Torture Princess: Fremd Torturchen, Vol. 3 Read online

  Copyright

  Translation by Nathaniel Hiroshi Thrasher

  Cover art by Saki Ukai

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  ISEKAI GOMON HIME Volume 3 Fremd Torturchen

  ©Keishi Ayasato 2017

  First published in Japan in 2017 by KADOKAWA CORPORATION, Tokyo.

  English translation rights arranged with KADOKAWA CORPORATION, Tokyo, through TUTTLE-MORI AGENCY, INC., Tokyo.

  English translation © 2020 by Yen Press, LLC

  Yen Press, LLC supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact the publisher. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

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  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Ayasato, Keishi, author. | Ukai, Saki, illustrator. | Thrasher, Nathaniel Hiroshi, translator.

  Title: Torture princess: fremd torturchen / Keishi Ayasato ; illustration by Saki Ukai ; translation by Nathaniel Hiroshi Thrasher.

  Other titles: Isekai gomon hime. English

  Description: First Yen On edition. | New York, NY : Yen On, 2019–

  Identifiers: LCCN 2019005330 | ISBN 9781975304690 (v. 1 : pbk.) | ISBN 9781975304713 (v. 2 : pbk.) | ISBN 9781975304737 (v. 3 : pbk.)

  Classification: LCC PL867.5.Y36 I8413 2019 | DDC 895.63/6—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019005330

  ISBNs: 978-1-9753-0473-7 (paperback)

  978-1-9753-0474-4 (ebook)

  E3-20200109-JV-NF-ORI

  1

  A Town Rejecting Death

  People were being devoured, livestock was gnawed to pieces, and buildings were getting chewed away.

  The capital was being eaten alive.

  There was no other way to describe the cruel simplicity of the events that were unfolding.

  One clear afternoon, a mass of flesh had suddenly exploded forth from the town’s quiet, gloomy mercantile district. It had expanded rapidly, crushing countless buildings and swallowing up whole crowds of bystanders. Although the rotting meat’s expansion eventually slowed, it was continuing to overrun the capital, which until the start of this catastrophe had boasted three-tenths of mankind’s population and had been a center of commerce and politics.

  Those who had just barely avoided the first wave of expansion had frantically sought shelter. However, any who fell behind were soon swallowed up by the subsequent waves of undulating tissue.

  The elderly had desperately struck the mass with their canes, but their efforts were fruitless, and they were swallowed from their trembling ankles up. A dog tied to the eaves of a building barked as it was crushed beneath the advancing pulpy folds. Those too sick to move were engulfed, beds and all.

  And to add to their misfortune, the mass of flesh was alive.

  In other words, anyone consumed by it was either assimilated or transformed.

  The majority of its victims were still alive as they became fused with the writhing mass.

  The surface of its flesh was decorated with the faces of humans, beasts, fish, and bugs—any and all living creatures that had been captured—like some sort of grotesque sculpture. The screams trickling from the victims’ faces were bloodcurdling.

  Oooooooooooohhh… Oooooooooooohhh… Oooooooooooohhh…

  Their voices rang out with intense bitterness toward those who had survived.

  Those who avoided being assimilated soon found an equally harsh fate awaiting them. Their bodies were forcibly warped, ending only when they were ejected as underlings, emerging from the main body to capture prey, be consumed, and then sent forth again, each time being fused together and broken back down.

  Those who had once been human were hunting those who still were.

  All the city’s inhabitants were forced to acknowledge the sheer hopelessness of the situation.

  That, after all, was what demons did. Powerless humans had no means with which to fight back.

  Even so, in order to survive, everyone tried their hardest to flee.

  A desperate fight raged in one corner of the capital. Several residents had escaped to a wide street, but underlings had caught up to the group containing most of the children. One bug-like underling swung its sickle-shaped arm and severed a number of their legs. The wounded, no longer able to flee, were dragged mercilessly toward the awaiting mass. Their desperate cries rang out. However, a strangely calm murmur cut through the noise of the street.

  “Reenactment of the Plain of Skewers: Impaled Victim.”

  The voice was strong and elegant.

  Stab, stab, stab, stab, stab, stab, stab, stab, stab, stab, stab, stab, stab, stab, stab, stab!

  Accompanying the voice was a cloud of dust and a noise loud enough to drown out the caustic howling. Hundreds of iron stakes impaled the underlings, raining a gruesome shower of blood onto the road.

  Trembling from the unexpected development, the people timidly looked up.

  “…Is she…the Saint?” someone muttered in amazement.

  A single young woman stood before them.

  She was beautiful and wore a provocative bondage outfit. Her appearance was like the coming of a messiah or perhaps a tyrant, and her lustrous black hair and dress with scarlet-dyed interior fluttered in the wind.

  Her chest was concealed by thin leather straps but was otherwise practically bare. Her erotic attire was a far cry from that of the Suffering Saint from the people’s faith. However, the beauty and solemnity of the person who had arrived in that hell made it impossible to imagine her as anything but a hallowed figure.

  Hearing the people’s supplicating voices, though, the woman scowled.

  “And just who do you think you’re calling a saint? Hold your tongue if you’re going to refer to me in such a repugnant manner!”

  The woman waved her hand as though shooing away a dog.

  Then she casually shifted her gaze from the group. As she turned to face the band of onrushing underlings, she clicked her tongue in annoyance.

  “Tch, more of them? To have your bodies twisted and warped against your will… How pitiful you creatures are. I shall grant you swift deaths, if naught else.”

  She lifted her face to the sky and extended a pale hand. Swirling darkness and crimson flower petals materialized at her fingertips. Without hesitation, she thrust her hand into the center of the vortex.

  And from there, she drew a long sword.

  “Executioner’s Sword of Frankenthal!”

  With a ringing voice, she called out the sword’s name. As she did, the runes etched on its bloodred blade glinted.

  Their meaning was forcibly drummed in
to the minds of all who looked upon them.

  You are free to act as you will. But pray that God shall be your salvation. For the beginning, the middle, and the end all lie in the palm of His hand.

  “Nail Gun!”

  Shunk, shunk, shunk, shunk, shunk!

  As the woman swung her sword down, the darkness and crimson petals spiraled outward, and rusty nails appeared in their wake, burying themselves in the underlings’ flesh. Chains wove like serpents, snaking their way through gaps in the spiral to mow down any who escaped.

  The people raised cheers of joy. However, the woman turned to shout at them in an icy voice.

  “Why have you stopped, you fools? It is the duty of the weak to flee. So flee. Do not turn to me. Do not rely on me. Do not look up to me—who do you think I am?”

  With one hand on her hip and her crimson eyes shining, the woman gave her haughty introduction.

  “I am the Torture Princess, Elisabeth Le Fanu. I am the proud wolf and the lowly sow.”

  The capital was a place where information gathered, and there was no shortage of educated people among its citizens. The tale of the Torture Princess was well-known, and the people gasped at her declaration. A heavy silence fell over the crowd.

  Someone timidly opened their mouth to speak but was interrupted.

  Gya-gya-gya-gya-gya-gya-gyaa!

  A strange, grating scream split the sky. New underlings began swooping down from the heavens.

  The massive, grotesque crows—whose bodies were riddled with eyeballs—snatched people up from behind with their warped talons. Atrocious screams rang out before falling silent an instant later.

  “—La (dance).”

  A calm voice rang out, and a blade danced through the air. The underlings were all split in two, and their viscera pelted the earth. The people who’d narrowly avoided a grisly fate raised their voices in bewilderment.

  “…Wh-what just, who…? Wh—?”

  A woman who’d just been saved from the crows looked down at her bloodstained hands and lost her breath.

  The only person present who could truly understand what had happened was the Torture Princess. Assailed by confusion, the people began fleeing on their hands and feet.

  Then the sound of combat boots clicking against the ground echoed. The group froze.

  A young man had appeared before them. The hem of his black outfit, which was adorned with red thread, fluttered as he walked.

  The man was thin, and his left arm had been transformed into that of a beast. His faded brown hair had been tied back into a knot, and it matched the color of his eyes. He looked unnaturally composed.

  He turned toward the group, all of whom bore terrified expressions. However, he paid their reactions no heed, instead focusing on confirming with his stern gaze that no more attacks were forthcoming.

  As soon as he finished, he exhaled lightly and scratched his head, visibly relaxing.

  “Phew, looks like that worked… But damn, it still doesn’t feel completely stable. How am I supposed to get better at this?”

  As he grumbled, he waved his right arm around like a conductor’s baton. The blade that had just sliced apart the underlings drifted along and followed the path his hand had taken. The Torture Princess gave the hem of his outfit a quick yank.

  “You know, you’re inspiring no small amount of terror at the moment.”

  The young man’s eyes went wide, and he turned on his heel, flustered. Surveying the group’s expressions, he raised a perplexed voice.

  “Wait, for real? Did I do something suspicious?”

  “‘Suspicious’ hardly begins to describe it. You struck the perfect image of a villain making his entrance back there.”

  “Whaaat…? I mean, I guess I can’t totally deny being a villain, but still, I’m not your enemy, you guys…”

  Hearing that, the group finally let down their guard a bit. They turned inquisitive gazes toward Elisabeth, as though to ask if she knew him. She nodded, then answered.

  “Be at ease. Suspicious as his left arm is, this one is a servant of mine. His name is Kaito, or Sena, or perhaps Kaito Sena.”

  “Thanks a lot for that half-assed introduction. But it doesn’t matter; don’t worry about us.”

  As he waved with his beastly left arm, the man—Kaito Sena—lined up beside Elisabeth, the Torture Princess. The two of them looked to where the mass of flesh was resting.

  A fresh wave of underlings was heading straight toward them.

  Kaito raised his right arm, and Elisabeth clicked her heels.

  “I need you guys to run.”

  Kaito snapped his fingers before murmuring softly.

  “The Torture Princess and the Kaiser’s contractor can take it from here.”

  Then the two of them began slaughtering the underlings.

  Once, at the hands of his cruel father, Kaito Sena’s seventeen years and three months of life had come to an end.

  His death had been as meaningless as a worm’s, one most pitiful, most unseemly, most cruel, and most gruesome. However, after his death, Kaito had been summoned to another world and obtained a second life.

  His summoner had been Elisabeth Le Fanu, the Torture Princess, a terrible sinner who was destined to be executed after killing fourteen demons and their contractors on the Church’s orders.

  During their battles against the demons, Elisabeth had fallen into a trap of the Grand King’s. In order to save her, Kaito had formed a contract with the Kaiser, the highest ranked among the demons and, as a result, had gained the ability to use magic. After fighting alongside an automaton named Hina, who was both his own servant and his bride, he’d successfully restored Elisabeth’s health. However, after they’d successfully taken out the Grand King, the Church informed them of a new crisis.

  The capital was under attack, and around a third of its citizens had been killed, including Godot Deus, one of the Church’s high priests. The city, which was pivotal to the continued survival of humanity, had nearly been destroyed, and at this rate, it would likely fall, along with all its paladins.

  When they’d received that message, Kaito immediately got to work making purin.

  After dissolving sugar in milk, he added egg before mixing and straining it carefully to avoid creating bubbles. Then he poured everything into an earthenware pot and applied heat, cooking it until it reached the appropriate temperature.

  At that point, all he needed to do to complete it was chill it in the ice-spirit fridge.

  “Yup, as always, having the ingredients around is a lifesaver.”

  As he waited for the purin to chill, Kaito murmured to himself.

  In this world, sugar, fresh eggs, and milk were all difficult to obtain without going through major guilds, as they were both the ones who maintained the supply chain and those in possession of ice-spirits. But with the Butcher’s help, reluctant as he may have been, they were able to keep Elisabeth’s castle sufficiently stocked. If not for that, it would have been difficult indeed for Kaito to reproduce purin in this world.

  Huh? Wait, if I hadn’t been able to make purin, wouldn’t that have meant that all my knowledge and experience from my old world was useless? Well, I guess being used to pain came in handy, too.

  Tilting his head to the side, Kaito grabbed the earthenware pot’s chilly handles. Taking extreme care not to put too much strength into his beastly arm, he hurried through the corridor.

  He dashed up the spiral staircase, then opened up the door to the dining room. Within, a chair with ball-and-claw feet was lined up next to the table, which boasted a stately tablecloth.

  Seated at the table was Elisabeth, crossing her elegant legs. Likely having sensed Kaito, she lifted her face and displayed her bored expression. Then her gaze landed on the earthenware pot.

  The next moment, her eyes sparkled with such intensity that cat ears practically sprouted from her head.

  “Oh-ho, it’s complete!”

  “Yeah, I’m all done.”

  With tha
t, Kaito hoisted the pot. In a flash, Elisabeth grabbed a spoon and held it on standby. Her reaction was as innocent as always. However, not long ago, that was a scene Kaito had feared he might never see again. Breathing an internal sigh of relief, Kaito placed the pot in front of Elisabeth and lifted its lid.

  With a “ta-daa,” a massive, jiggling yellow form appeared.

  Elisabeth breathed in its aroma, pleased.

  “Heh-heh, there you are. How pleasantly sticky you seem.”

  “Here, purin, just like I promised. Go on, dig in.”

  “Mm, the wait was killing me… Wait, did we ever make such a promise?”

  “Oh, right. Uh, don’t worry about that.”

  Kaito averted his eyes from Elisabeth. She tilted her head to the side, wondering what in the world he was going on about.

  It had happened right before Kaito made his contract with the Kaiser. When she’d been in a coma due to having the flow of her mana dammed up by Sacrifice, he’d faced her and whispered:

  “You’re probably going to be livid. But I’ve made up my mind, Elisabeth. See you later. When you wake up, I’ll make you some purin.”

  She hadn’t responded. He had almost stroked her cheek, but he’d stopped short, clenched his fists, and left the bedroom.

  Then he had made a contract with the Kaiser.

  Elisabeth didn’t know about that private moment. And Kaito saw no reason to tell her.

  Watching Kaito speak noncommittally, Elisabeth made a strange face before turning back toward the purin. She scooped out a jiggling, sticky spoonful, then stuck it in her mouth.

  “Ah…the texture is excellent… It’s sticky yet smooth…and jiggly… What a fine dish this is. Ah-ha-ha.”

  An earthenware pot can hold a great deal of purin. However, Elisabeth polished it off in mere moments. After cleaning out the pot, she heaved a satisfied sigh.

  “Ah! That was rather splendid. Between this and having activated Hina, your praiseworthy achievements total two.”

  “I see that once again you’re blatantly ignoring all the other work I’ve put in up till now.”

  Elisabeth practically purred in pleasure, radiating the same energy as a cat basking in a sunbeam. Kaito felt like he could almost see cat ears twitching back and forth atop her head.