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In the basement of the Lord of the East Deyal’s palace…
Sizzle!
The hiss of red-hot iron searing flesh echoed through the stillness.
Crack. Craaack.
The sound of big logs being split apart followed.
Rrrrip!
Something was being torn to shreds.
A man stood before the door marked as the confessional chamber, one arm resting on the window frame as he took a long drag from his cigarette.
“Ha…”
It seemed like he had a lot going on. He looked extremely exhausted, yet his eyes burned with ambition. The hand holding the cigarette hung loosely, but his posture showed no vulnerability.
Creak.
From the chamber that had produced those dreadful sounds emerged a figure wearing a crow mask. Fresh blood-stained parts of his clothing.
“My apologies, Your Highness. I failed.”
Rakan, the second prince, flicked his cigarette out the window.
“What is there to apologize for? If even you, who was able to break an elf through torture, failed, then no one could have succeeded.”
“If you grant me two more days…”
“Will that help? He hasn’t even groaned once.”
“It appears he underwent a procedure that removed his sense of pain. I intend to restore it within two days.”
“I’ll consider it. Leave us. I need to see him myself.”
The torturer in the crow mask opened the door. Rakan put on the coat he had removed and stepped inside.
The chamber was simple: rough, thick stone walls; numerous torture instruments; and a single chair at the center. The man bound to the chair was naked and in a state no one would consider survivable. He had been tortured from head to toe. He was only still...
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