"Fine," she said, rolling her eyes with a playful smirk. "It's Emery. You should be grateful—I was popular back in my world. I didn't give anyone my real name."
Art nodded, the corner of his lip curling slightly. "Then I suppose I'll take that as an honor."
"You should," she replied, bumping her shoulder against his before letting out a soft yawn. "Now let's see if this twisted place lets me rest after that…"
Art's gaze wandered as Emery stretched, surveying the room. Other participants had begun chatting nervously with each other—making allies, clinging to whatever normalcy they could.
But something else caught his attention.
The body—the decapitated noble from earlier—was gone.
He frowned, stood, and walked over to where the blood should have been. Squatting down, he ran two fingers across the floor and examined them.
"Not even a trace…" he thought. "No blood. No dust. Nothing."
He stood up just as Emery approached from behind.
"Hm? Did you notice something?" she asked, her tone curious.
Art gave a casual shrug, masking his unease. "Just realized the corpse disappeared."
"Yeah," Emery said, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "I noticed too. But honestly? I didn't question it. Probably best not to think too hard about this place. Negative thoughts get you killed."
She smiled faintly.
Art nodded, though his eyes lingered on the spotless floor a second longer.
---
Meanwhile, in Another Room…
Ivana hesitated before gently tapping Kret's shoulder. He turned slightly, eyebrow raised.
"Hm? What is it?"
"C-Can I come with you, Mister?" she asked softly, eyes wide. "I… I don't have anyone I can trust. You're a high-ranking general, so…"
Kret looked at her for a moment—scanning the timid girl who had once been a slave in her world. Then, to her surprise, he smiled.
"Sure. I'll treat you like my little sister," he said warmly, giving her a reassuring nod.
Just then, the voice echoed again through the room.
"Please find your designated seat. Flip the card to reveal your number. This will determine your turn order."
"As a reminder: the deeper, the more painful, the more personal your truth… the greater your reward."
"Lies will be punished, based on the object before you."
Kret moved toward the long white table at the center of the room, its surface eerily pristine. Ten white chairs encircled it.
He took a seat, flipping the card laid out before him.
No. 1.
Ivana sat beside him, hands trembling slightly. Her card revealed No. 10.
As they settled in, Kret's eyes shifted to the center of the table—where a strange item sat atop a glass panel.
It was a small black box. Next to it, a drawing was engraved into the white table.
A hand… with a finger being severed.
Kret narrowed his eyes.
"So that's the punishment?" he thought grimly.
He took a deep breath, glancing at Ivana one more time.
This wasn't just a game anymore.
This was confession under the blade.
"Please start," the voice said plainly.
Kret sat upright, resting an elbow on the table as he casually spoke. His tone was relaxed, almost too calm for the environment.
"I lied… about being a high-ranking general."
Silence.
Everyone glanced around, confused.
Then—
[+15 Desire Points]
A faint chime echoed through the chamber.
Ivana's expression shifted, her brows furrowing. "Huh…? Y-You lied about that?"
Kret turned to her with a soft smile. "Yeah. I'm actually a holy knight."
The room stirred.
"A holy knight…?"
"Why'd he lie about something like that…?"
"Maybe to hide his real background?"
"Maybe to avoid becoming a target…"
Whispers circled the table.
Kret smiled, basking in the subtle attention. "That's right. Praise me," he thought, basking in their confusion.
But then—someone stood.
A younger man, eyes narrowed, veins flaring at his temple. "YOU'RE LYING!" he shouted, pointing directly at Kret.
Kret's smile vanished.
"…The fuck are you talking about?" he said coldly.
The man's voice trembled with anger, but his tone was steady. "You're not a holy knight. I've trained with them. Fought beside one. A real knight holds his sword tip-down when kneeling, not palm-first. Maybe we're from different worlds, but honor's the same across every battlefield."
The air thickened. Kret's eyes narrowed.
"You little—"
SCHLNK.
A sound like slicing meat—and suddenly, the man's head dropped from his shoulders, cleanly severed.
A spray of blood painted the table. His body collapsed to the floor in a twitching heap.
Screams erupted.
"AHHHH!"
"WHAT THE FUCK?!"
"HE'S DEAD!!"
Panic flared across the chamber. Chairs scraped back. Some people stumbled to corners. Others froze, too stunned to move.
Ivana backed away, her hands trembling. "W-What… What did you do, mister…?"
Kret turned to her slowly, completely calm.
"He was a con artist. Trying to rile you all up. Manipulate you into questioning me. Men like that? They wear pretty words like masks."
He leaned back, brushing blood off his armor with a cloth.
"I gave him the dignity of silence."
"He's lying… again," someone whispered in the corner. "That guy didn't seem like a con artist…"
But before anyone could speak up again, a voice from the far end of the table cut through the panic.
"Heh… I like him."
A tall man with a thin build adjusted his glasses. His long cloak draped behind his chair like a curtain. His eyes gleamed with academic curiosity.
"Clever. Bold. Efficient." He smiled, stroking his chin. "Maybe even dangerous."
His voice was cool, composed.
Art raised an eyebrow, glancing at the strange scholar across the table.
Looks like more than one psycho came through the portal…
Eventually, the trial reached participant number eight.
A thin man adjusted his glasses, a cocky smirk tugging at his lips. His messy hair clung to his face, slightly damp with nervous sweat—but his confidence didn't waver.
"Guess it's my turn," he said, his voice light, almost amused.
He leaned forward, elbows on the table, fingers laced together.
"This should be easy."
But as he began to speak, that grin slowly faltered. His gaze dropped, voice softening.
"Well… where do I even start?"
The cockiness faded.
He looked around at the others—some watching him with curiosity,