Lord Summoner's Freedom Philosophy: Grimoire of Love
Chapter 342: Assassins in Grafen (End) The Interrogation Begins

Chapter 342: Assassins in Grafen (End) The Interrogation Begins

Lyan’s voice was steady, yet it carried an unmistakable edge of menace as he addressed the two sisters, Ravia and Raine. The twin lights in their eyes gleamed with a mixture of anticipation and dark amusement, their expressions reflecting their excitement at the task ahead. This wasn’t just about extracting information—it was about demonstrating the lengths they were willing to go to protect Grafen and their lord.

Shade, the leader of the assassins, clenched his fists, his defiance flickering like a dying ember. He had been trained to resist interrogation, to endure pain without breaking, but something about the atmosphere in the dungeon made his confidence waver. He could feel the oppressive weight of Lyan’s presence, the cold, calculating intellect that seemed to see through his every facade.

Raine moved first, her steps almost languid as she approached Shade. Her fingers danced lightly over the various tools laid out on a nearby table, her expression one of idle curiosity. "You know," she began, her voice soft and almost musical, "my grandfather taught me a lot about how the human body works. Where to touch to cause pain, where to press to make you scream... It’s really fascinating."

Ravia, quieter and more reserved, stood beside her sister, her demeanor a stark contrast to Raine’s playful sadism. But there was a cold, clinical edge to her gaze, a precision that spoke of a deep understanding of anatomy and psychology. "And then there’s me," she added, her voice barely above a whisper. "I prefer to see how much someone can take before they break. It’s a bit of an experiment, really. Just for science."

Shade’s breath caught in his throat, his mind racing. He had expected torture—he was prepared for that. But the way these women spoke, the detached curiosity in their voices, sent a chill down his spine. They weren’t just going to hurt him—they were going to enjoy it.

Raine selected a slender, wicked-looking blade from the table and turned it over in her hand, admiring the way the dim light gleamed off the sharp edge. "Now, we can do this the easy way," she said, her tone almost casual, "or the hard way. The easy way involves you telling us everything we want to know, right now, with as little pain as possible."

"And the hard way..." Ravia continued, her voice as soft as a breath of wind, "Well, let’s just say it will be very educational for us, but not so pleasant for you."

Shade’s jaw tightened as he glared up at them, his resolve hardening once more. "Do your worst," he spat, his voice rough. "I’ll never talk."

Lyan watched the exchange with a detached interest, his arms crossed over his chest. He had no illusions about the nature of the world he inhabited, nor about the people he had allied himself with. This was necessary—brutal, perhaps, but necessary. And in his experience, everyone talked eventually.

"Is that so?" Raine mused, tapping the blade against her chin. "Well, I suppose we’ll just have to see about that."

She moved with the fluid grace of a dancer, closing the distance between them in a heartbeat. The blade in her hand was sharp, but she didn’t use it to cut. Instead, she pressed the flat of the blade against Shade’s cheek, the cold metal sending a shiver through him. "This is your last chance to cooperate," she said sweetly, leaning in close enough that he could feel her breath on his skin. "After this, there’s no going back."

Shade’s only response was to clench his teeth, his eyes burning with defiance.

Raine sighed, a small, disappointed sound, and then in a blur of motion, she brought the blade down, slicing a thin, precise line across Shade’s forearm. The pain was sharp and immediate, but it was the cold detachment in her eyes that unsettled him more than the wound itself.

"You see," Raine explained, her tone almost conversational as she watched the blood begin to flow, "the key to good interrogation isn’t just about causing pain. It’s about control. The right amount of pain, applied in the right way, at the right time... That’s how you break someone."

Ravia stepped forward, her hands gentle as she took Shade’s other arm, her fingers pressing against the tendons in his wrist. "Pain is just one tool," she said softly. "There are other ways to make you talk."

With a twist of her hand, she applied pressure to a specific point, sending a sharp, jolting pain up his arm. Shade’s breath hissed out through his teeth, but he refused to give them the satisfaction of a scream.

Lyan watched the interplay between the sisters and the assassin, his expression unreadable. He knew they would break him eventually—Raine and Ravia were too skilled, too methodical to fail. It was only a matter of time.

And sure enough, as the minutes dragged on, the relentless pressure of their techniques began to wear down Shade’s resistance. They didn’t just rely on physical pain—they used psychological tactics, manipulating his fears, his doubts, playing on his desperation. They knew when to push and when to pull back, never giving him a moment of respite, never allowing him to gather his thoughts.

The wounds they inflicted were precise, calculated to cause maximum discomfort without causing him to lose consciousness. The verbal taunts, the cold, detached way they spoke of his suffering as if it were an academic exercise—it all served to erode his resolve, bit by bit.

Lyan’s gaze flicked to Wilhelmina, who stood quietly observing the process. Her expression was thoughtful, her eyes reflecting a deep understanding of the stakes involved. She knew, as well as Lyan did, that this was more than just about extracting information. It was about sending a message—to the assassins, to Lord Hektor, to anyone who might think of challenging them.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Shade’s resolve began to crumble. His breathing was ragged, his body trembling with exhaustion and pain. The defiance in his eyes was gone, replaced by a flicker of fear, of desperation.

Raine leaned in close, her voice a low, soothing whisper. "Are you ready to talk now?"

Shade hesitated, his pride warring with his survival instincts. But in the end, it was the knowledge that he had no way out, no hope of rescue, that broke him. He nodded, his voice hoarse as he finally gave in. "I’ll talk..."

Raine smiled, a cold, satisfied smile, as she pulled back, leaving Shade to slump against the wall, defeated. "Good. Let’s start with who sent you, and what your orders were."

As Shade began to speak, the tension in the room eased, the atmosphere shifting from one of cold calculation to one of quiet satisfaction. The information they extracted would be valuable, a crucial piece in their ongoing efforts to secure Grafen and expand their influence.

But as Lyan listened to the broken assassin spill his secrets, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of satisfaction. This was only the beginning. Lord Hektor and the other nobles would soon learn that challenging Lyan Arkanium Evocatore was a grave mistake—one that would cost them dearly.

And as the information flowed, Lyan’s mind was already working, planning the next steps, the next moves in the intricate game of power and politics that he was determined to win. The fate of Grafen, and of those who stood with him, would be shaped by the decisions he made here, in this dark, cold dungeon.

But Lyan was ready. He was always ready.

"Let the war of nobles begin,"

Lyan stepped out of the dungeon, leaving the broken assassin behind, and made his way to the war council chamber. The atmosphere in the castle was markedly different from the cold, oppressive air of the dungeon. The soft glow of lanterns lit his path as he moved through the stone corridors, his mind already focused on the strategy meeting that awaited him.

The war council chamber was a grand room, its high ceilings supported by thick stone pillars adorned with banners bearing the sigil of Grafen. A large table dominated the center of the room, surrounded by high-backed chairs. Seated around it were the key members of his inner circle: Wilhelmina, Belle, Alina, Josephine, Xena, and Surena, along with Abraham and Grimclaw the Deadlight, who stood silently in the corner, his glowing eyes watching over the proceedings.

As Lyan entered the room, the conversation ceased, and all eyes turned to him. He took his seat at the head of the table, nodding to each of his companions in turn. The weight of leadership settled on his shoulders, but it was a burden he bore willingly, knowing that each of them relied on his guidance.

Wilhelmina, always sharp and attentive, leaned forward, her gaze focused on him. "How did the interrogation go?" she asked, her voice calm and measured.

Lyan gave a slight nod to Ravia, who was seated beside her sister, Raine. Ravia, with her usual calm and composed demeanor, rose from her seat and approached the map that was spread out on the table.

"We managed to extract valuable information from the assassins," Ravia began, her voice steady and clear. "The assassins were sent by Lord Hektor Ravalos, as we suspected. His orders were simple: infiltrate Grafen, gather intelligence on our defenses, and identify any weaknesses that could be exploited.