In the span of a breath, Val pushed the cart into Bartholomew’s cell.
Displayed on the cart were a variety of intimidating tools such as a plier that reflected the cold light of the prison, a knife that boasted a cruelly jagged edge, a glowing red-hot iron rod, and countless other tools, each crafted with the purpose of extracting truth from stubborn mouths through pain and terror.
With an indifferent gaze, Val looked at Bartholomew.
The man who once stood tall and proud as the pastor of the Holy Church of Light local to the IronSpire Stronghold was now a pitiful sight.
His once-white robes were now dirtied and worn, turning an unfortunate shade of gray. His rounded belly stuck out like a sore thumb, and a scruffy stubble scattered over his double chin. His eyes, squinting with fear, darted between Val and the terrifying cart that had been wheeled into the cell, as he shook like a leaf in the wind.
“W-what are you going to do to me?”
“Isn’t it clear? I’m going to force the truth out of you!”
Val reached for the plier.
Bartholomew’s eyes grew wide with fear, his body starting to tremble uncontrollably.
“You… You’re bluffing! You’re just trying to scare the truth out of me. No sane person would dare harm a priest of the Church of Light. Who would risk incurring divine wrath for such a petty cause?”
Clearly, Bartholomew had underestimated Val.
In his previous life, Val was known as the Warlord of Chaos for a reason. He was a cruel and talented man with mastery over countless skills, and one of his more chilling talents was his expertise in torture.
His reputation preceded him – he was notorious for breaking the most stubborn wills, for making the most resilient speak.
He was a legend in the underworld for such unsavory matters.
“Your God means nothing to me,” Val stated flatly.
A God that allowed its name to be used by a useless piece of shit to commit atrocities against the innocent was worthless in his eyes.
The God of Light could rot for all he cared, and if it dared to interfere in his affairs, he wouldn’t hesitate to burn down the church nearest to his location!
“Now, listen closely, Bartholomew,” Val said, his voice echoing menacingly in the eerie silence of the Whitemore Family Private Prison. “I’m going to use this plier to pry off each of your nails. Then, I’m going to pour salt onto your fresh wounds. You’ll experience pain like never before. And if that doesn’t break you, I’ll use every single instrument on that cart there, one by one, until you’re begging to tell me everything. The sooner you start speaking the truth, the sooner your agony ends.”
Bartholomew chuckled, dismissing Val’s words as empty threats.
However, his laughter ceased abruptly when Val, with an unnerving calm, gripped the plier and placed it on Bartholomew’s nail.
Then, Val yanked the plier that was gripping Bartholomew’s nail forcefully.
This forceful action ripped the nail from Bartholomew’s finger!
What followed was Bartholomew’s screams that echoed off the stone walls of the prison cell.
Val, unfazed by Bartholomew’s cries, asked, “Are you ready to talk now?”
“I am innocent!” Bartholomew wailed, tears of pain streaming down his face. “I have done nothing to deserve such cruelty!”
Val paused and looked at Bartholomew, his expression as cold as a winter storm.
“The clues all point your way,” he said to the priest calmly. “Evidence doesn’t lie, Bartholomew, but people do. If you value your life, start speaking the truth.”
Since Bartholomew continued to be stubborn, Val decided to push further.
One after another, Val tore off Bartholomew’s nails with the pliers.
As a result, the priest was in so much agony that he cried his heart out, yet he held onto his claim of innocence.
Seeing that Bartholomew wouldn’t break, Val picked up a container of salt.
The tiny white grains sparkled eerily in the dim prison light.
He sprinkled the salt onto Bartholomew’s wounds like a chef seasoning a dish. The moment the grains made contact with the raw, open wounds, Bartholomew’s pain intensified. He howled, the sound similar to a pig being led to slaughter. At the same time, a foul smell filled the air as Bartholomew soiled himself in agony.
“I’ll talk! I’ll talk! Please, no more torture!” Bartholomew cried out.
His previous life of luxury and comfort, a life he’d known because of his inherited wealth, hadn’t prepared him for this kind of torment.
His resistance crumbled under the burning pain from the salted wounds.
Val stared at the broken priest and said, “Then speak.”
His voice was calm, but it was a command, not a request. He was ready to hear what Bartholomew had to say, ready to uncover the truth.
Bartholomew sobbed as he prepared to spill his secrets.
Not wanting to experience the torture again, he told Val everything he wanted to know.
Bartholomew was the son of the former pastor at the local Holy Church of Light in IronSpire Stronghold.
He had used his father’s influence to take his place after his death.
Pastors were supposed to be holy individuals, chosen by the Holy God of Light, and given a Holy Potion that made them priests with a Holy Bloodline.
However, Bartholomew wasn’t holy at all!
Even as a child, he knew he was different than others, more sane people.
He had a dark hobby.
He liked to prey on innocent young victims, doing unspeakable things to them before killing them and hiding their bodies where no one could find them.
He continued this wicked hobby in secret, even after he became the local church’s pastor.
Unfortunately for Bartholomew, his dark secret was discovered by Amadeus Mozart, a nobleman from the kingdom’s core region.
Amadeus was part of the Prime Minister’s influential group, and he used his discovery to manipulate Bartholomew in order to harm the Whitemores.
Amadeus was upset with Joshua, who had protected his daughter from the unwelcome advances of Amadeus’s son. Even though he forced Joshua to send one of his sons to the dangerous frontlines via the Queen’s Court, his fury didn’t lessen. His precious son, who he had raised with care and love and never harmed had been hurt, and someone else was to blame. He wanted revenge. He wanted to spill blood!
So, Amadeus plotted an elaborate scheme to get back at Joshua.
He chose to target Val, Joshua’s son as Val was rumored to have a pure Whitemore Bloodline. He wanted to cut off the good fortune of the Whitemores by getting Val killed.
With Bartholomew’s help, Amadeus swapped Val’s potion with a poison that would prevent Val from awakening his bloodline. He knew that Joshua wouldn’t care much for a son who was a normie, a normal person with no special abilities and that he would choose to send him to the Northern Frontier over his other more capable son.
Normies were often sent to the frontlines as foot soldiers, where they were seen as nothing more than expendable cannon fodder.
The mortality rate of normies in the Northern Frontier was the highest!
Amadeus wanted Joshua to suffer the pain of losing a son as he felt that that was the only way he would be able to avenge his son.
Upon hearing Bartholomew’s confession, Val’s eyes flickered.
“You can rest assured, Bartholomew. I’ll make sure to return this favour to Amadeus soon,” he said, his voice as chilling as the frosty air in the prison.
Bartholomew: What the fuck? He wronged you and forced me to wrong you! Why are you telling me to rest assured? Crazy bastard!
The words that were said next sent a shiver down the priest’s spine.
“For now, let’s settle the score between us.”
With those words, Val proceeded to ruthlessly pummel the priest with the piler.
Ughhhhh!
Bartholomew’s screams echoed through the prison.
“Why? Why are you doing this? I’ve already told you everything you wanted to know. Please spare me.” Bartholomew wailed amidst his sobs.
“I am doing it just because I feel like it, you damn pedophile!” Val spat back, his blows aimed to destroy every inch of Bartholomew.
Under the relentless assault, Bartholomew’s features began to contort grotesquely. It was as if he was receiving a brutal form of plastic surgery for free.
By the time Val had finished with him, Bartholomew was beyond recognition, his face so battered that even his own mother wouldn’t be able to identify him.
Val returned to his father, recounting the tale of Bartholomew’s confession. Joshua listened intently, a slow grin spreading across his face as the story unfolded.
“Good work, Val,” he praised, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. “You have done well.”
That noble from the inner region had really humiliated him, but now he had gained a chance to get back at him. Naturally, he couldn’t wait to fuck him up!
He swiftly used a unique artifact to forward Bartholomew’s confession to the Queen herself.
In the kingdom, long-distance communication was made possible through cursed artifacts.
These objects bore a striking resemblance to the phones Val knew from his previous life. 𝑶𝐯𝑙xt.𝗇𝓔t
However, obtaining one of these devices was a very difficult task, particularly for those living in the outer regions.
In the kingdom, Outlanders were heavily discriminated against, and those folks from the inner region and the divine capital don’t trade with them if they have better options.
They believed with a rather disturbing conviction that they were superior to Outlanders.
Thus, getting such items was a difficult task for Outlanders, even if they were wealthy.
Joshua being in possession of one such long-distance communication cursed artifact showed how capable he was.
“Joshua, why on earth are you bothering me at this ungodly hour? This better be worth my time!” The Queen sounded annoyed.
Joshua grinned, “Your Majesty, you’ll be pleased to know that I’m not just calling to ask for your favorite color or your preference between cats and dogs.”
The Queen retorted, “Very funny, Joshua. If I recall correctly, you’re the dog lover, not me. Now spit it out. What’s so important?”
Joshua had a lot of dogs.
All of his shadow guards were his dogs!
“Well,” Joshua started, trying to suppress his laughter, “I have come across information that you may find… intriguing. It involves a priest from the Church of Light and a plan to hurt one of my boys, a scheme set up by one of the Minister’s minions.”
Silence lingered at the other end of the line.
The silence stretched until the Queen finally replied, “Go on, Joshua. You’ve caught my attention.”
Finally got the Queen’s approval!
Joshua grinned as he relayed Bartholomew’s confession through the artifact to the Queen. It was the grin of a man who knew he held the winning hand.