The cell where Samuel had been held for three hours was anything but welcoming. A simple cube of gray stone, with damp walls and no window. The floor, rough and cold, was covered in marks left by former prisoners—scratches, dark stains, claw marks... A thin mattress without any blanket lay in one corner, thrown there as a mere formality. A single torch fixed to the wall provided a flickering light, casting trembling shadows across the bars.
The silence was heavy. Not a sound, except the steady dripping from a crack in the ceiling.
Then came footsteps. Two sets—one heavy and armed, the other lighter, almost elegant.
A slim, dark-haired man, dressed in a perfectly pressed white and blue uniform, approached the cell. He carried a clipboard in one hand and a pen in the other. Behind him, a silent, helmeted guard stood at attention.
The man pulled a wooden chair in front of the bars, sat down with deliberate slowness, then looked up at Samuel.
"So, Mister Samuel… And your last name is?"
Samuel stayed silent for a moment, his gaze wary. Then, against all odds, his mouth moved without his consent: "Butler."
He froze. His throat tightened. He hadn't meant to speak.
The man calmly jotted it down.
"Samuel Butler… Alright. Your level?"
Samuel tried to stay quiet. Or to lie. But once again, his lips moved on their own: "32."
His eyes widened, shocked.
"Hmm…" the man murmured, scratching his notes. "Your passive skill?"
Samuel felt a surge of panic. He tried to resist, to hold it back… but it was no use.
"Telepathy."
He immediately covered his mouth with his hand, trembling.
The man looked up, as if he'd expected it.
"You're probably wondering what's going on, aren't you? Losing control of your answers… You want to know why they sent me to interrogate suspects of high crimes?"
He paused, his gaze locked onto Samuel's.
"My passive skill… is called Heard Truth. It allows me, at will, to force anyone to speak the truth. Not an opinion. Not an estimate. The truth. Don't bother resisting."
Samuel clenched his jaw, brow furrowed, hand still over his mouth.
"But sometimes…" the man continued, slowly opening his jacket, "some answers take a little more persuasion."
From inside his vest, he drew a short, heavy metal baton—rigid and tipped with sharp studs. He showed it to Samuel with a calm expression.
"In those cases, I use the other method. Understood, Mister Butler?"
Samuel didn't reply, but the cold fire in his eyes confirmed he understood.
"Good. Let's continue. Your other skills, please?"
Once again, Samuel felt the words rip from his throat, despite himself:
"Muscle Reinforcement… Awakened Speed… Celestial Shield… Wind Slash… Sword of Darkness… Shadow strike… Immortal anger..."
The pen scribbled rapidly.
"So, you've passed level 30. In that case… your element? Your class?"
Samuel sighed. Resistance was futile.
"Element: Darkness. Class: Calamity."
The pen stopped instantly.
The man slowly raised his head, his eyes wide.
He stood still, mouth slightly agape. Even the guard turned toward Samuel, visibly surprised.
"You're joking? …No. No, you're serious?" he stammered. "You're the new one?"
The guard leaned in slightly, tense.
The seated man pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his forehead. Then he looked Samuel straight in the eyes.
"You're a Reincarnated… aren't you?"
Samuel narrowed his eyes.
"How do you know that?"
The man burst out laughing. A nervous, incredulous laugh. The guard and Samuel both watched him silently.
He eventually caught his breath and said, with sudden cheer:
"Well, my dear… that changes everything. I can barely believe it."
He paused for a few seconds, then his tone darkened:
"Alright… last question. Why did you steal the Heart of Aethril?"
Samuel blinked, confused.
"Stole? I… I never stole the Heart of Aethril. I don't even know where it is."
The man's expression hardened instantly. He narrowed his eyes.
"I asked you a question. So answer it: Where is the Heart of Aethril, and what do you intend to do with it?"
"I told you, I don't have it! I've never known where it is! I just want to go home!"
The man stood slowly, sliding the baton out of his jacket, still calm.
"I told you my method, Mister Butler… when an answer doesn't satisfy me…"
He stepped forward.
Samuel watched him with furrowed brows, his back pressed against the cold wall of the cell.
And silence fell again—heavy as a sentence passed.