Chapter 148

Chapter 148

From the age of three, she cleaned chimneys because her small body could easily fit inside them. During the day, she toiled in the vast sorghum fields of Sakhalin, and by evening, she was beaten.

After being whipped until dawn, she had to sleep hanging in the air like a limp, frozen fish on a line.

The cult leader strung them up like laundry, claiming it was how the British Empire used to house the homeless.

Even as they slept, the ropes sometimes snapped, and some of the older children fell, breaking their ankles.

“Never let your guard down.”

That was the one thing the cult leader demanded.

She never even saw her parents’ faces. Their only father was the cult leader. Sleep and food were strictly controlled. No work meant no food, and no beatings meant no love. The “parents” they knew were always tyrants.

“The Lord will establish an eternal kingdom, and this Sakhalin is the promised land of paradise! The Great Winter Castle will strike down all nations of the world and stand alone forever!”

During breaks, they sat in rows on monastery chairs, learning words and scriptures from the priests. The teachers, faces flushed with fervor, made them recite verses. They shouted them back in clumsy but loud voices.

But the older children whispered that the cult leader would sell them to the military. More than a few kids saw uniformed men step out of cars while the cult leader, barefoot, rushed out and bowed deeply to them.

“No, Sakhalin is the promised land! They must be here to keep that promise!”

Someone with wide, flounder-like eyes shouted, and gasps erupted around them. They wished anyone would save them from this place. Suddenly, uncontrollable sobbing filled the air.

“There ain’t no angels in this world.”

Amid it all, only little Sonya scurried around, panting. Her small hands gripped a sickle half her size as she cut down sorghum stalks.

Afterward, she had to gather the cut leaves and bundle them until sunset, but dusk had already fallen. That day, she was probably struck on the right shin.

“Sonya never cries. It’s weird.”

The others always found it strange. But crying made them thirsty and hungry. So even when the older children whimpered in pain, Sonya just endured silently.

When she clenched her jaw and stubbornly swallowed her sobs, rough hands gripped hers. The only one who understood her was Kia, a boy even smaller than her.

“Sonya, Sonya. Then watch me cry.”

Watching Kia bawl, snot running down his face, somehow made Sonya feel lighter. Kia cried loudly for her every time.

Even after shedding chicken-droplet tears, if Sonya’s face softened, Kia would suddenly grin, his acting skills were top-notch.

Sonya gladly gave Kia her share of water and food. Then Kia would blink blankly before burrowing into her arms and burst into tears.

They were alike in everything. Their uncut hair made them look similar—gender, appearance.

They were equally fast runners, never once slipping from the hanging ropes. They were strong at cutting sorghum, their bodies flexible enough to tumble and roll without issue.

Over time, more places began calling for Sakhalin’s children. Each time, the cult leader wore his red robes, usually untouched, like he was presenting fine goods. They were stripped and thrown into unfamiliar arenas.

—!

In the blink of an eye, blood splattered across her face. When the bellies of the siblings she had grown up with were torn open, their guts spilling out, Sonya instinctively grabbed Kia’s hand.

Blue-eyed people laughed wildly, clapped, and screamed, but the children stood frozen stiff.

“GRAAAAH—!”

A gaping-mouthed bear let out a bone-chilling roar. As the beast charged on all fours, fangs bared, Sonya yanked Kia back, just as the boy wet himself.

“Kia, climb up!”

Just before the 1-ton beast slammed into them, the two children scrambled to the top of the iron bars in the nick of time. Their clasped hands trembled violently. The creature was bigger and fiercer than the cult leader, and their hearts felt ready to burst.

The bear rose onto its hind legs and shook the bars mercilessly, but they clung on desperately. Occasionally, whistles from the audience clattered down like tin cans.

For the first time, they wanted to live.

They lost count of how many times they cheated death as they traveled through nameless regions.

They fought barehanded against children raised alongside bears in Dagestan. They learned acrobatics and walked tightropes. They crawled, tumbled, and flew. No matter where they were, they did what they had to.

Even in roaring flames, the two never let go of each other’s hands. That was their only lifeline.

Midair, they reached for each other’s grasp. When one fell, the other grabbed their ankle. The crowd erupted in applause when they spun on the trapeze and embraced like a single being.

Their skin burned crimson in the scorching fire, but they laughed. Some brothers died in the ring with beasts pumped full of aphrodisiacs. Others were sliced apart performing acrobatics on bladed floors.

Yet, people find it… entertaining.

One day, they said, the Great Winter Castle will strike down all nations of the world. But Sonya promised to gouge out the eyes of those clapping and drive spears through their hearts.

“The Nocturnal Circus.”

The cult leader called this barbaric spectacle a long-standing tradition of Sakhalin.

Most spectators were Russian nobles, and the cult leader strengthened ties with them. Though a god to the Koreans, he turned into a groveling clown in front of Russian elites.

“Both of them will do.”

Many siblings had died, but Kia and Sonya were the most popular duo.

Later, some rich men showed up to pick kids. Kia and Sonya looked almost the same; same height, same long hair. The men cleaned Kia up and took her into a creepy basement mansion.

The moment a flabby, naked man reached for Sonya, Kia snapped. He smashed an ashtray on the floor and slashed the pig’s eyeball.

“—!”

Crushed under the man’s bulk, Kia still didn’t give up as he stabbed his throat wildly until he lay motionless in a pool of blood.

“You little psychos! You’ve ruined everything!”

The cult leader beat Kia half to death, but this time, he didn’t lunge at him like before.

They were like wretched dogs, nailed to planks, unable to bark or escape.

Yet they survived again, only to be sent to the Winter Castle. Before leaving, the cult leader promised their suffering would end and paradise awaited.

The beautiful Winter Castle… It sounded impossible, but when they saw it, their lips parted in awe. Overwhelmed, Sonya clasped Kia’s hand as if sealing a promise.

Honey-colored staircases, furniture inlaid with rare gems. A dazzling chandelier bloomed from the ceiling, and gilded wallpaper glowed brilliantly even in the dark. The plush red carpet cushioned their frozen feet.

“Kia! Are we really?”

After enduring so much, did we finally reach heaven? But before she could finish, a massive, rough hand shoved them into a room. The illusion shattered quickly.

“The Winter Castle is the final trial for inheriting the spirit of the former KGB. You have all excelled in training and earned the right to serve the Motherland.”

Thud. Thud. Boots approached, and the door opened. Towering Russian men with sharp strides entered. Their aura was unmistakable. Kia pulled Sonya close.

“Overcome this final trial, and become proud agents who will contribute to the nation.”

The Winter Castle, where endless white snow stretched beyond sight.

“What you must discard now… is compassion.”

All their suffering buried under layers of snow.

“Only those who kill the child before them can become true Russian agents.”

A silent, beautiful mansion.

“Begin.”

The final trial to forge Russian agents was living mannequins.

They were merely offerings.

That was the fate of Sakhalin’s children.