Chapter 535

As an expert at intimidation.

Voldemort had indeed successfully terrified the Death Eaters.

Every person present had gone deathly pale, their hearts thoroughly cowed by Voldemort.

This was exactly the effect Voldemort wanted. Thus, once his goal had been achieved—when Rowle's screams finally turned into intermittent, bellows-like wheezes from exhaustion and unbearable pain, and his body ceased its violent struggling, twitching only sporadically—Voldemort withdrew his magic as if still unsatisfied. "Th... thank you, Master."

He was probably the kind of subordinate Trump wanted most.

After being tortured, he still had to thank his boss for a favor he could never repay.

Rowle lay there like a puddle of completely melted sludge, his eyes vacant, drool and bloody foam spilling from the corners of his mouth. Only the faint rise and fall of his chest proved that he was still alive.

"Take him away. Don't let him die," Voldemort ordered indifferently. Rowle was an important test subject, after all. The instant the order was given, two masked Death Eaters stepped forward and dragged Rowle toward the shadowy passage at the side of the hall like a dead dog. It led to deeper dungeons or "medical" facilities. Having dealt with Rowle, Voldemort seemed to have lost interest in staying any longer.

He slowly rose from the high stone throne, his black robes falling like flowing night. He swept his gaze over the core servants standing respectfully below.

A glimmer flickered in his scarlet eyes.

"Strengthen security. Watch for any reports of unusual magical fluctuations or unfamiliar powerful individuals," he hissed. "That person who suddenly appeared... I want to know everything about him. Dismissed."

He issued his orders.

"Yes, Master!" everyone answered in unison, bowing as they saw him off.

Voldemort's figure silently vanished through a concealed door behind the throne, as though