Chapter 3: I Only Need 72 Hours To Fall In Love With You (III)

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Chapter 3: I Only Need 72 Hours To Fall In Love With You (III)

“Young Master Cage, what you just had was only the appetizer. The real feast is about to begin. Are you ready?” A trace of excitement could be heard in Charlton’s voice.

“Bring it on. I’m starving.” Shang Ke’s voice was hoarse, and his exhausted appearance lent him a languid air, like a Persian cat that had just woken up and was waiting to be fed.

His shirt hung wide open, exposing skin covered in burns and purplish bruising. Metal restraints encircled his neck, waist, abdomen, wrists, and ankles. There was a trace of suppressed pain between his brows, but not the slightest hint of cowardice or fear.

The scene looked less like an interrogation chamber and more like some peculiar kind of performance. The young man in the cell was simply too striking, displaying none of the usual wretchedness or ugliness of someone who had been tortured.

Shang Ke had no idea that hundreds of people were watching him. Once the lingering effects of the electric shock subsided, he recovered a little of his strength.

At that moment, the end of the mechanical arm rotated several times before extending a laser beam about as thick as a drinking straw. Red light flickered at its tip, and even before it touched his skin, Shang Ke could already feel waves of stinging pain.

“I’ll give you one more chance.” The voice of that damned middle-aged man rang through the room again. “Tell us everything you know, and we may consider sparing your life.”

Charlton asked several questions in succession, but Shang Ke remained completely silent.

“In that case, let’s see how long you can keep that stubborn mouth shut,” Charlton said leisurely. “The national flower of our Draconis Empire is the Crimson Skyfire. It has seventy-two petals, layered one over another like blazing flames. I imagine your father would be very pleased if we tattooed our Empire’s national flower onto your body, don’t you think?”

If you’re a pervert, then just admit you’re a pervert. Why bother making excuses? If you want to humiliate someone, why tattoo a flower? If you’ve really got the guts, tattoo a pile of shit on me!

Shang Ke raised his eyes, his gaze filled with contempt. His cool, clear eyes were like winter sunlight reflected off snow, so dazzlingly cold that they were difficult to meet directly.

Instead of getting angry, Charlton smiled and gave the operator the order to proceed.

The laser blade shifted into position over the right side of Shang Ke’s chest, then plunged down and began tracing the shape of a flower into his skin bit by bit, accompanied by a sizzling hiss.

Shang Ke cried out in pain, his body trembling uncontrollably as blood streamed down his chest. His hair fell forward, partially obscuring his eyes. The red glow of the laser reflected in them, seeming to gather into a flame that slowly burned within his emerald-green pupils.

Under normal circumstances, this kind of laser tattooing would not cause much harm. But the interrogators had altered the laser’s settings so that it produced pain like burning fire and piercing blades. Combined with Shang Ke’s pain sensitivity being amplified fivefold, the agony was easy to imagine.

Sweat quickly soaked his entire body, seeping into his wounds and making the pain even more unbearable. He fainted several times during the process, only to be jolted awake again by fresh stimulation.

A faint flush spread across his fair skin, and Shang Ke’s lips parted slightly. His entire being seemed to bloom as fiercely as a Crimson Skyfire. His burning eyes held determination and unyielding resolve, beautiful enough to steal one’s breath away.

Charlton had originally proposed broadcasting the interrogation live in order to test the observers’ reactions. After all, the person being tortured was Utrecht’s son. Any member of the resistance who saw him being subjected to such torment would surely display some degree of abnormal reaction.

But this young man named Cage showed not the slightest cowardice under such torture. Instead, he appeared even stronger, as though he were using his own blood, bones, and sheer will to silently inspire his comrades:

No matter how much it hurts, you must endure!

The test was a complete failure, because everyone watching—including Charlton himself—showed abnormal reactions. Racing heartbeats, blood rushing through their bodies, rapid breathing… They practically looked like they were in heat. Some of them even seemed to have actually fucking gotten hard.

The tattooing continued for more than ten minutes. Afterward, the mechanical arm cleaned the blood from Shang Ke’s skin and sprayed on a hemostatic agent.

But that wasn’t the end of it.

The tattoo still needed color, and the pigment they intended to use was a special type of venom.

Charlton went into great detail about the venom’s origins, but Shang Ke didn’t hear a word of it. His nerves had nearly gone numb from the pain. Every minute and every second was torture, and all he wanted was for it to end as quickly as possible.

His burning skin suddenly felt a burst of coolness. Before Shang Ke could even breathe a sigh of relief, a tingling itch spread from the right side of his chest, as though countless ants were gnawing away at his skin. He wanted nothing more than to scrape that entire patch of flesh off. Compared with the earlier electric shocks and the laser tattooing, this inescapable torment was even harder to endure.

The Crimson Skyfire gradually took shape. The venom produced exceptionally vivid colors, shading from dark to light as layer upon layer of petals unfurled across his chest, finally disappearing at his left shoulder.

Shang Ke had to admit that the torture methods in this world were not only efficient and convenient, but surprisingly artistic as well. If he hadn’t been the one being tortured, he might even have given them a thumbs-up.

After enduring what felt like a century of torture, Shang Ke was utterly drained. His head rested weakly against the back of the chair, his eyes half-closed and seemingly veiled in mist, hazy and melancholy. It was a completely different kind of beauty from the blazing flower blooming across his chest.

Lost in a daze, Shang Ke heard Charlton firing question after question at him. He could only repeat the same answer over and over:

“I don’t know.”

He really didn’t know anything. Stop asking already. Just let him rest for a while, give him some peace and quiet—or maybe a drink of water and a little congee.

But that irritating voice continued circling in his ears, relentlessly wearing away at his nerves.

Even the people watching the interrogation were beginning to feel parched and exhausted, never mind Shang Ke. They could take a break whenever they wanted, but he couldn’t. He had already gone twenty-five consecutive hours without closing his eyes, and his mind was exhausted to the limit.

Ravel stared at the young man on the screen, never once looking away, as though he wanted to etch him permanently into his eyes.

“General, it’s lunchtime,” Kahn informed Ravel over the communicator.

“I’m not eating.” Ravel’s voice was calm. “Unless something urgent comes up this afternoon, don’t disturb me.”

“…Yes.” Kahn badly wanted to ask about the interrogation, but the timing wasn’t right, so he could only suppress his questions for the moment.

Around noon, people began leaving one after another for lunch. Once they finished eating, they returned to their respective positions and continued watching the interrogation.

It was an interrogation no one wanted to miss. They were captivated by the young man’s extraordinary presence and wanted to see just how long he could hold out.

Tenfold pain was not something an ordinary person could endure. Even when training soldiers, the military would only activate fivefold sensory amplification. That fivefold amplification applied across multiple senses—hearing, sight, smell, pain, and more. It was not focused entirely on pain.

But what this young man was enduring was a full tenfold amplification of pain itself.

Faced with torture like this, even the toughest man might not last more than a few hours. Yet Cage had endured for an entire day and night. Just how extraordinary did his willpower and endurance have to be?

As time slowly passed, everyone’s feelings toward the young man gradually shifted from fascination and curiosity to genuine admiration.

Ravel did not return to his residence until dusk.

The moment he entered the hall, Gabriel hurried over to meet him. The first thing out of his mouth was, “General Ravel, when are we evacuating? If we don’t leave soon, I’m afraid it’ll be too late.”

Ravel ignored him entirely and unhurriedly handed his coat to the butler.

“General Ravel.” Gabriel looked at him anxiously.

Ravel glanced at him, his gaze cool. A few hours ago, he had held no particular opinion of Gabriel. But after seeing Cage, he suddenly found Gabriel somewhat distasteful.

Gabriel had been staying in his residence for quite some time, yet he had never said a single good word about Cage, nor had he shown any concern for whether Cage lived or died. That young man was being subjected to unimaginable torture in the interrogation chamber without showing the slightest sign of retreat, while Gabriel remained safe under Ravel’s protection and thought constantly about fleeing for his life.

The contrast between them could not have been clearer.

Ravel lived a monotonous life. Apart from military affairs, almost nothing interested him.

But that young man had given him, for the first time, a profound understanding of what “beauty” truly meant. That resilience, that unyielding spirit, that ability to captivate the soul—he was like a gemstone that only grew more dazzling the more it was polished.

Ravel felt there was nothing else in this world more deserving of the word “beautiful” than him. The impact Cage had made on him had left an indelible mark on his heart.

The live broadcast continued the next day, with another sixty or seventy people joining the audience.

Thirty-one hours remained.

The interrogators’ original objective had been to extract information, but as time went on, they began to enjoy the thrill of inflicting pain.

Cage was like a hidden treasure trove. The deeper they went, the more wonders they discovered. Torture and pain only seemed to make him even more captivating.

And so, Shang Ke had the great “honor” of experiencing thirty-six different methods of torture. Unfortunately, the finishing move he had been hoping for never appeared. These people seemed to prefer tormenting him slowly.

The only thing worth celebrating was that the sensory amplifier finally wore off after thirty hours. With the System’s 50% pain reduction finally able to work in his favor, Shang Ke at last got a chance to breathe.

Although the methods being used on him looked increasingly brutal to everyone else, to Shang Ke they were actually less painful than the initial electric shocks and tattooing.

Twenty hours remained until the uprising.

Shang Ke’s mind was already on the verge of collapse. The prolonged torture and exhaustion had robbed him of the ability to think normally. He didn’t even have enough energy left to curse the System.

If the System ever gives me another one of these “100% completable just by sitting there” missions, I’m rejecting it without a second thought!

I’d rather go to war, scavenge for scraps, or live like a savage than ever “sit” through another mission again!

Fourteen hours remained.

Charlton finally unleashed the “big move” Shang Ke had been waiting for. Using a specialized device, he shattered the bones in Shang Ke’s limbs inch by inch.

A continuous series of crisp cracks rang out—from his ankles to his knees, from his fingertips all the way to his shoulder blades…

By then, Shang Ke could no longer make a sound.

Everyone watching the video sucked in a sharp breath.

“Young Master Cage, you’ve truly made me see you in a whole new light,” Charlton said with a sigh. “To think you’ve managed to hold out even under torture like this. I suppose that even if we continued, you still wouldn’t confess. In that case, I’ve decided to use neural override on you directly.”

So-called neural override could seize control of another person’s mind and force them to obey commands. Its effects were similar to hypnosis, but it was extraordinarily destructive. Once used, the subject’s independent consciousness would be completely erased.

Shang Ke’s head hung low, and he showed no reaction.

Ravel slowly clenched his fist, suppressing every outward trace of emotion even as turmoil raged inside him.

Just give him a little more time. One hour—no, even forty minutes would be enough!

Shang Ke knew nothing of Ravel’s anxiety. He raised his head slightly and, thinking that this ordeal was finally about to end, couldn’t help revealing a relieved smile.

Charlton hadn’t expected him to still be capable of smiling. Feeling as though he were being looked down upon, he demanded coldly, “What are you smiling about?”

Shang Ke glanced toward the metal wall in front of him. He knew the interrogators were standing on the other side.

Since everything was finally about to end, he decided to act cool one last time. After suffering for so long, he deserved at least that much in return.

The corners of his lips curved upward and his brows lifted. His previously dim eyes seemed to ignite, suddenly blazing with brilliant light. He fixed his gaze straight ahead and, using the last of his strength, slowly and firmly declared:

“Kruse will fall.”

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