A few hours earlier…
Smoke still clung to the ruins like a funeral shroud.
Zhou stood at the edge of the cratered road, blood dripping from his side, his coat torn and soaked through with grime and gore. His entire squad—veteran smugglers, rogue mages, enforcers—were gone. Charred corpses and melted concrete were all that remained of the convoy. The air was thick with mana residue, lingering from the barrage of spells that had rained down on them moments before.
They hadn't been raided by bandits. These were organized, disciplined mages. Government-trained. Military.
He'd recognized one of them before the ambush even began—just a glimpse through the trees, but enough. A familiar face from the classified reports on the Holy Spring. A junior officer, once assigned as a perimeter guard to the sealed chambers beneath the mountain. Zhou had memorized the names. The faces. Every single one connected to that cursed place.
And this one?
He was a newly promoted intermediate mage.
This one was alive.
Barely.
Zhou had made sure of that.
He could have ordered his men to unload everything on them. Could've leveled the forest, maybe even survived. But he needed one of them breathing. Talking. Screaming, if need be.
So he sacrificed the others—ordered them to cover his flank while he circled behind and ambushed the operative. It cost them their lives, and nearly his own. The bastard had hit him hard—ice spikes tearing through his side like knives, ribs breaking under the pressure of a reinforced barrier spell.
But in the end, Zhou dragged him out. Bloody. Beaten. Unconscious.
The rest of the military mages? Dead. Every last one.
He didn't leave witnesses.
And now…
Back in the motel, Zhou exhaled slowly and stared at the bloodied soldier tied to the chair.
The man's eyes still burned with defiance, but Zhou didn't care.
This wasn't about honor or battle. It was about power.
The Holy Spring wasn't just some city legend—it was the key known to all its people, which helped mages in overcoming walls from novice to intermediate and more. A magical wellspring capable of empowering mages far beyond their natural limits. If even a fraction of the rumors were true, then a man with access to it could become a monster.
Zhou's superiors wanted it for their own ends—an edge in the escalating power struggle that was tearing the magical underworld apart. But Zhou… Zhou had other plans. The Black Vatican wanted control, but he'd seen what they did to those beneath them. He was no loyal dog. He would find the spring, steal its power, and then vanish. Reemerge when the world burned low and light it ablaze again—on his terms.
But that required a key.
And that key was right there—bound, bleeding, and stubborn.
That's where Lin Feng came in.
Zhou didn't trust Luo—he was not fit for this job, as he was a strategist. But Lin Feng… the boy was different. There was something in his eyes, something hollow and dangerous. Like a starving wolf that had only just learned the taste of blood.
Perfect for what came next.
Zhou crushed the cigarette into the bloodstained floor, watching the smoke curl upward like a spirit rising.
"Your turn, kid," he muttered under his breath, voice dry as ash. "Don't disappoint me."
Lin Feng stepped forward slowly, savoring every creak of the floorboard beneath his boots. The dim motel light buzzed overhead, casting his shadow long and crooked across the trembling soldier strapped to the steel chair. His bloodied face was already a mess of purple and red, but that didn't matter. Lin Feng wasn't here to admire the damage. He was here to create art.
In his gloved hand, a scalpel glinted under the fluorescent light. Not some rusty, jagged tool like Luo preferred. No, Lin Feng was precise. Surgical. Intimate.
He knelt just slightly, eye-level with the man.
Then came the grin—wide, unnatural, hungry. His teeth looked almost too white under the flickering lights.
"You'll make a fine toy," Lin Feng murmured, voice calm and silky. "Please… try not to break too early. I hate when they fold in the first act."
The soldier tensed against the restraints, lips tightening.
Lin Feng's hand darted out—faster than the eye could track—and sliced a clean line across the man's cheek. Just deep enough to sting. To bleed. The soldier grunted, eyes widening as blood began to bead down his face.
Lin Feng brought the scalpel to his tongue, tasting the coppery tang. His pupils dilated.
God, he missed this.
What followed wasn't a simple interrogation.
It was a ritual.
He started with the fingers—slow incisions under the nailbed, then slight dislocations, bending joints the wrong way until they cracked like dry twigs. Every scream was like a chorus. Every sob, a sweet lullaby. He moved from pressure points to nerves, turning the man's body into a roadmap of agony.
And through it all, Lin Feng smiled.
His eyes were glazed with ecstasy, lips twitching with every jolt, every fresh wound. He didn't bark questions. Didn't threaten. He enjoyed it. And that was what made it worse.
"See," Lin Feng whispered, pressing the scalpel just below the soldier's eyelid, "I'm not like those cliché fucks who torture you because they have to."
He leaned in, so close the soldier could feel his breath.
"I want to."
The man—tough, trained, defiant—had stopped cursing. His chest heaved. Sweat poured down his temple. Fear crept into his expression like ink in water.
Lin Feng noticed.
That shift—that moment when pain became real—was always his favorite.
"There it is," he cooed. "I see it now. The cracks. The doubt. You're wondering how long you can last."
He tilted his head, mock sympathy in his tone. "But don't worry. I'm not a monster, you know."
The soldier blinked, barely conscious, blood dripping from his mouth.
"If you don't tell me what I need… I won't go after your family," Lin Feng said softly, tracing a line down the man's arm with the scalpel, carving words into flesh like calligraphy.
"I mean, that'd just be wrong. I'm a good man after all."
He winked.
Then drove the scalpel between the man's ribs—slow, deliberate, watching every vein in his neck bulge from the scream that followed.
The room had become a pit of raw suffering.
The soldier's body slumped as much as the restraints would allow, trembling violently. Blood soaked into his clothes, pooling beneath the chair, mixing with the metallic stink of copper and sweat. His breathing was shallow—shaky gasps, wet and broken, each one more desperate than the last.
Lin Feng stood in front of him, scalpel still glistening with fresh blood, calmly wiping it down with a bloodstained rag like a chef between courses.
The soldier's eyes rolled up, dazed from pain, but they suddenly snapped back—fixating on Lin Feng with a look not of anger or defiance anymore…
But pure, animal dread.
"P-Please…" the man croaked, voice hoarse and shaking. "I… I'll tell you. Just let me go. Please… no more…"
Lin Feng tilted his head, letting the scalpel rest on the man's collarbone.
"Go on," he whispered, his grin stretching wider. "Make it worth the pain."
The soldier was barely holding it together. Tears streaked down his dirt-smeared face as he sucked in a breath, then began speaking—rapidly, frantically.
"There's a sub-level… beneath the Old Mountain Archives," he said. "Used to be a testing site… hidden away. Magical energy sealed under it… the Holy Spring is there. Still guarded. Magical barriers—coded to military signatures, high-level clearance only. That's why no one could break in."
Luo Ye's eyes lit up from the corner. "Coordinates?"
The soldier nodded, wincing with every breath. "37.12 by 115.64… there's an old elevator shaft that goes down from an abandoned barracks. Two levels underground. The entrance is shielded by a concealment spell—won't show up on detection. You need someone from the original guard team to disable it… or a blood seal…"
Zhou grunted from his corner, scribbling something down, blood still leaking slowly through his bandages.
Lin Feng stepped back slightly, watching the soldier's face.
He was sobbing now.
"I told you… I told you everything. Please… I don't wanna die like this… Please let me go plse"
Lin Feng crouched again, lowering himself until they were eye-to-eye.
"You won't die like this," he said gently, smiling. "You'll die worse if you're lying."
The soldier shook his head frantically. "I swear! I swear it's true!"
Lin Feng straightened, tossed the bloodied rag aside, and looked over at Zhou and Luo.
.....
After some time Boss Zhou confirmed the coordinates with the info he had.
"Well," he said cheerfully, "We've got the coordinates now so can I have my fun with this man before I kill him? Since he is of no use you wont mind right Boss Zhou."
He glanced down at the man one last time, licking his lips unaware of whats about to happen to him as to Lin Feng he was a free exp as this man was a mage an intermediate mage just a lot weaker than Boss Zhou.
"Looks like the real fun's just beginning."