CHAPTER 4: TRUSTING NECROMANCERS

I was rudely awakened from the embrace of sleep by insistent knocking. Still teetering on the edge of wakefulness, I covered my head with a pillow. Truth be told, I wasn't really asleep; it was more like the opposite, but yesterday's nervous tension was catching up with me.

Knock-knock-knock — the persistent visitor wouldn't be deterred, forcing me to emerge from the comfortable depths of my dreams.

Bang-Bang-Bang! "Is he knocking with his feet or something? Ugh! No peace, I swear!" I yawned, stretched on the bed, and glanced at the window. Through the gap in the curtains, I could see the dark sky. "Darn it, it's not even morning yet!"

Bang-Bang! BOOM! The last, particularly powerful strike against the door made me jerk in the middle of my stretching. "You might as well knock on your own head!" I grumbled, annoyed, as I put on my slippers, turned on the light, and headed to the door. "Well?! What's the rush?"

I confronted a young maid in a long dark brown dress, white apron, and a little cap on her head.

"I'm sorry, madam, but you asked me to wake you up early in the morning," the owner of a voluminous chest and a pretty round face with freckles answered in fright. "And—and here are your clothes that you ordered to be washed," the maid hesitantly held out a small stack of neatly folded clothes in my direction.

"I'm sorry I scared you, but is it morning?" I stepped aside to let her in.

"You have nothing to apologize for, mistress!" there was surprise in his voice: it was not customary to apologize to the servants here. — "It will be five soon".

And the messenger from the caravan promised to come after seven.

M-yes. It was worth clarifying yesterday when exactly "in the morning" to wake me up. The servants got up early — so they got up when the working day began. Next time there will be a lesson for me.

But there is a silver lining. But now you can get ready and have breakfast without hurrying.

"Here, take it", — I handed the "freckle" a small silver coin. The fact that you can yell at servants and raise your hand does not mean that it is necessary.

"Thank you, kind lady!" With a gleam of joy in her eyes, the maid quickly hid the coin under her apron. "You were also scared by an evil spirit at night, weren't you?"

"Evil spirit?" I asked, trying to clarify.

"They say that the dead wife of the evil rich man Giusto came from the other world to punish her poisoner," the girl said, lowering her voice to a half whisper. "Miranda, our senior maid, is having an affair with his butler and learned everything from him. I even overheard him talking about it. But he was so pale!"

She waved her hands dramatically. "You know, the lord and his concubine were sleeping in the same bed, and all the servants left their rooms in fear, not understanding what was going on. He went to check what was going on, and when no one answered, he quietly opened the door. Inside, Mr. Giuso was lying dead, and the maid was neither alive nor dead. She just stood there muttering prayers. And then there was laughter from above, such a terrible laugh! Well, you must have heard about it yourself," the maid concluded, making a grotesque gesture.

"Intriguing..." I muttered, my mind processing the story.

My memories of Earth told me that I should be feeling guilty, but aside from some annoyance at my inability to control my emotions and the constant pressure of the "bloodlust," I didn't feel much. Apparently, the influence of my current persona was stronger than the previous one. Not necessarily a bad thing. Feeling pity for random victims wasn't a luxury I could afford. But that didn't mean I wouldn't try to avoid them.

Nevertheless, a nagging feling of guilt scratched at the edge of my consciousness.

"…That's what I'm saying! Horror, genuine horror! What if she doesn't leave?!" the girl continued to chatter animatedly, gesticulating actively. But sensing my loss of interest in my eyes, she quickly wrapped up and went about her business.

* * *

After the maid had left, lost in thought, I walked over to my travel bag. My hands automatically reached inside and pulled out a pack of tablets, taking one out. Waking from my contemplations, I looked disdainfully at the white pill. Morning starts with a dose, darn it! As much as I wanted to flush this and all the other pills down the toilet, I resisted the foolish impulse. I broke off roughly an eighth of the tablet, swallowed the rest, and washed it down with water.

Let's see how much I can reduce the dose without experiencing withdrawal symptoms.

After completing a light workout, I headed towards the bathroom. Taking care of business, I quickly rinsed myself under the cool water stream. And as I dried off, I glanced at my reflection in the mirror, a reflection that was both familiar and unfamiliar.

Staring back at me was a girl who could pass for twelve to fourteen years old at most, petite and slender, with a modest bust. Large gray eyes on a fair complexioned face gazed out from the mirror with curiosity and a touch of irony, their not-quite-dry strands of black hair, styled in an unusual shoulder-length fashion, already starting to amusingly stick out on the sides, making my head resemble an upward-pointing arrow. Observing my reflection in the mirror, I, an otherworldly being, felt somewhat perverse. Roskomnadzor would not have approved, indeed.

"Neither give nor take—a heartless killer in the service of the dark Empire," a mocking voice echoed in my head. "How do you intend to strike fear into the hearts of enemies and inspire awe in allies with such an appearance? The power of cuteness, perhaps? Lolita power, heh!"

"Alright, since leaving the Squad is not necessary, there's no need for an imposing appearance either," I mused, remembering my diplomatic mission to subdue barbarian spies. I couldn't help but smile. Once I had eliminated the most audacious and raise a puppet from the tribe's mightiest warrior, the barbarians instantly ceased their defiance and sought a return to negotiations. And who would say I'm not a diplomat?

But I shouldn't indulge in illusions. Realizing the kind of monsters in human guise and large-scale events I would have to face in the future, I understood that my current abilities were not just insufficient, they were negligible. As I contemplated the scale of what was planned, I had to restrain a laugh.

A fourteen-year-old girl setting out to stop an impending civil war or at least minimize the casualties… I was nothing more than a god of kitchen politics!

There was a less grandiose but even more significant goal: to extract our Squad from the clutches of Imperial Intelligence, or at least the current, incompetent commanders. To safeguard those of our comrades who were still alive. I clenched my teeth in anger, recalling the faces of fallen friends and comrades. I could remember each of them by name, describe their hobbies and character traits. Those who had mostly perished due to the "outstanding competence" of senior officers... or had simply been disposed of after sustaining severe injuries.

Like trash.

A burning-cold hatred welled up in my chest. "Kill them! Kill them all!"

I shook my head. Yes, right now I'm nobody, and I can't even dictate my own life. But not for long, if the memories of my past life were accurate. In about a year or so, everything would change without any effort on my part. After all, there's a world of difference between a powerless killer and a member of a special squad with extraordinary powers, closely connected to the prime minister and the Emperor.

Indeed, the Kurome Victor had read about in the manga hadn't even attempted to utilize the newfound abilities. It wasn't even certain she was aware of them at all. If one were to detach from the newfound knowledge and put oneself in the shoes of this alternate Kurome from the future, it had to be admitted that the thought of wielding such influence would likely not have crossed her mind.

Well, Kurome 2.0 wouldn't squander her advantages, assuming she survived. And assuming the future remained unchanged, of course.

"Ah! If only I could figure out how to find and sway that damn Akame to my side," I mused, a warmth stirring in my chest when thinking of my sister, but it was quickly overshadowed by a bitterness tinged with anger.

First, she had been beheading rebel scum, and now she was cutting down evil Imperials in the name of "good." But all the while, the unscrupulous bastards in leadership positions who were accustomed to paying for their ambitions with other people's blood continued to profit, whether in the Palace or within the Revolutionary Army. The essence of it all hadn't changed.

In that regard, Honest and his ilk were somehow more honest. They didn't try to lie about acting in the people's interests while dooming them to death and suffering.

"Stupid big sister."

* * *

Returning to the steps I needed to take regardless of subsequent actions:

Firstly, get rid of the drug leash.

Secondly, acquire resources, allies, and, most importantly, as much accurate information about what's happening in the country as possible, so as not to act blindly.

Thirdly — maximize my strength. Perhaps this point was just as important as the second, if not more so. Unlike my ability to sow death, I had legitimate doubts about my skills in governance and intrigue.

And most importantly, I had to do all this discreetly, without arousing suspicion.

Having finished my preparations, I sat in a chair and stared out the window with unseeing eyes. We had figured out what needed to be done. Now, it was time to address the issue of means: how?

The first point was clear for now. But the second and third were problematic. While I had inklings about gaining power, the second question... was complicated. Resources, allies, information... How could I, a mostly unfree individual, obtain all of this? And without drawing attention in the process?

In principle, some information could be extracted from the targets for elimination. Among them were generals, aristocrats, and even governors, meaning individuals with a great deal of knowledge. However, assassinating someone in power and abducting them for questioning under the noses of their security forces were "slightly" different in terms of execution difficulty. Plus, I'd have to explain myself to the other members of the group.

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Nevertheless, that was a problem that could be solved.

The same applied to finances: you could "persuade" people to share. In these dark times, even a swift, painless death cost money, heh-heh.

"That's clear," I began to tap my fingers against my thigh. "But what about allies? Nohow," I immediately answered myself. To gain allies, you needed common interests. That was a no-go. Using people covertly? Those wouldn't be allies; besides, I'm no Niccolò Machiavelli, so that's not my style.

In any case, the best ally is a non-living puppet! It won't betray you or spill secrets, heh-heh.

Jokes aside, the harsh truth was that I couldn't trust anyone, not even the folks in the group. Or, to put it more precisely: I could rely on them with absolute confidence both in combat and in keeping secrets... but only until they perceived any betrayal of the Empire in my actions.

"Damn hypnograms!" Even now, as I began to contemplate a plan to eliminate the parasites in power, I felt a noticeable headache and a confusion of thoughts.

In fact, the use of mental processing was quite logical. Considering that ordinary assassins hated the leadership of the Squad (deservedly!) not much less than they were feared, the fact that no one had massacred these bastards could only be explained by regular "procedures".

So, in full measure, I could only truly rely on myself and the non-living puppets of my Teigu. Sparse. And sad...

Picking up my katana, I moved to the bed. The touch of the hilt, as it had yesterday, brought a pleasant, cool breeze, a sensation that seemed to pass through my entire body, starting from the fingers that touched the weapon. Somewhere on the edge of my consciousness, I had the knowledge of the heightened affinity with the artifact that I could realize by enhancing its abilities.

"Curious, this wasn't there before," my hand thoughtfully stroked the black scabbard. Only after acquiring Yatsufusa did I receive a packet of information about its capabilities and how to use this artifact. But now, it seemed I could choose for myself what exactly I wanted to enhance first. This... was unusual.

So, it was time to test the hypothesis, which, if correct, could significantly ease the execution of my plans.

I unsheathed the blade.

* * *

The actions of the non-living puppets occasionally seemed suspiciously reasonable. They didn't require constant control, only orders and the energy to sustain them. With instructions, the undead acted quite sensibly (within the framework of the set task), sometimes even showing initiative. Truth be told, before the awakening of Victor's memories, this hadn't concerned me too much. If the puppet exhibited some emotions and quirks of its prototype, so what?

Maybe it was my mistake.

"Well, we're about to test that now," I said, concentrating. I wished for one of the converted rebels to appear before me. Once again, an intangible breeze swept through my body. At the tip of the blade, a black-purple energy sphere, characteristic of parasitic radiation, briefly formed, and a burly bald man in unassuming gray attire appeared about a meter away from me. On the puppet's belt hung a saber and a fist shield.

I paid attention to my feelings. Indeed, the faint feeling of the passing breeze through my body didn't disappear, lingering on the brink of perception, and when I focused on it, it became more pronounced. The energy, perceived as a stream blowing from the inside, passed through me to merge with Yatsufusa.

"Interesting... I used to feel the spiritual power significantly worse," thoughts on how to utilize this unexpected "perk" were already beginning to churn at the edge of my consciousness.

But for now, I needed to focus on the undead puppet.

"And indeed, it's lifelike," I concluded, making a couple of circles around the puppet and even touching its warm skin. The dead man predictably didn't say anything, just stared back at me with a blank expression, which also indicated something more than just a mindless piece of meat.

"Alright, let's get started," I said, sitting on the bed and addressing the puppet. "Say something."

"Uh... something," came the almost normal response.

"Now, answer this: what is two plus two?"

"Four," he responded after a brief pause.

"Correct, well done," I rejoiced, closely monitoring the reaction to my words. "Now, what's ten plus twelve?" Did I imagine it, or did something flicker in his eyes?

"Twenty-two."

"Correct again! What a smart dead man! 'Now for the real test."

"And how old is our bald buddy, and what's his name?" I abruptly made the task more challenging. In fact, this was the primary goal of the test: to find out to what extent the personalities, memories, and emotions of the undead puppets had been preserved. Could I extract information from them?

"...Thirty-one years old," the slain revolutionary began, hesitating, "His name is... What... What's happening to me? You... You..." His gaze focused on me. "Witch! What have you done to me? But how?!"

"Don't struggle," I said, noticing how the puppet's hand, now equipped with the ability to answer questions and some excessive self-will, reached for his weapon. "You can't attack me. Otherwise, you will be punished," I added, trying not to reveal my tension.

The consumption of spiritual energy increased even more, and attempts by the puppet to break free from my control began to be felt. It was quite a strange and unpleasant feeling.

"Ha, damned witch, I'm already dead, what can you do?" the one who called himself Kenta stopped shouting, but did not give up trying to escape.

"Indeed, what can I do to you?" I responded, feigning an mocking smile. At the same time, I was struggling to stabilize the connection thread. The package of data received from Yatsufusa stated that in case of a rupture of the spiritual thread, the soul of the subordinate being would break free, leaving behind an empty piece of meat. I definitely didn't want to explain how a corpse ended up in my room.

"Do you dare!" the dead man said in a suppressed voice.

"Of course, I can send you home," I said, a smile crossed my lips, "with an order to kill everyone you hold dear. How about that, buddy? I think it would be quite amusing." I maintained an air of relaxation and superiority.

"Or perhaps, order you to eat them?" The memory of a joke about a cannibal and dumplings from "My Family" made me chuckle.

"Tsk, it seems the threat only gave him strength. If this scumbag keeps resisting, I'll have to recall him," I thought, and the increased outflow of spiritual power began to cause discomfort.

"You wouldn't dare!" the dead man cried out, but he stopped his resistance, allowing me to breathe a sigh of relief. The spiritual thread that was already on the verge of breaking was immediately restored and even became stronger. Energy consumption also dropped sharply.

"I understand that you agree to cooperate?"

"Agreed... I'll answer all your questions, just don't harm my wife and daughter," the man said with a broken tone.

"And who is the villain here?" a self-deprecating thought crossed my mind. "Both," I answered myself.

The chosen mask didn't allow for a softer approach. And the bald man could surely sense my hesitation in making threats; he wouldn't have given in so quickly otherwise.

"Let's dial down the drama in your voice; you're far from being an angel yourself. I couldn't care less about your accomplices; let those who pay for their actions deal with them. Our line of work, well, it's a bit different," I adjusted the katana on my knees.

"Heartless enforcers and killers... demons with children's faces... I used to think it was all just myths..."

"I'm still here," my voice interrupted his rambling. "But thanks for the complimentary assessment. You seem a bit too emotional for a dead bandit."

"I'm not a bandit," the undead revolutionary retorted, "and I'm not dead."

"Then what? According to the law, you're all criminals. You were killed, and now in this world, only my will and the Teigu's power keep you here. Honestly, I didn't expect you to be this... active after death. But it seems a true revolutionary continues to fight for freedom even in death, huh?" I chuckled.

"What do you want, killer?" he finally turned his hostile gaze into a more constructive conversation with me.

"Specifically from you? Practically nothing. Maybe you'll give me a few fencing lessons later," the bald warrior skillfully wielded his saber and fist shield, managing to detain me slightly despite his noticeable speed disadvantage, while his comrades bravely made their escape. "You'll mainly assist in researching the Teigu's capabilities and carry out some assignments."

"What assignments?" the owner of the smoothly shaved head asked suspiciously.

"Or did he use some alchemical method for permanent hair removal?" an inappropriate curiosity stirred.

"You're asking as if I'm about to send you to rape virgins and disembowel infants. Or the other way around," I smirked, enjoying the rebel's reaction. Judging by the look, it was probably what people would expect from a rabid dog within striking distance.

"It seems I played the unhinged maniac a little too well. Funny, but I need to fix this," gears started turning rapidly in my mind. "After all, we're going to work together for some time now." Lying or directly defying my, um, minion was unlikely to succeed, but I believed in the power of the human mind, especially when motivated to cause mischief.

"And don't you dare look at me like that! Maybe I'm not thrilled about my job either!" I protested sincerely but somewhat exaggeratedly, ready to play up my almost childlike appearance.

Not the most graceful move, and it wouldn't work on everyone, but I needed to start practicing my acting, and judging by the bald man's behavior and how he died, he seemed like a decent guy. So maybe an attempt to appeal to his sympathy could work.

"Your behavior doesn't show it, killer," came the grim response. "Or do you want to say the threats were a joke? Is that why you were laughing?"

"My name is Kurome," I retorted with a frown, shrugging my shoulders and muttering to myself, "What choice do I have? Or do you think you're any better? Do you think I don't know how you 'noble freedom fighters' treat prisoners, both male and female? Or how you gang up on the 'imperial bitch' and then disembowel her — all considered heroic in your circles?"

I recalled one of the many depictions of the consequences of rebel and bandit entertainment. The manga I had read once didn't show it, but both sides of the conflict had their share of horrors.

I couldn't shed tears, but I managed to portray sadness, hopefully not overdoing it.

"In the Revolutionary Army, there are degenerates too, but we're working on it!" the man frowned. "I've never engaged in such vile activities, I swear by the honor of an officer and the Hoshino family!" Straightening up, the bald rebel exclaimed sternly, striking his chest with a clenched fist.

"Half of the rebel ranks are former bandits. But let's not dwell on that now," I interrupted, ready to counter any objections my interlocutor might have. "What I mean is that, although we sometimes have to do bad things, we didn't choose this fate. It's either fight or die. As for my behavior, threats from a little psychopath are more believable than from an ordinary girl. It's better this way," I declared.

"If you don't like serving the Empire, why don't you leave? Children shouldn't become killers. You're still just a girl. I have a daughter who's almost your age," the man said with a softer tone, seemingly forgetting the threats directed at his loved ones. The witch and the killer labels were no longer applied to me.

"And the "power of kavaii" works! It works!" I began to earnestly manipulate the naive dead man with stories of evil commanders, narcotic leashes, and more. I didn't exactly lie, just left out some details, allowing the dead man to deceive himself.

"But then... does that mean you're also victims of the Empire?" the man asked, stunned and somewhat pitiful toward me.

Sharing a tearful story led to sincere sympathy. I was irritated by the pity, especially from my own puppet, but I'd rather have him pity me than hate me. It would be more beneficial that way.

"Think of it however you like. Now, listen to your assignment," I began instructing the bald man for his trip to the pharmacy and handed him five gold coins: one large with the number five and four smaller ones with a single aura each.

Despite the fact that remedies made from extracts of demonic beasts, had they made it to Earth, would be considered miraculous, I didn't plan on self-treatment and relied entirely on them. Rather, it was a test for the bald man... Kent, it seemed, and an insurance policy in case circumstances prevented access to a specialist. Of course, the prices for alchemical remedies were quite sensitive, and it was a pity to spend nearly two months' worth of income on them, but I hoped to later recoup the costs by persuading some wealthy miscreants to invest in a charity fund to aid starving necromancers.

"And one more thing. You do realize that spreading information about me and my squad is prohibited, right?" I asked.

"What do you think I am, clueless?" he responded with a slightly offended tone. "I'm trying to do a good deed here. Maybe the gods sent me specifically to save a child from the clutches of the Imperials," the bald man smiled kindly. "For such a noble cause, I'd gladly give my life if I can bring an innocent soul back to the light."

"What bad luck! Of all the people I killed, I had to encounter this idiot who, despite all the harm done to him, wants to return an 'innocent soul' to the light. And he's not even lying!"

Why didn't an ordinary bandit end up in his place? Why did I have to wrestle with an inconveniently awakened conscience? Oh, how much easier it was to consider all rebels and their sympathizers as villains, and their children as the future scum of society!

"Then have a good night, or whatever you call it," I sent a mental signal to Yatsufusa, and the misguided rebel disappeared into the spatial pocket. "No, after all, blabbering isn't for me," I sighed, lying back on the bed.

It was a mixed improvement. If I had to deal with this with everyone, I'd rather continue controlling silent dummies or use monsters as material. However, a fully sentient puppet had many advantages too.

Out of habit from my previous life, I scratched my right cheek where there used to be scars from burns. Nevertheless, according to the information I received from Yatsufusa, it was possible to make a puppet answer questions without awakening its consciousness, and for combat, the dummies were even better.

In any case, I got more than I had hoped for, so there was no reason to complain about not having a larger pearl. I couldn't find it in me to be happy either. My emotional pendulum swung from a cheerful sociopath to a gloomy Raskolnikov.

"That blasted Kent! He managed to ruin the joy of a successful experiment! — I mentally scolded myself. Who does he think he is, a 'knight of the melancholic image'? He only opened up my emotional wounds."

"Imperial revolutionaries are so tough that they manage to make life difficult for their killers even after death," I quipped weakly with my own simple joke, resulting in a faint smile.

"Enough complaining!" my annoyance mixed with melancholy. "This isn't a world of pink ponies, and I'm not a hero in shining armor. Tormenting myself with moral dilemmas isn't becoming of 'demons with children's faces.' How did it go in that non-historical, anti-Soviet, but amusing movie 'The Scoundrels'? 'Each of them is a complete scoundrel. They've seen death, but they've never seen their parents. No love, no longing, no pity...'"

"No love, no longing, no pity," my lips repeated aloud. "Ha, not a bad motto!"

Well, as for conscience... I sneered. What is conscience? Who cares about it! You can't do dirty work and not get dirty. In any case, the chosen path isn't a fairytale heroine's trail. If I want to walk it to the end, I'll have to step on bones, shed a lot of blood, including that of the innocent and people deserving of respect. So it's time to get used to this crap all over again.

Following these thoughts, a cheerful song about my almost colleagues from Earth popped into my memory. In a sudden burst of inspiration, I translated a couple of verses into Imperial and sang half-heartedly:

"We'll pull our berets down over our foreheads

And shift our rifles to be more comfortable

And with a cheerful smile,

We'll start burning down other people's villages.

And we'll roll up our sleeves up to our elbows,

We'll tear Chicago to pieces.

We'll drink vodka, we'll sleep with women,

And because we don't give a damn about our conscience."

"It's clear from the start: these guys love their job and don't suffer from dumb reflections," I grinned crookedly. "That's how an exemplary executioner of the regime should look, none of this brooding nonsense!"

"Not a killer, but a trembling schoolgirl, damn it!"

True, the song was more fitting for the Incinerators than us. For the Underground Base's pets, punitive missions were more of an exception than the rule. Unlike those good guys who tirelessly brought warmth and light to the homes of everyone dissatisfied with the government's policies using flamethrowers.

"I should find a way to translate and adapt this song to Imperial realities. If we happen to cross paths with the Incinerators again, it will be interesting to see Bor's and his guys' reactions," I thought, feeling a bit more upbeat.

But for now, it was time to test the suggested recipe for combating melancholy. While there were no beautiful and willing supporters of the 'pink side of the Force' nearby (and I wasn't particularly in the mood for that), there was a variety of drinks available at the local restaurant to suit any taste, color, and wallet.

Besides, grabbing a bite to eat wouldn't hurt; my stomach had started growling ferociously.