Chapter 97
"Is there no one who can give me an awesome explanation?"
Viktor Alexandrovich Smirnov was frowning deeply with his subordinates standing in front of him. His fierce expression was reminiscent of a wild beast.
"You, speak."
"As in the report submitted earlier, the number of sorcerers active near the site of the human sacrifice ritual is 5. Among them, 2 are foreigners, and of the 3 Russian sorcerers, 2 were confirmed to be at the Russian Businessmen's Meeting on the day of the incident. The remaining one was confirmed by CCTV footage to be with a pack of wolves."
Viktor gestured with his chin as if to say explain more.
"For now, the definite suspect is the sorcerer who was active as a fortune-teller. Michael T. Murphy. He's of Irish origin, 33 years old. The sorcery he uses is the boundary sorcery of Anu among Celtic sorceries, and given that the military chaplain sorcerer discovered symbols related to 'Crom Cruach', he is presumed to be the one who conducted the human sacrifice ritual. Also, his death was confirmed by the military chaplain sorcerer, and it's estimated that his life was paid as the price for the human sacrifice sorcery ritual."
"I see."
Viktor tapped the table.
"If he's dead, it means the one who escaped from me unscathed wasn't him."
"That's correct."
"Continue explaining. Ah, only about the foreign sorcerers, not our country's sorcerers."
"Understood. The name is Jinseong Park. From Unified Korea, 18 years old..."
Viktor cut off his subordinate's words.
"Stop. A kid born yesterday can't exert that much power. Exclude him."
"Understood."
He leaned back in his chair and organized his thoughts.
First, the Irish fortune-teller is certain.
It was clear that the fortune-teller, Michael T. Murphy, had had a hand in the human sacrifice ritual.
This was vouched for by the military chaplain sorcerer, and given the circumstances, there was no other culprit besides this guy.
Then that brought up a question here.
If the one who performed that human sacrifice disappeared due to foolishness, then who on earth was the one who clashed with him?
One brat, two sycophants attached to the bourgeoisie, one lunatic who thinks he's a wolf.
The three Russian sorcerers had alibis, and the only one suspicious enough was an immature brat.
But what could someone who wasn't even an adult do?
Especially a brat from Korea where sorcery had been shattered.
He slowly recalled when he encountered someone of unknown identity.
"Hmm."
Viktor smiled as if something occurred to him and gulped down the vodka placed on the desk.
"Kuh, I thought wrong. I've never seen him use sorcery directly. Why did I only think of him as a sorcerer?"
Boom!
"This doesn't seem to just involve sorcerers, but other guys seem to be involved too."
He roughly put down the vodka bottle and looked at his subordinate.
"Any special matters related to the weasels?"
"Yes, there is."
"Oh, really?"
"Recently, the anti-terrorism unit said they caught weaselly bastards who seem to belong to the Azov Battalion."
Viktor raised the corners of his mouth at those words.
"The Azov Battalion? Those retarded Nazi bastards?"
"Yes, sir."
"Hehehe."
Viktor laughed lowly.
They use the name battalion, but in reality, they were just a militia.
Slavs who worshiped Nazis, causing all sorts of trouble, Ukraine's troublemakers.
Moreover, they were also guys who would mess with ethnic Russians whenever they felt like it, or crawl into Russia and carry out sabotage.
"It seems like something will come out if we crush these bastards, hm?"
Viktor muttered while tapping the table with his index finger.
"Right. If it's about releasing an evil spirit, we can use a dybbuk box or a cursed object. Hmm. The more I think about it, the more I feel like I should crush these guys."
"I'll look into it."
"No. I know someone for this."
Viktor blocked his subordinate who was stepping forward eagerly and contacted someone.
[ Oh, Viktor. What’s the occasion? ]
The person who received the contact greeted him with a welcoming voice before Viktor could even introduce himself.
"I hear the anti-terrorism unit caught some Ukrainian Nazi bastards?"
[ Yes. ]
"Their custody would have been transferred to you guys, right?"
[ That's right. ]
"There's a bastard I need to catch and crush, and it seems to be related to your work somehow. When you're loosening their tongues, I'd like you to ask my questions too. How about it, is it possible?"
The person on the other end of the phone laughed.
[ Sure. I can do my colleague a favor. ]
* * *
Air can infinitely change its nature depending on the place.
In open places where wind blew frequently, the air became infinitely light and made one feel as if they could fly beyond the sky just by breathing it. And if the right temperature was added, it made each step light and made one feel as if the path was paved with clouds, not even feeling fatigue.
But conversely, air could become infinitely heavy, pressing down and drooping people's bodies, making them look more terrible than cotton soaked in water during the rainy season.
That was exactly how the air inside the bunker was.
Concrete walls.
The concrete of the bunker built during the Soviet Union era seemed to emit a rotten smell by itself, and its uneven surface that seemed to scrape the skin when touched and its smooth but cold feel made the nature of the air cold and droopy.
Just as trees inhaled carbon dioxide and exhaled oxygen, concrete inhaled fresh oxygen and exhaled air that became poison to people, so its breath was truly dark and gloomy. The concrete had traces of black mold remaining, and the water mixed with bleach used to erase it emitted a foul smell.
The smell of corpses emitted by mold dying from bleach was stinging the nose, and the smell was so intense that it evoked the imagination that mold might be seeping into the brain through the nose and eyes.
Mushrooms or moss grew in corners and damp places, and things that looked like disgusting earwigs just by looking at them were seen here and there. The walls of the cramped bunker were so low that one had to slightly bend to walk safely, and doing so made one breathe the air from lower down, making the body feel heavier.
But this heavy and gloomy scenery was the driving force that allowed Russia to move, and the nest that allowed those active as soldiers to stay with peace of mind.
Just as insects make their nests underground, this bunker was a nest for them, and a precious space that allowed them to operate secretly.
"Hey, just call me Bull."
But as cozy as the nest was, its secrecy was equally strong.
In the depths of a bunker that was officially treated as abandoned after the dissolution of the Soviet Union, secret things were happening.
In what looked like a break room, two people who appeared to be Russian were eating cup noodles with plenty of mayonnaise sprinkled on top, and in a place lit by gloomy lighting, there were several people tied up in a spread-eagle position and one Russian who looked mischievous.
"You stupid Khokhol bastards. Isn't it about time you started talking?"
The Russian artificially created a smile while touching the knife scar on his cheek.
One of the tied-up men painfully raised his head, looked at him, and opened his mouth.
"You Moskal vermin bastard... What are you wanting us to say..."
"Oh dear! Our cute Ukrainian retarded Nazi bastard! Shouldn't you be careful with your words?"
The Russian smiled distortedly and pressed his index finger firmly on the man's forehead. Where he was pressing mockingly, a Hakenkreuz used by the Nazis during World War II was clearly tattooed.
"Right, not Moskal but Tatar..."
"Oh, Tatar."
The Russian stiffened his expression at those words.
"It seems you don't know what situation you're in."
The Russian picked up a rope from the table.
At the end of the rope was a knot reminiscent of a fist.
A monkey's fist knot.
It was a knot that could create a bludgeon capable of breaking bricks if stones or metal balls were put inside.
He moved the rope back and forth as if doing a pendulum motion, then struck the knot on the man's crotch.
"Ugh!"
The Ukrainian's waist involuntarily tried to bend from the terrible pain, but because of the rope binding his body, he could only groan in pain without being able to properly bend his body.
"How is it, isn't the taste amazing? It's a method the fish-and-chips bastards used when torturing spies."
"Kuk, kugh."
"So try talking. What kind of sabotage were you trying to do by desperately crawling into Russia, what kind of tricks did you pull. And what relationship do you have with the human sacrifice ritual."
"Hehehe..."
The Ukrainian only grinned at the Russian's threatening words, not uttering a single word.
When the Russian, who had reached the limit of his patience, was about to strike him with the rope again, he opened his mouth.
"You, you're new, aren't you?"
"What?"
"Even a street pickpocket wouldn't talk with such an idiotic method. It wasn't like this in the KGB era, has your skill become so poor because your seniors died drinking radioactive tea? Hehehehe."
Irked by that mockery, the Russian crumpled his face.
"Right. It was pretty stupid."
But it wasn't just the one in charge of torture who was irked by that mockery, as the bald middle-aged man who was eating cup noodles in the break room stood up from his seat.
Thud!
He kicked the shin of the Russian holding the rope with his combat boot. As the Russian lost his balance from the sudden pain, he seemed to get angrier and kicked him a few more times with his combat boot, completely laying him on the floor. And when the Russian fell to the floor, he kicked his face as if kicking a soccer ball.
Thud!
"I told you to do well, but you're just doing stupid things and getting provoked. You're doing a great job. Get up!"
"Yes, sir!"
The Russian who had fallen to the floor got up quickly and stood at attention without even thinking of wiping the nosebleed flowing from his nose, as if used to violence. The middle-aged man whispered softly into the ear of the Russian standing at attention.
"Watch carefully. This is how you extract information."
The middle-aged man stroked his completely bald head once with his right hand and turned towards the Ukrainian.
"You foolish Slav-Nazi bastard. This is something you brought upon yourself."
He said that as if making a threat and then turned to another person.
Where he turned to was a young man with a smooth body who seemed to have just turned 20.
He untied the knots binding the young man's body, grabbed the hair of the young man who collapsed on the floor with a thud, and dragged him to the wall of the bunker.
"Hey. I don't know if your eyes can see well, but look at this mold on the wall. Isn't the shape unusual?"
There was mold on the wall of the bunker.
But what was unusual was that, unlike ordinary mold that spreads across the entire wall, this was forming a shape.
A roundish trace reminiscent of a lollipop.
And a long stick-like shape below it.
It looked as if the resentment of people who died from torture had left traces in the form of mold.
"This product of the old war isn't a good space for people to live. We barely made it a space where we can stay by making all sorts of fuss to remove the mold. But some places, the mold just won't erase no matter what. Even if we pour in pure bleach instead of water mixed with bleach, the mold won't die, and even if we scrape the wall, mold grows again. Even if we install heating wires, mold forms, and it's the same even if we keep burning that part."
The middle-aged man spoke as if explaining to the young man he had caught.
But his voice was quite loud, enough for everyone in the room to hear.
"We could only find out the reason by calling a sorcerer. They say the resentment has settled there because we ground too many arrogant pig bastards like you against the wall. Well, I understood, given how much we ground that even the wall smells rotten."
"Ground...?"
"But you know what? This is really troublesome. Torture, well, there are many methods so it doesn't matter, but there's nothing better than this for us to relieve stress. Especially when we see pretty-faced bastards like you!"
The middle-aged man lightly touched the knife scar on his cheek as if it was throbbing.
It was a proud scar that showed he was from Spetsnaz, made by putting a bayonet in his mouth and piercing through.
The middle-aged man spoke as if declaring to everyone in the room.
"From now on, I'm going to play with you. I'm going to grind your faces against this great concrete legacy of the Soviet like grating on a grater. If you want to talk, talk. I'll just relieve my stress with your faces!"
Baaam!
As if to show it wasn't just words, he strongly bashed the young man's head against the concrete wall. Then a terrible rotten smell that seemed to tear the brain entered the young man's nostrils, and he saw a vision as if the mold was rippling and rejoicing in grinding his face.
No, perhaps it might not be a vision.
Things that killed too many people tended to harbor evil spirits.
That wall that will grind his face might be no different from a cursed object harboring an evil spirit.
"I'll, I'll talk! I'll talk!"
"What?"
"I'll talk!"
At the cry shouting in terror, the middle-aged man grinned and grabbed the young man's hair, starting to drag him to the break room. Then he whispered this into the ear of the Russian maintaining attention posture.
"You have to break down the weakest part first."