The female assassin lay there with disheveled hair, tilting her head as she heard footsteps approach. With cold and vigilant eyes, she regarded the newcomer. Upon recognizing Richard, she merely huffed disdainfully, saying nothing.
Richard, however, took the initiative and addressed the woman. "I do not know if you have overheard; mere moments ago, outside this very door, a girl pleaded for your reprieve, urging me to release a would-be assassin who sought to take my life."
"What is your intent?" the assassin retorted, her tone frigid and unyielding, clearly communicating her resolve not to submit.
Richard shrugged slightly, "Truth be told, nothing much. I merely wish to express that wisdom is a rare commodity, not possessed by all. And at this time, I sincerely hope you do not lack it."
"What does that concern you?"
"Of course, it concerns me," Richard answered calmly. "Should you possess sufficient wit, perhaps you might divulge some information I desire before I resort to harsher measures. In doing so, you could spare yourself a measure of suffering."
"Ha! Spare me your threats! I am not afraid of you! Bah!" the assassin spat defiantly, hurling a glob of saliva that landed a short distance from Richard.
Richard raised an eyebrow, "It seems you are indeed unwilling to cooperate. In that case, do not blame me for what comes next."
"Do as you will!" the assassin said, adopting an attitude reminiscent of a martyr prepared to face death.
With a soft chuckle, Richard stepped toward her, bending at the waist as he approached. In the next moment, one hand grasped the hem of her linen dress, lifting it slowly, while the other hand descended to her calf, first grazing her ankle before ascending deliberately upward.
The assassin's body trembled slightly, her senses heightening with every touch, and she exclaimed, "What do you intend to do to me?"
"You may take a guess," Richard replied, pausing his ministrations as he drew forth a small, delicate knife, akin to a miniature scalpel, from his pocket.
Upon seeing the blade, an uncharacteristic sense of relief washed over the assassin, which she could not help but mar with a derisive tone. "What? Do you intend to torment me with that little thing?"
"Indeed, one might say so," Richard answered earnestly, pondering aloud, "Are you afraid of pain?"
"It is only your noble kind that shriek at the sight of a mere knife," the assassin replied, loaded with disdain, seizing the opportunity to insult her captor.
Richard seemed to disregard her latter remarks. He nodded thoughtfully, "So then, you are not afraid of pain? That is splendid, very splendid indeed, for it saves me the trouble of finding a means to silence you. Now, we shall commence in earnest."
Commence? Commence what? Torture?
The assassin remained momentarily bewildered, yet Richard's knife found its resting place against her calf, the cold steel eliciting goosebumps upon her skin. He applied pressure, cutting slowly and deliberately.
A crimson line appeared upon her leg, blood oozing forth, yet the assassin did not flinch, her gaze resolute. In her mind, this minor wound seemed hardly significant, this torment far from true torture. Deep down, she dismissed Richard's blade as a mere toy, one incapable of inflicting real harm.
Yet before long, the assassin realized her grave miscalculation.
The blade glided effortlessly, blood streaming down her leg to stain the ground beneath.
As the knife continued its descent, Richard's calm voice arose, bearing a weighty but measured tone, as if he were conducting an intricate lecture. For reasons unknown, the sound evoked memories of her instructors who had schooled her in the arts of assassination.
"Generally speaking, the skin of both humans and higher animals consists of three layers: the epidermis, dermis, and subcutaneous tissue."
"Do you see this?" Richard asked, his knife moving deftly, exposing a thin layer of skin beneath, "This is the epidermis. From a biological standpoint, it is merely a continuously renewing layer of cells. So long as the regenerative capacity of the cells endures, they will mend quickly even when damaged."
"Next, we observe this." Richard deftly lifted another layer, explaining with an impassive demeanor, "This is the dermis, composed of collagen fibers, elastic fibers, and various connective tissues. You may not understand this, yet if you have ever seen the skin flayed from beasts, you might grasp its importance. As a significant component of the skin, it is well-protected, being filled with a rich array of sensory receptors to ensure swift reaction upon injury. You see, when I assessed the epidermis, you exhibited no reaction at all, yet when I merely touched the dermis, you furrowed your brow. This highlights its significance. Fortunately, you have not cried out; it seems you truly are not afraid of pain. I hope you can maintain this composure."
Richard continued, lifting a pale yellow layer and elucidating, "This is the subcutaneous tissue, generally composed of loose connective tissue and adipose lobules, serving to prevent heat loss and shield against external impacts. In simple terms, without this, human survivability would diminish by more than half."
"Very well, that is the complete structure of the skin," Richard concluded, momentarily pausing in his actions. The assassin exhaled, yet for reasons unknown, despite Richard inflicting no grave wounds, his inscrutable discourse instilled a profound pressure upon her.
Yet before the assassin could feel relieved, Richard's voice resumed, calm yet firm. "Now that we have unraveled the skin, let us delve into the muscles. You are familiar with muscles, I trust? They are essential structures that facilitate motion; once impaired, one's ability to exert strength is significantly hampered."
"Now then, let us examine the nearest muscle: the tibialis anterior. It is robust and powerful, for it is responsible for extending and flexing the feet. Additionally, it maintains the arches of the feet.
You may be unfamiliar with the arc, but I will provide a brief explanation: it governs the distribution of weight across the ankle, heel, and toes. Thus, if I were to make a gentle incision, damaging this tibialis anterior, the arch would falter. Consequently, when you stand upright, your feet would lose their stability, making it arduous to walk, even to stand still."
As Richard spoke, he allowed the knife to glide gently across the muscle, prompting the assassin to feel a sudden chill; her right leg buckled, an unbearable pain erupting in its stead.
Truth be told, the agony she felt was not particularly severe, yet the sudden weakness in her right leg, coupled with Richard's incomprehensible words, greatly amplified her disquiet. Pain stemmed not merely from her wound; it was sourced deep within, from a profound fear…
Strangely enough, the once undaunted assassin quaked at the sight of Richard before her. She perceived him no longer as just a detestable noble lad, but as a figure embodying a far greater, more terrifying identity. The nature of this identity eluded her, yet she sensed it to be far more dreadful than all her former instructors combined.
And so, as Richard raised the knife once more, she could not suppress the involuntary cry that escaped her lips: "Ah!"