The flickering candles illuminated the moss-streaked stone walls, and the clinking sound of armor echoed through the dark, damp corridor.

This was the Trident Knights' headquarters in Thunder City, or more accurately, the dungeon located underneath their headquarters.

Unlike the small dark rooms of the Great Graveyard, there were no skeletons here to tell ghost stories; there were only the most authentic forms of punishment, along with the deep, soul-penetrating screams and wails of agony.

Strictly speaking, as the lord's army, the Knights didn't have the right to enforce the law in autonomous cities like Thunder City.

However, it wasn't a problem with the lord's directive in hand.

The man holding the candelabrum walked to the end of the corridor, and stopped in front of a wooden door reinforced with iron, casting his gaze towards the knight attendant guarding the door.

"Where's Mel?"

The young knight attendant stood at attention, his expression tense, as he quickly glanced at the nearby wooden door.

"...Inside."

The green-mossed wooden door exuded an air of decay, like a back entrance leading deep into Hell.

Hearing the faint pleas for mercy and wails of agony coming from the other side of the door, the man slightly furrowed his brows, but ultimately said nothing, and simply reached for the doorknob.

With a creaking sound, he pushed open the decrepit wooden door and entered, immediately greeted by the thick scent of blood and the pungent odor of rotting fat.

"Miles?"

The armed priest with a spiked mace hanging at his waist stood outside the interrogation room partition, and cast an unexpected gaze towards the knight who walked in, seemingly surprised to see him there.

"What wind has blown you here."

"By order of the lord, I've come to check on your progress," replied the man called Miles, surveying the surroundings and fixing his gaze upon the firmly shut door of the interrogation room.

There was something he didn't say.

The local citizens had many complaints about their actions, and the tumult of public resentment had reached a level that the lord had to respond.

Work buzzed within the interrogation room, and amidst the barely audible sound of hammering nails, he casually asked a question.

"Is Mel inside?"

"Yes," the armed priest nodded and said with a smile, "Besides that, there's an accomplice of Miranda's... At first, he was unwilling to confess anything, but his poor acting didn't deceive Knight Commander Mel. In the end, we pried his mouth open."

Miles nodded and continued to ask.

"And then? How many accomplices have you caught now?"

"The eleventh," the armed priest said proudly, "Thanks to Mr. Mel's deductions, we are getting closer to the truth."

"Eleven," Miles muttered to himself with a slight frown upon hearing this and without showing an expression of joy, he murmured, "So many accomplices for an Undead Mage..."

Normally, so many people rallying around an Undead Mage would not be your average criminal gang—

It was a secret religious cult.

He placed the candelabrum on a wooden table to the side, and instead of interrupting his colleague's work, he sat down by a desk with a small window and reached for the partition.

As he lifted the partition, the dense smell of blood wafted into his nostrils.

Although he had also tortured many guilty individuals before, the sheer atrocity of the scene before him involuntarily tightened his face.

The man seated in the interrogation chair was covered with a blood-soaked white cloth over his head.

A thick rope hung around his neck, and dozens of iron nails pierced through his shoulders, arms, and even his knees and ankles, fastening him firmly to the chair.

Beyond the word 'horrifying,' Miles could not think of a more fitting description.

It was impossible to find a single intact piece of skin on the man's body; the torture chambers of Hell Demon City were probably not much worse than this.

And to prevent the prisoner from passing out, the interrogation room was specially equipped with an apprentice armed priest who intermittently released Healing Techniques and Holy Light Magic.

Because the white cloth covered him, Miles couldn't see the prisoner's face.

But he could clearly see the young man with the badge of an apprentice knight, his face as pale as paper, forehead beaded with sweat as if he could faint at any moment... showing just how many times he had used the Holy Light today.

In contrast, Knight Mel maintained a meticulous expression.

His fingers interlocked on the table, and his focussed gaze was like a torch, as if no evil could hide from those eyes.

Such determination was certainly admirable.

But unconsciously, a chill crept up Miles's spine.

Let it end quickly.

He found himself praying silently in his heart for the prisoner.

At that moment, Knight Commander Mel cleared his throat and waved his hand, signaling the executioner with the nails and hammer to step down.

"So, Mr. Brycen... concerning your accomplices, have you remembered anything?"

"I..."

The faltering voice made it unclear whether it was a confession or repentance.

Knight Commander Mel signaled the person next to him to remove the white cloth from the prisoner's head while reciting the spell to summon the Holy Light.

Bathed in the milky white sacred glow, the prisoner in the interrogation chair recovered a semblance of spirit.

And as a mouthful of clotted blood was coughed out, his delirious voice also seemed to become slightly clearer.

"I... I am guilty, the day before yesterday... no, it should be last month, I indeed met Miranda."

Aside from the prisoner, everyone in the interrogation room was shocked, and Knight Commander Mel stared at the slowly speaking prisoner and demanded in a stern voice.

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