Chapter 251: The witchcraft

His lips parted against his will, and he could do nothing but swallow the alcohol she poured into his mouth. The liquid burned against his injured lips and throat, and the pain became so unbearable that tears streamed down his face while he struggled uselessly against the chains.

When the glass was finally empty, a scream tore from his throat. His body convulsed before sagging under his suspended arms, and he hung there gasping, unable to understand why he had obeyed a command he had been so determined to resist.

Sashkia lowered the empty glass and stepped away from him, apparently satisfied with her attempt at so-called purification.

One of Cassian’s men, who had been standing silently in the corner throughout the exchange, approached her and took the glass from her hand. He returned to his position without uttering a word, leaving the captive hanging before them while Sashkia turned her attention towards Cassian before returning it to the prisoner.

"Let us see whether you have been purified," Sashkia remarked, then raised both hands and began drawing a complex geometric pattern in the air, using two fingers from each hand to trace the intricate lines. Light appeared wherever her fingers moved, connecting one shape to another until an elaborate formation floated before her.

The two guards standing inside the room could see nothing of the magic she was creating, although Cassian could see every detail of it.

Once the formation was complete, the geometric shapes began changing, their lines twisting and rearranging themselves into ancient symbols. Sashkia directed the spell towards the captive, sending the glowing inscriptions straight at his body, but the moment they struck him, an invisible force repelled them. The letters shattered before they could penetrate his flesh, and the remaining light disappeared into thin air.

"It failed," Sashkia murmured, unable to hide her disappointment. She had expected some resistance, but the spell had been rejected before it could even begin its work.

Cassian glanced towards the two guards. "Wait outside."

Neither man questioned the order. They bowed slightly and left the room, closing the door behind them.

"I have already tried a similar spell," Cassian informed her, returning his attention to the captive. "The result was the same. No powerful spells are enough to break the binding."

His eyes narrowed as he studied the bloodied man hanging from the ceiling. The captive had become increasingly useless to him, not because he refused to speak, but because someone had made certain he could not reveal the information even if he wanted to.

"Hmm." Sashkia tilted her head, considering the failed attempt. "Perhaps we are approaching it incorrectly."

She raised her hands once more and began forming a different pattern. This one was considerably more intricate, with ancient letters appearing between the geometric lines before arranging themselves into a complete formation. When she directed it towards the captive, the inscriptions passed through his skin without encountering the resistance that had destroyed her previous spell.

Sashkia watched them carefully as they entered his body and began travelling through it. For a brief moment, she thought she had finally found a way past the protection, but the captive suddenly jerked, his limbs shaking so violently that the chains rattled against their attachments in the ceiling.

The glowing inscriptions travelling beneath his skin broke apart one after another until the last trace of her magic was destroyed.

Sashkia lowered her hands, her brows drawing together as she examined the man. Whoever had placed the binding had made certain that even a spell capable of penetrating his body could not reach its source.

She began pacing across the room, occasionally stopping to examine the captive before continuing again.

Cassian had already taken his usual place on the couch, watching her without interrupting. He knew that expression well enough to understand that she was considering possibilities, and he had no intention of disturbing her until she found something worth discussing.

After several minutes, Sashkia stopped abruptly and turned towards him.

"Cassian, do you need him alive?" she asked, her voice carrying an urgency that had been absent from her earlier attempts.

Cassian looked at the captive before returning his gaze to her. He had no particular interest in keeping the man breathing once he had served his purpose, and the possibility that Sashkia had finally found another approach was considerably more appealing than the captive’s continued survival.

"I need answers, Sashkia," he replied with complete indifference. "That is all."

Sashkia focused on her breath and closed her eyes, silently chanting an ancient incantation while gathering the magic within her. When she raised her hands, her fingers began tracing another intricate pattern in the air. She continued chanting until the formation was complete, and the moment she opened her eyes, the geometric lines transformed into ancient symbols that glowed before her. With a swift movement of her fingers, she sent the entire formation towards the captive, and this time, instead of being repelled, the symbols struck his chest and dissolved into his body.

The captive’s veins began to darken almost immediately, growing thicker beneath his skin as the spell travelled through them. He cried out when blood started seeping through the tiny pores of his skin, first in small droplets and then in a continuous flow that soaked his torn clothes and dripped onto the floor. His stomach churned violently, and the alcohol Sashkia had forced him to drink began spreading through his body, replacing the blood that was being expelled. The more blood he lost, the more alcohol entered his circulation, until his veins carried nothing but the liquid Sashkia had given him.

The captive screamed as his body convulsed against the chains. He could feel something moving through him, forcing out his blood while keeping him conscious enough to endure the pain. His clothes were drenched, and a pool of blood continued to spread beneath his dangling feet. Yet the spell did not stop until every drop of blood had been drained from his body and replaced by alcohol.

Cassian remained seated on the couch, watching the process without moving.

"You have got 1 minute to get your answer," Sashika informed Cassian. And he didn’t waste the precious time.

"Who sent you?"

"I don’t know!" The captive struggled to speak through his trembling lips. "I received everything through email. Once the instructions arrived and the money was transferred into my account, the email disappeared on its own. I never met the person who sent it."

Cassian studied him for a moment before asking his next question. "Which role did you play in the attempt to murder me?"

"I was only asked to deliver certain items to a particular location."

"What items?" Was Cassian’s next question.

"A sword," the captive answered, his breathing becoming increasingly strained. "There were strange markings on it. And special bullets. They had some kind of symbol engraved on them as well."

Cassian’s eyes narrowed. "Where did you deliver them?"

The captive opened his mouth, but no answer came. His body suddenly jerked against the chains, and a scream escaped him as the binding resisted the information he was trying to reveal. The veins beneath his skin swelled, and his muscles contracted so violently that the chains rattled above him.

Cassian did not repeat the question immediately. He watched the reaction, recognising that the faint spell was still attempting to prevent the captive from disclosing the location.

Sashkia raised her fingers slightly, maintaining her own spell as the alcohol continued circulating through his body.

"Where did you deliver them?" Cassian demanded again.

"The border!" the captive cried, struggling to force the words through his throat. "The border of Northern Haven!"

The moment he revealed the location, his body convulsed again. The alcohol that had replaced his blood began pouring out through his skin, soaking his clothes and dripping onto the blood-covered floor as the magic holding him together started to give way, as did his life.

"Northern Haven... where one of the Syrvoski family rules," Sashkia murmured under her breath, unable to believe it.