Inside the Goldenveil barracks, a makeshift prison had been hastily set up in one of the back rooms.

After being healed, bathed, and fed, the prisoner found himself alone at the center of the space, firmly bound to a wooden chair.

His eyes darted across every corner, searching for something, anything, that might offer a path to escape.

He found nothing.

Somewhere beyond the walls, the terrible pressure of that third-stage captain pressed down on his shoulders, and he knew the interrogation would begin soon.

Fear coiled in his heart, but he crushed it down, hardening his face and clenching his teeth until his jaw ached.

His Lord was the blessed golden son, and he was one of his most loyal followers.

No matter what that bastard did to him, he would never surrender to betrayal!

If it weren’t for the rope stuffed into his mouth, he would have already ended his own life by biting through his tongue.

As things stood, though, he could only wait.

He would say nothing. He would let them kill him, or perhaps keep him imprisoned.

The second scenario suited him better. By the end of winter, he would watch with his own eyes as his lord tore the head off that pretty-faced bastard.

A proud smile began to tug at the corner of his lips, only to freeze in place.

A loud crack of boots echoed against the stone, and the wooden door swung open with a sharp creak.

"Here it is, my lord. Do you wish for me to guard the door?" Doran, the captain of the guard, asked as he stepped aside to make way for Lord Ethan.

"Yes... I shouldn’t be too long." Ethan flashed a gentle smile, nodding slightly to Doran, who closed the door behind him.

Darkness swallowed the room once more, and a powerful murderous intent fell upon the prisoner, sharp enough that his breath caught in his throat.

Ethan walked over to a torch on the wall and, channeling his aura, lit it with a soft crackle. Golden light spilled across the stones, washing over the bound man.

"What is your name?" Ethan asked, laying out the tools he had borrowed from Roderik on a small wooden table in the corner.

"It’s Vaelis, you damned pig! My Lord will not forgive you!" the man roared, spitting in Ethan’s direction.

Ethan’s lips merely curled in disdain.

Vaelis tried to resist as the young Lord approached, tried to bite down when he felt powerful fingers force their way into his mouth, but the difference between them was simply too vast.

Ethan was a third-stage warrior, after all.

The handsome young man pried the prisoner’s jaws apart and, gripping the pliers firmly, clamped them around one of his teeth before wrenching sharply. 𝒻𝑟ℯℯ𝑤𝑒𝑏𝑛𝘰𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝒸𝑜𝘮

A muffled scream tore through the room, drowned by the blood that flooded Vaelis’s mouth.

His entire body writhed against the ropes as crimson blood dripped down his chin and pooled on his chest.

It was easy to show strength before the torture had even begun.

"Who is your Lord? How far does his power extend?" Ethan asked coldly, letting the tooth fall to the floor with a soft clink.

"F-fuck you... you son of a bitch!"

Ethan seized one of the man’s fingers and, with a quick twist, snapped it clean.

Another scream of pain ripped from Vaelis’s throat, but once again, he answered only with curses.

"Ah... your wives are hot! You should give one of them to me! Hahaha," Vaelis cackled, until his mouth snapped shut in a spasm of agony.

Ethan had used the pliers to rip out one of his fingernails.

A superior healing potion was quickly poured over the raw wound and the fingernail grew back within seconds before the prisoner’s widened eyes.

"Who is your Lord? How far does his power extend?" Ethan repeated the question.

And again, the answer was the same.

Vaelis cursed, spat, strained against his bonds, and laughed like a maniac, but said nothing.

After ten minutes, Ethan poured a supreme healing potion down the man’s throat, waited until every wound had sealed, and then returned to his work.

Outside, Doran leaned against the wall with his eyes calmly closed, arms folded across his chest.

Having once served in the army of the Fallen Sun Empire, he had tortured enemy soldiers many times before, and the muffled screams slipping through the crack in the door meant little to him.

Roughly an hour and a half later, Ethan stepped out with an irritated look on his face.

His white shirt was drenched in blood, as were his hands and the streaks running down his cheeks.

"I’ll be back tomorrow. Don’t die before then," he said toward the open door.

Doran immediately closed it with a heavy thud.

The next morning, at the exact same time, Ethan arrived at the barracks. After exactly an hour and a half, he left once more, drenched in blood.

The same thing happened on the third day, and on the fourth.

By the fifth day, the man no longer cursed with courage. Quite the opposite.

When Ethan’s footsteps echoed down the hallway, Vaelis trembled in terror, his tear-streaked eyes scanning the room in desperation, searching for an exit that did not exist.

By the sixth day, he was begging for death.

On the seventh, it took only a single step forward from Ethan for him to break entirely, offering everything he had.

His nails no longer grew back. He was toothless. Every finger, on both hands and feet, had been pulled off one by one.

"Are you going to talk?" Ethan smiled down at the broken man, who nodded frantically, his head shaking in wild, desperate motions.

"P-please... just make this stop! I’ll talk... I’ll talk!" Vaelis rasped in a hoarse, ruined voice, squirming weakly in the chair.

He would tell everything, absolutely everything!

"My Lord is Alistair Vaelor, a Golden Lord, no... a hunter of Golden Lords! He rules Whitefall, a city with about five thousand inhabitants!" Vaelis choked out, tears spilling freely down his cheeks.

"What are your military forces?" Ethan asked, his heart sinking with those numbers.

A population five times larger than Goldenveil’s...

This wouldn’t be simple.

"Ah... about two hundred and fifty in the guard, plus another twenty focused on the Lord’s personal protection, and... I don’t know... about one thousand five hundred in the militia," Vaelis said, watching Ethan’s face slowly contort.

"Ah... hahaha, do you see the mistake you just made? Hand me back over to my lord and surrender; he’ll be merciful to your people!"

Ethan couldn’t care less about those words. His eyes remained cold as he picked up the pair of pliers once more. "Want to go back to the torture?"

"N-no... NO!" Vaelis screamed, drawing a dry, humorless laugh from Ethan.

"Very well. Keep telling me everything you know, then."