NenMaster
patreon
Chapter 114
🕑 Added 2024-12-15 16:00:11 +0000 UTCHe not only couldn’t control his mouth but also couldn’t stop his hands, desperately trying to cover his lips as if they had a will of their own.
Once he finished speaking, the room fell into a deathly silence.
Every face, still pale with fear, now bore an expression of morbid curiosity, as though they were staring at a walking corpse.
“I-I-I…”
The man stammered, struggling to find his voice again and prepare some excuse.
But Morin didn’t give him the chance.
Bang!
Another gunshot rang out. A grotesque burst of crimson bloomed on the man’s forehead, and he fell to the ground, joining the others who had met the same fate.
“As I’ve said before, time is precious. Let’s not waste it,” Morin stated calmly, his tone as composed as ever.
“You’ve all seen what happens to liars,” he continued. “And most importantly, I have the means to verify whether you’re telling the truth or not.”
“So, keep it simple—state the worst thing you’ve done, and nothing else. If you cooperate, it’ll be better for everyone.”
With that, Morin casually swiveled the gun and pointed it at a plump noblewoman trying to stifle her gasp.
The noblewoman, upon realizing the barrel was aimed at her, turned pale with fright, her face contorted in sheer terror.
Before Chagrahma could even bring over the Truth Sticker, the woman began spilling everything, her words tumbling out like beans from an overturned jar.
She confessed to numerous horrific acts, including but not limited to: hiring thugs to destroy the reputation of a maid favored by her husband, leading to the maid’s abandonment and eventual death in the wilderness; and setting fire to the home of her husband’s mistress, killing the mistress, her parents, and her children.
Each of these deeds was more heinous than the last, far surpassing the crimes of the now-dead bearded man.
“Good. At least you’re honest,” Morin said with an air of indifference.
“All you need to do now is find someone in this room who has done worse things than you, and you’re off the hook.”
“I accuse the Countess of Kanyece Duchy!” the plump woman suddenly shouted, pointing her pudgy finger toward an older woman with a sharp, mean look on her face.
“All the terrible things I’ve done—I learned them from her! She taught me the methods and even carried out some of them herself. Her sins far outweigh mine!”
The countess turned as pale as a ghost, her face frozen in shock.
“I-I-I… No! It’s not true! You’re lying!” she stammered, trying to deny the accusations.
Her weak protests, however, only made it more evident that the plump woman’s claims were true.
“I’ll determine the truth myself,” Morin said coolly.
Chagrahma immediately stepped forward and affixed the Truth Sticker to the countess.
The next moment, the older woman began to spill her darkest secrets.
As it turned out, the plump woman’s accusations were accurate—the countess’s sins were indeed more numerous and vile.
“Congratulations,” Morin said, addressing the plump noblewoman. “You’re the first lucky participant to survive this game.”
He gestured with the gun for her to move aside. “Now, stand over there to the far right. That’s where the survivors will be.”
“Really?!”
The noblewoman was so overwhelmed with relief that she burst into tears. “Thank you! Thank you!”
She hurriedly wiped her eyes while repeatedly expressing her gratitude. Her bulky frame seemed at odds with her surprising agility as she quickly moved to the designated area.
“You…”
The countess of Kanyece Duchy glared at the plump woman with a mix of fury and betrayal.
She had trusted the woman, even shared her own “tricks” for running a household. Yet, at this critical moment of life and death, she had been betrayed.
Her rage toward the plump woman far surpassed her hatred for Morin, the captor who had orchestrated the entire ordeal.
How ironic.
One victim expressed gratitude to her captor for sparing her life, while the other directed all her anger at a fellow captive who had turned on her.
This marked the beginning of a chain reaction.
Seeing that Morin truly didn’t harm those who cooperated, the other guests began to regain their composure and muster the courage to speak.
The countess, despite her high status, proved no exception.
Like all aristocrats, she had an insatiable love for gossip. She effortlessly exposed the scandalous secrets of a minister who had abandoned his wife and child to marry the daughter of a high-ranking official.
This minister later conspired to murder both the official and his daughter, using their resources to climb the political ladder to his current position of power.
Her knowledge of the situation was so detailed because the perpetrator was her own brother.
Yes, in this moment of peril, the countess had no hesitation in selling out her sibling.
What followed was another round of chaos and finger-pointing.
The aristocrats and ministers, once united by their noble status, began tearing into one another with ferocity.
Their confessions were far more sensational than any street brawl among commoners, offering a grotesque yet fascinating spectacle.
The intricate web of alliances and rivalries among the nobles, forged through countless intermarriages, ensured that everyone had dirt on everyone else.
One by one, they revealed the skeletons in each other’s closets, detailing acts of betrayal, corruption, and cruelty in vivid detail.
Even if someone couldn’t articulate their case, in desperation, they might still resort to random accusations based on rumors they’d heard before.
And those rumors? Most of them turned out to be true.
No one understands nobles better than other nobles.
And the ones who wish them dead the most? That’s also the nobles themselves.
Even within families that appear harmonious on the surface—between fathers and sons, husbands and wives, brothers and sisters—the accusations and insults flew unabated.
Morin was both astounded and entertained by the endless parade of familial dramas. He was utterly engrossed in the nobles’ sordid affairs.
Truly, the saying “noble circles are a mess” wasn’t an exaggeration.
These nobles really took the term "chaotic" to a whole new level, showcasing behaviors that broadened Morin’s horizons and made him feel he’d seen it all.
“These idiots...”
Luzurus’s eye twitched. “They actually naïvely believe that this guy will let them off the hook.”
“This is clearly a setup. He outright said it himself—he’s playing a game with our lives on the line!”
“Do they really think that just by pointing out someone worse than themselves, they’ll escape unscathed?”
“Dream on! He never planned to spare them in the first place!”
Though Luzurus couldn’t predict Morin’s next move, he saw through the overall situation perfectly.
And indeed, Morin planned exactly as Luzurus suspected.
Earlier, in the late queen’s chambers, Morin not only inquired about the Dark Continent from Sheugramma but also gathered information about the guests present.
The conclusion? If he killed everyone there, he might wrongfully accuse a few.
But if he lined them up and killed every other person, plenty of guilty ones would still slip through the cracks!
Judging by how they were accusing one another now, the things these nobles had done were downright monstrous.
After a round of mutual accusations, one person emerged as unable to name anyone worse than himself.
“N-no! It’s not me!!”
The person singled out was a bald, middle-aged man with a pencil mustache. His lips trembled as he stammered in protest:
“There must be someone worse than me! I don’t even know half the people here!”
“It’s not that there’s no one worse—it’s just that I couldn’t find them!”
Facing the threat of death, he desperately tried to defend himself.
“But the fact remains that you couldn’t find anyone worse,” Morin said, leveling his gun at the man. “If you’re playing the game, you follow the rules.”
“Who wanted to play this damned game?!”
Realizing he couldn’t escape, the man’s eyes turned red as he hysterically shouted:
“If you hadn’t put a gun to our heads, who’d risk their lives to play along with your twisted game?!
“Who do you think you are, forcing us to accuse each other like this?!
“Do you think you’re some kind of righteous hero? No, you’re not!
“You’re just a sadistic control freak, enjoying the sight of us, the so-called elite, being humiliated to satisfy your warped sense of superiority!
“No matter what power you have over us now, you’re still nothing but a lowly insect, trash!!”
He vented his frustration with reckless abandon.
When he finished, his heavy breathing was audible, each exhale like a cloud of fog in the air.
The entire room fell silent, watching the bald man’s performance with wide eyes and dropped jaws.
Even Luzurus was stunned by the scene.
However, instead of being shocked by the outburst, Luzurus merely found it an annoying dog’s bark—nothing more than the whimpering of a loser.
The man’s position was clear: no matter Morin’s identity or motives, right now, Morin held his life in his hands.
And no matter what came next, the bald man was doomed to die.
“Done talking?” Morin asked, indifferent to the tirade.
He didn’t need to hear more to confirm the man was a loser.
Morin looked at him with a mix of pity and amusement.
“I’m a bandit. I’ve got a gun, and I’m toying with you. Isn’t that what bandits do?”
He sneered. “As for your other claims—yeah, I’m not here to play the hero. But you think any of you represent ‘justice’? Don’t make me laugh.”
Shaking his head dismissively, he said, “Why would I waste time talking to a dead man?”
Before the bald man could spew more nonsense, Morin pulled the trigger, ending him.
“But he wasn’t entirely wrong about one thing.”
Morin glanced around the room, where the guests had split into two groups.
One group gathered on the right, having successfully accused others of worse deeds and believing they’d escaped Morin’s gun.
The second group remained in place, unable to continue the accusations and left standing with the bald man’s corpse.
“It’s not that there are no worse people here; you just couldn’t find them,” Morin declared. “So, I’ll give you another chance.”
With a flourish, he spun his gun theatrically.
“Those of you still standing, keep going. Accuse each other until only one person is left. If you succeed, the rest can move to the right, and only one will die.”
“But if someone interrupts the process again, like our late friend here...” He motioned to the bald man’s body.
“That person will die, and the rest of you will start over until there’s no ambiguity left.”
“Understood?!”
The remaining people nodded hastily.
Morin pointed at someone at random to begin.
As the accusations resumed, Morin found himself numbed by the endless litany of noble sins.
Their depravity no longer shocked him. Instead, it felt inevitable.
“Maybe this is just the nature of nobles. I’d prepared myself for this world, so nothing they do surprises me anymore,” Morin thought.
Morin had no delusions about being a good person.
If he were, why would he associate with the Phantom Troupe and kill without hesitation?
Living in this world felt like playing a live-action game to him—he was the player, and everyone else was just NPCs.
Only people like Machi, Pakunoda, Biscuit, or Kastro, his apprentice, truly mattered to him.
Everyone else? Just background characters.
Still, he didn’t consider himself a lunatic or sadist. He killed when necessary but didn’t revel in it.
If anything, Morin thought he resembled Killua—a pragmatist driven by personal goals.
Hunter x Hunter’s world was a cruel one, filled with morally ambiguous people. Even its protagonists, Gon and Killua, weren’t pure-hearted heroes.
If Morin had to define his moral stance, he’d say he stood in the gray area between light and shadow.
Though the world was brutal, he wouldn’t let it drag him into utter darkness.
As a member of the Phantom Troupe, and one of its leaders, he’d ensure the atrocities that originally transpired in the Troupe’s story—like the massacre of the Kurta Clan—never came to pass.
Just as he’d changed Kastro’s fate, he believed he could alter the Phantom Troupe’s destiny too.
Lost in thought, Morin snapped back to reality as chaos erupted among the accusations.
“I’ve done nothing particularly heinous!”
Prince Luzurus declared calmly.
“Liar!”
His accuser, a sycophantic man with slicked-back hair, screamed in outrage.
Moments ago, the man had been bowing and scraping to Luzurus, but now, in the face of death, he stabbed him in the back without hesitation.
“You’re the prince of a mighty nation like Kakin! How could you not have skeletons in your closet?”
“Unlike your brother,” Luzurus retorted, “I have no interest in such things.”
Yet even he had to admit, given his siblings’ reputations—his tyrannical older brother, his deranged sister, and his sadistic, organ-harvesting sibling—this was a hard claim to defend.
He sighed. “At least I’m not like them.”
