The valet bowed low, his forehead damp with sweat. "Y-Your Majesty… we've captured a spy—an infiltrator from Elysia. Inside the castle."
For a brief mont, the world seed to still.
Arthur's expression hardened. "What did you just say?"
"A spy, Your Majesty," the valet repeated, voice trembling slightly. "The castle guards uncovered him near the east wing. I was ordered to report it to you imdiately. I ca as fast as I could."
Arthur's jaw tightened, his mind already racing through a dozen possibilities. A spy? Here, in his stronghold?
"Lead the way," he said coldly, striding toward the door. "I want to see this for myself."
Without another word, Arthur swept past the valet, his boots striking against the polished marble floor with sharp, deliberate steps. The young man hurried after him, barely keeping pace.
Guards along the corridor straightened at the sight of the king, their hands instinctively resting on the hilts of their swords. Whispers died in their throats.
"Where was he found?" Arthur asked, his eyes fixed ahead, voice sharp as steel.
"I'm not exactly sure, Your Majesty," the valet replied, trying to keep up with Arthur's brisk pace. "But one of the knights—Sir Roderic—has already secured him. They've moved the spy to the interrogation chamber within the castle."
"Good," Arthur said coldly, picking up his pace.
He stord down the corridor, the weight of his footsteps echoing off stone walls. Torches flickered as he passed, casting fleeting shadows on banners and marble. The guards they passed stood at full attention—silent, alert.
Monts later, Arthur reached the reinforced doors of the interrogation chamber. Without hesitation, he pushed them open.
Inside, Sir Roderic stood with Klein, both flanking a restrained man who sat bloodied and silent in the center of the room.
Arthur's eyes swept the room, but he didn't enter fully. His focus was on the two n.
"Roderic. Klein. Step outside. I'll speak with Roderic first."
Both n obeyed without question, following Arthur out into the hall. Once the heavy door shut behind them, Arthur turned sharply toward the knight captain.
"Now," Arthur said, voice low but commanding. "Tell everything. From the beginning. Leave nothing out—not even the smallest detail."
Roderic stood straight, his armor still dusted with gri from the scuffle.
"Your Majesty," he began, "I caught him loitering near the entrance to the Records Chamber. Said he was there to deliver a ssage, but he looked too nervous, too alert. So I asked for his ID."
Arthur narrowed his eyes. "And?"
Roderic exhaled. "He showed a card. One of yours. It was real—your design, your markings. But sothing didn't add up."
He reached into his belt pouch and pulled out a flat, rectangular wooden plaque, handing it to Arthur.
"It bore the na Jace—one of our castle stewards. But that's the problem, Your Majesty. I know Jace. talk with him, drank with him. And the man holding this wasn't him."
Arthur turned the ID over in his hand. The etched characters were clean, the departnt sigil correctly embedded, even the wax seal shimred faintly under the light—identical to official ones.
"I didn't confront him right away," Roderic continued. "After all I didn't know his strength or if he had backup. So I played along. Let him think I believed it… then followed him discreetly until I had the advantage to capture him."
Arthur gave a slow nod, examining the craftsmanship of the forgery.
The identification card Roderic spoke of was Arthur's own creation—a reform implented long before the introduction of linotype printing. A system born from necessity, built with a blend of modern logic and dieval practicality.
Every worker inside the palace, from the lowliest servant to the highest counselor, was issued a formal Castle Identification Plaque—colloquially known as a "card" due to its rectangular shape and compact size.
Each ID was a thin slab of treated hardwood, about the size of a palm, with the bearer's na, role, and clearance level etched in a unique character set. Rather than relying on simple ink, Arthur had established a thod where custom steel molds were used to stamp the information directly into the wood using heat and pressure—creating a near-permanent relief script.
To ensure authenticity, every ID also featured a sigil seal—a wax-pressed emblem unique to each departnt, embedded with crushed lapis dust. When tilted under torchlight, the embedded pattern shimred in a way nearly impossible to forge without the correct materials and tooling.
It was a system years ahead of its ti—clean, efficient, and nearly impossible to forge. So it ca as no surprise that soone had chosen to steal a legitimate ID rather than attempt to replicate it.
Arthur had designed the security frawork to be airtight. Every person entering the castle had to present their identification plaque to the entrance guards. Only after being verified were they allowed inside. But that was just the first layer.
Once within the castle, further checkpoints existed. Workers stationed in sensitive areas—such as the armory, treasury, or blackpowder manufacturing—were required to show their ID again upon entering their assigned zones. No ID, no access. Even minor inconsistencies could raise an alarm.
And to eliminate internal leaks, Arthur had taken it a step further.
Every mber of the castle staff, regardless of rank, was bound by a magic contract. A simple yet binding oath: never to lend, give, or show their ID to anyone else—not even to family mbers. If the card was lost or stolen, it had to be reported imdiately, or the individual would face disciplinary asures—or worse.
Arthur's expression darkened as a grim thought crossed his mind. The real Jace… he's likely dead. Killed sowhere outside the walls. His card was stolen and used to infiltrate this castle.
His gaze sharpened. "What happened after you detained him? And how did you confirm he's from Elysia?"
Roderic straightened, his voice steady. "After I apprehended him, I brought him to the interrogation chamber and conducted a full search from head to toe. That's when I found a concealed dagger strapped beneath his robe, and more importantly…"
He opened a small pouch and held up a silver ring.
"…this. A ring engraved with the Elysia royal crest. Hidden in his boot."
Arthur's expression turned cold. "So he was a spy."
Roderic nodded. "Shortly after that, Klein arrived. We began the interrogation, but we've only scratched the surface. The man was resistant, but… under pressure, he gave us a na—Kai. And admitted he was a trained infiltrator sent by Elysia."
Arthur's gaze narrowed, his voice dropping in quiet disapproval. "And you believed him? Just like that?"
Roderic hesitated, then admitted, "It wasn't just what he said… it was how he said it. But—yes, we resorted to torture to loosen his tongue."
Arthur's expression remained composed, but his eyes flashed with quiet displeasure.
"That ends now."
His voice was calm, but there was no mistaking the finality in his tone.
"Cease all torture imdiately. I want the spy placed under secure confinent. Tend to his wounds, give him food, and ensure he's under watch at all tis. I don't want him dying—not by our hands or his own."
Both Roderic and Klein looked visibly stunned. The very idea of stopping an interrogation mid-way, especially when the suspect had already started talking, was almost unthinkable.
Roderic furrowed his brows. "Your Majesty… with all due respect, we've already begun extracting valuable intelligence. If we push him just a little further we might be able to break him down and he'll tell us everything."
Klein chid in, uncertain but curious. "Forgive , sire… but may I ask why you're forbidding the use of torture? It's standard procedure—we've used it for decades, even centuries. And it works."
Arthur turned to face them both fully, his gaze sharp and clear.
"No, it doesn't," he said flatly. "Torture creates fear, not truth. A man in pain will say anything—anything—just to make the suffering stop. Lies, guesses, whatever he thinks you want to hear. And once we act on false information, it only leads to wasted ti, broken trust, or worse… irreversible mistakes."
There was a beat of silence as Roderic and Klein processed his words.
Truthfully, Arthur hadn't always believed this.
Back on Earth, he—like many others—was raised on a steady diet of films, TV shows, and novels that glorified torture as a heroic necessity. It was always the sa scene: a hardened operative in a dimly lit room, blood on his fists, the suspect tied to a chair, and dramatic music swelling in the background. The countdown was ticking. A bomb, a hostage, a threat to the nation—and sohow, with just the right punch or threat, the bad guy cracked and spilled everything.
It made for good television. Clean. Simple. Effective.
Except it wasn't.
That fiction had been designed to entertain, not to educate. It sold the idea that torture was not only morally justifiable but practically indispensable. That good guys had to get their hands dirty to save lives. Arthur had believed it once, just like so many others.
But reality wasn't a movie.
He rembered reading about a classified report from his past life—a declassified U.S. Senate docunt detailing how the CIA had once adopted what they called enhanced interrogation techniques after the 9/11 attacks. They had captured terror suspects across countries like Afghanistan, Iraq, Pakistan, and even allied nations, flying them across secret "black sites" hidden around the globe.
Inside those facilities, suspects were waterboarded, deprived of sleep for days, kept in stress positions, subjected to sensory overload, humiliation, and more. The logic? Break them fast, get answers, stop future attacks.
But what actually happened was far more troubling.
The suspects didn't just break—they cracked into pieces. So told elaborate lies. So gave false leads. So confessed to things they never did, just to make it stop. Others shut down completely. In the end, the CIA itself has not issued a clear, public admission that enhanced interrogation techniques (EITs) are ineffective. However, multiple authoritative investigations—including the U.S. Senate Select Committee on Intelligence (SSCI) report—have found that these techniques were not effective in acquiring intelligence or gaining cooperation from detainees
Worse, many of the tortured were never proven guilty. Victims of mistaken identity, flimsy intelligence, or simple proximity to soone else's cri. Their lives ruined, and the moral compass of an entire agency called into question. And the terrorists are even considered as victims in so eyes.
Arthur clenched his fist slightly, rembering the report's final conclusion. Torture wasn't just ineffective—it was counterproductive.
He returned his gaze to Roderic and Klein.
"Information gained through fear is unreliable. And if we make a habit of it, we beco no better than the nations we claim to be better than."
Arthur's voice dropped slightly, colder now.
"I want the truth. Not blood-soaked confessions. Understood?"
The two n exchanged a glance before bowing their heads in unison.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
After a mont, Klein spoke hesitantly. "Then… how do you intend to interrogate him?"
Arthur didn't hesitate.
"You don't need to worry about that yet," he said. "I'll design a system—a better one. One that extracts truth without compromising our integrity. Sothing far more effective than pain and guesswork."
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