Chapter 2: Church of Light (6)
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In the early morning, the swirling snow had stopped during the night.
As far as the eye could see, the vast Imperial Capital was draped in a silver cloak, pristine and clean, as if one had suddenly stepped into a fairy tale world.
As the saying goes, snow is not cold, but melting snow is cold.
Even though there were roaring bonfires in the corners of the Grand Hall of the Imperial Palace, the courtiers huddled in their heavy coats, braving the cold winds that crept in through the cracks.
A guard clad in black armor strode to the front of the hall and announced loudly, “If you have business, state it; if not, depart!”
Monroe quickly bowed and said, “I have a matter to report.”
Bel, reclining on the Emperor’s throne, supported his chin with one hand and tilted his body slightly. “Go ahead, what’s the matter?”
“Your Majesty, the embassy and chief members of the Prince’s Guard who returned from the Monster Race territory have been detained for several days.
They need to be interrogated in detail regarding their failure to protect Prince Eric, to identify the main culprits and accomplices, and provide a satisfactory explanation to Prince Eric’s family as soon as possible.”
Bel tapped his finger on the back of the chair thoughtfully. “Alright, let’s put this on the agenda. Delaying this matter will undoubtedly provide others with excuses.”
“Monroe, bear the burden of questioning them. Remember, we need to chop off a few heads to soothe the grieving Prince Eric’s family.”
“Understood, Your Majesty.”
……
Having received the authority to interrogate from the Emperor, Monroe made a beeline for the prison.
He had learned a whole set of plans from Trissa early that morning and came to court with a “let’s see how this goes” attitude. To his surprise, the Emperor immediately agreed with his proposal and appointed him as the chief interrogator.
It seemed Prince Eric’s family had put considerable pressure on the Emperor, so he was ready to untangle this whole mess.
What puzzled Monroe, though, was that after the Sky Tower’s exposure, the Emperor had shown a keen interest in the location; otherwise, he wouldn’t have sent Prince Eric and his guard to Black Stone City.
However, since the embassy and the guard returned to the Imperial Capital, Count Morris and others had been kept locked up in the dungeons while the Emperor had yet to make contact with them.
Of course, some undercover agents from the Emperor’s court were likely mingled in with the embassy, probably already aware of the details, making it unnecessary to question Morris and the others.
But anyhow, being able to interrogate Morris was the first step toward a successful plan.
Monroe decided not to dwell on it further; he first needed to get the job done.
……
Perhaps to supervise Monroe’s interrogation, the Emperor had specifically sent a personal guard to accompany him.
On any other day, Monroe might have been a bit uneasy about this, but this time, he couldn’t be happier.
“Bring in Morris.”
“Yes, my lord!”
The prison guards dragged Morris from his cell like hungry wolves, then unceremoniously tossed him onto the interrogation hall floor.
Without even looking at Morris, Monroe’s expression turned ice-cold. “For such a blatant disregard of imperial orders leading to Prince Eric’s misfortune in a foreign land, give him forty whacks with a deathly stick before we begin the interrogation.”
At this proclamation, everyone was stunned.
Just hearing the name “deathly stick” indicated a rather tyrannical torture device, especially one with barbs on the end—it would rip skin and flesh, resulting in a gruesome scene.
Typically, enduring ten hits would likely mean instant d*ath for most, let alone Monroe’s immediate order of forty whacks for Morris.
Wasn’t that plainly an intention to k*ll Morris on the spot?
Yet, Monroe showed no signs of hesitation, as if he had received some clandestine instruction and was utterly convinced.
Even the royal guards were taken aback, stealing glances at Monroe.
“Sir Monroe, don’t you think it’s a bit excessive to inflict such punishment before the interrogation?” one guard asked tentatively.
Monroe smiled. “There’s no need to worry, my good man. Morris is a notorious scoundrel; everyone knows it. The irony is, he’s the type who can’t even muster a peep under three whacks. Today, he’s my example for the rest.”
Thinking that even if Morris died, there were many other embassy officers’ heads that could appease Prince Eric’s family, the guard fell silent.
What could they do? They could just chop off Morris’s head later and send it to the prince’s manor.
That should quell any grievances from the royal family.
But the guard was puzzled as Morris, once dragged into the hall, remained utterly silent.
Even upon hearing the horrific label “deathly stick,” he didn’t flinch; instead, he appeared to be mumbling something under his breath as if he had entered a trance.
Ah, just as Sir Monroe said, a standard interrogation wouldn’t yield any results.
“Start hitting him!”
With a wave of his hand, Monroe signaled for the guards to begin.
Morris now resembled a flayed pig, belly down on a long bench, with two guards, one on each side, ready with the deathly sticks.
“Count, this is unfortuitous, but orders are orders; we’re helpless,” said one guard.
“Indeed, debts have their sources; when you reach the underworld, don’t hold it against us. The orders came from that esteemed lord up there,” the other added.
Morris seemed entranced, remaining mute, his rigid face devoid of any fear.
The two guards exchanged glances and shook their heads, then simultaneously raised their sticks, swinging down toward his back and rear.
“Thwack, thwack, thwack…”
The two blows landed hard, leaving Morris’s back a bloody mess.
It was painfully gruesome.
The guards who weren’t actively punishing him turned their heads, even after years of working in a brutal prison, they couldn’t bear to watch such cruelty unfold.
From his elevated position, Monroe chuckled coldly, “Excellent! Let’s see how long you can endure this!”
“Thwack, thwack…”
Three more hits.
Morris appeared to have lost consciousness, arms limp, head hanging down, utterly motionless.
The executing guards paused, glancing at Monroe.
“My lord, he seems to have passed out.”
Monroe replied, “Splash him with a bucket of cold water, and keep hitting!”
“Yes, my lord.”
The guards privately shook their heads; in all their years, this was their first encounter with such a ruthless chief interrogator.
This unlucky noble from the countryside had been dealt a terrible hand; one could only blame his bad luck.
“Splash!”
A bucket of cold water drenched Morris, and he jerked awake, bl**d trailing down his clothes, making the ground beneath him a soggy mess.
The two guards lifted their deathly sticks once more.
But just as one of them swung down with tremendous force, a surprising scene unfolded.
A flash of golden light erupted from Morris’s back, intercepting the stick mid-swing.
The guard was jolted back several steps, while the stick flew from his grip and clattered to the floor.
The other guard was also thrown back, looking on in stunned disbelief at the glowing Morris.
In that moment, a chorus of soaring childlike voices reminiscent of the Church of Light’s choir filled the interrogation hall.
As the sacred melody played, shimmering, transparent feathers glimmering with golden light began to cascade down, as if everyone had suddenly entered paradise.
