Punishment

Deep inside the dark and damp dungeon, the short, stocky man was firmly chained to the cold stone wall with thick iron chains.

The dungeons in Carnford have never been rebuilt, nor is there any need to; the more gloomy and terrifying such places are, the better.

The walls were still rough, unpolished stones, with cold water droplets constantly seeping and sliding down from the cracks, shimmering faintly in the flickering torchlight.

The air was filled with a strong musty smell, a faint stench of blood, and the distinctive smoky aroma of burning torches.

The walls were covered with all sorts of strangely shaped torture instruments that gleamed with a cold metallic luster in the dim light. Some of them were still covered with dark brown stains that were difficult to wash off, silently telling the story of the cruelty here.

Karl quickly received the news and went to the dungeon himself.

He hadn't expected that the Intelligence Department, which had only just officially started operating, would achieve such substantial results so quickly.

Franz briefly reported to Karl the process of discovering the suspicious points, tracking, and finally cleverly planning the arrest.

After listening, Karl nodded, his gaze falling on the chained man with his head bowed. He calmly said to Richter and Franz, "Well done. This guy is no ordinary spy; his reflexes and skills are impressive. The capture was so difficult. Perhaps we've caught a valuable 'big fish' this time."

Richter stepped forward and began the interrogation.

Unlike typical prison guards who would immediately resort to yelling, intimidation, or torture, he stood before the man and, in an almost calm tone, asked a seemingly insignificant question, "What's your name? Where do you live?"

The man kept his head down, his mouth tightly shut, and remained silent, like a stone statue.

Richter was not surprised; he turned his head slightly and gestured to Franz beside him.

Franz immediately picked up a wooden ladle from the bucket next to him, scooped up a ladleful of ice-cold, highly concentrated salt water, and poured it without hesitation onto the wounds on the man's body from the previous fight!

"Hiss--" The man's body trembled violently, and he gasped for breath. A bone-chilling pain shot through his wound, but he gritted his teeth and let out a suppressed whimper, refusing to scream out and remaining silent.

Richter watched him struggle to suppress his pain, a subtle, enigmatic expression appearing on his face. He slowly said, "Not going to talk? No problem, we have plenty of time."

He took a step closer to the man, lowered his voice, and said with a seductive calmness, "Do you know why that guy who was beheaded outside just now had to die?"

The man remained silent, but his ears seemed to twitch slightly.

"It's not because he became a spy," Richter answered himself, "But because he was useless. He didn't say anything, or he only said things we already knew, so he was of no value to us. He was only good for making an example of us. Once he's gone, he's gone."

He paused, his sharp gaze scrutinizing the man. "But you're different. I can see that you're capable, trained, and intelligent. An intelligent person should know how to find a way to survive in a desperate situation."

The man slowly raised his head, glanced at Richter, his eyes filled with complex emotions—pain, wariness, and a barely perceptible wavering—but ultimately fell silent. He lowered his head again, choosing to remain silent.

The semblance of calm on Richter's face vanished, replaced by a cold, businesslike demeanor.

Without further ado, he made a gesture directly to the burly man carrying out the execution.

Two burly men stepped forward. One grabbed the man's hand, while the other picked up a specially made hardwood clamp with serrated grooves and inserted the man's ten fingers one by one into the grooves of the clamp.

Then, each of them held one end of the clamping stick.

"Use more force!" Richter said coldly.

The two burly men exerted force simultaneously, tightening the clamps tightly!

"Ah!!!" The excruciating pain, as if steel needles piercing his bone marrow, was unbearable. The man could no longer endure it and let out a bloodcurdling scream. His entire body convulsed and struggled violently, the chains rattling, and cold sweat instantly soaked through his tattered clothes.

The clamps remained in place for about half a minute before Richter raised his hand to signal them to release the clamps.

The man collapsed like a lump of mud, only heavy breathing and painful groans remaining.

Franz stepped forward and poured him a few sips of water.

Richter waited until he caught his breath before speaking again, his question still simple, "Name? Mission?"

The man weakly raised his head, his face pale and his lips trembling, but the stubborn light deep in his eyes had not been extinguished, and he shook his head again.

Richter said expressionlessly, "Take a break, then continue."

He stepped back a few paces, signaling the executioners to prepare for the next round. Only the man's suppressed breathing and the crackling of the burning torches remained in the dungeon.

Karl stood in the shadows a short distance away the entire time, arms crossed, watching everything with a cold eye.

His face was expressionless, showing neither bloodthirsty excitement nor feigned pity.

In his mind, this was simply a necessary task, a ruthless process of eliminating threats within the territory and obtaining crucial intelligence.