James sat on the cold stone bench of his cell, the dim torchlight from the hallway casting flickering shadows on the damp walls. The cell stank of mildew and unwashed bodies, and every breath carried the metallic tang of rust. His hands rested in his lap, the iron cuffs chafing his wrists. The guards had said it was all precautionary, a simple matter of ensuring the city's safety. But James wasn't naive. He knew something wasn't right.
He replayed the events in his mind, searching for clues about why they had turned on him so suddenly. Garrick's name hung heavily in his thoughts. The merchant's smug expression when they last spoke made it clear he had influence, perhaps more than James had anticipated. Delivering the package had been a mistake—one that now threatened to unravel everything.
The sound of heavy boots echoed down the corridor, pulling James from his thoughts. He straightened, his muscles tensing as two guards appeared at the cell door. One of them carried a ring of keys, which jingled ominously as he selected the one for James's cell.
"On your feet," the guard barked. "You've got a visitor."
James hesitated, his mind racing. He doubted this was a courtesy call. Slowly, he stood, keeping his expression neutral. The guards stepped inside, one of them gripping his arm as they led him out of the cell. The iron cuffs bit into his skin as they guided him down the dimly lit hallway, deeper into the prison.
The room they brought him to was stark and utilitarian. A single chair sat in the center, its wooden surface worn and splintered. A table against the far wall held an assortment of tools—some benign, others far more sinister. James's stomach churned at the sight.
Seated behind the table was a man James hadn't seen before. His features were sharp, his eyes cold and calculating. He wore the insignia of the city's magistrate, but there was a smugness to his demeanor that set James on edge. Garrick's influence was written all over him.
"James," the magistrate began, his tone dripping with false civility. "You've caused quite a stir."
James said nothing, meeting the man's gaze with defiance. The magistrate smiled faintly, as if amused by his silence.
"You've been accused of smuggling illegal magical items into the city," the magistrate continued. "An offense that carries severe penalties. Now, I'm a reasonable man. If you tell me who hired you and where the items were destined, we can... mitigate the consequences."
James clenched his jaw. He knew better than to trust the magistrate. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said evenly.
The magistrate's smile faded. He gestured to the guards, who stepped forward and forced James into the chair, securing his arms and legs with leather straps. James struggled, but the bindings held firm.
"Let me explain how this works," the magistrate said, his tone hardening. "You tell me what I want to know, or we do this the hard way."
James glared at him. "I don't know anything."
The magistrate sighed, shaking his head. He nodded to one of the guards, who picked up a metal rod from the table. The end glowed faintly, enchanted with runes that pulsed with a dull, ominous light.
The first strike came without warning, the rod slamming into James's side. Pain exploded through his ribs, and he gasped, his vision swimming. The enchantment on the rod sent a jolt of energy through his body, amplifying the agony.
"Care to reconsider?" the magistrate asked, his voice devoid of sympathy.
James grit his teeth, refusing to give them the satisfaction of a response. The rod struck again, this time against his shoulder. His body convulsed involuntarily, the pain searing through his nerves. Sweat dripped down his face as he fought to stay conscious.
The questioning continued, each refusal met with another strike. The guards worked methodically, alternating between the enchanted rod and blunt force. Bruises blossomed across James's skin, and his breaths came in ragged gasps. Still, he said nothing.
"You're only making this harder on yourself," the magistrate said, his tone almost bored. He leaned back in his chair, watching James with a predator's patience. "No one's coming to save you."
James's mind raced, clinging to fragments of thought through the haze of pain. He couldn't give them what they wanted—not just for his own sake, but because he knew Garrick wouldn't stop there. The merchant's reach extended far beyond this city, and cooperating would only paint a target on his back.
The next strike sent a sharp crack through the air, and James cried out despite himself. His vision blurred, and for a moment, he thought he might pass out. But the thought of surrendering, of giving these corrupt officials what they wanted, kept him conscious.
"Enough," the magistrate said, raising a hand. The guards stepped back, leaving James slumped in the chair. Blood trickled from his lip, and his body screamed in protest with every movement.
The magistrate approached, crouching down to meet James's gaze. "You're stubborn. I'll give you that. But everyone breaks eventually. You might want to reconsider before we really get started."
James forced himself to meet the man's eyes. "Go to hell," he rasped.
The magistrate smirked, standing and brushing off his coat. "We'll see how long that defiance lasts. Guards, take him back to his cell."
The guards unfastened the straps, hauling James to his feet. His legs barely supported him as they dragged him back through the halls. The rough stone walls blurred together, his mind too foggy to focus. By the time they threw him into the cell, he was barely conscious.
James lay on the cold floor, his body trembling with exhaustion and pain. Every breath was a struggle, every movement a reminder of what he had endured. But beneath the physical torment, a flicker of determination remained.
He wouldn't break. Not for them. Not for Garrick.
As the cell door slammed shut, James closed his eyes, and smiled, showing his bloody teeth, at the system notification in front of him.
[You have studied and successfully learned the 1st circle electric strike]
His mind already racing with plans. He didn't know how yet, but he would find a way out of this. Garrick and his corrupt allies would pay for what they had done.
He activated [Requiem of Souls] and spent all his mana healing]
[Mana:0/200]
[You have lost some rationality]