When Ulrich opened his eyes, he could see nothing.
Above his head hung a single lamp; its faint light, like a candle about to burn out, barely sketched a dim yellow circle in the darkness.
That light was so weak he couldn’t even make out the ground beneath his feet—only a blurry shadow at his own edges.
He tried to move and found himself tied to a chair.
This didn’t seem like ordinary rope.
The more he struggled, the tighter it became.
The rope’s texture was rough, as if something was burrowing into his skin.
The band around his chest had already squeezed the breath out of him, and his wrists and ankles were numbed by the constriction.
“Don’t struggle. The more you struggle, the tighter it gets. Be careful not to break your own ribs.”
Ulrich jerked his head up, trying to see where the voice came from, but the lamp above was too weak—it only lit up himself.
In the direction of the voice, he could see nothing.
“Who are you?!”
His voice echoed in the empty space, carrying a tremor he hadn’t even noticed.
A man stepped out from the darkness.
The light only reached his trousers; his upper body was hidden in shadow, his face completely indistinguishable.
“I asked who you are!”
Ulrich shouted again, his voice a bit louder than before, as if to bolster his own courage.
“Who I am doesn’t matter. What matters is who you are and who you’re working for.”
Ulrich let out a cold laugh.
He straightened his back with effort, even though the rope around his chest was choking him.
“Do what you want—kill me or cut me up!”
His attitude was tough, but his hands were trembling.
Not from cold, but from fear.
The feeling of not knowing who the other person was at all was more unsettling than any torture.
“Pretty tough, huh.”
The voice carried a hint of approval.
“Then let me ask another question. Who is your handler?”
“Not talking? Fine.”
A snap of fingers.
Ulrich felt his body rising.
Not an illusion.
The chair, along with himself, floated up and flipped over.
“W-what are you doing?!”
He saw a bucket.
He didn’t know when it had appeared.
It was hanging right above his head, but filled with water.
“I’ll ask one more time. Who is your handler?”
“I don’t know!”
Ulrich’s voice turned shrill.
“I don’t know anything!”
“Then there’s no helping it.”
A wet cloth was placed over his face.
The cloth was wet, just enough to cover his mouth and nose, blocking his breath, allowing water to seep drop by drop into his nasal cavity and throat.
Then the next moment, his head was plunged directly into the bucket.
His body began to convulse uncontrollably.
The feeling of water seeping into his nasal cavity was like someone pouring molten lead into his lungs.
Not stabbing pain—it was a burn.
Starting from his nose, it burned all the way down his windpipe to the depths of his lungs.
Each time he tried to breathe, he took in water instead of air.
Each time water entered, his body instinctively tried to cough it out, but the wet cloth blocked his mouth—he couldn’t cough, only smother it in his chest, turning into violent choking that threatened to shatter his ribs.
He wanted to breathe.
His body instinctively began to struggle wildly.
But the rope tightened further and further.
The rope around his chest had already cut into his flesh; he could feel the shape of his ribs gradually deforming under its pressure.
The rope on his wrists had worn through his skin, warm blood dripping down his fingers, but he felt no pain.
He could only feel suffocation.
His ears were ringing, white light flickered before his eyes, and there was only one thought in his mind…
Breathe.
But each attempt was a deeper fall.
Water into lungs, choking, spasms—a few seconds of gasping, then the next wave of water poured down.
Like an endless cycle.
The torture of waterboarding kept him teetering on the edge of drowning, repeatedly experiencing the fear of “about to die,” but always falling just short.
This was the most terrifying part of waterboarding.
The complete process from consciousness to breakdown and back to consciousness.
His body wouldn’t let him pass out, wouldn’t let him escape, wouldn’t let him be free.
He only knew one thing now.
He really couldn’t take it anymore.
“Ugh—! Ughh—!!”
That sound squeezed out from under the wet cloth, carrying the unreserved collapse of an adult.
His body slowly descended to the ground.
The moment the wet cloth was lifted, the sensation of air rushing into his lungs felt like swallowing a handful of broken glass.
Every breath came with a taste of blood.
He coughed violently, coughing until he vomited sour liquid from his stomach.
“Name.”
That voice rang out again.
“I… Ulrich.”
His voice was so hoarse it was barely audible.
“My name is Ulrich.”
“Who is your handler?”
“…He’s called… Valerius Vox.”
He gasped for air, each breath like swallowing fire.
“I… cough! Apart from that, I know nothing! I swear by the Gods!”
“My Lord, he’s lying.”
Another voice came from the darkness.
He saw a woman step out from the shadows.
When those eyes stared at him, it was like dissecting himself.
As if the deepest secrets hidden in his soul were exposed under that gaze.
“Still won’t tell the truth?”
That man’s voice rang out coldly.
“I… I…”
“Hilda.”
The moment that name was uttered, the woman walked up to him.
She bent down, those red eyes only a fist’s distance from his face.
Then Hilda’s pupils began to elongate, contract, and turn into a vertical slit.
In that slit pupil there was no pity, only a power that made people feel fear from the deepest part of their genes.
“Ah… Aaaaaaah—!!”
Ulrich’s violent scream rang out.
His pupils trembled violently under the gaze of those vertical pupils, then everything returned to calm.
His eyes completely lost their luster.
“Speak.”
Ulrich spoke.
His voice was like a broken gramophone playing its last recording.
“My other accomplice in the Federation is called Grell Cullen. He’s located in an abandoned basement around the Copper Kettle Tavern in the old district. He’s responsible for transshipment and communication after looting goods. Our organization is called the ‘Dark Crown Alliance.’ We loot supplies to secretly provoke a war between the Federation and the Empire.”
Rex’s expression turned grave.
“Where is your organization?”
“I don’t know.”
Ulrich’s voice was still flat.
“I only have single-line contact with Grell. He never tells me more.”
“Who is Valerius?”
“Our leader. All I know is he’s from the Empire and served in the military for twenty years. Rank… seems to be major. But I’m not sure. I’ve never seen his face, only heard his voice.”
After saying that, Ulrich’s head drooped completely.
Hilda straightened up and stepped back.
Her eyes returned to normal, but her expression was colder than usual.
“He can’t bear it. A Dragon Kind’s mental power is too strong for a human. His consciousness has already…”
“I know.”
Rex interrupted her.
He crouched down to look at Ulrich’s already blank face.
“Valerius.”
He repeated the name.
“From the Empire, twenty years in the military, major…”
“Let’s go.”
“How do we deal with this man?”
Hilda glanced at Ulrich on the chair.
“Victor will come to clean up. We still have plenty of rats to catch.”
The door slowly closed behind them.
The interrogation room fell back into darkness.
In the corridor, Rex’s steps suddenly slowed.
“Hilda.”
“Yes.”
“You say… a major who served in the military for twenty years—why would he come to the Federation to organize a gang that specifically loots military supplies?”
Hilda was silent for a moment.
“For the gold that humans like?”
“Doesn’t seem like it.”
Rex shook his head.
“Provoking a war between the Federation and the Empire. This is no longer about money. This is politics.”