Chapter 100: THE TORTURER

Zacharia also winced. But he didn’t scream.

The two hooded men stood in front of him. Their cloaks hung over their shoulders.

One of them stepped forward. He pulled back his hood. His face looked hard, devoid of any emotion. His beard was black and gold, neatly trimmed. Wrinkles ran down his cheeks. He looked to be in his fifties.

The second man was standing a step behind. Younger. Maybe thirty-five. His face was calm but unreadable. No pity. No smirk. Just silence. His eyes scanned the room like he was watching an experiment.

The older man crouched and opened the small metal box fully. There was a collection of tools—scissors, hooks, heated pins, blades and many more. All perfectly arranged.

He picked up a scissor-shaped tool. Tested the grip a bit.

“You missed me, huh?” he said flatly. “Well… I missed having fun with you too.”

He walked to Zacharia and grabbed his right hand.

“Let’s see how long you can enjoy.”

Then, without a pause, he slid the scissor under Zacharia’s fingernail.

And started pulling it Slowly.

Zacharia’s body jerked, his mouth opened, but not a single scream came. Just a voiceless cry, buried deep in his throat. His face twisted in pain.

The younger prisoner beside him stared in horror. This wasn’t the first time in the last two days. But each time it felt like, they were facing death. Fear gripped him slowly like poison.

He started sobbing uncontrollably.

Tears streamed down his cheeks. He looked away, not wanting to see this horror. But his body still kept shaking.

The older man didn’t care. He went for another finger.

One by one.

Zacharia refused to scream, but his body trembled with every pull.

Then the torturer stood and turned toward the crying prisoner.

“You’re already breaking? We’re just getting started.”

He repeated the same process.

The younger man screamed. His voice was loud and broken. But even he didn’t talk.

The torture continued for almost an hour.

Burning rods touching their skin with a hiss, thin knives carving shallow cuts, chains glowing red and tightening when they tried to resist.

Still… not a single word came out from any of their mouth.

Finally, the older man tossed the scissor back into the box.

He wiped his bloodstained gloves on a cloth.

“Still nothing,” he muttered, standing straight.

He then turned to the younger royal guard behind him, who was only watching.

“Let’s go.”

He gave a single nod.

They left without another word.

The door shut behind them with a heavy thud.

Inside, Zacharia leaned his head against the wall. His fingers were bloodied and torn.

Beside him, the other prisoner stayed sitting. He was still sobbing.

Neither had spoken.

But both knew—

They’d be back soon.

Next morning…

The sun was up, but the air was still cool.

On the second floor of the palace, breakfast had been arranged on an open terrace.

It was a wide space under the sky, with stone railings around the edges. No roof. Just open air and morning light.

A few cushioned chairs circled a small round table, covered in white cloth. Honeyed oatcakes, dried figs, and folded omelets were arranged neatly on the table. A silver teapot of hot herbal tea steamed gently beside them.

Only one person was seated there with a calm expression.

Rowan.

But he wasn’t alone though.

A man in his fifties was standing before him in a respectful manner.

It was the same man from last night—the one with the black-and-gold beard. The torturer.

Rowan looked at him.

“Luther, Did you find anything?”

The man didn’t flinch. “No,” he said calmly. “They’re hard nuts to crack.”

He paused.

“It doesn’t matter how much I hurt them. They didn’t spell out a single thing.”

Rowan leaned back slightly in his chair.

He stared at the steam rising from his untouched tea.

Then he looked back at Luther.

“So… they’re trained?”

The man nodded. “Possibly. Or they’re more afraid of something else.”

Rowan’s eyes narrowed. “Worse than you?”

A faint smirk touched the man’s lips. “Yes.”

He didn’t explain.

Rowan fell silent again. The breeze rustled his hair.

A few birds flew past the terrace.

“I really need results soon,” Rowan said.

“I understand.”

Rowan stared at him for a second. “Keep pressing them. But don’t kill either of them yet.”

“As you command.”

The man bowed slightly and stepped back.

Just as he was about to leave, Logan entered with a servant guiding him.

“Good morning, Prince,” Logan wished.

“Huh!” Rowan tried to look surprised and looked left and right. “Are you talking to me? My name is Rowan.” He smirked.

Logan smiled with a bit of amusement. “You sure are in a good mood today, pr…..Rowan”

“Now you are on the right track.” Rowan replied with a smile.

Logan sat beside him pulling out a chair. The environment felt so lively now.

Luther still standing there, was shocked beyond words. “The prince is smiling?! And acting so friendly? Am I seeing things?!” His mind buzzed with these thoughts.

The man who was always calm and cold, distant from everyone but his sister, was now acting overly friendly. Luther could hardly believe it. He won’t be this much dumbfounded even if he had seen a ghost.

Dismissing his thoughts, he was about to leave when Rowan’s next words stopped him again.

“Meet this. Our royal interrogator, Luther. He is a specialist in his sector.” Rowan explained.

Logan nodded at Luther. “Nice to meet you.”

Seeing Logan’s age, Luther didn’t take him seriously, but he still showed proper etiquette—after all, he seemed close to the Third Prince. “Pleasure is mine as well.”

“He is currently interrogating the two men who came after me. Fake Lira Winn’s accomplices.” Rowan elaborated to Logan.

Luther’s brows furrowed at this. “How can he reveal something so important to a kid?” Luther was already surprised to see the Prince acting so friendly but now, this!

He couldn’t accept it. But Logan’s next words shocked him even more. Not just shocked, it actually irritated him.

“If it’s about making someone talk,” Logan said quietly, “I might be useful.”

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