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墨書 Inktalez
In the cold, damp dungeon, the boy stared expressionlessly at the nearly lifeless Boy.
The boy let out a cold laugh. "You won't say anything, will you?"
The Boy looked at him with indifference, remaining silent.
The boy's expression did not change. "But do you believe it? I have a thousand and one ways to make your life worse than death until you speak."
Beside them, the Gray Robed Man furrowed his brow. "Young Master, I see a large Scar on his throat. He must have been subjected to a silencing punishment; he is a Mute Slave."
Mute Slave. The boy was taken aback. He had heard of such punishments before and had marveled at how cruel a master could be to turn a slave into a mute just to prevent information from leaking out. He never expected that someone would actually do it.
The boy pressed his lips together, looking at the emotionally detached Mute Slave. Coldly, he said, "Even if he can't speak, I will make him talk."
"Bring him," the boy said coldly, looking at the stubborn Boy. "Drag him away, castrate him first, then catch a few rats that live in the dark and put them in his pants, sealing all the openings. Those rats scurry around in darkness and will burrow into any hole they find. I want to see how long he can endure this. Even if he can't speak, he will have to write it down."
Upon hearing this, the Boy's face gradually turned pale. By the end, his body trembled slightly, but he still bit his lip in silence.
The boy's gaze was indifferent. "Why aren't you dragging him away yet? I want answers. I'll give him one chance; if he still refuses to speak, then we will proceed as I said." A cruel smile played on the boy's lips as he suddenly leaned close to the Boy's ear, his voice like that of a demon: "Since you've already been punished once, I assume you're no longer afraid. Do you remember what it felt like to have your meridians painfully severed? You should prepare yourself; what you are about to endure will be far worse." His voice was gentle and even carried a hint of amusement, but—
A flicker of humiliation and wavering flashed in the Boy's eyes as beads of cold sweat formed on his forehead. He would rather die than endure such torment.
This person was indeed as rumored—a cold-blooded Satan, a demon, the most terrifying individual in existence. Or perhaps, he was simply evil.
He had never imagined that the cost of doing this would be so great, but for his master, everything was worth it.
The boy stood coldly, silently watching as Boy was gradually pulled into the darkness, his Gaze still and devoid of any emotion.
Finally, Boy struggled, turning his head to look at him with a sorrowful expression. He was still fiddling with something in his hands.
He couldn't make a sound and could only gesture to attract attention.
The Fluffy Thing, which had been silent in the darkness, suddenly transmitted a message: "Wait, he has something to say. Prepare paper and pen."
The boy waved his hand, and the others released him. The boy instructed, "Bring paper and pen."
After receiving the paper and pen, Boy bent down to write on the ground. The boy looked down at him coldly and warned, "I don't have the patience to play with you. If there's anything false, you know what price you'll pay."
Boy pressed his lips together, neither shaking his head nor nodding.
Once he finished writing, before anyone could react, the boy took the white paper and coldly commanded, "Keep an eye on him. I'll deal with it when I return."
"Yes, Young Master."
"Young Master, don't you find it strange?" asked Gray Robed Man, who was following closely behind the boy.
"Strange about what?" He was now anxious and could no longer afford to wait. His child suffered a bit more each day, and he felt a thousand times that pain. He couldn't bear it; how dare anyone harm his child? Once he healed her, he would not spare the one who hurt her.
He would make them pay back a thousandfold.
The Gray Robed Man paused for a moment, his clear voice continuing, "Young Master, I find this matter suspicious. Consider this: to punish someone as a Mute Slave is to prevent them from revealing any information. Why then allow them to practice writing?"
The young man stopped in his tracks, lowering his head and letting out a few light laughs that echoed eerily in the night. His laughter was beautiful and flawless. After a long while, he said, "Lian, do you really think I can't see through anything?" He turned around, his purple eyes glinting with an otherworldly intensity as he looked at him seriously. "For An Yijun, even knowing it’s a trap, even if I face mountains of knives and seas of fire, I would still go. Even if it means descending into hell, I will not let anything happen to An Yijun!"
His face was cold and indifferent, radiating a beauty akin to moonlight mixed with determination. His gaze was filled with coldness and wickedness.
The Gray Robed Man looked at him, his sapphire eyes reflecting a complex mix of emotions that were hard to define.
"They underestimate me if they think An Jin is so easily defeated," he continued. "Lian, they all say Jin Shao is a demon; I see no lies in that. If anyone harms Jun Jin or any of you, I will turn this world into hell."
"Young Master..." Lian hesitated. He had changed; ever since losing his memory four years ago, he had become stronger and more fearsome. Yet why did he feel a pang of heartache for him, making him more willing to follow him for a lifetime?
The young man stood quietly for a while before sighing softly. "Send word to Azure Thorn, Song Kong, Little Seven. An Yijun's illness cannot be delayed; if Azure Thorn is present, it can hold for some time." With his back turned to Lian, who could not see his expression, the young man spoke casually, "If anything happens to me, take good care of An Yijun and look after Jin Kingdom."
"Young Master—"
Before Lian could react, the young man in white had already gracefully departed.
Behind him followed a white figure resembling an animal.
Lian stood stunned for a moment. A chill ran through him as an ominous premonition settled in his heart. He should hurry and prepare them; perhaps the real war was about to begin.
"Mom, am I going to die?"
"Baby, how could that be? With Mom around, you won't have any problems."
The little girl softly replied, "I know, I've always known."
"Actually," she suddenly smiled, "I know Mom has remembered a lot, but since she doesn't want to talk about it, I won't ask. I just want to become stronger so I can protect Mom well in the future and never let her get hurt again. The Old Master told me that you have suffered a lot in the past and that I must be sensible and listen to you. I've always remembered that. Mom, when I grow up, I'll make sure to reclaim every scar on your body."
"Silly child," the boy in the white robe, who had initially appeared cold and detached, suddenly revealed countless tender emotions in his eyes. "It's my fault as a mother. You are still so young; you should be enjoying a pure childhood like other children. It's I who owe you."
Suddenly, the little girl's face contorted in pain as she coughed up several mouthfuls of blood, yet she still forced a smile at the boy and said, "Mom, don't worry. I'm not afraid at all. I’m not afraid of death. If there is a next life, I still want to be your daughter." With that, she fainted.
The boy gently stroked the girl who had fainted from the pain, his fists clenched tightly as he spoke each word with conviction: "I will make those who hurt you suffer the most unbearable punishment before you. Trust me, Mom." He wouldn't even spare a four-year-old child. It was unforgivable!
Looking at the person who was still groaning in pain even in her sleep, the boy's eyes were red with hatred.
Southwest sorcery—curses.
To think it had been cast upon a child. And it was the most powerful curse of all.
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