[Chapter 245. Forced compliance]

The translucent System window materialized before Searanox's eyes, his eyes glossed over as he read the confirmation text. With a flick of his thoughts, he dismissed it. The window dissolved into motes of light that vanished from sight.

"Anax Granirasy, what a lovely name," Searanox said, his voice dropping to a low, deliberate tone. "Get off the ground. Stand behind me and wait until I tell you what to do." He watched as she scrambled to her feet, her movements clumsy with fear as she struggled to follow his command. His eyes shifted, sweeping over the remaining captives with an unnerving calm. "I don't need six of you to answer my questions. But I give you the chance to enter a contract with me. If you don't... well, you know what I may do."

The threat hung as heavy as the rain-soaked atmosphere. As the last words left his lips, five more System windows opened in succession in his vision. One accepted without hesitation; four hesitated, then declined. A deep frown creased his brow before he spoke again, his voice losing all pretense of civility.

"Ulrum, you may join Anax," he commanded, gesturing toward the healer who had been the first to accept. The healer rose shakily from his knees, his face a mask of resignation as he moved to stand beside Anax. "And you two," Searanox nodded toward them, "can turn around. You don't have to watch what happens next."

"You two should be ashamed of yourselves, to betray the empire like that," Kandora spat. Her eyes gleamed with fire and resentment as she watched her comrades submit to the System contract. Her voice cut through the tension, sharp as a blade, despite her own vulnerable position.

The moment Anax and Ulrum turned away, facing the darkness with hunched shoulders, the night erupted. Crimson light bathed the grasslands as Searanox's assault drones unleashed their full fury. The air crackled with energy as beams of concentrated crimson slammed into the four remaining captives. Their screams pierced the night—a cacophony of agony and disbelief that echoed through the heavy air as flesh sizzled and bones shattered under the relentless assault. The barrier pulsed, containing the chaos but failing to muffle the sounds of brutality.

After what seemed like an eternity but was likely less than a minute, the flashing crimson lights ceased. In their place, a dim green glow filled the cage as Searanox's healing drone descended upon the broken forms. The green energy worked fast, knitting torn flesh and resetting mangled limbs with clinical precision. Just as Vindala could catch her breath, crimson beams lanced out again, followed by more healing. The cycle of destruction and restoration repeated without pause.

"I can keep this up indefinitely," Searanox stated, his voice devoid of emotion as he watched the horrific display. His eyes remained fixed on the mangled forms writhing within the shimmering cage, observing with detachment as his drones performed their alternating functions. "The question is how long you can endure this before your mind breaks," he added, his words cutting through the renewed screams.

"Please, no more. I accept your contract. Just let me out," Vindala gasped. Her voice was a raw whisper as the healing drone finished knitting her flesh back together for the third time. Her eyes, wide with terror and pain, met his through the energy barrier, all resistance shattered by the relentless cycle of agony and temporary reprieve.

"Very well, you may exit after you accept," Searanox said with practiced indifference.

The words barely disturbed the humid air as another translucent System window materialized before Vindala's terrified eyes. He didn't need to gesture; his thoughts alone willed the contract into existence. Her hand trembled as she reached toward the ethereal interface, her fingers seeming to pass through solid light as she pressed the [Accept] button with a desperate urgency that spoke volumes about her shattered resolve.

In the next moment, the barrier dissolved before Vindala like morning mist burned away by harsh sunlight. She stumbled forward, her knees buckling as she crossed the threshold between confinement and relative freedom. Quin followed after, his massive frame moving with surprising speed for someone so broken. His eyes darted around, never quite meeting Searanox's gaze, as if afraid that direct eye contact might summon another round of agony. Both moved to stand with Anax and Ulrum, forming a small huddle of broken individuals who had chosen survival over pride.

Gron held out another hour of constant mutilation and healing. His deep, guttural screams eventually deteriorated into wet, ragged gasps as his vocal cords shredded from the strain. Searanox had expected him to hold out longer since he was their tank, his broad frame and enhanced constitution seemingly perfect for enduring such punishment. Yet even Gron's impressive resilience fractured under the relentless cycle. His acceptance of the contract came as his body convulsed from the latest round of healing, which had barely finished before another crimson beam descended.

But what surprised him the most was Kandora. Even after another two hours, when the others were huddled together in shock, their faces pale and vacant from trauma, Kandora remained defiant within the shimmering confines of the barrier. Her dark hair was matted with sweat and blood, her clothes torn and stained, yet her posture maintained an aristocratic stiffness that bordered on the absurd given their circumstances. Despite the tremors wracking her body after each assault drone attack, she never once begged for mercy. She never reached for the glowing blue interface that could end her suffering.

"Why are you making it so hard on yourself?" Searanox asked, his voice carrying across the space with unnerving calm. He had long since dismissed his chair, opting instead to sit cross-legged in the damp grass, occasionally eating chips from a bag he had summoned from his storage ring. The crunching sound was casual, an auditory counterpoint to the sizzling flesh and anguished cries filling the air. Each crisp bite seemed to mock her stubbornness, emphasizing how little her suffering affected his state of mind.

"I said I won't," Kandora rasped. Her voice was raw from screaming yet filled with an unbroken conviction that defied her physical state. She spat blood onto the ground beside her, the crimson mixing with mud in a grotesque display of continued defiance. "I'm a highborn. We don't enter into contracts with our lesser. Especially not the kind you provided." Her eyes, though clouded with pain, burned with an aristocratic fire that Searanox found both infuriating and intriguing.

"Quin, take her storage ring, and each piece of equipment that could be used to harm me or herself." Searanox's voice cut through the night air with clinical precision, each word calculated. His gaze remained fixed on Kandora as he issued the command, watching for any reaction to the impending violation of her personal belongings.

The tall man, Quin, stood up from where he had been huddled with the others, his movements stiff and uncertain. His large frame cast a looming shadow over Kandora as he approached, the moonlight glinting off the sweat beading on his forehead. To Searanox's astonishment, Kandora didn't resist when Quin reached for the ornate silver ring on her finger. Instead, with a dignified slowness that defied her battered state, she extended her hand and allowed him to remove it. She even pointed out various hidden compartments and straps in her armor, indicating items that could potentially be used as weapons, all while maintaining eye contact with Searanox—a silent challenge in her gaze speaking volumes of her unbroken spirit.

As that violation occurred, Searanox turned his attention toward Anax, who stood apart from the others with a posture of practiced deference.

"So, how many dungeons have you cleared so far?" he asked. His voice was casual, as if discussing the weather and not extracting strategic information from his newest acquisition.

"Hundreds, if not thousands. I never counted." She answered without a beat of hesitation, her eyes fixed on a point somewhere beyond his shoulder—the appropriate submissive stance for someone under a System contract that enforced absolute truthfulness.