by Neven Iliev
He quickly added ‘knows 4-armed demon’ to his notes.
“What is your relationship with it?”
“She is my thing.”
He circled the words ‘perverted box’ and underlined them. He then raised an eyebrow at his own ‘notes.’
“How are either of those ‘your things,’ exactly?”
“Contracted to me.”
“ … You’re the summoner?”
“Yes.”
“So you’re a Warlock?”
“Yes.”
“…”
The human went silent for a few seconds, then abruptly stood up and walked away somewhere, outside the Mimic’s line of sight. There was the sound of a door opening and some distant voices were heard, but Boxxy couldn’t make out anything intelligible. Edward returned a few moments later and took his seat, then continued the interrogation.
“Who taught you how to summon her?”
“Carl.”
“Does he have a last name?”
“Don’t know.”
“Uh-huh, and where is this Carl?”
“…”
The Mimic hesitated for a moment, as it had never really thought about that before. Where was that guy? Was he really in the Beyond? That was where demons normally resided, but Carl seemed to have access to something physical that made clacking noises. Such a thing could not exist in a place that was supposedly made up of dreams, nightmares, and loose thoughts. Then, was he in the material realm? Or some other place?
“Answer me!” yelled Edward, completely derailing the Mimic’s train of thought.
“Ack! I don’t know!”
The Spymaster wrote down ‘Carl – Warlock mentor??’ in his notes and circled it.
“When did you contract this fiend!”
“Twenty-two days ago! I think!”
“You think?”
“It was dark! Inside!” explained the scared monster. “Not sure of actual day! Please, no more yelling!”
“…”
The Spymaster regained his composure at the sight of the Mimic swaying back and forth in fear while shaking the pale white head sticking out of it. It was oddly pathetic, almost innocent in some weird way. Edward had unwittingly put too much force behind his voice when he heard the monster say ‘twenty-two days ago.’ He could be forgiven for getting excited though, as that was the same day the Calamity happened.
He wrote in ‘fiend contract – before or after CoM?’ in his notebook.
Of course, he wasn’t simply taking the monster’s word on all this stuff. Edward was in possession of an Ultimate Skill called Eyes of Truth, which he obtained when his Rogue Job hit Level 100. It let him pierce the veil on any deception and easily see through both audible and visible lies. That was how he was able to instantly see through the succubus’s disguise the day before and apprehend her. It was a powerful ability well-suited to his line of work, but he kept it a secret from the rest of the world for three reasons.
The first of those was religion. If the temples knew he had obtained a Skill that was so in tune with the Goddess Teresa herself, he’d probably get dragged into all sorts of theological nonsense he wanted no part in. Such things would do nothing but waste his valuable time and attract unwanted attention that interfered with his work. Plus, he was never a particularly pious or god-fearing man anyway, so mingling with the clergy was more or less the opposite of his idea of a good time.
The second reason was politics. He knew first-hand that nobles were creatures who lied all the time in order to protect their various interests. Which wasn’t to say it was always out of ill-will, as even the righteous ones had secrets they wished to protect. If they knew of Edward’s flawless lie detector, they would likely plot against him or his office, which in turn would just open up more pointless work for the Spymaster to deal with. Much like with the clergy, having to ‘entertain’ the nobility was too much of a nuisance.
The third reason was effectiveness. If word spread of his Ultimate Skill, then that would make it much harder to use. People would choose their words far more carefully or lie by omission and misdirection. Erosa’s recent troubles with that nun and her ‘cousin’ were a prime example of how one could skirt the truth.
Speaking of which.
“What of the disappearance of sister Lyo Rosetta? Did you have anything to do with her?”
“Who?”
“The nun that purportedly stole the Holy Pearl.”
“I don’t know such a person.”
This was, of course, the truth. Boxxy did know of a succubus that stole a Holy Pearl, but it knew nothing about a nun doing something like that. The old human stared at it for a few seconds before jotting down a note saying that case was probably unrelated. Having warmed up sufficiently, he moved on to the meat of the matter.
“What do you know of the Calamity of Monotal?”
“What’s a Monotal? Is it tasty?”
“ … You don’t know about that place?”
“No.”
The gears started spinning in the Spymaster’s head. That statement was not a lie, but it didn’t mean it was true, either. Perhaps it knew the place by another name, so Edward altered his line of questioning.
“Have you ever been inside another city before coming here?”
“Where’s here?”
“Erosa.”
“What’s an Erosa? Is it tasty?”
The Spymaster took a deep breath.
“It’s the city where I captured you.”
“Oh.”
“…”
The two stared at each other for a while in total silence.
“Well?”
“What?”
“So have you ever been to another city besides Erosa or not?”
“No.”
“Then where were you before coming here?”
“On the road.”
“Haaah … Where did you live before moving to Erosa?”
The Mimic paused for a moment to consider this question. Did it actually live anywhere? It had been pretty much homeless ever since it got out of the dungeon, so technically speaking, that was its last place of residence.
“Litigar Dungeon Complex.”
“So, you were born in that dungeon?”
“Yes.”
“Why did you leave it?”
“Got hungry.”
‘Sweeper?’ was swiftly added to the list.
“Have you seen the human city near that dungeon?”
“Yes.”
The old Spymaster felt a bit of tension leaving his shoulders. Now they were getting somewhere.
“That place is the city of Monotal.”
“Oh.”
“So you know of it after all?”
“ … Yes.”
“Did you know it was destroyed?”
“Yes.”
“How did you know it was gone?”
“Saw the smoke cloud.”
“Did you have anything to do with that?”
“No.”
The monster had just lied for the first time in this interview, though Edward was not surprised. Right now this creature’s life rested entirely in the hands of a human, and it did not want to openly admit to murdering thousands of his kind. It was clearly a moron, but even it wasn’t that stupid. Rather than being infuriated, however, the Spymaster was actually delighted. He had finally gotten a real lead on that troublesome case, and the faster he cracked it, the sooner he would be able to get out of here and back to the capital.
“Were you the one who destroyed it?” he asked.
“No.”
This one wasn’t a lie, a fact that immediately put a damper on the man’s rising mood. As for why his Ultimate Skill had deemed it so, it was because the truth was a more subjective thing than one might think. If someone held a misinformed opinion without knowing it and shared it out loud, then his words would be honest, regardless of being factually incorrect.
In this case, Boxxy legitimately believed from the bottom of its soul th
at it was not responsible for the destruction of Monotal. It was that giant shiny core and the mysterious ‘voice’ behind it that were the real culprits. After all, the dungeon was close enough that the city would’ve been vaporized regardless of whether the Mimic dumped the thing on them. So while it wasn’t completely unrelated to the incident, it failed to see how any of that was its fault.
Its ability to wholeheartedly deflect blame like this was a truly frightening thing.
Edward didn’t give up so easily, though. This box knew something, so he decided to keep asking questions until he got the information he wanted.
“Did you order your familiar to destroy it, then?”
“No.”
Another truth. In this instance, Boxxy had ordered Arms to roll a ball into a city. The destruction sort of happened after that.
“Did you order anyone to destroy that city?”
“No.
“Did someone tell you to make sure it was destroyed?”
“Make sure what was destroyed?”
“The city!”
“What about it?”
“Were you working with anyone to help you destroy the city of Monotal!”
“Oh! No.”
“Then – are you affiliated with an elven witch in any way?”
“What’s an affiliated? Is it tasty?”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!”
*CLANG*
The Spymaster had finally lost his cool and leapt out of his chair, punching the obsidian cage. It rattled and the metal bar he hit even bent slightly from the impact. It also reacted like any electrified surface would when something conductive made contact with it.
*BDZT*
“Gah!”
[You have been shocked by a jolt of electricity. HP -25.]
“Mother fucker that stung!” he cursed as he shook his shocked fist.
Relatively speaking, the jolt was completely insignificant, but that didn’t mean the sudden bolt of pain had been a pleasant one. Edward took a few deep breaths to calm himself. The answers were not an issue; he just had to ask the right question. Deciding to change up his approach yet again, he reached into his tunic and took out a rolled-up parchment.
“Okay, look, do you know this person?”
He unfurled it in front of his prisoner, revealing the expertly drawn image of a stern-looking middle-aged elf woman. She had short, spiky hair and a deep vertical scar across her left eye. This was an artist’s rendition of the culprit thought to be the main perpetrator behind the act, courtesy of Bernard Samson’s testimony.
“No.”
Again, not a lie.
“ … Is this succubus – this Snack - also your familiar?”
“Yes.”
“Did you tell her to disguise herself as an elf?”
“No.”
The man kept going back and forth, exploring the possibility of the succubus pretending to be his suspect, but couldn’t get any confirmation. He rightfully felt like was on the right track, but Boxxy had no idea that Xera had gone and done something like that. As such, Edward was completely unable to grasp the connection between the woman in the picture and the box in front of him and was forced to drop that line of questioning. He also considered the possibility of this succubus acting on her own, but he had no way of confirming that.
“Do you at least know what happened to the city?”
“What city?”
Edward took another deep breath. These endless questions were getting on his nerves. Normally his Silver Tongue Skill would have his prisoners spilling their guts all on their own, but it seemed ineffective on this particular monster. The way it randomly ignored the context within the conversation was especially troublesome.
“How was the city of Monotal destroyed?”
“It blew up.”
“AAARGH!”
*CLANG*
*BDZT*
“Ghah!”
This was incredibly infuriating. Something about this moronic box ticked off the Spymaster immensely. It was partly his own fault, though. He had briefly forgotten that his Ultimate Skill was not almighty and that open-ended questions like that last one were the Skill’s weakness. He had to stick to concise questions whose answer could be a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’ if he wanted to get anywhere.
After rebuilding his composure yet again, he briefly thought back on what he knew about his captive.
He had randomly stumbled upon a rampaging monster that, against all odds, seemed to somehow be connected to the Calamity he had come here to investigate. The key to that event was bound to be buried somewhere in the creature’s dim-witted mind, but Edward lacked the necessary details to ask the right questions. The animate chest had also shown to be capable of lying in order to protect itself, so simply asking about the ‘how’ and ‘why’ was likely pointless.
What about a slightly different approach that didn’t rely on just words? Granted, he highly doubted it would work on a monster, but it was still worth a try.
The Spymaster silently left the room, leaving Boxxy all on its own. One would imagine this would be the Mimic’s perfect chance to make a break for it, but it did no such thing. It remained perfectly still, suspended inside its electrified cage. Of course it wanted to escape, to break free and get away from that dangerous being that called itself a man, but it had no way of doing so.
Boxxy’s MP was currently 0 and automatic MP recovery had been disabled. The cause was unknown, but that was its current reality. It had to admit, whoever or whatever was responsible for its imprisonment knew what they were doing, as Boxxy couldn’t do anything to escape without MP. Storage was inaccessible, Acid Spray was unusable, Mend Flesh was disabled, Metal Mimicry wouldn’t function, and Spells were right out. The only Skill that still had a use was Shapeshift, but that wouldn’t let it break out of this specially prepared cage.
How come it was always those insufferable grates that got in its way?
Several minutes passed in total silence before Boxxy once again heard the sound of a metal door opening in the distance.
“Please don’t! I didn’t do anything!” came a familiar, squeaky voice. “You can’t do this to me!”
“I can, actually,” answered Edward’s voice. “You are my prisoner, after all.”
He appeared before Boxxy once more, carrying Fizzy by the scruff of her neck as if she were a large bag. The gnome’s work clothes were gone, replaced by a rough-looking brown poncho that covered her torso and upper thighs. It looked less like a piece of clothing and more like an old potato sack. Her arms and shoulders were bare and her legs were exposed from the thighs down. Her bruised ankles and wrists were cuffed by cast iron shackles and bound together by sturdy-looking chains that rattled forebodingly as she was swung about.
“Nooo!” she screamed the moment her eyes met Boxxy’s. “No! Get it away! Please!” She struggled desperately, waving her arms and legs all about and shaking her head.
“Quiet down, prisoner,” said Edward.
“But! That thing! It’s evil! Get it- GET IT AWAY! OOF!”
She was thrown roughly to the ground, landing just centimetres away from the cage.
“I said shut up. Before I make you.”
The gnome whimpered in pain and curled up into the foetal position. ‘This isn’t happening!’ had been repeating inside her head over and over ever since she woke up in her cell. She wished she could at least tell her side of the story, but nobody was willing to listen. They didn’t even tell her why she was here.
“Better,” the Spymaster said coldly. “Now then, you in the cage. Do you know this girl?”
“Yes.”
The calm, oddly monotone voice made the gnome freeze and caused her manic thoughts to grind to a halt.
“Is she important to you?”
“Yes.”
“ … What is this girl’s relationship to you?” asked the old man in spite of himself.
“Was teacher. Now betrayer.”
Fizzy looked up at the suspended monster
despite herself. She wanted to retort somehow, but the words wouldn’t come out of her throat. Objectively looking at it, that was exactly what she was. It also meant this creature, despite everything, had trusted her in some way. There could be no betrayal without trust, after all. She then curled up even harder to chase away those dangerous thoughts; nothing good could come from thinking of monsters as anything other than heartless.
“Teacher, eh?”
As for Edward, his mind was already putting the puzzle together. Of course, he was well aware of what this gnome was capable of. The Appraisal check she went through while unconscious made it clear exactly what her Job and Skills were.
“So she taught you the Artificer Job?”
“Yes.”
“Was that all she taught you about?”
“Yes.”
“Does her teaching relate in any way to the Calamity of Monotal?”
“No.”
“C-c-calamity!” stammered Fizzy. Her thoughts started running wild again.
“Oh?” asked Edward, smoothly shifting his focus to the gnome on the ground. “You didn’t know that this mimic was involved in that?”
“No! I had no idea!”
“Hmm, come to think of it …” The man’s voice trailed off as he began searching through his notebook. He found the entry concerning the site of a smashed up caravan that had been found on the Imperial highway between Monotal and Erosa.
“Ah, here we go. Rory and Lark Fizzlespricket. Your family, I presume?”
The gnome’s eyes went wide when her deceased father and brother were mentioned out of the blue. Anger flared up in her heart at him for besmirching their family name like that, but she quickly quelled it. Pointlessly antagonizing her captor was a really stupid idea.
“ … Yes,” she answered meekly.
“Interesting. You know, we never actually found any of the bodies. You wouldn’t know anything about that. Would you, gnome?” He considered the possibility of them being somehow connected to the Calamity and faking their deaths to go underground. Surely they must have mentioned something to their only living kin if they had such designs.
“Of course not!”
Operative word being ‘if.’
“What about you?” asked the Spymaster, turning to Boxxy. “Did you have anything to do with a three-wagon caravan along the Imperial highway north of here?”
