For a week, Mixarnt and Carlos had been hard at work helping the villagers rebuild their homes and tend to their farms. Carlos, a former knight captain, and Mixarnt, a boy deeply connected to nature and loved by mana, worked with such efficiency that they often turned their tasks into friendly competitions. Their combined efforts brought the village back to life at an astonishing pace.
Meanwhile, the village authorities and elders were busy interrogating Kalisto and Kurimaw, the two criminals they had captured.
"So, did they start talking, old man?" Mixarnt asked Carlos, who chuckled at the nickname he had reluctantly accepted after Mixarnt rescued him a week ago.
"Unfortunately, no," Carlos replied with a sigh. "Their mouths are sealed tight. No amount of torture has worked, and Kalisto’s healing magic keeps undoing any damage we inflict. Plus, the villagers don’t have the heart to kill them, so they’re just stuck in prison."
Carlos frowned, knowing that Kalisto and Kurimaw were their only lead to finding Kaelzar. Without their cooperation, their mission to stop him would hit a dead end.
Later, Mixarnt and Carlos approached the interrogation house, where Kalisto and Kurimaw were being questioned again. Outside, villagers anxiously waited, hoping the criminals would reveal the whereabouts of their kidnapped loved ones.
The village elder stepped out, releasing a weary sigh. His frustration was evident—Kalisto and Kurimaw had abducted many of their people, yet they remained tight-lipped, even mocking their captors despite the torture.
Mixarnt stepped forward, his expression oddly innocent.
"Hey, can you leave the torture to me?" he asked casually.
Carlos turned to him, studying the boy carefully. Torture wasn’t something just anyone could stomach. And yet, despite being only eleven, Mixarnt was willing to do what needed to be done.
Carlos hesitates, studying Mixarnt’s determined yet unsettlingly composed expression. He sees the resolve in the boy’s eyes—the willingness to do whatever it takes to get the information needed to protect the innocent.
For a moment, Carlos wrestles with the morality of entrusting such a grim task to an eleven-year-old. But the weight of responsibility bears down on him. In this ruthless world, survival often demands difficult choices—ones that blur the line between right and wrong.
He exhales sharply before speaking. “Nod if you truly understand what you’re about to do, Mixarnt,” Carlos says solemnly. “Once you start, you won’t hold back. Not until you get the answers we need.”
Mixarnt meets his gaze without hesitation and gives a small nod. The gathered villagers shift uneasily, a heavy silence settling over them.
Then, with an unsettling smile, Mixarnt grabs the two criminals and drags them back into the interrogation room.
“Ha! As if a kid could make us talk!” Kurimaw and Kalisto sneer, laughing mockingly.
"I'm not just any kid, you see," Mixarnt says, his voice eerily calm. "I've learned from the best, and I have a... special talent for getting what I want—especially when it comes to making people like you suffer."
With an unsettling grin, he rummages through his bag, pulling out an assortment of spices, condiments, and a peculiar magic feather. He had collected these items during his travels, never expecting they would come in handy for something like this.
Kalisto and Kurimaw exchange confused glances as Mixarnt lines up the spices with deliberate precision.
"Now then," he continues, his smile widening. "Tell me everything about Kaelzar and his plans... or I'll make you regret keeping your mouth shut."
For the next thirty minutes, Carlos and the villagers wait outside, they had brace themselves for the sounds of agony and screams of pain.
Instead, what they hear is... laughter. A lot of it.
Between bouts of hysterical cackling, one-word echoes repeatedly from inside the house:
"SPICY!!!"
Carlos furrows his brow, glancing at the increasingly bewildered crowd. He tries to reassure them, though doubt creeps into his own voice.
"It's fine... Mixarnt knows what he's doing. He's sharp, and he's determined to get the information we need."
But as the laughter from inside the house grows louder—bordering on hysterical—Carlos can't shake an uneasy feeling. The idea of an eleven-year-old taking pleasure in torture unsettles him. He had braced himself for screams of agony, not uncontrollable fits of laughter.
Inside, Mixarnt is in the middle of his peculiar "interrogation." With a mischievous grin, he relentlessly tickles Kurimaw with a magic feather, sending jolts of electricity through his already trembling body.
"So, are you ready to talk?" Mixarnt asks, his voice lighthearted despite the torment he's inflicting.
Kalisto watches in horror. This wasn’t the brutal torture he had prepared himself for—no blades, no burning brands. Instead, Mixarnt was... playing with them. But that somehow made it even worse.
The boy hadn't used any of the menacing tools laid out in the room. Instead, he had used spices for bizarre, humiliating methods—coating their noses and eyelids with burning chili sauce, tickling them senseless, and now, holding up a jar of mustard with a thoughtful expression.
"Hmm... I wonder what I can do with this," Mixarnt muses, eyeing the terrified criminals with amusement.
Mixarnt twirls the feather between his fingers, his expression calm yet expectant. "So, are you two ready to talk now?" he asks casually, making it clear that if they refuse, the tickling will resume.
He isn’t fond of inflicting pain, but he has found a different—yet undeniably effective—method of extracting information.
Kurimaw and Kalisto exchange frantic glances, their bodies still trembling from the relentless torment. The mere thought of enduring another round of Mixarnt’s bizarre interrogation shatters what little resistance they have left.
"Yes! Yes, we’ll talk! Just—please, no more!" Kurimaw pleads, his voice hoarse from laughing and gasping for air. "Kaelzar is planning a large-scale invasion. He’s targeting key cities, causing widespread chaos so he can seize power in the confusion!"
Kalisto, still recovering from the ordeal, struggles to steady his breath. "His main base is hidden deep in Darkwood Forest," he adds hastily. "We’ve heard whispers of an underground stronghold—one where he’s honing dark magic and training his followers for war! That's all we know, we promise!"
