One of the elders reached into the inner pocket of his robe and pulled out a small, twisted vial. It shimmered green under the moonlight, the liquid inside thick with a grassy texture and tiny, squirming particles.
Rayen's eyes widened.
That texture… that color… no doubt about it. That's the Potion of Eternal Suffering!
His heart raced, panic rising like fire in his chest.
The elder silently handed it to the long-faced one, who received it with reverence, his gloved hand clutching it tightly.
Rayen's voice cracked with desperation. "What the hell are you trying to do with that potion?! Stay away from Grandpa!"
But they didn't stop. Not even a glance in his direction. They moved forward—toward the old man tied to the chair, his head slumped, barely conscious.
No… no no no… are they really trying to perform the Elven ritual? Rayen's thoughts spiraled in horror.
That ritual… that cursed, forbidden spell. First, they force the Potion of Eternal Suffering into the body. Then after eight minutes of torment—after every nerve is burned, cut, and shattered from within—they chant a binding spell to absorb all the victim's life force, power, and even their essence into a vessel…
They're not just punishing him. They're trying to steal his power. All of it.
Rayen began thrashing wildly in his binds, fury and fear mixing in his blood.
"STOP! I SAID STOP! IF YOU TOUCH HIM, I SWEAR I'LL—"
"—You'll do nothing," the long-faced elder interrupted coldly, without turning to him. "You're already dead inside, cursed one. You just haven't accepted it yet."
He stepped forward.
Removed the cork from the vial.
The sickeningly sweet, almost metallic scent of the potion filled the air.
The old man groaned softly—weak, barely aware.
Rayen's eyes burned with rage.
I'm not going to let you do this… even if it kills me... I'll tear you apart.
As the long-faced elder stepped closer with the vial in hand, he tried to pour it into the old man's mouth.
But the old man resisted—turning his head side to side, refusing to let even a drop in.
Two IAR officers stepped forward without a word, grabbing his face and forcing it straight, holding him still.
"Just give up already," the elder muttered coldly, trying again. But the old man clamped his mouth shut, his jaw trembling with strength.
The long-faced elder's patience snapped.
He gave a sharp hand signal.
An officer came forward, holding a metal rod, long and hollow in the middle.
Rayen's heart stopped.
His voice burst out in panic. "No! What are you doing?! Don't you dare! STOP IT!"
But they ignored him.
The elder took the rod and, without a flicker of hesitation, slammed it straight into the old man's stomach, piercing flesh and muscle.
"GAAHH—!"
Blood splashed out of the old man's mouth, painting his already bruised face in red.
Rayen's eyes widened in horror. "GRANDPA!!!"
Then, with disgusting calmness, the elder raised the vial of the Potion of Eternal Suffering, poured it into the rod—and let gravity force it deep inside.
As the last drop sank into the old man's body, they all stepped back. The forest went silent.
Then it began.
The old man's body convulsed violently.
His veins turned black.
His bones creaked audibly.
His screams... they weren't human anymore.
Every second, his body twisted in ways that defied logic—like every inch of his soul was being shredded from inside. His mouth frothed. His fingernails broke as he clenched the chair. Tears, blood, and pain mixed together on his face.
Rayen couldn't breathe.
He couldn't move.
He could only watch.
"STOP!" he screamed, voice cracking, eyes filled with tears. "SOMEONE STOP THIS! SOMEONE PLEASE!"
But the elders just laughed.
They stood there calmly, watching the agony unfold like it was a show. Their masked faces twisted into mocking grins.
Rayen dropped his head.
Tears streamed down freely.
I'm useless...
I'm weak...
I couldn't protect the one person who gave everything for me.
---
After eight long minutes, the old man's body was nearing its limit. His breath was shallow, barely hanging on. One of the elders stepped forward, holding a glowing orb in his hand. He began chanting an incantation, ancient and sharp, causing the old man's body to glow an intense blue. His essence, the very foundation of his power, began to flow out—pulled forcibly into the orb.
Once the ritual was complete, the orb pulsed with concentrated energy, shining brighter than before. The old man lay still, lifeless. Dead. Rayen didn't move. His tears had already run dry, his eyes wide and empty, locked on the ground. The moment felt frozen. The elders and officers, however, were in celebration. "Now this orb marks our victory," one of them declared proudly. "The traitor is dead!" Officers shook hands and congratulated each other, drunk on their triumph.
One officer approached Rayen, curious whether the "cursed one" was still conscious. With a sneer, he kicked him hard in the ribs. "Are you alive, cursed bastard?" he spat.
Rayen slowly raised his head, his gaze empty, then his mouth opened—and what followed left them all stunned. Two white glowing eyes flickered inside his throat, and without warning, a large, mutated wolf crawled out from his mouth. Its fur was pure black, its presence heavy like death. Before the officer could even scream, the wolf lunged and ripped his head clean off.
Panic exploded among the officers. Elders backed away, shocked and alarmed. "What is that thing?!" one of them shouted. The creature turned its glowing eyes toward them.
"I… am… Shadow… Rayen's shadow," it growled, its voice low and distorted. Just then, the orb that was in the elder's hand vanished in a blink. Gasps followed. "Where did it go?!" another elder shouted, scanning the surroundings in fear.
"It… is… here," the shadow replied coldly, holding the orb in its fangs. The long-faced elder's eyes widened. That speed... it's unreal!
"Don't you dare do anything to that orb!" an officer yelled. "Give it back, or we'll kill you!"
"Then… go… on." The shadow smiled wickedly with its eyes, then swallowed the orb whole. The next moment, it jumped back into Rayen's mouth and vanished entirely.
Silence fell.
"No… this can't be…" The long-faced elder's knees gave in. "We… we lost the orb… all that power…"
And all that remained was Rayen, his eyes slowly closing once again.
The long-faced elder was trembling—his lips curled in rage, his breath heavy. His composure shattered. With a snarl, he formed a blade of life force in his hand. One of the elders nearby reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder. "What are you trying to do?"
But the long-faced elder ignored him. His eyes were locked onto Rayen's unconscious body, filled with blind fury. He broke into a sprint and, without hesitation, slashed down—cutting Rayen's head clean off.
A sharp gasp spread through the royal guards and IAR officers. Blood sprayed across the grass, painting the earth red. But the elder wasn't done. He kept swinging—again and again—his blade cutting Rayen's lifeless body into pieces. Flesh, bone, blood—he sliced through it all like a madman. The air was filled with wet slashes and heavy breathing. Some of the officers turned away, their faces pale, stomachs turning from the grotesque sight. But none dared move. The elders hadn't given any orders.
Finally, the long-faced elder stopped. Blood dripped from his sword. He turned toward the highest-ranking officer present—one who had watched the slaughter without so much as blinking.
"Burn this cursed one's body," the elder said coldly, panting. "Dig a pit in this forest and bury him in its depths. Dattadri's powers… they've vanished. The orb is gone. But both the traitor and the cursed one are dead. That alone is a victory worth celebrating."
His voice was steel. Final.
He turned away, joined by the rest of the elders. As the royal carriage approached, they climbed aboard, surrounded on all sides by royal guards. The carriage wheels turned with weighty grace, disappearing slowly into the misty woods.
---
In the deepest part of the forest, the highest-ranking officer—Ling Tianhou—was walking with a sack in his hand and a spirit of light floating beside him to light the dark path. The sack was soaked in red. "Tch. I thought becoming an IAR officer would make me the strongest Cultivator, but what did I get? Now I'm just someone who cleans murder scenes and hides bodies. That elder has totally lost it."
He finally reached a spot where even light couldn't enter. The trees above were so thick that they blocked the sky completely. He dropped the sack on the ground and aimed his hand at it. "Don't curse me from hell. I'm just doing my job, I've got nothing personal against you." A flame orb formed in his hand and he burned the sack until it turned to near ashes. Then he used earth magic to dig a pit, threw what was left inside, and covered it with soil.
"I've seen enough. I'm retiring from this boring job," Ling Tianhou muttered, turning around and leaving.