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"Why don't you say anything, little rat?" the muscular jailer snarled, lashing Hector's body with steady, violent strokes.
Of course, he wasn't using his full strength—if he did, there was no way Hector could have endured it.
After all, the muscular jailer was truly an Adept-Rank Awakened.
By now, Hector was in a miserable state, the result of all the previous beatings. He was hanging from the wall by chains, which dug deep into the bruises on his wrists.
His face had long since lost its color—not just from the agony tearing through him, but from the return of the symptoms.
And this time, he wouldn't be taking any capsules to dull the mental pain.
The jailer observed Hector for a moment. The boy was completely covered in blood, with only scraps of clothes still clinging to him. His breath grew jagged and weighty at this point as though he barely breathed at all.
