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The Hunters sat in a circle. In the center were hundreds of apocalyptic books. The Hunters and I had to choose from the pile, but no one dared to approach it. It was only natural—fifty fellow Hunters had only just been eaten by one of those books. Everyone was either scared or depressed. It would take someone truly insane to laugh in this situation.
“Hahahaha! It’s quite a loss to have fifty of us eliminated.”
Surprisingly, we had one such maniac among us. He had blond hair and looked like a boy. He was recognized as the Tower’s number-one madman: the Inquisitor.
The Inquisitor stroked his chin. “But marching forward comes with sacrifice. We shouldn’t let their sacrifice be in vain! Let us devote ourselves to clearing the floors! Pull yourselves together! We almost lost one hundred people. It was very lucky that it ended with fifty people. Instead of mourning what we lost, we should celebrate what we protected!”
The more the Inquisitor said, the more the mood dropped.
The bookmark maids continued to bustle around us, serving hot coffee and black tea that they had produced from somewhere. Of around two hundred fifty Hunters, the Inquisitor was the only one who gladly accepted the drink. As he sipped on the black tea, the Inquisitor tilted his head in confusion. “Is no one else having any? It’s pretty good.”
“First of all,” I interrupted—it was no good to let a psychopath talk for a long time. “Mr. Inquisitor, please shut up.”
“Eh? Why?”
“Your words dampen our spirits. We can’t let them drop any further, so please shut up until I say otherwise.”
“Ah, that’s a real problem.” The Inquisitor beamed. “Okay, Mr. Death King! I’ll gladly shut up!”
The Hunters looked back and forth between the Inquisitor and me....
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