Chapter 62: Please, Kill Me (Revised)

Basement.

Maurice stood at the end of the corridor, his gaze locked onto the wooden door.

He had meticulously searched the entire basement, inspecting every single storeroom one by one, leaving only this wooden door.

He had seen this wooden door before.

In his dreams.

Yet—

What could this possibly mean?

Feeling the surges of palpitation within his chest, Maurice placed his hand upon the doorknob.

As the wooden door creaked open, a low, guttural sound drifted from behind it, resembling some kind of stifled panting.

The moment he pushed the door open, Maurice’s heart skipped a beat.

The sight before him was so shocking that it left him momentarily speechless.

In the center of the room, more than a dozen shackled Squibs were brutally fixed to the walls, their hands and feet tightly bound by heavy chains, their faces covered by dark masks that obscured any expression.

Yet, judging by their postures—

They were in excruciating pain, like helpless prey. Their drooping heads and hunched backs silently conveyed their utter frailty and despair to the outside world.

This scene before him made Maurice’s frame tremble slightly—

Mind you, he hadn't trembled a fraction even when grazed by a spell just moments ago!

What infuriated him even more was that these people, chained to the walls, bore scarcely an inch of unbroken skin. They were treated like livestock, utilized as mere tools or subjects for experimentation.

The air was thick with a nauseating stench of decay, and the scraps of food scattered haphazardly across the floor had long since rotted and spoiled, fouled with filth.

These helpless souls lacked even the treatment of slaves, subjected to torments far beyond ordinary imagination.

In the corner piled a few dilapidated wooden barrels, exuding a pungent odor of blood and stagnant, rotting water.

Those trapped here had been stripped of the most basic human dignity and conditions for survival.

Suffering here was an endless cycle, destined to perpetuate without end.

All of this silently tore at Maurice’s heart, instantly igniting the anger he had suppressed since earlier today, bringing him to the brink of losing his sanity.

And at that moment, the imprisoned souls seemed to sense Maurice’s fury.

Their bodies trembled involuntarily; their drooping heads lifted slightly, and the breathing beneath their masks grew hurried—a faint, thread-like panting.

Having endured such prolonged torment, these individuals had long become hypersensitive to any emotional fluctuation, especially anger—which, to oppressed souls, was both a threat and an inescapable terror.

A few faint, pleading murmurs escaped from one of them, so quiet as to be almost imperceptible, "P-please... let... let me die..."

Though the voice was so delicate, Maurice heard it with crystal clarity.

In that instant, for the very first time, he loathed his own ability.

It was also at this moment that Maurice realized his anger had never been a simple, singular rage; rather, he was angry at his inability to change things, angry at the irreversible fates forced upon these people and all those who shared their tragic plight!

His fury was not merely a hatred for the unbridled cruelty of the abusers, nor was it just resentment toward the apathy of the ruling class; amidst helpless tears and pleas, he had touched the profound despair of these people—they had lost all hope, and even their most fundamental desire to survive had been utterly crushed.

For the third time, Maurice forced himself to regain his composure.

He lowered his head and walked slowly toward the shackled figures.

As he approached one of them, the person instinctively shrank back, filled with extreme terror at Maurice’s approach.

As Maurice reached out his hand to undo the person's chains, the surrounding atmosphere grew even heavier.

Almost instantly, all the imprisoned captives seemed to recall something, beginning to tremble violently.

"No... please... let me die..."

"I won't hurt you. I'm going to take you out of here."

"Please..."

Yet the person acted as if they hadn't heard, mechanically repeating the choked phrase over and over again.

Maurice’s heart sank further. He could only repeat his words softly, again and again, to the trembling figure before him.

"I won't hurt you. I'm going to take you out of here."

However, when the chains finally fell away, the rescued individual still stood frozen like an icy statue, staring blankly at Maurice, terror shimmering unremittingly in their eyes.

Maurice walked slowly toward the next captive.

Clack.

The second chain.

Clack.

The third chain.

Clack.

The fourth chain.

...

Clack.

With each person he freed, Maurice’s hands shook more violently, and his movements gradually turned mechanical.

He forced himself not to look into the hollow, hopeless eyes of these people, nor to look upon the crisscrossing scars marring their bodies.

He forced himself to suppress the turmoil in his heart, ensuring his anger would not inflict even graver harm upon them.

He forced himself to repeat that emotionless sentence over and over.

When Maurice unfastened the seventh chain, he felt not a shred of life. His hands trembling uncontrollably, he slowly removed the mask from the captive's face.

Beneath the mask lay a heartbreakingly youthful face.

It was a young girl, her eyes tightly closed, her complexion ashen, a trace of dying agony resting softly at the corners of her lips.

Judging by her appearance, she could not have been more than eleven or twelve years old.

In a split second, an irrepressible wave of grief and rage surged like a towering tsunami, instantly shattering all his psychological defenses.

Maurice abruptly clutched his chest, his body convulsing violently.

The next moment, a mouthful of blood spewed from his mouth, cutting a dazzling arc through the dim light, the crimson splatters striking the cold floor with a shocking, horrifying impact.

Gathering every ounce of his remaining strength, he forced himself forward—

Thirteen chains.

Twelve people.

Twelve imprisoned souls.

They stood in a row.

Suppressing the metallic taste of blood rising in his throat, Maurice whispered an incantation, channeling his magic like a gentle stream into the tip of his wand.

Sensing the warm magic washing over them, the pupils of these people slowly regained a glimmer of color.

At first, it was merely a faint spark, but gradually it grew more vibrant.

Such a transformation stood out remarkably within their dull, lifeless gazes.

Finally, one after another, they began to speak.

"Are you... sent by the Ministry of Magic to save us?"

Faced with the question, Maurice hesitated for a fraction of a second, then nodded heavily.

"That's right. I was sent by the Ministry of Magic to rescue you."

Hearing Maurice's "official affiliation," several of them let out sighs of profound relief.

"Thank Merlin."

"Am I dreaming..."

"Even if we leave this place, where can we possibly go?"

An out-of-place remark abruptly halted the flickering joy of the group.

"Home... has been gone for a long time."

Immediately following, the source of the voice—the third-to-last man, his back deeply hunched—slowly stepped out of the line and came to stand before Maurice.

"Can you... kill me? I don't want to live anymore... living is far too painful."

"People like us should have died long ago. What is the point of even getting out of here?"

"We don't have a single patch of unbroken skin left on our bodies, and we can barely walk. We will only be dead weight to you."

"You can save us once, but you can't protect us for a lifetime. After you leave, people like us will just be caught again and subjected to fates worse than death."

"Some of us have already had our minds shattered by the torture. Before we lose our sanity entirely, our greatest wish is simply to die."

"If... if you truly came to save us, the greatest kindness you can show us is to put us out of our misery—"

With that, the man abruptly lifted his head, a glimmer of hope finally appearing in his hollow, dead eyes.

It was not a pursuit of life, but a desperate yearning for death!

Following him, several others silently stepped out of the ranks, their gazes fixed intently upon Maurice.

The very first captive remained staring blankly at the ground, endlessly and tirelessly murmuring in a loop.

"Please... let me die..."

Maurice’s body quivered slightly. He slowly closed his eyes and raised his wand.