"Well done."
William nodded appreciatively, "Where is the person?"
"Right at the back."
Lucius said as he gestured to the side.
William looked in the direction Lucius had indicated, seeing four black-robed Wizards restraining a figure with hands tied behind their back and a black hood over their head. The person's figure wasn't particularly tall and was trembling slightly, possibly out of fear or perhaps with some other intention.
At Lucius's signal, two of the black-robed Wizards immediately brought the person before William, forced them to kneel, and lifted the hood.
Underneath was the face of a man who appeared to be about thirty, with a pale complexion and tightly pressed lips, his light brown eyes filled with terror. He was struggling to break free, but the combined restraints of several Wizards were not something he could easily escape.
William looked down at the captive before him, still wearing his gentle smile.
"Good evening, sir. Seems you're not quite like those companions of yours who'd rather turn into roasted sweet potatoes..."
"..."
"Why isn't he speaking?"
"...Uh, because his tongue was cut out."
"Ahem," William coughed twice, having forgotten this detail and instinctively started mocking directly.
But this minor difficulty was nothing significant. William waved his Magic Wand, and in the next moment, the man kneeling on the ground felt the pain in his mouth disappear. Realizing this, he instinctively tried to bite down where his tongue would be, but this time he only bit into emptiness—
"What did you do to me?"
The man instinctively opened his mouth, feeling no presence of his tongue, yet he could speak freely.
"Don't worry, you're just asleep."
As William spoke, he sat back in a chair with a backrest. The man then noticed that the snow-covered forest had vanished, including the black-robed people. They were now inside a small wooden cabin with a fireplace. Apart from the comfortable chair and the fire, there was also a plate of cookies on the table between them.
"Want to try?"
Smiling broadly, William pushed the cookies toward the man. Raising his hand, each of them now had a steaming cup of tea in front of them. Seeing the man's increasingly terrified expression, William's smile deepened as he picked up his teacup and blew away the steam.
"Relax, Mr. Davidson, here you can speak freely even without a tongue..."
The man, whose name was directly called out, had his pupils contract and his body reflexively leaned back, as if trying to move further away from William. "You... how do you know?!" His voice echoed within the cabin, unusually clear and with an undeniable tremor.
"I know far more than you think, Davidson."
William set down the teacup, his fingers gently tapping on the table, "For instance, I know you call yourselves the 'Ashwinder Party,' and I know you recognized me too—still want to keep acting?"
"..."
Davidson's expression froze, and then he became uncontrollably agitated. Even while bound by invisible forces to the chair, he struggled fiercely, his eyes burning with a slightly twisted hatred, "Shut up, you Demon! Man Slaughter! Your hands are stained with your compatriots' blood! The number of wronged souls dying at your hands is incalculable, and you still have the face to live..."
"I curse you!" the man continued to shout. "Sooner or later, you'll fall into Hell for your crimes, never to be reborn..."
Across from him, William continued sipping tea, ignoring Davidson's hoarse curses. Even as the latter's spittle flew in his rage, William nonchalantly moved the cookies away from the potential spray, ensuring they remained untouched.
Gradually, Davidson's curses became hollow and repetitive, until only broken, hate-filled words were left to tumble from his throat.
Davidson stared intensely at the man before him, hoping to see a trace of anger or dissatisfaction on his face, but he would surely be disappointed. William's gaze was as calm as a frozen lake, free of any ripples, and he even yawned slightly out of boredom.
This complete disregard was more suffocating than any retort or torment.
The man's anger was like a match burning to its end, and in its final release, it faded to a state of exhaustion and a fear that came from nowhere. He panted heavily, his chest heaving, his mind blank from the emotional turmoil, and his mental defenses unknowingly crumbled—
At that moment, as his mind slipped, William set down the teacup.
"Clink—"
Without a spell or an action, just the sound of porcelain meeting wood, at this moment, Davidson felt like a book being forcibly flipped open. Every page, every word, even the blurred ink between the lines, was exposed to William's gaze.
He could no longer control his mouth, and the secrets he had been intent on guarding began to pour out uncontrollably like a breached dam.
"...The Prophet... it was the Prophet who led us..."
Davidson's voice turned hollow and mechanical, his gaze losing focus as if in a daze, "He survived the harsh years and witnessed the blood and flames from a century ago... He remembers you, this Demon, and how you burned the initial 'Ashwinders' to ashes..."
William tapped his finger softly on the table, creating a faint sound that guided the flow of information.
"The Prophet... is immortal."
As he spoke, a complicated expression mixed with fanaticism and confusion appeared on Davidson's face. "He awoke from long slumber and found us... scattered sparks, he told us the shadow of the era is about to envelop once again, and the 'Demon' that once brought destruction... has not truly left, only hidden temporarily within the folds of time and space...
"When the Demon reappears, the Ashwinder can rise again, reborn from the shadows that obscure the sky..."
Listening to the man's increasingly low murmurs, William's eyebrow twitched slightly—"Prophet," "Prophecy"...
Sounding indeed like a nonsensical story meant to deceive others like a ghost tale. "When the Demon reappears, the Ashwinder can rise again, reborn from the shadows that obscure the sky..."
Listening to the man's increasingly low murmurs, William's eyebrow twitched slightly—"Prophet," "Prophecy"...
Sounding indeed like a nonsensical story meant to deceive others like a ghost tale. "When the Demon reappears, the Ashwinder can rise again, reborn from the shadows that obscure the sky..."
Listening to the man's increasingly low murmurs, William's eyebrow twitched slightly—"Prophet," "Prophecy"...