The leader of the adventuring group awoke from what seemed like a long, deep sleep. The sun had already set, and only the flickering light of the campfire illuminated the surroundings. He blinked several times, trying to focus his vision, feeling dizzy, heavy, with a strange numbness running through his entire body.

  He tried to move, but his body wasn't responding normally. It took his mind a few seconds to process the strange disconnection he felt. When he finally looked down, the air froze in his lungs, as a horrifying scene awaited him.

  His hands were gone. In their place, two stumps bandaged with makeshift tourniquets throbbed weakly, leaking a warm trickle of blood that stained the ground. For a moment, he thought he was still dreaming, until the stinging heat brought him back to reality. He wanted to scream, but only a dry noise came from his throat, broken by terror.

  Then came the second surprise for him: he also had no feet, which had been severed in a similar way to his hands, leaving similar tourniquets to prevent bleeding.

  The impact was so brutal that for a moment he lost track of time. His entire body trembled, his mind oscillating between shock and despair. Adrenaline soon restored a spark of lucidity, enough to drag his thoughts back to the last thing he remembered before waking up in that state.

  It all began when one of the group members, a man with a reputation for being an opportunist, approached the strange white-haired man by the fire without much hesitation. He did so with his usual fake smile, clearly seeking to curry favor with him in order to obtain some of his food.

  That man was known for taking advantage of the weak and for imposing his strength when the group visited villages without mages who could oppose him. No one expected an honest gesture from him, so no one was surprised when he tried to take advantage of the stranger, who seemed to have no magical powers whatsoever.

  However, the most disconcerting thing was the white-haired man's reaction; far from showing suspicion, he seemed pleased by the adventurer's approach. He invited him to sit down, offered him soup, and even a piece of bread he had kept in his bag. The opportunist obviously didn't hesitate and ate eagerly, praising the taste with exaggerated enthusiasm.

  The fragrance of the soup eventually spread through the night air, attracting the attention of the other adventurers. The leader recalled how several of them also approached, tempted by the aroma and the stranger's apparent generosity. One by one, they asked to taste some of the aromatic soup, unable to resist the temptation.

  Even he, despite his initial reluctance, eventually gave in to temptation and tried the soup. All his companions had already done so, and the mingling of aromas and laughter had transformed the atmosphere into something almost festive.

  Then, to everyone's delight, the white-haired man, with an almost charming calm, took a bottle of liquor from his robes and raised it with a smile. "Nothing better than something sweet to accompany a good meal," he said.

  The amber-colored liquid had a strong but exquisite flavor, with a honeyed touch that left a warm feeling in the chest. Within minutes, the bottle had been passed from hand to hand, completely empty. The entire group was laughing, relaxed, enjoying a rare moment of camaraderie.

  It was then, in that moment of calm, when the leader was appreciating the empty bottle, that an important fact caught his attention: The bottle was made of completely transparent glass, very fine and perfect, the kind that only high-ranking nobles or magicians of great fortune could possess. What would an ordinary man do with something like that? Especially in the middle of the cursed forest, he thought, just as a sudden dizziness began to cloud his senses.

  The effect was swift. One by one, the adventurers began to feel heavy eyelids, as if the air had become too thick to breathe. Their laughter died down, their gazes became confused, and no one could remain upright for long.

  Then the interrogation began.

  The white-haired man's voice changed. It became deep and firm, as if emanating from someone accustomed to dealing with interrogations. None of the adventurers could resist when he took them one by one, looking them straight in the eyes as he asked them questions. His tone was gentle at first, almost melodic. But as each adventurer, unable to control their tongue, began to confess their pasts, his voice grew colder and sharper.

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  And what came to light was no surprise to anyone. And the fact is that most of the world's magicians, especially those who managed to advance to the levels this group reached, had to step on more than a few innocent people.

  Stories of abuse, looting, and murder spilled out into that forest clearing, as if they'd been waiting to be unleashed. Some spoke of peasants tortured for fun, others of women raped during their travels, others of children sold to black market slave traders. None of them were clean.

  The leader, his face drenched in sweat, also recalled his own deeds, which he committed under the guise of gaining more resources to reach his current level. The secret missions for cruel nobles, the prisoners he tortured for information, the houses he burned on orders he never questioned. Every word that came out of his mouth plunged him deeper into a kind of abyss of shame and terror, that only when the effect of the drug subsidized could he recognize.

  The white-haired man listened to them all without interrupting, his eyes half-closed and his expression almost... serene. When the last of them finished speaking, he let a few seconds pass in silence, while the campfire crackled softly. Then he smiled.

  "I see... so none of you are innocent," he said, his voice so icy it made even the fire seem to lose its color. "I suppose I have permission to act in a more creative way."

  And that was when hell began.

  The drug they all fell victim to was more powerful than anyone could have imagined. An insidious mixture that numbed not only muscles but also willpower. No one could move or defend themselves effectively, even though the leader was a Level 5 mage and everyone else was Level 4.

  Only the blond-haired adventurer, renowned for his mental strength, managed to react when the white-haired man plunged a knife into his leg. With a last-ditch effort of instinct, he activated one of his defensive artifacts: a Level 5 pendant, capable of generating a barrier that could withstand multiple attacks of the same range.

  For an instant, a luminous dome enveloped his body. It seemed that, at least, he would manage to defend himself.

  But the white-haired man only watched him with some curiosity, tilting his head, like someone examining a rare insect. Then he slowly raised his fist and brought it down on the adventurer with impossible force.

  The impact resounded like thunder, and the air seemed to shatter. The artifact fractured in a million flashes before shattering, and the adventurer's body split with it, his torso reduced to an unrecognizable mass.

  The ensuing silence was absolute. In that moment, everyone understood that this was no ordinary man, and he didn't even look like a wizard. He was a beast disguised as a human, a wolf who had donned a sheepskin to enjoy the hunt.

  The leader tried to resist, but he barely managed to move an arm before he felt something sharp sever his hands, and then his feet. The pain was so unbearable that his mind went into shock, later extinguished by a direct blow to the forehead. The last thing he witnessed, before fainting, was one of his companions screaming in despair while the monster laughed and gouged out his eyes with repulsive ease, as if in a game. And then, darkness came.

  When his mind returned to reality, he realized there was only silence. The metallic smell of blood saturated the air, mixed with the smoke from the still-smoldering campfire. He opened his eyes with difficulty and tried to sit up again, this time moving onto his side and using his elbows.

  He turned his head slowly, fearing what he would find. And while it wasn't a surprise, the emotional impact ended up being devastating. The bodies of his companions lay around him, mutilated, dismembered, and unrecognizable. Some even seemed to retain an expression of terror etched on what remained of their faces.

  And beside the campfire, sitting calmly on the ground, was the white-haired man. His face, speckled with dried blood, curved into a serene, almost friendly smile as he smoked what looked like a paper cigarette, his eyes fixed on the figure of the leader.

  "Well," he said as he exhaled the smoke, in an almost casual tone. "Looks like it's just you and me left."

  "Why are you doing this?" the adventurer asked, when he managed to regain some courage.

  "To tell you the truth," the man replied, his voice honest, "I didn't originally think of doing any harm to all of you. But the moment I learned the specific mission you were sent to carry out in this forest… things changed completely.”

  The man approached the adventurer and knelt before him, placing a small black bag to one side.

  "You see," he continued, "what you were looking for here is the location of a very good friend of mine... And that friend likes to enjoy his privacy and hates visitors with ill intentions."

  He opened the bag with a slow, methodical gesture, revealing an orderly collection of knives and tools clearly designed for torture. "Your companions gave me very useful information about the mission and how the exploration parties operate," he said. "But you, as the leader, must know more: bigger and better details that will lead me directly to those who orchestrated all of this."

  "I'll tell you anything you want..." the adventurer pleaded, his voice breaking. "But please, don't hurt me anymore."

  The white-haired man stared at the adventurer for a moment, like someone contemplating an interesting insect in the palm of his hand. Then, suddenly and without warning, he brought his fist down on the adventurer's thigh; A dry crunch filled the night as the femur snapped under the force of the blow. The adventurer let out a stifled scream, doubling over, his mouth filled with a moan that broke into gasps.

  "If you use magic in any way again, I'll be forced to hurt you more than I want," the man said in a cold voice. "Several of your companions tried; the small gleam in your pupils gave you away immediately."

  The adventurer, trembling, could barely hold his gaze. Blood was already oozing dark from the wound formed by the impact, and his breathing was labored. Still, he managed to draw air and asked, his voice trembling, "What... what do you want to know?"

  "That's the attitude," the torturer replied with restrained relish. "Let's start by describing this Connor. Your companions couldn't say much more than a name, but I'm sure you, as the leader, know something more... a clue, a place, a way to find him." —As he spoke, he took a pair of scissors and began methodically cutting the man's clothes, leaving the adventurer's skin exposed, unhurriedly, like someone preparing a work. “Speak… “