Looking at Lloyd Hutchinson's face, torn apart by scars, it was nearly impossible to guess his origins.
Only a very few knew he hailed from the distant continent of Sothoryos, from a place called "Isle of Tears," rife with ancient jungles and primitive tribes. The legends about him were more chilling than his appearance—it was said the small knife in his hand possessed demonic precision, capable of peeling a man's flesh from his bones bit by bit while keeping him conscious, eventually leaving behind a complete, shivering skeleton.
Two years ago, in the Stepstones—filled with the stench of salt and sin—this man feared by all had accidentally seen a recruitment notice posted by Euron. That black banner with the golden kraken seemed to resonate with a deep desire in his soul. He crossed through the noisy ports and endured countless suspicious glares to stand before Euron, who had already conquered the archipelago with absolute power.
During his interview, Lloyd didn't display his horrific skills. He simply looked straight at Euron with grey eyes that remained clear amidst the scars, his voice raspy as grinding gravel. "In this world, no one can keep a secret under my hands."
Euron, who was in dire need of building his own order and deterrent force at the time, merely narrowed his eyes slightly. He asked no questions, raised no doubts, as if seeing through the terrifying shell to the unique value wrapped within.
"Good," Euron had nodded calmly. "I happen to be in need of a Headsman."
From that moment on, Lloyd Hutchinson of the Isle of Tears became the most chilling part of the shadows, and the deadliest, most loyal key in Euron's hand—specialized in unlocking the most stubborn mouths and prying into the deepest secrets.
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Since bringing the man back from King's Landing, Lloyd Hutchinson's terrifying skills had been practiced on only one subject on this island—the former Master of Whisperers of the Seven Kingdoms, Varys.
Deep underground, the interrogation room was perpetually filled with the salty smell of the sea and a faint, more unsettling odor.
When Euron stepped inside, ready to hear the final results, his gaze landed on the "thing" chained to the stone wall, and his steps faltered for a second.
It was hard to call that a "person" anymore.
Cheeks that were once plump and round were now deeply sunken, like a layer of dead grey skin plastered against the skull. Those eyes, which had always twinkled with shrewdness and calculation in the Red Keep, seemed to have lost their human soul, the remaining light as weak as a candle in the wind. Rich silk robes had long been replaced by filthy rags, and the exposed skin was covered in unspeakable marks.
Euron's memory flashed back rapidly, skimming over the image of the Spider in King's Landing—light on his feet, reeking of perfume, controlling countless secrets amidst smiles and whispers. Contrasting that with this curled-up, nearly inhuman shell before him, a sense of absurd unfamiliarity gripped him.
At first glance, he couldn't even recognize any connection between the two.
The damp air in the dungeon seemed to congeal, the dead silence broken only by the occasional crackle of a torch. Euron stood before the huddled body, his voice calm. "Varys," he called, as if addressing an old acquaintance. "Did you ever think you would see this day?"
The figure chained to the wall twitched slightly. Cracked lips opened with difficulty, emitting only a few raspy gasps, like a broken bellows wheezing.
At this moment, Lloyd stepped half a pace forward from the shadows. His voice was soft, yet it made Varys tremble violently. "When the Master asks a question," Lloyd's voice was like a viper sliding over stone, "what should you do?"
Absolute terror flashed in Varys's cloudy eyes. He spoke almost on instinct. "Answer... answer truthfully."
Before the words faded, a bizarrely shaped pair of pliers appeared in Lloyd's hand. He precisely clamped onto a layer of loose skin on Varys's chest and slowly applied pressure. Varys convulsed in pain but dared not struggle.
"Then why haven't you answered?" Lloyd's voice remained calm.
"Never... never thought I would see this day!" Varys finally cried out, tears mixing with blood as they slid down his face.
Just as he thought the torture would pause, the small knife in Lloyd's hand deftly sliced down, peeling off a thin layer of skin intact.
"And the honorific?" Lloyd's voice was still soft as a whisper.
Varys let out a scream that sounded inhuman. "Master—!"
The shrill cry echoed off the dungeon walls, finally swallowed by the boundless darkness.
Euron waved his hand, signaling Lloyd to pause. He asked, "Is there anything he's holding back from what he knows?"
Lloyd replied, "I made him recall in detail even the face of the person who poked his ass when he was three. I stake my life on it; nothing has been left out."
Euron's cold interrogation echoed in the stone chamber, every word a poisoned dagger stabbing precisely at the disguise Varys had woven over a lifetime.
"You say you protect the weak," Euron said, devoid of anger, holding only a brutal calm. "But those 'little birds' who stole secrets for you—were they not weak? When you sent them into the abyss, did you ever think of protecting them?"
Varys tried to curl up but was ruthlessly pulled back by the chains.
"You say you are loyal to the realm, yet you deceived one king after another. You say you protect the people, yet you spread rumors in the shadows, personally lighting the fuse of war." Euron took a step forward, his shadow engulfing Varys's trembling body. "You say you serve wise monarchs. What about the Mad King Aerys? Was he a good king in your eyes? If so, why didn't you support the wise Prince Rhaegar sooner?"
He leaned down, his gaze piercing into Varys's hollow eyes like an ice pick.
"You say you serve the people? But if not for your 'little birds' fanning the flames everywhere, how would the Seven Kingdoms be engulfed in smoke? Under the iron hooves of chaotic times, the people fell like grass—every one of those deaths is on your ledger."
Finally, Euron lowered his voice, but it carried a fatal penetrating power, tearing away the last mask completely.
"Varys, you actually serve no one. You do all this simply because—your body is incomplete."
"You are a eunuch. Only by making the whole world incomplete and broken, plunging the realm into chaos, can you gain a pitiful sense of existence from it. Only then can you feel a twisted pleasure in the game of power."
"Am I right?"
Every time he thought of Varys, Euron recalled the Ten Attendants of the late Han Dynasty, Zhao Gao of the Qin Dynasty, Gao Lishi of the Tang Dynasty, Wei Zhongxian of the Ming Dynasty... historically, very few eunuchs had a normal mind.
The dungeon fell into dead silence. Varys trembled violently all over. The high tower of belief he had meticulously built over a lifetime collapsed in this instant. He opened his mouth, but could only utter broken, sobbing gibberish. "I... I don't know... truly don't know..." Tears mixed with blood slid down his completely broken face.
A trace of dissatisfaction flashed in Lloyd's dull eyes. Clearly, Varys's incoherent breakdown fell far short of his standard for "answering truthfully." He stepped forward silently, a strange tool appearing in his hand, gleaming with the matte finish of cold iron in the dim light.
Just as he was about to lean in, Euron raised a hand slightly, stopping him.
"No need to ask anymore." Euron's voice remained flat, betraying no ripple of emotion, as if deciding a trivial matter. "Since his tongue can no longer spit out the truth we need, there's no use keeping it. Pull it out."
The hideous scars on Lloyd's face didn't move an inch; he showed no surprise at the order. He silently put away the previous tool and drew a shorter, thicker knife from the leather sheath at his waist. Its edge didn't look sharp; it seemed almost dull.
Without a moment's hesitation, he grabbed Varys's jaw with one hand, forcing his mouth open. Varys seemed to sense what was coming. Desperate, gurgling sounds came from his throat as his broken body began to struggle violently, chains rattling, but unable to break free even a fraction.
Lloyd's movements were steady and precise. The relatively dull blade didn't slice; instead, like a saw, it began to saw back and forth at the root of the tongue that had once been eloquent enough to stir the winds and clouds of the Seven Kingdoms. It was a slow and excruciating process, similar to sawing through wet wood. The dull, sticky sound was exceptionally clear in the silent dungeon.
Varys's body went rigid as iron, his eyeballs bulging. Formless whimpers were blocked in his throat by blood and agony, turning into intermittent, shrill gasps.
In moments, it was done.
Expressionless, Lloyd threw the bloody piece of flesh onto the straw at his feet with a soft thud. He stepped back half a pace, turned to Euron, and nodded slightly, signaling the task was complete.
Euron didn't look at the trembling shell again. He turned to Qyburn, standing quietly to the side, his voice as calm as if assigning a routine task. "Qyburn, your inventory of test subjects has a new material." He paused, adding meaningfully, "Make good use of it."
"Flame—Apollo!"
Before the words faded, a blazing flame suddenly leaped from the shadow of his left shoulder—an elemental creature created by the Soul-Soul Fruit. It landed lightly at Euron's feet, its eyes made of pure fire locking onto Varys.
Without warning, it opened its mouth. A condensed, white-hot pillar of fire erupted, precisely enveloping Varys's face.
"Urgh—AHHH!!!"
A shrill scream erupted briefly, then was swallowed by the roar of the flames. The terrible smell of burnt flesh instantly filled the air. The fire didn't spread; instead, it possessed a strange viscosity and adhesion, covering Varys's entire face like molten lava.
Moments later, Flame Apollo retracted its tongue of fire, leaped elegantly back to Euron's shoulder, and vanished.
Left behind was a terrifying visage on which no human features could be recognized—skin, muscle, features, all contours had melted and fused under the extreme heat, finally congealing into a smooth, complete hard shell of charred black and dark red covering the skull. It looked like a hideous flatbread forcibly branded onto him.
Varys could no longer make any sound, only emitting unconscious, intermittent sobs beneath the chains.
Euron stood still, coldly observing Varys's shapeless face. His voice wasn't loud, but it was distinct in the dungeon's silence, as if stating a step planned long ago.
"With his tongue pulled out, he cannot leak secrets with words."
"With his face burned, no one in this world can recognize who he is."
"Handled this way, it doesn't matter even if he is seen. Only test subjects prepared like this won't cause accidents. Qyburn, do you remember?"
Euron's considerations were always this thorough. Even with a prisoner about to lose his self and become experimental material, he would completely erase all traces of the past—voice and appearance alike. Only by rooting out all potential risks could absolute control be ensured. On this isolated island, even cruelty inflicted on enemies required the coldest calculation. He was using Varys as an example to tell Qyburn: When doing dangerous things in the future, be careful not to leave tails for others to catch.
Qyburn nodded repeatedly, his eyes shining with admiration, indicating he had learned the lesson.