Chapter 49: Confirming

John stepped out of Interrogation Room 2, leaving the sobbing priest behind.

"Put a canvas hood over him, dump him into solitary cell four, and leave the lights off," John instructed the two guards standing by the doorway. "Give him water in six hours. Nothing else."

"Copy that, sir," one of the specialists replied, stepping inside to unbuckle Corvin from the gurney.

Captain Hayes walked alongside John down the brightly lit corridor toward Interrogation Room 1. Hayes flicked through the freshly uploaded data on his tablet, pulling up the digitized map Corvin had drawn along with the audio logs of the priest’s confessions.

"Corvin gave us names, classes, deployment zones in the Abyssian Dungeon, naval routes, and the six-month dispatch timeline," Hayes briefed, his voice low and clinical. "Now we see if our high-and-mighty Inquisitor tries to play hero or if his story matches."

"Valerius isn’t a simple priest," John said, stopping in front of the reinforced steel door. "He’s an Inquisitor. He’s used to inflicting torture on demi-humans and political dissidents. Men like him usually think they understand pain, which makes them arrogant. They think they can endure anything because they believe they hold divine superiority."

John grabbed the heavy door handle, his expression turning pitch-black. "Let’s show him what actual interrogation looks like."

The pneumatic lock hissed open with a heavy mechanical click.

Inside Room 1, Grand Inquisitor Lord Valerius sat bound to a reinforced steel chair bolted into the concrete floor. Unlike Corvin, who had been shivering in sheer panic, Valerius sat upright with his chin raised high, despite his split lip and swollen jaw. His golden hair was greasy and matted, and his orange jumpsuit clashed violently with his aristocratic posture, but his eyes burned with pure, venomous spite.

The moment John and Hayes entered, followed by two armed Delta operators carrying heavy tactical cases, Valerius sneered.

"Back so soon, defective filth?" Valerius spat, his aristocratic accent sharp and venomous. "Did you think throwing me into an iron cage and stripping my blessed vestments would make a scion of House Valerius beg for mercy? I am an ordained Grand Inquisitor of the Holy Solarian Empire! I have burned hundreds of heretics and flayed demonic abominations with my own hands! Your childish intimidation tactics mean nothing to me!"

John didn’t answer immediately. He walked over to the metal table, pulled out the opposite chair, and sat down. Hayes stood at his side, setting the tablet on the surface.

"I don’t care about your family name, Valerius," John said evenly. "And I don’t care how many unarmed beastkin you’ve burned at the stake. Father Corvin just spent the last twenty minutes singing like a choirboy in the room next door."

Valerius’s eyes twitched, but his arrogant sneer remained plastered across his face.

"Corvin is a soft, weak-willed cleric of the inner sanctum," Valerius scoffed, leaning his head back against the chair. "A spineless coward who grovels at the sight of a drawn blade. Whatever lies that trembling fool fed you to save his pathetic skin are worthless. You want the truth of the Holy Empire? You want our military secrets? Come take them from me, boy. You will find that an imperial inquisitor does not break."

John leaned back in his chair and looked up at Hayes. "He wants to be tough."

"Seems like it, sir," Hayes replied coldly.

"Good. Let’s make sure he regrets every second of it."

John gestured to the two operators.

Without a word, the soldiers stepped forward. One pinned Valerius’s head firmly against the steel headrest, while the other unlocked a heavy Pelican case and pulled out a pair of specialized industrial compression clamps and a high-voltage variable-output nerve stimulator.

Valerius’s eyes narrowed, looking at the unfamiliar tools. "What is that nonsense? More defective toys?"

"You said you’ve flayed heretics before," John remarked calmly, watching the operators fasten the heavy metal clamps around Valerius’s left hand, securing his fingers flat against an insulated carbon plate. "So you probably know about blood loss, lacerations, and brute force trauma. The problem with fantasy-world torture is that it’s primitive. It relies on blunt damage, which causes victims to go into shock and pass out. It wastes time."

The specialist attached two silver probe nodes directly to the base of Valerius’s wrists and temples, connecting the wires to a small, matte-black power box.

"Modern interrogation is scientific," John continued, resting his chin on his hands. "No broken bones required to start. Just pure, unfiltered electrical current directly targeting your peripheral nervous system. It triggers maximum sensory pain receptors without giving your brain the luxury of passing out from blood loss."

Valerius’s sneer began to slip, a flicker of unease finally surfacing behind his golden pupils. "What are you—"

"Level three," John ordered.

The specialist flipped the toggle switch.

BZZZZZZT!

A sharp, violent crackle of blue current surged through the wire.

Valerius’s entire body went rigid like a drawn bowstring. His spine arched with such violent force that the steel bolts holding the chair groaned against the concrete. His eyes bulged out of their sockets, veins bulging across his forehead and neck as a high-pitched, strangled shriek tore out of his throat.

"AAAAAAAGGGHHH! GGGNNNN—!"

Every muscle in his limbs contracted uncontrollably. The electrical pulse flooded his central nervous system with the sensation of boiling oil being injected directly into his marrow. His jaws clamped together so hard blood seeped from his gums, but the current gave his nerves no respite.

Five seconds. Ten seconds. Fifteen seconds.

The operator cut the power.

Valerius slumped heavily against the steel frame, gasping for air in ragged, broken sobs. Thick strings of saliva and sweat dripped from his chin onto his orange jumpsuit. His limbs twitched uncontrollably from residual nerve fire, his aristocratic composure completely obliterated in under twenty seconds.

"Let’s cross-examine Father Corvin’s testimony," John said, his voice as calm and steady as a surgeon reviewing an incision. "First question: the maritime staging routes."

Hayes brought up Corvin’s hand-drawn map on the tablet, turning the screen to face the trembling Inquisitor.

"Corvin marked Port Solis and the drydocks of Val-Doran as the primary naval mobilization hubs for the Grand Armada," John stated. "He marked the central oceanic currents running southwest along the Dragon’s Spine reef. Is this accurate?"

Valerius panted heavily, his chest heaving as he tried to swallow his own vomit. He glared at John through blurred vision, coughing up a mouthful of bloody spit onto the floor.

"Curse... curse you... heretic dog..." Valerius wheezed, his voice hoarse and broken. "I will... I will tell you nothing..."

John didn’t even blink. "Level six. Add mechanical joint stress to the left index and pinky."

"Wait—NO!" Valerius shrieked.

CRACK-SNAP.

The specialist tightened the compression screws on the carbon clamp, systematically hyperextending the small joints of Valerius’s fingers backward past their breaking point, while simultaneously flipping the voltage dial to six.

BZZZZZZZT!

"AAAAAAAHHHHHHH! STOP! STOP! BY THE LIGHT, STOP!"

Valerius’s scream bounced violently off the soundproof walls. The agony of shattered finger joints combined with doubled electrical voltage overwhelmed his brain completely. Tears, snot, and sweat poured freely down his face as he violently convulsed against the restraints, his pride tearing to pieces under the cold, clinical brutality.

The switch was flipped off.

Valerius hung in his restraints, weeping openly like a terrified child, completely broken. The fierce, untouchable Grand Inquisitor was gone. In his place sat a shattered nobleman shivering in sheer terror.

"Port Solis..." Valerius sobbed uncontrollably, gasping for every breath. "Yes! It’s true! Port Solis is the main staging port! Val-Doran holds the third imperial dreadnought fleet! Corvin didn’t lie! The current through the Dragon’s Spine is the only safe channel for heavy galleons!"

"Good," John said coldly, not showing the slightest pity. "Next question. The six-month response protocol. Is the imperial admiralty bound to launch the Grand Armada if they don’t receive your vanguard’s courier bird within half a year?"

"Yes! Yes!" Valerius screamed, desperate to avoid another surge. "Six months from the day we landed! The Holy Synod mandated that if the beachhead is unconfirmed by the summer solstice, a full expeditionary force of over three hundred warships and forty thousand imperial crusaders will be dispatched!"

Hayes logged the confirmation into the database. "Timeline fully verified, sir. Corvin was telling the truth."

"What about the summoned heroes?" John pressed, leaning in closer. "Corvin said Kemji Sato is leading the party, power-leveling through the Abyssian Dungeon. What are their current levels, and what high-tier artifacts were they given?"

Valerius shook his head rapidly, spilling everything without holding back a single syllable.

"Sato... Sato is level fifty!" Valerius blurted out, tears streaming down his bruised cheeks. "The High Pontiff bestowed upon him the Sunfire Holy Blade, an ancient divine relic that ignores physical armor and unleashes sacred plasma waves! The high mages possess grade-eight mana amplification rings! They have been clearing monster hordes to unlock their skill trees."

After hearing all that, John was satisfied. Even though he doesn’t fully believe the intel they were getting from these two Solarians, at least they have something that they can base on.

"Okay, we are done."