Chapter 109: The Damsel Named Leornars part 2
Scene 6: The Interrogation Room – Puzzles and Whispers
Leornars pushed open the heavy, sound-dampening door to the interrogation chamber. The air inside was thick, stagnant, and laden with the coppery tang of fresh blood, mingled with the sharp, acidic scent of fear and something vaguely metallic, like unwashed iron. No windows broke the stone walls; the only light came from a single, unblinking magical orb hanging from the ceiling, casting harsh, clinical shadows.
Stacian followed Leornars, her hand still resting on her concealed dagger. Even she, accustomed to the often-brutal realities of their work, felt a prickle of unease. Salene, however, strode in with the casual confidence of someone entering their favorite workshop, a faint, almost imperceptible hum of satisfaction emanating from her.
Three figures were slumped against the far wall, secured by heavy manacles that bit into their wrists and ankles. They were large men, clearly former guards or enforcers, judging by the tattered remnants of heavy, practical clothing. But they were no longer imposing.
The first man, his head lolling to one side, looked like a grotesque doll. His skin was stretched and pulled in impossible directions, as if someone had meticulously re-stitched his face after taking it apart. One eye was wider than the other, perpetually open in a silent scream, while the other was almost completely hidden beneath a fold of rearranged flesh. His left arm was bent at an unnatural angle, the elbow seeming to have vanished, replaced by a series of uneven bulges and depressions under his tunic. He was alive, though; a faint wheezing breath escaped his lips, and his eyes, though disfigured, flickered with raw terror when the door opened.
Stacian felt a shiver. A jigsaw puzzle, she recalled Salene's words. The description was chillingly accurate. It wasn't simple injury; it was a deliberate, agonizing reconstruction of a human form, designed to inflict maximum terror and psychological breakage without killing.
The second man was equally disturbing. His legs were twisted inward, his kneecaps seemingly rotated to face his groin, making his lower body appear impossibly contorted. He lay slumped, his face pale and slick with sweat, eyes wide and unfocused. A thin, continuous whimper escaped his lips. His arms were intact, but his fingers were bent into claws, as if his muscles had locked in a permanent spasm of pain.
" It turns out count Subiro was actually an other worlder from a place called Tokyo Japan, the documents in his estate proved all we needed. He was in the rigs" Leornars said
" An other worlder like kurumi yamauchi? This is getting into a pain, how many other worlders are there really? " Stacian said
" Seems so, he turned out he was reincarnated here unlike kurumi who was teleported here" Leornars said calmly
The third man, the last of the trio, was the least visually disfigured, but the most broken. He was huddled in a fetal position, rocking slowly, muttering to himself in a language Stacian didn't recognize – a stream of incoherent pleas and desperate whispers. His hair had been pulled out in clumps, leaving patches of raw, exposed scalp. His eyes were bloodshot and swollen, reflecting a mind that had shattered under extreme duress. He clutched something tightly in his hands – a small, gnawed piece of bone, perhaps from his own meal, or something far worse.
"Well, now," Leornars said, his voice, though still feminine, was cold and sharp enough to cut through the heavy air. His cyan eyes, usually so calm, now held a glint of predatory intelligence that made even the disfigured men flinch. "It seems our guests have made themselves... comfortable."
Salene stepped forward, a clinical smile playing on her lips. "They've been very informative, My Lord. Once they realized that death would be a mercy, they were quite eager to share."
She walked over to the man with the re-stitched face. "This one, here," she tapped his forehead lightly with a gloved finger, "he provided the schematics of the main slave port, including the escape routes and the location of the holding cells. He also gave us the names of the regional managers and their preferred methods of transport."
The man whimpered, trying to pull away from her touch, but his manacles held him fast. His eyes, swimming in their rearranged sockets, looked up at Leornars with an almost animalistic fear.
"And this charming individual," Salene moved to the man with the twisted legs, "he detailed the routes of the coastal barges, their defenses, and the average number of 'cargo' they carry on each run. He even provided intelligence on a specific type of magic-dampening cuffs they use for powerful demi-humans."
The second man simply rocked and continued to whimper, burying his face in his contorted knees.
Leornars walked slowly, gracefully, through the room, the elegant kimono seeming starkly out of place amidst the gruesome scene. He stopped directly in front of the third, most broken man.
"And him?" Leornars asked, his voice low.
"Ah, our most 'talkative' one," Salene chirped. "He's given us the names of the buyers. High-ranking nobles, merchants, even some minor religious figures. The full list of their clientele. He was very forthcoming after a... minor adjustment to his vocal cords. He found he quite liked being able to speak again, even if it wasn't quite the same as before."
Stacian looked at the man's throat; there was no obvious injury, but the way his words came out as choked, wet sounds suggested some unseen alteration. The meticulous sadism of Salene was truly unsettling.
Leornars simply stared at the man, his beautiful, illusory face showing no emotion. He slowly reached out a hand, and the man recoiled as if burned. Leornars's fingers brushed the man's matted hair, then cupped his chin, forcing the disfigured face to look up.
"So," Leornars said, his voice a silken thread of menace, "you've told us everything. Every dirty secret, every route, every buyer." He paused, his cyan eyes boring into the man's soul. "Tell me, did you enjoy your work? Did you enjoy destroying lives and selling souls?"
The man's eyes, wide and terrified, somehow managed to convey a flicker of the shame and regret that Salene's methods had finally broken through. He tried to speak, but only a gurgling sound escaped.
Leornars nodded slowly, a hint of something grimly satisfied touching his lips. "Good. Now, you will tell me one more thing. Who is the leader of this entire operation? The one who pulls the strings behind the curtain. The true puppet master."
He held the man's gaze, an unspoken threat hanging in the air. The man's eyes darted wildly, then focused on Leornars, a name struggling to form on his damaged lips.
"He… he calls himself… the… the Harbinger…" the man choked out, each word a painful, raspy exhalation. "He… he works from the… the Hidden City… south… south of the Dragon's Teeth mountains…"
Leornars's eyes narrowed. The Harbinger. A name he hadn't heard before, a new player in the shadows. This was more than just a slave ring; it was a deeper, more insidious network than he had anticipated.
He released the man's chin, the phantom touch leaving a trail of cold dread.
"Excellent," Leornars said, turning to Salene. "Prepare the necessary equipment. We depart for the Hidden City at dawn. And Salene, ensure these three are kept... comfortable. They have more information to give us on this 'Harbinger' when they've had time to... recollect themselves."
Salene's smile widened, a truly chilling sight. "As you wish, My Lord. I have just the thing to jog their memories."
Stacian watched, a knot forming in her stomach. The mission had just escalated. And with Leornars in his 'damsel' form, entering a den of monsters, it was going to be anything but a quiet infiltration. The Harbinger. The Hidden City. A jigsaw puzzle of flesh and fear. The game had just begun.