Outside the heavy alloy door of the interrogation room is a one-way observation window.
Behind the window, several gazes were coldly watching this madman who had fallen into his own world.
Neuvillette stood tall and straight before the observation window, hands folded over the top of his cane, his blue pupils frozen with a coldness like ten-thousand-year-old ice.
As the Iudex, he had seen too many criminals.
But an extreme paranoid like Marcel, who treated so many innocent lives as experimental materials... he was simply worse than a beast!!
Furina stood beside Neuvillette.
He had already changed out of that hunting suit and put back on the blue and white formal dress that symbolized his status as the Hydro Archon.
Only, the joy and flamboyance he usually maintained deliberately were no longer on his face.
His heterochromatic eyes stared fixedly at Marcel inside the interrogation room, his nails digging deep into his palms, leaving several crescent-shaped red marks.
Clorinde and Lynette stood at the very back, one on the left and one on the right.
Clorinde's hand was always on his sword hilt, his eyes sharp as a knife, ready at any moment to rush in and tear that beast into a thousand pieces.
Lynette was expressionless, his pair of pale purple cat-like eyes dim and lifeless, a cold killing intent permeating his surroundings.
Lumine and Paimon were also on the side.
Paimon was rarely not noisy, just floating beside Lumine, his small hand tightly clutching the corner of Lumine's clothes, his large eyes full of rage.
Lumine's amber eyes were like a volcano about to erupt, suppressing a surging killing intent—
If this weren't Meropide Hold, he might have already charged in.
And at the very front of everyone, there was another special figure.
Charlotte, the ace reporter for "The Steambird," was currently so excited that his cheeks were flushed red.
He tightly gripped his favorite Kamera in his hand, his fingertips trembling slightly from the force.
In those eyes that were always full of curiosity and vitality, a flame mixed with anger, killing intent, professional duty, and a sense of mission was currently Burning.
As the only media representative permitted to enter this place, he deeply understood the responsibility he bore—
He had to record everything happening here, the true face of the demon behind the Serial Disappearances of Young Women, and the trial of justice, completely and truthfully, to inform all the people of Fontaine!
"Lord Furina, Lord Neuvillette."
Charlotte took a deep breath, trying to keep his voice calm like a professional reporter, but a slight tremor still betrayed the turbulence in his heart:
"The people have already gathered outside the Opera House, demanding severe punishment for the murderer and a public disclosure of the results."
"Everyone has no doubt about Lord King's identification!"
"Now we are just waiting for the final evidence and the murderer's confession."
Neuvillette nodded slightly, his gaze never leaving the interrogation room:
"The chain of evidence is undergoing final verification. The laboratory under the Fleuve Cendre has been brought under control, and the relevant records and... the Damselette remains are being inventoried."
He paused, his voice turning a few degrees colder:
"As for the confession?"
"Whether he admits it or not is no longer important; the evidence is as solid as a mountain..."
"I want him to say it with his own mouth."
Furina suddenly spoke, his voice a bit raspy, yet exceptionally firm:
"Not for the sake of conviction; his crimes are already certain, and dying a hundred times would not be enough to atone."
"But... for those girls, for their families, I need a clear 'ending'."
Just then, steady footsteps came from the end of the corridor.
Everyone turned their heads at the same time.
King walked over.
He had already changed out of that blue windbreaker soaked in the sea breeze.
His damp black hair had been casually wiped, still with a bit of moisture.
There was no expression on his face, still that slightly fierce and indifferent look.
When he approached, everyone could feel—
Something was different.
It wasn't a deliberately released pressure, nor was it the roar of the "emperor engine."
Rather, it was something more restrained, more heavy.
Like a silent volcano, the magma inside was boiling, yet all the heat and explosion were suppressed beneath the cold outer shell of the mountain.
Every step King took carried some unspeakable weight, making the air become thick.
His gaze swept across the people behind the observation window, lingering slightly on Furina's slightly reddened eyes, and then turned to Neuvillette.
"I'm going in."
Three simple words, not a question, but a statement.
Neuvillette gazed at King for a moment, then slowly nodded:
"Of course."
"Do it your way, Mr. King."
"Please do not have any psychological pressure."
"Because you have already done well enough."
Furina took a step forward, seeming to want to say something, but in the end just bit his lip hard and said in a low voice:
"Please, Mr. King, let them... rest in peace."
King looked at him and gave a slight nod.
Then, he turned toward that heavy alloy door.
Clorinde stepped forward and operated the identification device on the side of the door.
The complex mechanical locks popped open in sequence, making a dull "click" sound.
The heavy door slid to one side, revealing a gap only wide enough for one person to pass through.
King took a step and walked inside.
The door closed silently behind him... inside the interrogation room.
The sound of the door opening startled Marcel out of his muttering.
He suddenly looked up, his clouded eyes staring fixedly at the doorway.
When he saw that it was King who walked in, an expression mixed with hatred, fear, and a crazed inquisitiveness instantly erupted on his distorted face.
"It's you..."
Marcel's voice was raspy and dry, like sandpaper rubbing against metal:
"King... 'fontaines strongest'... 'Guardian'..."
A ho-ho strange laugh came from his throat, and the chains rattled as his body trembled:
"Why? Why did you have to meddle in others' business?!"
"I don't even know you! I've never offended you!"
"Those girls... those experimental materials... what do they have to do with you?!"
"What right do you have to destroy over ten years of my life's work?! What right?!"
His voice grew higher and higher, until at the end it was almost a roar, spittle spraying from the corners of his mouth, his eyes bloodshot:
"I just wanted to save my Vigneire! I just wanted him to come back!"
"Those girls, they are young, healthy, and full of vitality... they are perfect 'materials'!"
"Using their forms and lives to trade back my Vigneire... what's wrong with that?!"
"Isn't love the greatest thing in this world, the thing most worth giving everything for?!"
"What do you know? A monster like you who only knows how to swing his fists, what do you know about love?!"
King stopped at a distance of three meters from Marcel.
This distance was neither far nor near, just outside the range of Marcel's spittle.
He didn't respond to Marcel's hysterical questioning, but just looked at him quietly.
In those deep eyes, Marcel's crazed and distorted face was reflected, yet there was no ripple of emotion.
As if looking at a dead object.
This silent gaze made Marcel feel more uneasy and angry than any verbal abuse.
"Speak! You monster!"