The torture continued.
And the more Sam's skills leveled, the more brutal it became.
Henry introduced magic.
Gravity spells crushed Sam's body inward, compacting flesh and bone until ribs splintered under their own weight and organs strained against themselves. Bones fractured not from impact, but from pressure—his own mass turning against him.
The wounds grew so deep that even his evolved regeneration struggled. Healing no longer came cleanly. It burned. It tore. It rewrote flesh again and again.
At some point, Henry escalated further.
He hired magicians.
Some specialized in restoration—healers who intervened only when Sam hovered at the edge of true death. Others were artists of suffering: elemental casters, nerve manipulators, impulse mages who could trigger pain without leaving marks, or amplify it until reality itself screamed.
Henry laughed.
He laughed as he watched Sam convulse.
He laughed as bones reknit incorrectly, then correctly.
He laughed as life returned to eyes that had already gone dull.
In his mind, he was already in the Elfen kingdom Lyrania—praised as a visionary, a pioneer of magical research. A noble who had expanded understanding of skills.
And he truly learned something.
The more stimulus applied—
The more extreme the pain—
The more catastrophic the damage—
The faster skills grew.
Sam died more than once.
Always brought back at the very edge.
Everything was calculated. Henry learned exactly how far he could go. Every day, Sam died—and every day, he returned.
⸻
The announcement came at an unknown point in the torture.
Henry was in the dungeon when the messenger arrived—out of breath, nervous, bowing deeply.
"My lord," he said. "Lady Anika of Torrs' End has arrived. The engagement procession will enter the city at dusk."
Henry paused.
Then he smiled.
"Well," he said, straightening his coat, "that's inconvenient."
He looked at Sam—broken, healing, hanging silently in his chains.
"I'll be busy for a few days," Henry continued. "Appearances. Celebrations. Guests. Some important noble stuff" He scoffed. "But as if a rat like you would know."
"Hahahaha!"
He turned to the guards.
"Do not kill him," Henry ordered absently. "If his regeneration slows, give him rest during the ceremony days. Even a labor rat deserves a break."
At the door, he glanced back once more.
"You can thank me, Sam."
Sam didn't react. His eyes were empty.
Henry clicked his tongue. "And clean him. I don't want the dungeon smelling worse than the slums when she arrives in the castle."
After the guards cleaned Sam with a cold bucket of water, did the door close. And headed towards the celebration.
For the first time in a long while, Sam was alone.
His body healed slowly, painfully—scarred beyond recognition.
But his mind was sharper than it had ever been. He had heard the name.
Anika of Torrs' End.
And for the first time since the chains closed around him—Sam smiled. Just a little. Because Henry Tarakan had made a mistake.
⸻
The city of Tarakan dressed itself in gold.
Banners bearing the sigil of the ruling house hung from every balcony—black and crimson cloth embroidered with the horned wyvern. Streets were scrubbed clean, slums sealed behind guarded gates, filth hidden beneath fresh stone dust, perfume, and illusion magic.
The outer districts were locked down entirely.
Henry Tarakan stood on the upper terrace of the keep, hands resting loosely on the balustrade. His ash-black hair was slicked back, gleaming in the sunlight.
Below, horns sounded.
The procession entered the main avenue.
Anika rode at its center.
She wore a traveling dress of pale blue and silver—elegant, modest. Her cloak bore the sigil of Torrs' End. Sunlight caught her golden-blond hair as she dismounted with practiced grace.
Perfect posture.
Composed.
Yet her young eyes moved constantly, sharp and observant.
Henry smiled.
Beautiful—just as he remembered.
Her skin was still soft with youth, her features gentle, but Henry could already see the promised beauty she would grow into. A noble bloom waiting to be claimed— to be corrupted.
He descended the steps to greet her personally. The crowd murmured approvingly.
"Lady Anika," he said warmly, lifting her hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "Tarakan welcomes you."
Her fingers were cool. Soft and Innocent.
"And I thank you for the hospitality, Lord Henry," she replied calmly. "Your city is… impressive."
As they walked toward the castle, Henry spoke easily—trade routes, festivals, famous adventurers, his father's rule. Anika listened, nodding politely.
But as they passed a narrow side street—briefly exposed before a guard shifted—
Her gaze lingered.
Just a second.
Henry followed her eyes too late.
Chains. A barred stairwell descending beneath the castle. A flicker of movement.
Gone.
Anika looked away smoothly.
Henry didn't notice the way her fingers tightened around her cloak.
⸻
Inside the castle, Henry played the gentleman—ordering guards to take cloaks, sprinkling the path with flowers. The great doors to the lord's hall opened with a screech.
A long carpet stretched forward, adorned with flying wyverns. Nobles lined the sides, dressed in finery.
At the far end sat the Lord of Tarakan.
Henry's father rose, jewelry glittering in the light pouring through freshly cleaned windows.
"We welcome Anika of Torrs' End," he proclaimed, voice echoing. "To the honored walls of Tarakan!"
He descended the stairs. "I trust your journey was without complication?"
Anika smiled—and the room seemed to brighten.
"Thank you, my lord," she curtsied. "The journey was without incident."
"Wonderful!" the lord laughed. "Then let us be distant no longer—we are family now!"
He clapped his hands.
Servants poured though the big gate in, they brought Tables. Food. Wine. Music. A feast unfolded beneath the banners.
Anika nodded and freed herself from Henry's arm, who just listened to this moment, following his fathers orders.
He felt a burning sensation in his chest, the great Henry was just a mere son, a ware for wedding and connections!?
For the first time, after a long while, Henry Tarakan felt small.
He shook his head and gritted his teeth. But he pressed a smile forward, following Anika.