he persisted, fixated on the same question—testing his faith in the district chief, trying to shake him.
“Enough with the useless talk and—”
“Why do you think we came to you of our own accord, Lord Vincent? We chose you. If you join us, we can ensure that you get exactly what you desire.”
“!!”
His crimson eyes flickered with an emotion he failed to conceal, and the Apostle, sensing his reaction, stretched his neck forward eagerly. Seizing the opportunity, the Apostle began whispering in a voice so low only Vincent could hear, his words slithering like a serpent’s tongue.
“The district chief will seize every chance to grasp your weakness and shake your foundations. Will you spend your life in constant fear, never knowing when he will take away what is most precious to you? You don’t fully trust the district chief, do you, Lord Vincent?”
The Apostle was right—Vincent couldn’t place complete trust in the district chief. He had even taken the precaution of ensuring Seo-yul’s pregnancy as a safeguard, fearing that the chief might break his promise and banish Seo-yul beyond the district’s borders.
Then again, who in their right mind could fully trust the Shining? They were erratic and self-serving. Even among their own kind, they watched one another warily, never trusting completely.
“And you think I should trust you instead?”
“Of course, that won’t be easy. But if you help us, I swear we will make sure you achieve everything you desire. Not just District 1—we can give you control over all the districts.”
“What a joke.”
He had no interest in ruling even District 1, let alone the entire region. The fact that he had wavered for even a moment over such nonsense made him feel like a fool. Letting out a long sigh, he erased the flicker of doubt from his gaze.
“There’s only one thing we want. We wish to tear down the ‘moon’ within the mansion and return ‘Night’ to the people of the district—to restore the world to its natural order.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know. I’ve heard it a thousand times over.”
“When this grand cause is complete, the entire district will be yours, Lord Vincent. If you have the support of ‘Night,’ making all the districts yours wouldn’t be just a dream.”
“Enough. Cut the useless chatter and just tell me—does the cult leader exist or not?”
“Lord Vincent, this is an opportunity! Do you have any idea how rare it is to be chosen by ‘Night’?”
Even after failing to persuade him, the Apostle refused to give up and continued his ramblings. Vincent sighed, crouching down and grabbing hold of the Apostle’s bound foot this time.
“Another ten chances. Let’s hope I get the answer I want by then.”
“Wa-wait, just listen to what I—AAARGH!”
A tortured scream tore through the prison as Vincent ripped away the Apostle’s big toenail. He continued his questioning, but yet again, the ten chances were wasted in vain.
“Open your eyes.”
He struck the Apostle’s drooping head, but there was no response. It seemed he had passed out from the pain. Letting out a heavy sigh, Vincent shook the blood off his hands and turned away.
“Keep him alive. We’ll continue tomorrow.”
“Y-yes, sir! We’ll do our best!”
Leaving the guards to handle the mess, Vincent stepped out of the suffocating prison. As he reached the base of the spiral staircase, he belatedly realized the state he was in—his clothes were a disaster.
He couldn’t return to Seo-yul wearing a shirt soaked in blood. After a moment of contemplation, he turned to the nearest guard.
“Take off your shirt.”
“M-my shirt, sir?”
“Unless you see someone else here I could be talking to?”
“A-ah! Understood!”
Terrified, the guard stripped faster than he ever had in his life. Vincent took the fresh shirt while the unfortunate guard was left with his ruined, bloodstained one.
“Too damn tight.”
The idea had been good, but the execution was flawed—the shirt was too small. The buttons at his chest looked like they might pop off at any second, and the fabric clung uncomfortably to his skin.
Scowling at his reflection in the nearest surface, he let out another sigh before finally ascending the spiral staircase. As soon as he stepped onto the surface, where the moonlight—so despised by ‘Night’—poured down, he released his pheromones in full force, hoping to rid himself of the thick scent of blood.
