V2: Chapter 178: The Clues Gone Cold Once Again
The walls were covered with rusty chains and shackles, along with several seemingly carelessly discarded yet menacing instruments of torture. Some hung in mid-air, others clung to the cold stone walls, swaying gently in the wind, emitting a low, grating sound, like the wails of wronged souls.
In a corner, a rat cautiously peeked out, warily surveying its surroundings. Even it seemed to sense the terrifying atmosphere before quickly retreating back into the darkness. An indescribable stench permeated the air—a mixture of fear, despair, and decay, an irresistible urge to flee.
At the far end of this torture chamber, a heavy wooden door remained tightly shut. Behind it, perhaps, lay even more secrets and suffering. A sliver of even colder light shone through the crack, like the entrance to another world, silently awaiting the next unfortunate soul to step inside.
“Lord Tower Master, I’ve watched you grow up. Over the years, I... I’ve done quite a bit for the Magic Tower. Could you... could you please give me a quick death?”
“That depends on how much you’re willing to reveal.”
Octaville’s eyes showed no pity.
Her body truly could no longer support her, Octaville had a chair brought over, and she sat down. Of course, she wouldn’t personally carry out the execution; others would do it.
The candlelight in the torture chamber flickered even more violently, the flames seeming to sense the impending storm. With a series of heavy footsteps, several magicians entered. They weren’t wearing magic robes, but ordinary robes, probably to avoid bloodstains.
“Say what you have to say.”
A burly magician strode forward, his voice cold and hard, devoid of any emotion. Griffiths struggled, but ultimately couldn’t overcome the strength of the other group of magicians and was forcibly pressed to the ground.
The lead magician crouched down, his gaze sharp as a hawk's, scrutinizing Griffiths, searching for any weakness that could break his will.
"Tell me all about your crimes and their plans, and perhaps you'll suffer less."
The magician's voice was low and threatening, but Griffiths only gritted his teeth, remaining silent. He knew that if he spoke, the worms Doris had fed him would backfire, ravaging his body, making him wish he were dead, and plunging him into deeper despair.
Seeing this, the lead magician's lips curled into a cold smile. He waved his hand lightly, and the other magicians immediately stepped forward, securing Griffiths to the torture rack.
With a piercing metallic clang, Griffiths was firmly bound, unable to move.
Another magician picked up a thin leather whip and flicked it lightly in the air, producing a crisp "crack" that sent chills down one's spine.
“Looks like you won’t give up until you’re at your wit’s end, you won’t shed a tear until you see the coffin.”
The magician sneered, the whip lashing out like a venomous snake across Griffiths’s back.
Griffiths let out a painful roar, but then gritted his teeth, swallowing all the pain. Blood slowly trickled down his spine, staining his clothes and the floor beneath his feet.
However, this was only the beginning.
The magicians didn’t soften because of Griffiths’s resilience; instead, they became even more ruthless.
The lead magician ordered someone to bring a branding iron, an ancient instrument of torture made of red-hot iron, enough to scorch flesh. Another magician, holding the branding iron, slowly brought it closer to Griffiths’s chest; the intense heat distorted the surrounding air.
All of this, Octaville watched coldly, propping her head up with her hand.
"To speak, or not to speak?"
The magician's voice seemed to come from hell, carrying endless threat and intimidation.
Griffiths' eyes were tightly shut, sweat and tears mingling, but he remained silent. He truly dared not speak. He wanted to betray Doris, but it seemed that the pain he would suffer after betraying her would be even greater.
Seeing this, the lead magician no longer hesitated. The branding iron was slammed against Griffiths' chest, emitting a sizzling sound. A burnt smell instantly filled the small room, and Griffiths let out a heart-wrenching scream, but even so, he gritted his teeth, not uttering a single word.
He really couldn't speak.
It was recorded at birth that if someone who swallowed this poisonous insect betrayed the person who fed it, they would suffer a punishment more painful than being slowly sliced to death. Although Griffiths had always harbored suspicions, he dared not gamble with his own suffering.
As time passed, the atmosphere in the torture chamber grew increasingly tense and oppressive.
A silent battle unfolded between the magicians and Griffiths.
The magicians constantly changed their instruments and methods of torture, from whipping to branding irons to finger clamping and nail removal... each form of cruelty was enough to cause unbearable pain, yet Griffiths remained silent.
His eyes gradually became empty and deep, as if transcending physical pain and reaching the depths of his soul.
Just then, Octaville noticed something was amiss.
“Stop!”
She raised her hand, holding it in the air.
In her memory, Griffiths had always been a cunning and shrewd elder; he couldn't possibly possess such perseverance, such a strong sense of dignity, or the ability to remain loyal to Doris under such torture. Therefore, there was only one possibility: Doris had placed some curse upon them—a curse that would kill if she betrayed them, or some other painful curse.
The possibility of death for betraying her could be temporarily ruled out, because Griffiths had initially asked her to give him a quick death, clearly seeking mortification. Therefore, the curse would undoubtedly be extremely painful.
Thinking this through, Octaville decided she didn't want to torture him any longer.
"Alright, that's enough. Let's end it."
Octaville dismissed the other magicians and approached her elder. She extended her hand, raised her index finger, and touched Griffiths' forehead, the center of his brow.
"Griffiths, now atone for everything you've done."
Bang!
Griffiths' head vanished, turning into a dazzling red flower of blood in the air.
Octaville had granted his request, giving him a quick death instead of burning him alive. Of course, Griffiths had also endured a long period of torture, which could be considered atonement for his betrayal.
The clues seemed to have ended there once again.
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