chapter 11: Who are you?

The stench was enough to make even the filthiest of creatures nauseous.

Screams and cries echoed through the halls, begging for mercy.

I could barely see anything, relying on the faint, flickering torches along the walls.

The blackened walls were so dirty it seemed they'd never known water, while the floor was covered in mud with splatters of blood scattered here and there.

With every step I took, I heard more desperate cries. The deeper I went, the worse the rot, filth, and, of course, the screaming.

Finally, Dexter stopped in front of one of the empty cells and carelessly tossed Amy inside. She landed with a groan, her swollen face showing the aftermath of his earlier brutal beating.

The cell's floor was flooded with foul-smelling water, a mix of sewage and rotting straw, no different from the other cells.

Amy's hands and feet were shackled like a prisoner from the Middle Ages and strapped to a torture chair that looked like it belonged in a horror film.

As if it were routine, Dexter punched her for what must have been the thousandth time.

"Bam!"

"Stop!"

I was getting tired of repeating the same command to him.

"Enough! Get out now!"

I tried to infuse my voice with impatience, hoping it would snap him out of his madness, but the man was clearly insane.

As soon as he stepped out of the cell, Dexter dropped to his knees and began banging his head against the ground.

"My bones beg to be broken, and my flesh longs to be torn. There is no life after my failure, and no peace after my death. Please, sir, punish me for my incompetence."

His declaration of regret blended with the sound of his skull smashing against the floor, his movements and tone showing no hesitation.

Unlike other times I'd heard this chant, which always carried traces of insincerity, fear, or hesitation, this felt different.

Something made me stand there and watch instead of stopping him. I didn't know why, but I liked it.

Damn it! I'm going to go insane by the end of this story.

I forced myself to shake off those disgusting feelings.

"Stop that!"

"My Master's secret was revealed because of my negligence. Please punish me."

A secret? What secret is he talking about now?

"How many times do I have to repeat myself? When I say stop, I mean stop. I don't have time to waste on your nonsense."

Finally, Dexter stopped, though his expression showed dissatisfaction. Yet he couldn't disobey me.

 Was he a masochist? How could he keep going, even with his face already smeared with blood?

"You really turned him into a loyal puppet," came a voice.

I turned toward it, startled to realize it was from one of the prisoners. 

My surprise came from the fact that, ever since I'd entered this place, not a single prisoner had spoken beyond begging for mercy—except for this man.

I focused on his appearance, but the darkness hid most of his features. All I could make out was his massive frame, muscles bulging everywhere. He sat in a meditative posture, with shackles binding his wrists and ankles to the wall behind him.

From the length of the chains, it seemed he could barely lie down or stand. To reach the bars of his cell, he'd have to break his restraints, which seemed impossible.

Why was he, of all people, restrained like this? Even the way he addressed me was different from the others. His voice carried no fear or pleading; instead, it suggested an equal footing.

"It seems you won't shut up until I cut out your tongue,".

"Hahaha, I'd love to see you try, you loyal dog of your master. It's easy to talk big when you're outside the cell, and I'm chained up."

As soon as he finished speaking, Dexter stormed toward the prisoner's cell, pulling a black knife from his sleeve.

I stopped him by grabbing his arm.

"Stop!"

Damn it, how many times have I said that word already?

The prisoner's body language suddenly shifted. 

He stood quickly and tried to approach the bars, only for his chains to hold him back. He struggled, straining to get closer, as if trying to see my face hidden in the darkness.

His sudden movements threw me off, causing my grip on Dexter to loosen enough for him to break free and move toward the bars.

"Bam!"

Dexter kicked the bars in an attempt to push the prisoner back, but it had no effect. His frustration grew, and he prepared to enter the cell himself to subdue the defiant man.

"Dexter, move ahead of me."

Instead of using "stop" again, I tried to change it up. What could I do? The man had anger issues.

Realizing my impatience from constantly stopping him, Dexter complied, walking away while visibly suppressing his rage toward the prisoner.

I didn't know who the prisoner was, nor did I understand the plans of this body's owner, so I couldn't risk letting Dexter act recklessly.

"How long will you keep hiding behind your master's skirts? How long will you avoid facing me? How long will you watch your mother reign at the top while you stay a dog at the bottom?"

The prisoner's final words were the last straw.

Dexter's rage ignited into a blazing fury, burning away his self-restraint. 

He turned quickly, lunging toward the prisoner with murder written on his face.

I grabbed his shoulder, but he slipped out of my grasp. I managed to catch his right wrist, stopping him just before he reached the prisoner.

As a last act of defiance, Dexter grabbed a torch from the wall and hurled it at the prisoner.

The torch flew through the bars, landing in the cell. The prisoner swatted it away like it was a fly, it fell onto the straw-covered floor, igniting it.

The flames lit up the area, finally revealing all our faces.

The prisoner's curly hair fell to his shoulders. His skin was a sickly yellow, evidence of malnutrition. Half of his face was disfigured with burn scars, adding to the unsettling impression he gave me.

And then, In the midst of the impression his face gave me, he spoke the one question I'd feared hearing since I woke up.

"Who are you?"

The weight of his question sent waves of fear and confusion through me. 

Without thinking, I grabbed Dexter by the shoulder and pushed him forward, making him walk ahead of me. 

I couldn't risk him asking the prisoner any questions.

Only a few seconds pass until I find myself far away from him, and my breathing begins to stabilize a little.

In his cell, the prisoner stood motionless, his dark eyes locked on my back as the fire beside him burned. It was as if he'd seen enough. Slowly, he raised a hand and, with a swift motion, snuffed out the flames, plunging the cell back into darkness.

With a single step, he returned to his spot and resumed sitting, though faint traces of confusion lingered on his face.

"What's wrong with him?"

The sound of mechanical gears grinding to a halt signaled the closure of the wall leading to the hidden prison beneath the mansion.

Dexter was in front of me again, kneeling.

"My bones beg to be broken, and my flesh longs to be torn. There is no life after my failure, and no peace after my death. Please, sir, punish me for my incompetence."

I couldn't tell which was harder—his skull or the floor—but he still had the strength to continue.

I placed a hand on my head, trying to suppress the rising anger within me.

Who was that prisoner? How did he know I wasn't the body's owner? Since waking up, no one had suspected me. And even if someone did, there was no way they could be certain I'd taken over the body.

The closest anyone had come was Azaria, who noticed my inconsistent behavior. Even then, her logical assumption was memory loss.

But that prisoner had spoken with certainty:

"Who are you?"

Could he have supernatural abilities?

"Bam, bam."

"Dexter!"

He paused for a moment.

"Sir?"

"Keep doing this until you lose consciousness. That's your punishment."

"At your command, sir. Thank you, sir."

Dexter finished his flattery and resumed what he had been doing before. 

My anger was so intense that I no longer knew what I'm saying, nor did I care anymore. 

I ignored him and made my way to the meeting room. The entire walk, I struggled to contain my fury, but it was a futile effort.

I reached the table and sat in my seat, waiting for the pigs to take theirs.

But they didn't sit down, prompting me to look at their filthy faces, a questioning expression on mine as I waited for an explanation.

One of them spoke:

"Sir, I think the atmosphere is no longer suitable for a meeting. What do you think about postponing it?"

"There's no need. I've already clipped the wings of the fly that disturbed us. Let's all sit down."

I didn't know what the future would hold or how much time I had left. 

I needed to gather as much information as possible. 

Besides, I had just created a terrifying image of myself in front of them, and I feared that image would fade once they returned to their nests. 

I also had to ensure that my knowledge of martial arts wouldn't leak out.

Some of them began exchanging hesitant glances, which only fueled my anger further. 

I slammed my hand on the table with all my strength.

"Bam!"

A crack spread from where I struck, running all the way to the edge of the table.

"Sit your filthy asses down now!"

Like a teacher scolding a group of children, they all obeyed immediately. I noticed the private guards of the guests and my own men standing like fools.

"What are you staring at? Get your useless asses out of here!"

Like sheep, they left, tails between their legs. 

I noticed the resentful looks on the pigs' faces, as if they were silently asking:

"Who exactly is your master? Why do you listen to him?"

I ignored their pitiful gazes.

"Before the fly interrupted the meeting, I remember ordering the report to begin. But due to your excessive hunger, none of you noticed my request. Of course, it wasn't intentional for you to ignore me, was it?"

I applied pressure with my words to ensure that, during the report, there would be no resistance or misdirection.

"Of course, of course," they murmured, nodding obediently.

It made me wonder why the body's owner had hidden his strength from them. 

I understood that keeping them in the dark protected him, but didn't he need them to accomplish certain tasks for him? And to ensure their absolute dedication, wouldn't it have been better to fear him?

I began eating in front of them while listening carefully and memorizing every sentence each of them said. 

My memory had always been exceptionally strong. 

If not for the Nameless Kingdom's philosophy of education, which emphasized understanding over memorization, I would have been among the top students.

Once they finished their report, I began to reassure them:

"Each of us has our secrets, and it's inappropriate to air our dirty laundry in public. I have my secrets, just like you."

Their faces shifted as they reacted to my words. 

I thought to myself: Yes, I'm threatening you. This was nothing but a hollow attempt to ensure no rumors about me spread and to give the impression that I knew their secrets too.

I let everyone leave without speaking to anyone. I headed to my room to analyze what I had just heard. But as soon as I entered, there was a knock at the door.

Before I could grant permission, the door opened.

I turned, ready to yell at whoever dared enter without my consent, but the words caught in my throat.

Ivana. What she doing here?

She stopped in front of me, her expression cold and unreadable. How do you read something that isn't written?

"Are we going?"

Ah,What Now? Where? What should I answer her?

"Of course."

The moment I answered, something flickered in her eyes. 

A fleeting expression of hesitation appeared on her face for a second, as if she had made up her mind about something. 

She stepped closer, and I instinctively moved back until I felt the bed behind me.

What she planning to do?

I remembered the cold, distant relationship we'd had since I woke up. 

The thought of throwing her out crossed my mind, but before I could act, she placed her soft hands on my chest and pushed me onto the bed.

Everything happened so quickly that my mind shut down, leaving one question echoing in my thoughts: What is she trying to do?

Before I could answer, she lay on top of me, her hands roaming from my neck to my chest and then to my stomach. It awakened a beast of desire within me, silencing my thoughts completely.

So what? Isn't she my wife? Isn't she the one who came to me now?

Surrendering to these thoughts, I relaxed and waited for something to happen—but nothing did.

I opened my eyes to find her staring at my now-awake little friend. 

Surprise flashed across her face before she stood up and looked at me strangely.

The moment I saw her expression, I cursed internally. 

She was going to ask that question.

"What happened to you?"

I got up from the bed, knowing she had figured me out. 

There was no turning back now.

"I've lost my memory."

Her reaction was unexpected. She clutched her head with both hands and began pacing the room, muttering,

"What do I do? What do I do? Everything's ruined. Everything's ruined."

Her cold demeanor, which I had grown accustomed to in recent days, made me worry for her sanity. I tried to calm her down.

"I've lost my memory. I haven't turned into someone else. I'm still the same person. With your help, I'll recover my memory over time."

My words seemed enough to snap her out of her distressed state. 

She took a deep breath to calm herself, spent about two seconds organizing her thoughts, then turned to me with a look of feigned warmth.

"You're right. Nothing has changed. Rest, rest."

Her reply was strange, and her expression was even stranger. 

Before I could say anything, she turned and left the room. But unfortunately for her, I caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror near the door.

I recognized that look. 

I knew those eyes. 

They were the same ones I had seen on Null's face when he left my mother's office after negotiating to help me with my studies in exchange for her funding his education.

The look of someone exploiting the situation.

Now I had to resort to the plan I'd devised in the bathroom. Except this time, it wasn't Azaria I needed to protect myself from—it was Ivana.

"Stop!"

She stopped and turned, feigning innocence.

"What's the problem?"

The problem is you.

I took a deep breath and shouted at the top of my lungs:

"Azaria, Hank! Get here now!"

My voice echoed through the mansion, followed by the sound of rushing footsteps.

"Knock, knock."

"Come in."

At my command, Azaria entered, followed by Hank. 

Azaria's face was unreadable, while Hank's showed his discomfort at being in my room.

"At your command, sir."

Amid their confusion, all of them wondering what was going on, I made my announcement.

"You three are the only ones I trust more than anything else, so I've decided to tell you. I've lost my memory."

The moment they heard this, Hank's face turned to shock, while Ivana's filled with fury, confirming my suspicions. 

She had planned to exploit the situation. I didn't know the nature of the relationship the body's owner had with her, but it clearly wasn't a marital one.

Hank's phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced at me for permission.

I nodded, letting him answer while keeping my attention on Ivana's face.

After ending the call, Hank turned to me, his face pale with fear and disbelief.

"Sir, the guests were assassinated on their way back."

"What?"