Soulbound: Dual Cultivation

Chapter 557: Torture

The whipping continued long after most men would have collapsed completely.Again and again the lashes tore across Lucas’s body, reopening wounds, shredding flesh already battered beyond recognition, yet despite the pain coursing through every nerve in his body, despite the suppressing ring choking his cultivation and the exhaustion threatening to pull him unconscious, he still refused to speak.

Not a single useful word.

Only rough breathing.

Grunts forced from him by unbearable pain.

And silence.

The interrogator watched all of it with growing frustration hidden beneath practiced calm, because the torture was no longer producing results, only endurance.

Finally, after another brutal strike failed to break him, the interrogator raised a hand.

The whipping stopped.

The room fell quiet except for the faint rattling of chains and Lucas’s uneven breathing.

Blood dripped steadily from his torn body onto the floor beneath him.

The interrogator stared at him for a long moment before speaking.

"Bring him down."

The soldiers obeyed immediately.

The chains above loosened slowly and Lucas’s body dropped heavily forward before the guards caught him roughly by the arms. Even standing was difficult now, his legs barely supporting him properly after everything they had done to him, and as they dragged him across the room, blood smeared faintly behind him against the stone floor.

At the center of the chamber sat a reinforced metal chair bolted directly into the ground.

Not for comfort.

For restraint.

Lucas was forced into it without ceremony, his arms strapped tightly against the rests while thick bindings locked around his chest, waist, and legs one after another until movement became nearly impossible.

The restraining ring around his neck pulsed again.

Suppressing.

Weakening.

The interrogator moved calmly toward a metal table positioned near the wall.

Upon it rested a dark leather pack.

He opened it slowly.

Inside were knives of varying lengths and shapes, hooks, thin blades designed not for killing but precision, alongside other instruments whose purpose became obvious the longer one looked at them.

One of the soldiers nearby shifted uncomfortably.

Even among hardened men, there were methods that carried a different kind of cruelty.

The interrogator selected one of the blades carefully, testing its edge with his thumb before turning back toward Lucas.

"This is usually the point," he said calmly, "where people reconsider their loyalty."

Lucas lifted his head slightly despite exhaustion weighing heavily against him.

The interrogator walked slowly around the chair while speaking, almost conversationally now.

"You’ve endured pain well," he admitted. "Better than most."

He stopped beside Lucas.

"But pain alone is simple. The body adapts to it. The mind prepares for it."

The blade glinted faintly in the dim light as he raised it slightly.

"What breaks people," the man continued quietly, "is understanding exactly what is about to happen to them while being unable to stop it."

Lucas’s breathing remained uneven but steady.

The interrogator leaned slightly closer.

"I am going to flay you alive," he said plainly. "Piece by piece. Slowly. Carefully enough to keep you conscious through most of it."

One of the soldiers looked away briefly.

The interrogator continued without emotion.

"I will remove skin first. Then deeper layers if necessary. There are places on the human body where pain becomes unbearable long before death arrives."

He lightly pressed the flat side of the blade against Lucas’s shoulder.

"And eventually," he said softly, "you will talk."

Lucas remained silent for a few seconds.

Blood still ran slowly down his battered body while the restraints held him firmly against the chair.

Then he gave a faint, exhausted laugh.

The interrogator’s eyes narrowed slightly.

Lucas slowly raised his gaze toward him.

"You people," he muttered weakly, "really don’t know when to quit."

The answer was not brave.

It was tired.

But somehow that made it worse.

The interrogator stared at him coldly for a moment longer before stepping back slightly.

"Very well," he said quietly.

Then he raised the blade.

In truth, fear had already settled deep inside Lucas long before the interrogator brought out the knives.

He was not fearless.

Not invincible.

Not immune to pain.

The sight of those instruments, the calm way the man described exactly how he intended to carve him apart piece by piece while keeping him alive through it all, sent a cold dread through Lucas that no amount of toughness could completely suppress. His battered body already trembled faintly from exhaustion and pain, and now something heavier pressed against him mentally.

Because this was different from battle.

In battle, pain came fast.

Violence came with movement, adrenaline, instinct.

This was slow.

Deliberate.

Calculated suffering.

And Lucas understood clearly now that what awaited him could break even strong men if given enough time.

His breathing remained uneven as he sat restrained to the chair, bloodied and weakened beneath the suppressing ring around his neck, while the interrogator calmly prepared the blades nearby.

Part of him wanted to speak.

Not because he intended betrayal, but because the human body naturally recoiled from this kind of horror. Every instinct screamed at him to avoid what was coming, to make it stop before it even began.

But another part of him remained stronger.

The image of Patrick carrying Patricia away through the streets.

The emperor escaping Rus.

The others waiting outside the city.

The mission.

If he talked now, all of it could collapse.

People would die.

Everything they endured would become meaningless.

Lucas lowered his gaze briefly and steadied his breathing as much as he could despite the fear tightening inside him.

No matter what happened next...

He would not say anything.

The interrogator pulled a chair and sat directly in front of Lucas with unsettling calmness, as though this were nothing more than an ordinary conversation between two men instead of what it truly was.

Lucas’s arms remained strapped tightly against the metal restraints, his body barely able to move after everything they had already done to him, while blood still stained his torn skin and soaked parts of the chair beneath him.

The interrogator reached forward slowly and took hold of Lucas’s hand.

Not roughly.

Carefully.

That somehow made it worse.

Lucas instinctively tensed immediately, dread crawling violently through him as the man examined his fingers almost thoughtfully before selecting one.

Then he brought out a thin metal tool.

Lucas’s breathing became uneven at once.

The interrogator looked into his eyes calmly. "Last chance."

Lucas said nothing.

The man nodded faintly.

Then slid the tool beneath the fingernail.

Pain shot through Lucas instantly even before the nail came free, sharp and horrifyingly precise, his body jerking hard against the restraints as every nerve in his hand screamed violently.

The interrogator did not rush.

He slowly pried upward.

Lucas clenched his jaw immediately, trying to suppress any sound, but the pain intensified so brutally that his control shattered the moment the nail finally tore free.

A broken whimper escaped him.

Raw.

Involuntary.

His entire body trembled violently against the chair as agony pulsed through his hand, far sharper than the whipping, sharper even than many of the blows they had dealt him before because this pain was focused, intimate, impossible to brace against properly.

Blood ran down his finger immediately.

Lucas lowered his head sharply, breathing raggedly as he fought to regain control over himself while the pain continued throbbing viciously through his nerves.

The interrogator calmly held up the torn fingernail between his fingers before dropping it aside casually.

"There," he said quietly. "That sounded more honest."

Lucas’s chest rose and fell heavily as he struggled against the wave of pain still crashing through him, shame and anger mixing with it because he hated that sound that escaped him, hated that they managed to force it out despite everything.

But even then...

He still did not speak.

The interrogator watched him carefully for a moment before reaching for another finger.