Palr felt he should set aside the conflicts with Vasilina for the mont, as there was a more pressing matter at hand.
Outside the window, the blazing firelight was unending, and the roars of the Bloodthirsty echoed like the symphony of the apocalypse.
Yet inside, it presented a scene of harmony. Zefirin sat on the bed, the horrifying Chain Saw Scythe laid across her knees, while Palr was tied to a chair, bound like a carefully wrapped holiday gift.
The room was filled with a faint red mist, casting a gentle pink glow under the refracted light, but Palr felt no beauty in it; with every breath, he inhaled large amounts of toxins.
It was over, all over.
Palr tilted his head upwards, trying his best not to let his tears flow.
Am I really such an unlucky guy? Why did I sleep so deeply, not even noticing the enemy’s invasion? Forget about that, how did I even get captured? Worse still, of all people to be captured by, it was the Night Race.
The heir of the Clarks family, captured by the mortal enemy Night Race, what an utter disgrace!
If Palr were excessively prideful, he might have already bitten his tongue and ended himself... Fortunately, Palr didn’t really care about such things, so he turned his gaze back to Zefirin, pondering on a glimr of hope.
"It’s not a big problem, Palr, haven’t you seen much greater storms before..."
Palr consoled himself inwardly; he had faced worse situations than the current crisis, so why panic?
At the very least, he should believe in his Blessing! What if he just got lucky this ti?
Such as... a teor suddenly falling from the sky, crushing Zefirin to death, while he miraculously survives...
"Hey! I’m asking you a question, what are you daydreaming about?"
Zefirin slapped Palr again, abusing him at will, "Bologue Clarks? I rember there’s no one by that na in the Clarks family."
This operation was extrely crucial, and the Clarks family’s nas had long been etched into Zefirin’s mind. She was certain that the guy in front of her was deceiving her; there was no Bologue in the Clarks family.
"You, you should be Palr, right?"
Zefirin pinched Palr’s face. As the son of Fuen, Palr was at the top of the list, and the person in front of her claiming to be Bologue closely resembled Palr... He was definitely Palr Clarks.
Palr was doing his final act of resistance, "No, I’m not."
Zefirin frowned, "What are you up to?"
"Nothing... nothing, I have facial paralysis and need to move my facial muscles."
Palr made exaggerated faces, hoping this foolish thod would make Zefirin fail to recognize him.
With another crisp slap, half of Palr’s face went numb, looking at Zefirin with tearful eyes. Facing Palr who had quieted down, Zefirin confird again.
"You truly are Palr."
The Night Race had conducted extrely thorough investigations on the Clarks family, and although Palr hasn’t lived in the Wind Source Highlands in recent years, he was still within the scope of their investigation. The information the Night Race obtained was not comprehensive, mostly being lower-level secret intelligence within the Order Bureau.
For instance, Palr’s poor work attitude and his detestable deanor.
Zefirin was initially unsure of her success in catching the heir of the Clarks family so easily, but when Palr foolishly made faces, she realized she had hooked a big fish.
It was over.
Palr cried out internally, starting to pray for external aid, hoping soone would quickly find him in his plight.
"I’m asking you again, how do I get to the Wind Cellar?"
"The Wind Cellar?"
The ntion of the Wind Cellar cleared Palr’s mind of all wild thoughts, his mournful expression turning serious, now showing so semblance of a Field Staff’s resoluteness.
"So your target is indeed the ’Dawn Oath.’"
"What else? Who would attack this damned place for any other reason."
Zefirin slowly stood up, the lethal Chain Saw Scythe placed aside, she grabbed Palr’s hair and forcefully dragged him up, throwing a heavy punch to his abdon.
Previously, such an attack hardly affected Palr, but under the influence of the deadly toxins, the slight pain was magnified several tis. Palr clenched his teeth but his body still involuntarily trembled and spasd.
He felt as if he had been hit by a car.
"Ha... Ha..."
Palr lowered his head, gasping for breath, saliva mixed with blood staining the ground.
Zefirin said, "I am quite good at interrogations. You better not resist, it’ll be beneficial for both of us."
"Is... is it this mist?" Palr disregarded Zefirin’s words and instead started analyzing the situation, "Does this mist affect my nerves?"
The body’s numbness, intermittent fainting sensations, even hallucinations... the negative effects appended by this mist were manyfold, not sothing Secret Energy by a First Stage Condenser could create. Hence, it could be concluded that Zefirin’s Tier was at least above the Prayer Believers.
"Thinking about a counter-strategy?" Zefirin took out a small bag from her waist. "Then you better think faster."
Zefirin opened the small bag and took out one bizarre-looking tal tool after another under Palr’s gaze. Palr tried to maintain his composure at first, but as the bed filled with an array of intricately designed small torture devices, even the steadiest heart would be terrified.
"Stop! Stop!"
Palr scread while trying to think of a stalling tactic.
He couldn’t think of any.
"Isn’t this too much? We’ve only known each other a few minutes and you’re already going this far!" Palr began joking awkwardly, hoping his codic talent could influence Zefirin. "How about we start by getting to know each other first?"
Zefirin ignored Palr as she skillfully drove a spiked tal handle into Palr’s abdon. The barbs twisted into his flesh, and under the influence of the potent poison, the intense pain almost caused Palr to pass out.
"Hi there, I’m Bologue Clarks, and you?"
Even so, Palr still gathered his strength and animatedly spoke to Zefirin, as if he was genuinely trying to make a friend in this hellish scenario.
Actually... it’s not impossible. Palr had already gotten quite chummy with the Night Race Lord; eting Zefirin should be no big deal.
Zefirin frowned slightly, twisting her wrist.
Visibly, Palr’s face grew even paler, but he forced himself to remain calm and seriously said to Zefirin, "I understand everyone has their own preferences, but I think before implenting them, you should consult the other party’s opinion—mutual respect, don’t you think?"
Zefirin released her grip, retrieved another hook-like torture device, and her expression took on a slightly troubled look.
In the past, under Zefirin’s tornt, most enemies couldn’t last long. Even the most strong-willed would show expressions of struggle and near-collapse.
The feeling of conflicted struggle brought Zefirin an indescribable sense of pleasure. Although she didn’t want to admit it, she truly found satisfaction and joy in torturing enemies.
However, when applied to Palr, it was different. Zefirin felt no satisfaction but instead found Palr’s chatter irritating, like trying to slaughter a stubborn duck that won’t stop quacking though half-drowned in the pot.
Seeing the new torture device, this ti Palr felt he was truly at his limit. Previously, he could at least comfort himself with the iron will of a field staff mber, but now, he really couldn’t take it anymore.
As Zefirin approached, Palr summoned all his remaining strength and tried to knock her down, but he overestimated himself.
Under the poison’s influence, not only could Palr barely summon strength, but his Rectangular Soul Critical had also been corrupted, and he struggled even to mobilize Ether.
Unable to stand, Palr fell awkwardly to the ground with the chair, clumsily squirming away from Zefirin.
Seeing the heir of the Clarks family groveling at her feet, Zefirin abruptly burst into laughter, which to Palr, seed like a sadistic killer amused.
He thought Zefirin would probably have lots of common interests with Bologue.
"I... I know Serey! Serey Villeries! The Night Race Lord!"
Palr tried to save himself by citing his connections, but strangely, though she belonged to the Night Race, upon hearing Serey’s na, Zefirin’s expression turned grim and murderous.
What the hell? Serey, are you really that unpopular within the Night Race?
Palr scread internally; he had been knocked out and taken away by Vasilina that night, missing Fuen’s story.
"Wait a minute, at least... at least set up a safe word first! What if you really kill ?"
Palr desperately crawled toward the door, keeping up his chatter to buy ti.
Zefirin ignored Palr and took up the Chain Saw Scythe with one hand and a hook-like torture tool with the other. It was ti for her pleasure-filled tornt.
"Sunshine! What do you think of that word?"
In this situation, Palr could only argue over words, "How about silverware? I think silverware’s quite nice too!"
The Chain Saw Scythe slamd down beside Palr’s head, cutting a shallow line on his cheek.
"Help!"
Palr completely broke down, screaming helplessly, a cascade of nas flashing in his mind, until he shouted the most reliable one.
"Help! Bologue!"
No sooner had he spoken than a surge of Ether resonated, and Zefirin quickly withdrew the Chain Saw Scythe to defend but was still too late.
A silver battering ram crashed through the wall without slowing down, smashing directly into Zefirin, driving her through wall after wall and burying her deep in the rubble.
Amongst the collapsing debris, a thin fla flickered by, like a nearly burnt-out fuse, then Red rcury fully exploded, the blazing light burst to the ends of the ruins, scattering everywhere.
A familiar figure stepped from the breach, Bologue looked at the tied-up Palr and asked in confusion, "Were you just calling for ?"
Palr froze for two seconds, then shook his head.
"No... I was calling out a safe word."
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