"Well, that's just terrible manners, isn't it?" Royce said, his smile still in place, seemingly out of sync with the gruesome situation. "I gave you my name, and yet you refuse to give me yours. Tell me, is that proper manners here?"
The assassin remained stoic, his training from a young age keeping him composed. He knew that despite the power of the Hero's scout, Royce and his companions came from a world devoid of mana. The gods had denied them that advantage.
According to the stories, the hero's world of Earth was relatively peaceful. One reason the assassin had been sent was because they were reluctant to allocate resources to a group that reportedly cried after encountering their first beast.
A beast, not even a monster, and they had almost wet their pants. How could they be expected to save others from dimensional invaders when they could barely save themselves?
Though the assassin didn't believe it in the present moment, he clung to the hope that at least their peaceful world would ensure they weren't experienced in torture. He could only pray that Royce would act recklessly and end his life swiftly.
"My bad. I can see you're sweating. Must be the heat. Let me help you with that," Royce said, his smile widening as he conjured a small frosty mist using his limited mana. He had discovered that the key to magic lay not in quantity or quality, but in its application.
As the mist floated in front of the assassin's face, Royce moved with lightning speed.
Before the assassin could comprehend what was happening, he felt the loss of his other Achilles tendon and then his wrists. All four limbs were severed. Yet, the assassin only grimaced. He had long abandoned any expectation of leaving the room alive. What use were his limbs to him now?
"Wow, I thought that would hurt. You're really tough. I feel like conducting an experiment. I've never done something like this before," Royce remarked, his enthusiasm akin to that of a young boy who had caught a small bird and dreamed of training it to be his personal messenger falcon.
"You know, people thought I didn't pay attention in class, but I assure you, I did. And on the last day before this calamitous phenomenon occurred, I learned something that was totally off the charts."
Brian materialized a thin, long, and sharp icicle.
"Did you know that right about here is one of the nerve centers in the body?" he pointed towards the assassin's chest, specifically his nipple.
Without ceremony and discarding his earlier pretense of being refined, Royce used the icicle as a knife and tore the assassin's clothes apart. The assassin, a young man, was not surprised by this revelation, but Royce showed no reaction. It was hard to discern whether the maniac had any interest in such matters. He hadn't even removed the face mask from the assassin yet.
Royce continued, his voice laced with a twisted sense of amusement, "If I remember correctly, extreme cold can have several effects on the body. One of them is nerve damage, which I can promise won't be fun at all for you. So, just spill what you know."
Pausing after his little speech, Royce could sense the assassin's confusion. Did they even understand what nerves were in this world?
The assassin remained silent, refusing to yield. Royce simply smiled.
He took the icicle and split it in two, then plunged both ends into the assassin's chest, penetrating just deep enough to reach the muscles.
The assassin grunted and clenched his teeth. Mere pain alone was nowhere near enough to break him. But he was about to discover how wrong he was.
The icicles began to dissipate, transforming into tendrils of frigid energy. The bone-chilling cold sent waves of searing pain throughout the assassin's body. The contrasting sensations only intensified the agony.
Little did he know that the tendrils of energy were freezing along the pathways of his muscles, leaving strips of normal muscle untouched. So when he involuntarily tensed his muscles, the rigid frozen fibers shattered, causing muscle tears. The broken shards jabbed into the adjacent, still intact muscles, amplifying the excruciating torment.
The assassin had not undergone extensive torture training, as he had secured this position through nepotism, leveraging the influence of one of the organization's relatively powerful figures. He had taken the job as an easy way to earn merits and rise in the ranks. Thus, while he had prepared himself for suffering, he was utterly unprepared for this level of torment.
Meanwhile, Royce's delight grew. It appeared that his technique had been even more effective than he had anticipated. He made a mental note to incorporate this method into his future battle strategies.
Withdrawing the ice energy, Royce didn't want the assassin to acclimate to the pain just yet.
"I can subject you to the cold again if you prefer, but I'd rather have a civilized conversation. I can send you to whatever gods you pray to after you've suffered, or perhaps even before. Those are truly your only two choices here. I would help you... really, I would, but my hands are tied. So, I'll ask again. Who are you?" Royce demanded.
The assassin gasped for breath. Not experienced in torture? Then what the hell had just happened to him? Resentment began to well within him. The organization had sent him to face a formidable adversary. This one had concealed himself well and was poised to be a malignant tumor within the organization. The best the assassin could do now was to divert his attention from what truly mattered, even if only slightly.
The assassin, known as MK or Mike, responded, "I am a nameless one, but those who know me call me MK, or Mike for the enlightened."
"Just Mike? That makes sense. Your accent is different from the nobles. What's an enlightened?" Royce interrupted, cutting off the assassin's explanation.
"Those who worship the light gods. We, the unenlightened, are the servants of the dark gods. We are the true servants—" MK began, but Royce quickly interjected again.
"Yeah, yeah, I don't need a sermon. I need details. What are you called, who do you answer to, and what the hell was your goal in showing up here like that?"
"We are the Order of the Dark Side. We are dedicated to showing the world the glory of the dark gods. We don't know the other members of the organization. Usually, we are contacted by our mentors and direct superiors. They are the only points of contact. That's as much as I know. I would have known more had I completed the mission. After all, I am an Unseen Initiate, fairly weak among them at that. All I know is that my superior is a Shadowsong adept, which is one step above me. That's all I know. Please, just let me die," MK pleaded.
As the cold energy receded, the pain intensified, gradually worsening the situation. The numbness caused by the cold was fading, leaving behind a void filled with agony.
Royce, still trying to make sense of the situation, pressed further. "What about the other ranks? Who else is there? How many? And why target me? I'm the only user of dark magic in the hero's party. Why target me specifically? Wouldn't it be more beneficial to draw me into the fold?"
Royce's confusion grew, realizing that his presence would greatly benefit such an organization. His command of dark magic opposed the light, furthering their goals. It made more sense to nurture him rather than kill him. Unless... Royce's eyes narrowed as a realization struck him.
"There's someone with a rank higher than the adept here, isn't there?" he asked in a chilling tone.
The assassin's eyes widened in shock. "H-How did... how did you know!?" he stammered, his voice rising to a shriek.
It was impossible. He hadn't let any clue slip about his master. How could Royce have known?
Before he could complete his thoughts, a spike made of ice pierced his eye, ending his miserable existence.
"Hmph," Royce snorted. "Involving me in such paltry politics. Does my life look like something to be toyed with?"
The answer was clear. The organization as a whole hadn't decided to eliminate Royce. It was someone in a position of power who wanted it all for themselves. They saw Royce's sudden appearance and acquisition of merits as a threat to their position within the organization.
There was a puppeteer out there who had attempted to take his life. Royce was not going to let it go unanswered. However, first, he needed to attend to his disguise.
What he was about to do would be dangerous, but the healers were capable, and he believed he would make it. Perhaps it would even draw someone out to finish him off. It was time to become the bait.
Royce picked up MK's blade and without hesitation, stabbed it into his own shoulder. The blade was poisoned, but that hardly mattered. He was part of the hero's party and had decent resistance.
With great strength, he lifted the corpse by the collar. Then, unleashing all of his uncontrollable mana in a desperate attempt, he caused a massive mana burst. His mana pool was much larger than others, and in an instant, the entire room froze, including the corpse.
Royce let gravity take its course as the ice-statue fell down and crash into pieces.
As the room fell into silence, Royce smiled, knowing that the signature of the mana burst would surely attract the attention of the magicians. They would be there soon, drawn by the display of power.
Royce smiled, then, suddenly, he blacked out.