Minas Tirith, temporary medical area.
Veylin had just left the bedside of a badly wounded Garrison member when Tristan hurried after him with a file.
Divine arts were not omnipotent. Even after the bleeding stopped and the wounds healed, the injured still needed time to rest.
"My lord, the preliminary interrogation results are in, and they're far from ideal." Barrett sounded angry. "Those five Many-Armed Folk officers are tough nuts to crack. Conventional methods won't make them talk."
"As expected." Veylin calmly washed the blood from his hands in a basin of clean water. "What about Master Valerius? I remember him mentioning a 'Truth Serum.'"
"The master tried it."
"Truth Serum might work on ordinary people, but it has little effect on these strong-willed level-five transcendent beings. They can easily resist its effects with mental power and even give us false information."
"As for mental magic... we have no one skilled in that field. And forcibly searching their souls would likely destroy their brains outright, leaving us with nothing of value."
Veylin dried his hands with the towel Barrett handed him.
"So neither magic nor potions can help us."
"That's right, my lord."
"Then we'll use my method." Veylin tossed the towel back into the basin. "Go separate those five officers and confine them individually. I want five special cells built."
Deep beneath Minas Tirith, the newly excavated Water Prison was isolated from the bustle above.
There were no torches here, only pitch darkness.
Cold seawater had been poured into five separate stone chambers, its depth carefully controlled to submerge exactly half of a Many-Armed Folk prisoner's tentacles.
This awkward environment, neither fully aquatic nor fully dry, made them uncomfortable.
Kolsh floated in the cold, dark water, his tentacles secured to iron rings in the walls. Only his head