Fabrik Castle was filled with many sergeants, and Marcus was among the last to arrive. There were no cordial greetings among colleagues, only coldness and hidden enmity.
He alone had yet to report to Zote.
After finding out Zote’s location, Marcus ordered his n to stand by and wait for his return.
In an airtight stone chamber, candles provided light, casting a warm glow on the blood-stained torture tools on the wooden table—basic implents, tweezers, pliers, small knives.
This was the first ti Marcus had ever seen Zote.
Zote, with his back to Marcus, was tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in the plain black uniform of the Secret Departnt, with thick black hair, decidedly not an old man.
Since he was conducting a torture session, Marcus prudently did not disturb him and just stood at the half-open door, waiting for it to end.
The chief of the opposition in the south, Duke Fabrik, was the protagonist of this torture session.
Duke Fabrik was stripped of his past glory and bound disgracefully on a torture rack; this arc-shaped rack could bend and stretch to break a person’s spine.
Contrary to Marcus’s expectations, Zote wasn’t questioning about his accomplices but was asking so trivial questions instead.
"You learn very slowly, Fabrik. What is three plus three?"
Zote asked a mundane arithtic question.
"Equals seven..."
Fabrik responded weakly with the answer Zote told him.
But Zote was not satisfied, he continued to pull the lever, bending the rack even more.
Marcus could hear the crisp sound of large spinal bones and ligants breaking, but Fabrik did not scream at the top of his lungs; instead, he just breathed in fits and starts.
"Sotis it’s seven, sotis six. Sotis, it can be any number."
As Zote spoke, he noticed Marcus at his side and motioned him to co over.
Marcus, not daring to delay, stood respectfully beside Zote.
"Sergeant."
Marcus said with basic respect, not using the title of deputy, as no one liked that word, although he was the second in command of this powerful organization.
"What’s with your eyes and jaw?"
"I was captured by cult mbers during a suppression against the heretics; thanks to the Secret Departnt’s doctor, I was given a second chance at life."
"Cult mbers? Miracle of Suffering?"
"Yes."
"Hmm? I think I’ve heard about you. A demon swordsman capable of perceiving with a force field; being blind is hardly a significant matter then."
Zote, with interested amusent, as the battle had already ended, and he had also ordered the other sergeants to stand by. The captured magician scholars would later be gathered for execution; there were no pressing matters at the mont.
He vacated his position.
"Interrogate him, honestly, I’m really not good at this, you’re much stronger."
Zote commanded, pressing Marcus onto the chair and signaling him to pull the lever, which would bend and contort the rack, probably breaking Fabrik’s spine completely with three more pulls.
"What should I ask?"
Marcus had never personally conducted torture; he always delegated it to his subordinates. Zote’s command made him extrely uneasy.
But actually, Fabrik had already divulged everything he knew.
Zote was rely indulging in cruelty.
Fabrik felt very cold, shivering uncontrollably, his teeth chattering, tears streaming down his face. In an instant, he seed like a child, reaching out to grab Zote.
He had a feeling that Zote was his guardian deity, that all the pain ca from the outside, from other places, only Zote could spare him from this agony.
"Anything is fine; the main thing is to consolidate the power of the Secret Departnt."
"Sergeant, I really don’t know what to do."
"I’ve heard your na, which ans even among all the sergeants, your performance is outstanding. You’re a major contributor to the Secret Departnt’s power today. The organization is now unmatched. You... Marcus, after this victory in the southern campaign, you could walk into the Royal Court, kill the influential ministers, and even the Monarch would not bla you."
Zote’s powerful hand was on Marcus’s shoulder. Yes, the Witch Hunting Secret Departnt was slowly overshadowing the royal power; Ogne was indeed the most powerful man in Aran.
This power must be secured, both externally and internally, deep into everyone’s mind.
"If it’s your command, Sergeant, I will do so."
Marcus responded.
Anyone opposing the suppression movent by the Witch Hunting Secret Departnt would be considered a traitor, and their families would be executed; he responded without hesitation.
And Zote was very satisfied with Marcus’s response.
"Opposition in the south wants to abolish the Monarch. Fabrik pretends, or perhaps truly believes, that they are not seizing power willingly, only intending to control it for a limited period, making way for a utopia where everyone is free and equal.
"We wouldn’t do that. We know that whoever seizes power never aims to relinquish it.
Power is the goal; it’s not a ans. The purpose of oppression is oppression itself, of torture is torture, and of power is power. Do you understand what I’m saying now?"
Zote looked at Fabrik, making him feel that experiencing power was far more effective than rely executing him.
He was tall and large, blocking the candlelight entirely, casting Marcus into darkness.
Blind Marcus did not need light to see.
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