The five masked mages—kidnappers, really—were bound tightly at both wrists and ankles, then tossed face-down onto the cold stone floor like sacks of regret. Their robes were torn, and faint traces of dried blood clung to their tunics. Muffled groans escaped their lips, but none dared lift their heads.
Conrad Stan stepped forward with grim precision. In his hand was a small vial filled with a pungent, acrid substance—its scent reeked of burning sulphur mixed with rotting eggs and scorched hair. Without ceremony, he uncorked the vial and waved it beneath their nostrils.
One by one, the captives jolted awake, gasping and gagging. Eyes wide. Limbs trembling. Their expressions were that of men waking from a nightmare—only to discover they had landed in a far worse one.
Josh approached slowly, boots clicking with authority. His presence seemed to weigh down the room. The captives instinctively recoiled, but the ropes held fast. Behind him, the family—the two boys, their sister, and their mother—had already departed. Before leaving, the mother had offered Josh a warm, lingering thank you, accompanied by a kiss on the cheek that hinted at something more. But Lola had stepped in with uncanny swiftness, ushering the woman away with the precision of a seasoned hawk defending its nest. The gleam in her eyes said everything: This one is mine.
Josh didn't acknowledge the tension. He was used to it. Handsome, sharp-eyed, with an aura that tugged at the edges of a woman's imagination, he was the kind of man whose presence filled the silence with daydreams. That even a mother of three had faltered in her restraint was no surprise to anyone—least of all to Lola.
Now, as Josh stood over the restrained men, his voice was quiet—almost gentle.
"I will ask some questions," he began, tone level but laced with iron. "And it would be in your best interest to answer swiftly… and truthfully. And Note that, what you experienced with Ralia—that was level one. I can take it… all the way to level five."
His words weren't shouted. They didn't need to be. The calmness only deepened the dread crawling over the captives like a second skin. If that torment was just level one, they dared not imagine what experience lay beyond that level.
Josh crouched slightly, his eyes locked onto theirs. "You said the children that you captured were in turn used to make potions. I want to know… just how long has this been going on? And what happens after to the potions you create?"
The men hesitated, eyes flicking toward one another, hoping in vain for a shared courage that would hold the truth back. But the fear of Xerm- the golden toad—the shadowy master they served—still loomed over them like a ghost.
"We… we… we're sorry, sir… we… we…" they stammered, their voices cracking, their minds at war with themselves, trying to decided what to do whilst exchanging glances amongst themselves in their prone position.
Josh said nothing.
He simply reached behind him calling for Lola's whip, and she understood the message and placed it in his right hand. Josh and took Lola's high level, earth rank whip—sleek, bronze colored, and humming softly with electric charge. He didn't speak a word. The whip cracked through the air and landed across their backs with a furious hiss.
ZZZZZZAPP!!
A single strike—clean, cruel, and perfectly aimed—raked across all five men at once. Sparks leapt, and their screams tore through the air.
"AAAAAAASHHHHHH!"
The pain was blinding. It felt as if— if Josh had held down the whip for just one second longer, their souls might have left their bodies for good.
It broke them.
One of the masked mages coughed violently, eyes wide and filled with panic. He didn't wait for permission.
"We've… we've been doing this for five years!" he blurted, words tumbling over each other in his desperation.
"We harvest the essence from as many children as we can find—all kinds of children are taken but the best are those that have special gifts or that are already cultivating. The potions made from them are sold to any one who could afford it, especially; nobles, generals, even aides to the Emperor himself! Anyone seeking a shortcut to power with enough Nazare Empire gold coins, has a good chance of obtaining it. We… we also drink the potions ourselves. That's how we grow stronger so quickly. Our cultivation rises faster than any normal method!"
The others nodded frantically in agreement, terrified of another lash.
Josh stood silently for a long moment. No flicker of emotion crossed his face. Yet somehow, the atmosphere grew colder in his stillness. The shadows stretched. The air thickened. Even the brightness of the skies seemed to dim in apprehension.
Then, finally, his voice cut through the silence—soft, yet deadly.
"Describe the Golden Toad for me."
The question landed like a hammer wrapped in silk.
For the first time, true hesitation gripped the captives. They exchanged uneasy glances, eyes wide beneath their black masks. Their master—the Golden Toad—wasn't just powerful. He was legendary. A phantom of the arcane arts. No one knew the full extent of his power. Some whispered that he could match the Scarlet Raven in combat… and perhaps even best him, if the battlefield tilted just right.
To speak of him… was to tempt death.
And yet, the man before them—this calm, handsome warrior with the voice of velvet and eyes of steel—radiated a pressure that made even the memory of the Golden Toad feel far away. Could Josh Aratat defeat the Golden Toad? None of them knew. But if he couldn't… and the Golden Toad discovered their betrayal, their fate would be worse than death.
If he could… then their fate was sealed right here and now.
Torture, they could survive.
But this?
This was something else.
As they hesitated, lost in the web of fear and loyalty, Josh tilted his head slightly, as if reading their thoughts like an open scroll. Without a word, he returned Lola's whip—still crackling faintly—to her hand.
Then he reached from within him to the Kingly system interphase and called it forth.
The sword.
The same gold-grade, high-level weapon he had used to slay the Kraken.
The moment it left its sheath, the atmosphere shifted again. The air seemed to grow heavier, harder to breathe. A pressure unlike anything else pressed down on every living thing in the room.
Even Josh's own generals, seasoned warriors who had stood with him through countless battles, stared in awe. They had never seen this sword before. They couldn't look away. Its surface gleamed like molten gold, still hot from the furnace of gods. It radiated a brilliance so fierce, it seemed to hum with restrained violence.
Each man there knew: this was not just a sword.
It was a judgment.
And Josh wasted no time.
With a blur of motion too fast to track, the blade flashed—and the head of the first mage dropped cleanly from his shoulders. It hit the floor with a dull thud, rolling once, twice, before settling in a pool of silence and blood.
The remaining four froze. Their breath caught in their throats. Time stopped. Their minds blanked.
That one strike shattered every illusion they had about survival.
Josh wasn't bluffing.
He wasn't torturing for sport.
He wasn't planning to keep them alive.
Not if they faltered.
"Sir—! I'll talk!" the second mage blurted, panic overriding every instinct. His voice cracked as he scrambled for breath, for words, for mercy. He didn't even glance at his fallen comrade. There was no time for grief. He knew he was next.
And he wasn't planning on losing his head.