Chapter 53

“Hmph. I’ve sealed the Queen.”

Clemens smirked as he tossed a Ten of Clovers onto the field.

Beneath the card he played lay the Queen face card that Heidemarie had placed moments before.

She had triggered another “Revolution,” reversing the strength of the cards and allowing her Queen to topple a King.

Heidemarie seemed to have a particular attachment to the Queen card, constantly trying to use it as her trump card in battle. Even when blessed with a strong hand, she would go as far as inciting a Revolution just to give the Queen her moment in the spotlight.

From Clemens’s perspective, it was a baffling way to play, but for this beautiful prostitute, the joy seemed to lie in the method of victory rather than the win itself.

‘A strange woman.’

He stole a glance at the woman he had just shut down, and she immediately noticed, looking up to meet his eyes.

Despite his triumphant expression, she showed no resentment or defiance. Instead, a soft smile played on her lips.

“My, not bad, Clemens,” Heidemarie remarked with a tone that bordered on casual intimacy. “Even after having so much of your wealth plucked away, you still challenge me without hesitation. I find that quite charming.”

It was true; by this point, Clemens’s losses had piled up. Beyond the precious metals he had smuggled in, they had stripped him of his few permitted high-quality garments and even the land deeds he had hidden between the pages of his books.

Next would be his limbs, or perhaps his internal organs—

These people wouldn’t hesitate to use those kinds of threats.

However, Clemens parried her provocation with a quiet, composed smile.

“—I have nothing left to lose. Besides, if I were the type of man to flinch at a mere card game, I wouldn’t have committed the crimes that led me to be imprisoned here.”

In truth, Clemens was surprised by his own serenity.

His title as Prime Minister had fallen into the dirt. His wife, bound to him by political arrangement, had surely filed for divorce the moment the “trial”—which he had no memory of—began. Fortunately or unfortunately, there were no children.

Having stepped into the palace’s web of intrigue in his youth, Clemens knew no other life. If he lost a limb or an organ, he was the only one who would suffer for it. He only cared about seizing the right to escape this hellhole.

Heidemarie watched him with interest, tilting her head slightly.

“You seem capable of such cold, rational judgment… so why did you stain your hands with such grand crimes as regicide and usurping the throne? Why did you crave power so much?”

“…”

There was a sliver of silence in his response—so brief that an ordinary person wouldn’t have noticed it.

“…Hmph. Tell me, harlot. Do you ask someone playing cards ‘Why do you want to win?’ Having joined the game, one aims for the top. It is as simple as that.”

“Hmm.”

Heidemarie pressed her fan of cards against her lips, appearing to chuckle privately.

“You’re a twisted one. I like that.”

Averting his gaze from the babbling woman, Clemens looked toward the player to his left—Horst—to prompt the next move.

However, Horst merely shrugged with a look of boredom.

“Hate to break it to you while you’re looking all proud, but you can’t play that card, Clemens.”

“…What?”

Clemens asked back, having missed the meaning, and Horst replied with a condescending smirk.

“I said it’s a shibari.¹ [Sloth] played the King of Hearts, and [Lust] played the Queen of Hearts. Therefore, the only card that can follow is a Jack of Hearts. Understand?”

“Oh, stop it, Horst. Marie decided earlier that we’d scrap the number-shackles because the game wasn’t moving at all with you constantly locking things down.”

“The numbers, sure. But I’m locking the suits. So, only Hearts are allowed.”

Even as Liesel pointed it out with a frown, Horst simply shrugged with an innocent face. He seemed to have completely read everyone’s hands. After telling Clemens, “You don’t have it, do you?” he skipped him and tossed a card from his own hand.

The Jack of Hearts.

Horst had been holding it all along.

“Hmph. Normally, this would keep the double-shackle going.”

“You really are a man who loves his restraints, aren’t you?” Liesel remarked with an exasperated sigh while choosing a card. “Clingy, possessive men are always hated, you know.”

“Who are you calling possessive?”

Horst snapped back at the snide remark, but Isaac, who had remained silent until then, muttered while discarding a card.

“In the past… you kept Elma… under house arrest… didn’t you?”

There was a hint of resentment in his low voice.

Horst didn’t look at all remorseful; he simply raised an eyebrow.

“You mean ten years ago? That was a necessary precaution. Thanks to that, Elma discovered the joy of indoor play and stopped wandering off or getting lost. Besides, if you want to find the root cause of why I had to lock her in her room, blame [Gluttony].”

It was true; worried about Elma getting lost while playing outside, Horst had briefly forbidden her from taking a single step out of the prison.

That said, Horst had spent that entire time giving Elma his undivided attention, and Liesel—feeling sympathetic—had later “tinkered” with those few days of memory, so Elma never actually held a grudge about it.

“You say that… but you are… too overprotective. Without getting lost… or experiencing a disaster… how is she supposed to acquire… the techniques to hunt a dragon?”

“Actually, she doesn’t need those techniques at all. One whiff of toxic gas in their habitat would do the trick.”

As Isaac lamented, Horst cut him down with a look of annoyance. The fact that both of them believed they were the only sane ones in this prison made them utterly beyond saving.

“Dragon hunting aside,” Gilbert interjected, having been quietly listening to the exchange. “Was it really wise to make her sit out the annual Kirsch Sea Swimming Competition every summer?”

He followed Isaac by casually tossing a card onto the field, his broad shoulders shrugging elegantly.

The Kirsch Sea was the name for the turbulent currents bordering the prison—waters said to be infested with magical beasts and tainted by miasma.

That said, these people—who were fundamentally unhinged—made a point of traveling all the way to the Kirsch Sea every sweltering summer just so the young Elma could play in the water. These prison events were numerous, ranging from birthday parties and field trips to picnics and concerts.

“If I recall, that was the year [Gluttony] and [Sloth] were particularly motivated, training Elma in sea-survival techniques. She herself mentioned she was looking forward to showing us the results.”

“Indeed. That year… just before the competition… she finally became able… to swim 200 nautical miles. She kept saying… how much she wanted to show off… her powerful swimming form.”

As Gilbert pointed it out, Isaac nodded in agreement, his voice heavy with reproach.

“Indeed. Around that time, when I proposed the technique of applying the discernment of micro-expressions and vocal tones to other living creatures, she was brilliant enough to begin ‘conversing’ with whales and fish in no time at all. I, too, truly wished to show off the sight of young Elma commanding a school of fish.”

Morgan followed suit, speaking as he selected a card.

Even though it had been ten years, these doting fools seemed to still hold a grudge over the Elma House Arrest Incident.

Sensing that the tide was in their favor, Liesel gave Horst a playful, sidelong glance.

“You really should graduate from Elma already.”

“…Rich, coming from someone who hasn’t managed it either,” Horst grumbled with a sour face. Liesel’s lips curled into an even more mischievous smirk.

“Oh, I’ve managed just fine. At the very least, I’m not thinking about dragging Elma back by force right now. Because, you see, I trust her.”

These words hardly sounded like they came from the same person who, just the other day, had tried to lead Elma back by secretly placing a hypnotic suggestion on her.

Heidemarie and Gilbert exchanged secret, wry smiles, but Horst, who was unaware of the situation, simply looked miffed.

“Oh, is that so? How heartless. You think abandoning her is trust? No. Protecting her is trust, and love. It’s clear to me now that I, her brother, am the only one who can truly protect Elma.”

Being a man of moods to begin with, he had apparently reached his limit. He tossed his cards aside and stood up.

As he moved to leave the room, Heidemarie called out to him.

“Where are you going, Horst?”

“Doesn’t matter, does it?”

He spat the words out like a rebellious teenager and slipped through the door.

Behind him, only the adults remained, shrugging at one another.

—No, that wasn’t quite right.

There was one person still sitting on the sofa, looking utterly shell-shocked.

Clemens.

His eyes had been going wide at every single detail of the conversation unfolding before him.

Hunting dragons? Spreading a toxic gas powerful enough to take down a dragon?

Swimming across the Kirsch Strait—notorious as the Sea of Terror—for over 200 nautical miles? And what was it they said last? Conversations with… most marine life?

‘What on earth have these people been saying…?’

There was no way these were the statements of sane individuals.

Normally, he would have immediately dismissed them as jokes or delusions—but if that were the case, why was no one calling them out?

‘To carry on a conversation without catching the punchline… what a sloppy progression of dialogue…!’

In his agitation, his thoughts began to veer off in a strange direction.

Why was he the only one clinging to sanity?

But then again, someone had to be the sane one.

Someone had to point out how bizarre, outlandish, and joke-like this conversation was.

Because, yes, if they didn’t… it meant—

‘Are they saying… all of these claims are true…?’

For a moment, Clemens felt an unidentified chill run down his spine, and his face stiffened.

There was no way.

It couldn’t be.

He wouldn’t allow such an insane state of affairs to exist.

As Clemens found himself completely swallowed by the eerie atmosphere of the prison, something touched him softly.

“It’s your turn.”

It was Heidemarie.

She tilted her head toward Clemens with a gentle smile.

“While you were spacing out, we’ve gone all the way around the table. Are you alright? Can you play anything after me?”

With that, she played a Joker.

The strongest card, capable of becoming anything.

There was no card that could possibly be played after it.

As Clemens glared at Heidemarie, she elegantly ignored it and cleared the field.

Then, she lined up three Queens.

“And, I’m out.”

Once again, she was the first winner.

But she didn’t stop there; Heidemarie leaned in and spoke softly to Clemens.

“Now then, Clemens. With your hand, you won’t be able to play anything else, will you? And my read says that everyone else is going to go out this round too.”

Just as she predicted—Liesel, Isaac, and Morgan played their remaining cards one after another and went out.

Only Clemens was left, still clutching a large handful of cards.

“Wh…!”

“Oh my, the Great Loser again, Clemens?”

The beautiful prostitute gave a troubled shrug of her slender shoulders.

She pressed a fingertip to her lips, appearing to think something over.

“Let’s see. I could do something like severing your limbs, but that’s such a hassle without [Greed] here. Besides, it feels a bit cruel to finalize your status as the Great Loser when that boy has forfeited the game—”

Eventually, Heidemarie pulled her finger away, her face brightening.

“Let’s settle on land, after all.”

“…What?”

He should have already been stripped of the deeds he had hidden between his books.

However, Heidemarie gave a dark, hollow laugh and stared at Clemens’s feet.

Feet clad in shabby shoes, looking nothing like those of a former Marquis.

But they were feet that were properly “covered by shoes.”

“You know, Clemens… a long time ago, we prisoners weren’t allowed to wear shoes inside the prison.”

As she spoke with an air of nostalgia, she signaled to Gilbert beside her with a glance.

“But I took the place of the guards and permitted it. Do you know why?”

“St-Stop, what are you—”

Being a former Hero of massive build, Gilbert took the shoes without Clemens being able to lift a finger to stop him. Clemens shouted, his composure crumbling.

“Give those back!”

“It’s because… if I do that, most ‘newcomers’ start hiding their most precious belongings in the soles of their shoes.”

Heidemarie’s smile deepened as she accepted a small, folded piece of paper from Gilbert.

It was a document marked with place names and signatures—a land deed.

“Well, well. A rural area in the Tremmel region? Peaceful and deep in nature… perfect for a summer retreat or a hideout. I wonder, were you planning to spend your second life here after retirement—or perhaps after a prison break?”

“Give it back—!”

Heidemarie didn’t listen. She asked [Sloth] to clear the cards.

Leaning back elegantly into the sofa, she crossed her legs.

“Now then, do try a little harder next time, Clemens.”

She bluffed with the true dignity of a Queen.