Marcel struggled violently, the alloy locks rattling under his pulling, yet they remained unmoved:
"What right do you have to judge me?!"
"Do you think you're strong? Do you think you can represent justice?"
"Let me tell you—in this world, only one's beloved is the most important thing!"
"For the sake of the person one loves, doing anything is justice!"
"Those girls? They were nothing but ordinary, insignificant lives!"
"Being the cornerstone of Vigneire's resurrection is their honor!"
"I remembered their contributions!"
"I've already compensated their families!"
"I gave them so, so much Mora!!"
"That's fair! Isn't it?!!"
Finally, King spoke.
His voice was not loud, even somewhat flat, yet it was like a cold scalpel, precisely cutting into the core of Marcel's insane rhetoric:
"Fair?"
He repeated the word, the corners of his mouth curling into a faint, yet mocking arc:
"Trading the lives of twenty-seven innocent girls for one 'Vigneire' of your own."
"You call this fair?"
Marcel faltered, then became even more agitated:
"That was the necessary sacrifice of supporting characters! It was the price that must be paid for the protagonist's great love!"
"Love?"
King took a step forward.
Just one step.
But the air in the entire interrogation room solidified and sank with this step.
"You are fit to talk about love?"
His voice remained steady, but began to carry a heavy, alloy-grinding texture:
"Your lover, Vigneire."
"More than a decade ago, while exploring ruins related to the Primordial Sea, she was accidentally dissolved by high-concentration primordial seawater, and her consciousness was trapped within the pure water."
With every sentence King spoke, Marcel's face paled a little more.
These secrets, which should only have been known to him, were now being laid out one by one by the man before him in such a flat tone, making him feel a sense of horror.
"You couldn't accept her 'death,' so you began frantically researching ways to separate consciousness and reshape the physical body."
"You slowly dissolved Fontaine girls using diluted primordial seawater, stripping away their'souls' and 'life energy,' observing the changes within, hoping to find a way to reverse it."
King took another step forward, only two meters away from Marcel.
His gaze was like a physical ice pick, piercing into Marcel's pupils:
"But the experiment required too many 'materials.'"
"So, you began to select targets with premeditation."
"Young, healthy girls who had some resemblance to the Vigneire in your memory."
"You used your identity as a chamber of commerce president as a cover to approach the victims, gain their trust, and gather information."
"Then, at the right moment, you lured and kidnapped them, bringing them to the secret laboratory beneath the Fleuve Cendre."
"You tied them to specially made chairs, using diluted primordial seawater to dissolve their bodies, bit by bit."
"You recorded their reactions every second—the screaming, the crying, the begging, the cursing."
"You watched them change from complete 'people' into a pool of murky liquid carrying chaotic consciousness."
"Then, you collected these 'materials,' attempting to'sculpt' Vigneire's appearance with them."
"Again and again, failure, catching more, dissolving again, trying again."
"Seventeen years, twenty-seven girls; their consciousness and pain, up until two hours ago, still lingered in the primordial seawater, unable to be released."
King's voice never raised, but every word was like a heavy hammer, smashing fiercely against Marcel's nerves, and through the one-way glass, smashing into the hearts of everyone listening outside.
Furina closed his eyes, his body trembling slightly.
Veins bulged on the back of Clorinde's hand.
Lynette's cat ears stood up high.
Lumine's knuckles were clenched white.
Paimon was already crying, sobbing softly: "Demon... this demon..."
Charlotte's face was deathly pale, but he gritted his teeth hard, his Kamera aimed at the interrogation room, the lens trembling slightly, but the recording never stopped.
Neuvillette still stood straight, but in those cold blue eyes, a storm was gathering.
Inside the interrogation room, Marcel's face was twisted to the extreme.
With all his disguises and excuses completely stripped away, exposed to such a naked, cold narrative of the truth, his self-hypnotic "Great Love Theory" began to crumble.
In its place was the most primal anger and fear.
"Shut up! You shut up!"
He roared madly, trying to use volume to cover his guilty conscience:
"What do you know?! You don't understand the feelings between Vigneire and me at all!"
"We loved each other so much... we were supposed to live happily together!"
"It is this world that was unfair to her! It is fate that was cruel to her!"
"I just wanted to correct this mistake! I just wanted to take back what belongs to me!"
"Those girls... they would have died sooner or later anyway!"
"Died of illness, died of old age, accidental death!!"
"Since they were going to die anyway, why couldn't they contribute a little value to the greatest love in this world?!"
"I gave their families Mora, more Mora than they could earn in a lifetime!"
"They should feel honored! Their deaths were meaningful!"
King listened quietly to his barking.
Listened quietly as this madman used the most "affectionate," most righteous tone to recount the ugliest, most despicable "love" in this world.
Until Marcel roared until his voice was hoarse, panting heavily as he stopped.
Then, King slowly spoke, his voice no longer steady, but carrying a trace of chill, as if from an ancient glacier, that had not been there before:
"Are you finished?"
Marcel glared at him, his chest heaving violently.
King shook his head slightly.
It was not disappointment, nor was it pity.
It was an extreme disgust after completely seeing through some dirty essence.
"You keep saying, 'Love is great.'"
"Then let me ask you—"
King's gaze was like the most precise scalpel, dissecting every layer of Marcel's disguise:
"Vigneire, if she knew that her 'resurrection' was built on the foundation of twenty-seven innocent girls being cruelly dissolved and wailing in endless pain until 'death'—"
"What would she think?"
"That kind, gentle Vigneire who would tear up even when a small animal was hurt."
"Would she be grateful to you?"
"Or would she think that you are even more terrifying than the primordial seawater that dissolved her?"
Marcel's pupils constricted suddenly!
King's words were like a poison thorn, precisely piercing into the corner of his heart he least wanted to touch, the one he feared the most!
"No... Vigneire would understand... She would understand my heart..."
He muttered, his eyes beginning to lose focus, but he was still struggling.
"She must understand!"
"I love her!"
"I earned so much Mora for her!"
"I dedicated seventeen years to her!"
"I killed so many people for her!"
"I did so much for her!!!!!"
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