Chapter 1517: Hard Interrogation II

Clift had always been a quiet, precise, controlled, and lethally efficient. As one of the king’s most trusted assassins, he moved beneath the surface of the kingdom like a submerged blade, unseen and deadly.

They called him the King’s Hidden Dagger, a title whispered by those who knew that when Clift appeared, someone’s fate had already been sealed.

Assassinations, espionage, clandestine infiltration, he handled the kingdom’s filth so the crown could remain untarnished. And if the mission required pain, Clift delivered it with the same finesse others reserved for poetry.

He drew out a slender steel needle, its tip gleaming with a cold, merciless promise. With practiced ease, he gripped Igor’s trembling hand and pierced the needle between the knuckles, one deliberate stab at a time—never deep enough to cripple, only deep enough to awaken nerves in a screaming blaze.

Igor’s body seized violently. Sweat cascaded down his temples and soaked the collar of his shirt. His lungs dragged in ragged, panicked breaths, but Samuel’s hand smothered his mouth, turning what should’ve been screams into strangled, pathetic whimpers. His hands, bound to the armchair, clench tightly.

Clift barely blinked. He adjusted his angle and continued, each puncture a measured beat in a slow, excruciating rhythm.

Across the room, Zhao Li Xin leaned against the wall, arms folded, expression immune to Igor’s muffled pleas. The tortured man’s wild, hate-filled glare never reached him. Zhao Li Xin had only one concern, and it certainly wasn’t Igor.

His eyes slid toward Lory.

Outwardly, she was composed, cool as glass. But Zhao Li Xin saw the subtle details—the pale tension in her knuckles, the faint quiver in her fingers, the long breath she took to steady herself. Zhao Li Xin knew Lory hated this, but he understood the necessity of it; still, it’s not something she could take lightly.

In the past he used to hide this from her, all those blood and violence, he try to minimized it so she will not notice it but in this world she had different status, different obligation and duty, she cannot avoid it and Zhao Li Xin cannot came to her to offer her comfort as he used to, because the enemy will taking advantaged of that, they will make the interogation harder. ℴ

Time loomed over them like a shadow ready to swallow everything. They needed answers, all of them, before the enemy locates Igor’s location.

They were prepared for the enemy’s arrival sooner or later, as Igor was still a valuable asset, his work was important, and he knew too much. Therefore, they couldn’t afford to waste too much time.

Clift drove the next needle in with surgical precision.

"Speak, Igor," he murmured, his voice as calm as still water, and somehow even more intimidating. "You know... I could do this all day." His head tilted slightly, his eyes narrowed in a somewhat polite curiosity. "Can you?" he threatened.

Igor’s chest heaved and trembled, sweat dripping from his chin onto the floor. His breaths came in wet, desperate bursts. Clift regarded him with quiet patience, as if this were nothing more than a mildly tedious conversation.

"Would you talk?" Clift asked again, this time in a coaxing tone that somehow felt crueler than shouting.

Igor froze. For a heartbeat, the room went silent except for his ragged wheezing. Then he nodded, rapidly, profusely, like a dog desperate for mercy.

Clift’s smile was small, almost gentle. He flicked his gaze toward Samuel, a silent command. Samuel instantly pulled his hand away from Igor’s mouth. The moment he did, he grimaced in disgust, wiping the saliva and sweat onto the nearest surface.

"Sh*t!" he cursed, shaking his hand as though trying to fling off contamination.

Jay, ever theatrical, summoned a towel from his ring with a subtle twist of his fingers. He pretended to fish it out of his jacket instead, then handed it to Samuel with a sympathetic nod.

Samuel accepted it without the slightest suspicion, already scrubbing his hand as if trying to erase the memory of touching Igor’s fluids.

Clift crossed his arms over his chest, posture relaxed, expression faintly bored, as though he were merely waiting for Igor to catch his breath instead of recovering from torture.

Igor panted heavily, sucking in air like a dying animal. His face was pale, a sheen of cold sweat glistening on his skin, and his eyes burned with a hatred so raw it seemed ready to ignite.

But hatred couldn’t save him. Not now.

The pain struck him like thunderbolt. A kind he had never imagined could be inflicted by something as small and precise as a needle. After all the horrors he had inflicted on the children he preyed upon, Igor finally understood: he was no better than the terrified innocents he once tormented.

Lory watched with steady eyes.

She had read reports of Igor’s crimes, the horrific things he forced upon those poor children, the fear and pain he inflicted not only on them but on their families as well.

Perhaps that was why she could stand here now, numb as she watched Clift work. Why she could remain calm as she watched Igor writhe in pain, because whatever she was feeling now was nothing compared to what those children were going through.

Finally Igor... Igor was finally tasting a fraction of the terror he had forced upon others.

"Now," Clift said softly, leaning forward just enough to make Igor recoil, "talk."

Igor swallowed hard. His lips trembled as he gathered the words on his tongue, forcing them out past the lingering fear.

"Do you... remember the war between the Gifted and the Creator centuries ago?" he rasped.

Lory’s brows pulled together. "Everyone knows that," she said. Especially anyone born in Harland.

Igor let out a shaky, humorless breath. "Yes. The time when the Gifted lost all their powers because of the device the Creator built... the device that stripped them bare."

His eyes shifted, unfocused, drifting to some distant memory. "After that, the Gifted were slaughtered like grass. Hunted down to near extinction. If King Arkheon of the Lucient family hadn’t risen with his Archknights..." His voice weakened. "Gifted people wouldn’t exist today."

Samuel stiffened. Jay stopped pretending to look casual. Even Zhao Li Xin’s expression sharpened beneath the mask.

Lory’s voice came out thin. "Are you saying they want to repeat the war? Another war between the Gifted and the Creator?" The thought alone stunned her, made something cold crawl up her spine.

Igor chuckled sourly, in almost broken sound. "No," he said, shaking his head weakly. "No, they want more than that."

His gaze lifted to them, eyes glittering with a mix of fear and bitter amusement.

Igor continue, "They want to control every Gifted in the world. Bring them all under two powerful groups only, Luxemborough and the S.A.I.N.T. organization."

Silence dropped like a stone in a still lake. Clift’s expression darkened, the air around him shifting noticeably. "And how, they would do that?"

Igor hesitated. A long, trembling pause. He looked down, lips pressing together as panic flared again in his eyes. Clift didn’t want to wait any longer.

He seized Igor’s hand and drove a long needle straight into the back of his palm, clean, merciless, piercing through flesh and muscle and pinning his hand to the armrest. Igor’s body arched as the scream tore out of him, raw and violent.

Before the sound had fully left Igor’s throat, Clift picked up another needle and stabbed it through the base of his palm, angling it so the tip embedded into the wooden chair beneath.

Igor shrieked high, hoarse, and desperate.

Lory took a deep breath, her expression firmly under control. Meanwhile, Zhao Li Xin, Samuel, and Jay watched with indifferent faces.

Clift leaned in, his shadow swallowing the dim light, eyes flat and unblinking. "Speak," he hissed. "Or this time, I’ll take your hand—completely."

"They—they created a tower, okay? A big, giant tower!" Igor screamed, voice cracking. The pain was so sharp it threatened to drag him into unconsciousness.

"A tower?" Lory exchanged a grave look with the others, the air tightening around them.

"What tower?" Clift pressed, voice low and deadly.

"It’s a..." Igor sucked in a ragged breath. "It’s called the Aetherion Spear."

"Where is this tower located?" Clift demanded, impatience sharpening every syllable.

Igor’s face drained of all color. "If I tell you... They’ll kill me," he whispered, desperation trembling in his voice.

Clift’s lips curled into a cold smile. "And what makes you think we won’t? Stay silent, and we have no reason to keep you alive."

Igor clenched his jaw. He weighed his options, Luxemborough and the Paladin might still find a use for him, but these people... if he held his tongue, they would slit it. He inhaled shakily.

"It’s under the Blackridged area," he finally spat. "The skyscraper they’re building, it will be called Aetherion Spear once it was done."

"WHAT?" Lory gasped, shock stabbing through her voice. ℴ

Clift pinched the bridge of his nose. Of course. No wonder the Luxemborough government poured obscene amounts of money into the Blackridged project. So this was the reason.