A Regressor's Bucket List

Chapter 201 : Declaration of the Beastkin Nation (6)

In truth, it was entirely plausible.

Utilizing a few obedient slaves already present as Jailers, rather than employing new external personnel, for the sake of operational efficiency and maintaining the Base Internment Camp's secrecy, wasn't anything particularly special or novel.

It was, in fact, a common practice.

Such things happened frequently, not just in matters related to prisons, but also with prisoners of the War against Demons and in various other fields.

It was a matter of economic viability, one might say.

Seeking operational efficiency naturally led to this very common conclusion.

If possible, using slaves as Jailers was simply the most economical option.

However, regardless of how common such a practice was, it was quite shocking for Tom Hardist.

He knew the direness of the situation, but there were still lines that shouldn't be crossed.

"...I never imagined it would come to this."

It was something he hadn't witnessed during his initial visit to the Northern Base Internment Camp, making it all the more shocking.

"There must be more, right?"

"...I'll only know for sure once I see it. But if they're acting as Sentries, then..."

"..."

Though Sentry was an entry-level position, that was only true in the broader scheme of things; among the lower-ranking duties, it was actually considered somewhat senior.

After all, it involved less direct interaction with the slaves and fewer tasks than Jailers inside the prison, thus posing less threat.

In other words, it meant that a considerable number of Beastkin were already serving as Jailers in the Underground Prison of this Base Internment Camp.

'Perhaps.'

Beyond mere low-ranking Jailers, the entire internment camp might even be run by Beastkin themselves.

Grind—

Tom gritted his teeth.

Though no one was being killed, this was tantamount to what was called kin-slaying.

Witnessing the tragedy of such devastation firsthand made him feel utterly detestable and dissatisfied with himself for having been stuck in the Darkest Dungeon.

"..."

Conversely,

Valencia was the calm one at this moment.

At first glance, one might expect Valencia, as a descendant of the Beastkin Royal Family and a representative of the entire Beastkin race, to be even more enraged by their horrific plight.

Yet, ironically, she felt no strong, direct emotions.

It was regrettable and shocking, yes,

...but that was all.

"For now, let's go down, Thomas."

* * *

As the two had expected, in the underground cave reached by descending the stairs, Beastkin were working as Jailers.

In fact, there wasn't a single human Jailer.

As if by prior agreement, every single Jailer standing throughout the Underground Prison was a Beastkin.

The shock delivered by this sequence of scenes was considerable.

It was enough to make one wonder if Thomas might have broken something in his rage had Valencia not been there.

Thanks to her presence, Tom Hardist was able to clench his teeth, his hands trembling, and suppress his fury.

Thud—

Emerging from the underground stairs, Thomas deliberately made his presence known with a step, drawing the attention of the nearby Jailers.

"...What is it?"

"..."

"Are you slacking off? Suddenly, some outsider—"

And he gestured towards the Jailer who had spoken first.

Wave—

At his relaxed, almost insolent demeanor, the Jailer who appeared to be of the highest rank momentarily furrowed his brow.

"...This bastard, how dare he be so arrogant—"

He then gripped the spear he had leaned against the wall and moved to thrust it at Tom's neck, but—

Whoosh—

"...Huh?"

With a lightning-fast grab and twist of the spear shaft, Tom disarmed him, the Jailer's hands letting go entirely, the spear wrenched away.

A single gesture.

But with that one action, every Jailer in the prison understood the disparity in their power.

"...Are there no procedures here?"

At the low murmur that followed, the Jailer, having roughly grasped the situation, stammered towards Tom.

"Th-that... I mean..."

"Just like those idiot Sentries upstairs."

Whizz—

Tom, keeping his head forward, swiftly gripped the tip of the spear and swung it, thrusting it before the Jailer's eyes.

"...H-heek—!"

"...What is your name?"

"J-Jang, sir."

"I'll remember it. Lead the way."

"Wh-where to...?"

Tom, frowning deeply at the Jailer's question, tugged lightly on the rope and murmured.

"...Can't you tell? A slave escaped from your prison. It's a good thing we found them at our Northern Base Internment Camp, otherwise they would have known your Base Internment Camp's location."

"......!!!"

"I came personally to check how you're managing things, but—"

Tsk—

"With this mess, it's no wonder trouble broke out."

"M-my apologies..."

"If you annoy me one more time, I'll snap your neck."

"...Y-yes, sir!"

"Lead the way. It seems I'll have to see it myself and speak with someone."

The terrified Jailer hastily returned the spear to its place and guided Tom further inside.

"Th-this way, please..."

Slide—

The condition of the Beastkin visible through the bars was horrific.

It was even worse compared to the Northern Base Internment Camp he had visited earlier.

At the Northern Base Internment Camp, there were at least groans of pain or voices protesting unfair imprisonment, but here, the Beastkin in the Base Internment Camp merely lay collapsed with vacant eyes, uttering no sound.

Their eyes were open, but they weren't looking at anything in particular.

They simply stared blankly into space, neglecting their own bodies.

Flick—

Unable to bear watching any longer, Tom gave up surveying his surroundings and fixed his gaze solely on the back of the Jailer's head in front of him.

Trudge, trudge—

How many barred cells confining Beastkin and makeshift stairs had they passed?

A blocked wall appeared, as if they had reached the end of the cave.

And in its center stood a door, just a little taller than Tom.

Then, the Jailer guiding Tom suddenly turned around.

"Uh..."

He then hesitated, drawing out his words, glancing at Tom.

At the Jailer's sudden action, Tom growled a warning once more.

"...I told you I'd snap your neck if you annoyed me one more time. What are you doing not opening it?"

"H-heek!"

With eyes full of fear, he still didn't turn back immediately, hesitating before carefully speaking.

"...Th-the truth is, there's something I haven't told you yet..."

"Speak. If it's nothing important, I'll snap your neck right here and find my way. Replacing a lowlife like you is no trouble at all."

Despite Tom's warning, the Jailer, as if this was something he absolutely had to say, squeezed his eyes shut and blurted out.

"Th-the Warden is currently away!"

"...What?"

At the sudden confession, Tom involuntarily retorted.

This part was not an act.

Even Tom Hardist hadn't considered the possibility that the Warden would be absent.

However, he soon understood the general context.

"...So that's why this Base Internment Camp was such a mess."

Compared to the Northern Base Internment Camp, despite having a larger number of Beastkin, the management system and the soldiers' discipline here were far inferior.

Apart from Tom's incredible acting, the fact that the path to enter here was so lax was proof enough.

At the Northern Base Internment Camp, even if he got beaten, they wouldn't have opened the way so easily.

It wasn't entirely convincing to attribute it solely to the use of Beastkin slaves as Jailers at first glance. But with this new information, it made a certain amount of sense.

If the Warden of the Base Internment Camp was absent, and consequently, management and discipline had slackened, leading to this chaotic state, then the current sloppiness became somewhat understandable.

The Jailer, whether fearing the repercussions that would fall upon him later or Tom's impending wrath, trembled, unable to open his tightly shut eyes.

And towards such a Jailer, Tom quietly asked.

"So, what do you want me to do about it?"

"...Excuse me?"

"If he's gone. Call him back."

The Jailer, turning pale at Tom's words, shook his head, extending both hands to wave them dismissively, but—

"H-how could I possibly..."

"It looks like all the higher-ups are out gallivanting somewhere. At least bring someone of a rank capable of talking to me. They'll probably understand well enough if you tell them the Warden from the Northern Base Internment Camp came personally."

Bang—

Tom, pushing the Jailer aside with his hand and throwing the door open, turned his head slightly to announce,

"...I'll give you three hours."

Slam—!

And with that, he shut the door.

* * *

The development that the Base Internment Camp's Warden was absent was entirely unexpected.

"...Good."

In fact, it was rather a good thing for Valencia.

What Valencia wanted wasn't a conversation with the Warden, but a more explicit and realistic understanding of the Base Internment Camp's true state.

Of course, hearing it directly from the Warden was an option, but

to operate a slave internment camp of this scale, there would undoubtedly be records for the slaves, whether for reporting or for some other purpose.

If there were no people, reading the records would suffice.

"..."

Entering the Warden's office, Valencia pulled back her hood and began rummaging through the somewhat crude and poorly maintained office.

"...Are you looking for something, Princess?"

"Yes. Could you look for any thick books, Thomas? I'd like to see if there are any records."

Rummage, rummage—

Valencia had her own reasons for wanting to know more about the Base Internment Camp's true state.

If there were no reasons, there would have been no need to go through the trouble of infiltrating the Underground Prison with her wrists tied, when she could have simply swept the place clean using force, as they had done at the Northern Base Internment Camp.

'...'

Watching Tom rage at the sight of the slaves in the Northern Base Internment Camp, Valencia felt a sense of unease.

How to describe it?

She didn't feel the same boiling emotions that Tom Hardist did.

For a moment, she thought it was right for herself, Valencia, who represented the entire Beastkin Nation, to feel a deeper emotion, be it affection or rage.

Yet, strangely, Valencia felt nothing while looking at the Beastkin's horrific plight.

No, to be precise, it wasn't that she felt absolutely nothing.

Though it was difficult to pinpoint exactly, a series of emotions that one would normally feel seemed to be blocked, like water held back by a dam.

She could sense that some emotion must have been felt in a muffled way, but in reality, it felt as if that emotion was something separate from her.

Her heart wasn't in it, as if it were someone's else's problem.

...That was why.

Unable to shake the thought that it was strange, Valencia had decided to infiltrate, wondering if things would be different if she witnessed more explicit scenes and experiences.

"...I found it."

[Eastern Internment Camp Report Log]

In short, it was the reason she realized something was missing within herself.