Little King's double gave Marquis Belon and his rather vacant-looking original a meaningful look, then shook his head as if helpless. "It seems you won't shed a tear until you see the coffin. You've ignored my goodwill. That's not good—especially for you."
A trace of bitterness flashed through Marquis Belon's eyes, but he kept his mouth shut, looking resolute. Little King, meanwhile, seemed mentally unwell. His gaze was dull and unfocused, and drool seeped from the corner of his mouth, making him look even more like a boy whose mind had broken.
A ruthless glint crossed the double's eyes. "What a pity," he sighed again. Then he stepped back, raised a hand toward Little King, and fired a flash of golden light into him.
Little King jerked as though electrocuted. His whole body convulsed, and he let out a piercing scream as he fell to the floor and thrashed about. Yet he was confined to a space of barely two square meters. No matter how he struggled, he could not escape that tiny circle.
Fear flashed through Marquis Belon's eyes as he watched. He knew this was a warning to him: if he continued refusing to cooperate, he would be next. He also knew what method the double was using, and how terrifying and cruel it was. No matter how firm a person's will or lofty their ideals, they could not endure this torture unless they died or went completely mad.
Marquis Belon had never considered himself a hero who would rather die than yield. He certainly could not withstand such torture. And yet...
The double judged that the warning had done its work and stopped the torture. With a faint, almost smiling expression, he said, "Well, Marquis Belon? Must you really make me use it on you? You're a