Liam felt his stomach churn at the masked man's long account of how he faced off against the entire Duchy's forces and managed to capture the prisoner who now lay gagged before them. It was a story filled with details… cruel and unnecessary. The masked man's every word had the calculated rhythm of someone who enjoyed recreating violence, as if the memory of destruction gave him pleasure.

  "I never thought this guy could withstand an explosion like that," the masked man said emphatically, almost admiringly. "Over 100 kilograms of C4... It makes one wonder about the true capabilities of even the strongest mages. It took me weeks to accumulate that amount of explosives."

  His voice sounded overly cheerful behind the mask, far from what someone recounting how his assassination attempt had failed should sound like. Liam didn't know if what disturbed him more was the story or the fact that the man seemed to enjoy every second of it.

  "Are you sure he's a dimension walker?" Nana asked, without taking her gaze from the prisoner. Her tone was dry, but there was something different in her eyes; a wild, expectant gleam.

  "99.99% sure," the masked man replied. "I got the information from members of the Oculus itself... and from a rather talkative earl."

  Liam stared at Nana, but she didn't seem to notice. At that moment, the gagged man began to move weakly. His body, covered in dried blood and soot, trembled with each breath, as if the air was too heavy for him. Then, a stifled murmur escaped his throat, barely audible at first, especially through the gag.

  "He seems to have something to say," Nana commented, her tone more curious than sympathetic.

  "First time I've seen him so energetic since I captured him... We might as well hear what he has to say before you eat him," the masked man responded with a mocking tone, crouching down in front of the prisoner.

  With disturbing delicacy, he removed the gag, as if afraid the man would crumble to dust.

  The captive coughed sharply, releasing a mixture of blood and ash. His voice trembled, but his gaze remained firm, defiant. "Cough... cough... I would be grateful not to suffer such an unpleasant fate as being eaten alive," he said with faint irony.

  "I know. Even I consider it a horrible fate," the masked man replied, his tone almost amused. "But it is the only way, as far as we know, that our dear guardian can steal your dimensional magic with absolute safety."

  Nana didn't respond. Her wooden tentacles—dark roots with living veins pulsing on their surfaces—remained firm, holding the prisoner effortlessly. There was something deeply unnatural about the scene: the calmness with which the statue waited, the stillness of Liam trying to process the situation, and the perpetual grimace of the masked man, all illuminated by the few rays of morning light that could penetrate the dense vegetation.

  “A dimension walker isn’t something that’s born overnight,” the captive man said, straining each word. “I’ve never heard of someone capable of stealing another’s powers… But even if you could, having dimensional magic doesn’t guarantee you’ll be able to use it safely. It usually takes decades to learn how to open even minimally secure portals.”

  The masked man sniffed the air theatrically, tilting his head like a predator toying with its prey. “I smell desperation… and that usually comes with lies,” he exclaimed. “Because, from what I understand, there have been quite a few cases of walkers who taught themselves.”

  The prisoner looked at him, his burned face and his one remaining eye disturbingly calm. “There are always exceptions to the rule. But I can assure you that there have been no more than 100 individuals in all of history who have reached a level high enough to be recognized… And almost all of them ended up founding or joining the most powerful organizations in the four worlds. They were the masters of our current generations.”

  "What are you getting at with all this?" the masked man replied, crossing his arms, his voice dry. "You seem like an intelligent guy, and I suppose you know you're going to die one way or another. Why would it matter to you whether our friend here can master dimensional magic or not?"

  The man spat out a trickle of dried blood, and against all odds, his single eye seemed to glow with cold determination. “Because I can teach you how to use that power,” he said without hesitation. “As long as you ensure my survival in some way.”

  Nana obeyed the silence for a moment, as if weighing each word. Her tentacles tensed, like roots gripping the earth before pulling out. Liam noticed that the statue wasn't smiling. She never did, but now her immobility had an edge.

  “Why should I believe you?” she finally asked, her voice cold and toneless. “Aren't we enemies?”

  The prisoner stared at her, and in that gaze lay a life that had been crushed by institutions, wars, and doors that opened to places where people died trying to pass.

  “I'm pragmatic,” he replied. “And I prioritize my life above all else. That's why I managed to make it so far under the wing of the most powerful imperial agencies, where the strongest and most ruthless survive... But let there be no doubt that my childhood and youth were hell to become what I am today, so I don't hold much affection for those who have used me as a tool throughout my life.”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  The masked man couldn't help but say ironically, "You sound quite resentful. So why didn't you desert? I find it hard to believe that a dimension walker couldn't disappear if he so chose."

  The man lowered his gaze. "For a very simple reason: resources. To reach level 7, or even aspire to level 8, requires resources that only empires can provide."

  "And the cursed cults?" the masked man intervened again. "It's said they possess level 9 or even 10 mages. Couldn't you have joined them?"

  "Cults recruit from childhood," the prisoner replied. "That way they ensure absolute indoctrination. It's almost impossible to infiltrate them as a trained, high-level mage. Besides..." his voice turned cold, "I've spent my life hunting and killing many of their members. I have no place among their ranks; they neither forget nor forgive."

  For a moment, silence reigned among those present. Liam, for his part, didn't see the possibility of the man surviving: Joel wouldn't allow it, and Nana wasn't known for her mercy.

  But suddenly, a voice intervened in the discussion. A voice that came from the masked man, though it wasn't exactly his, but from a medallion he wore around his neck, under his clothes.

  "He's telling the truth," said the male voice, soft and laden with a strange certainty.

  "And you?" exclaimed the masked man, theatrically offended, staring down at his own chest. "You finally deign to speak after all this time... And since when can you tell if someone is telling the truth?"

  "I've always been able to tell somehow," the voice replied, just as firm. "Don't you remember the first day you woke up, when I defended your honesty?"

  "But I thought it was because you could see my memories," objected the masked man, incredulous.

  "That was true then, although I was also able to recognize the truth in your own voice in some ways," the voice accepted, "but now I have a much better grasp, and with great certainty, of the ability to detect the truth in the words of others. It's something linked to spiritual energies. Although I must confess, with shame and guilt, that I developed it in depth and confirmed it when I witnessed your unpleasant interrogations."

  "Cough, cough," the masked man mumbled. "Sounds plausible. I wish I'd known about it sooner..."

  "Ashoka," Nana interrupted, cutting the irony short. "Are you sure this man isn't lying?"

  "Of course," the voice with the medallion replied without hesitation. "I wouldn't risk playing with something like that. Besides, the situation in this region has become too complicated, because of these men here: one who drew attention to us and another who made it worse."

  The prisoner cleared his throat and joined in the conversation. "This may sound out of place. But one of the reasons I'm also willing to cooperate with you is that your organization possesses technology that truly intrigues and fascinates me. Like, for example, the weapon you used to nearly kill me, which didn't use any magic, and the device capable of camouflaging the presence of a mage as if you were a civilian... That's something I didn't even know existed until now."

  "I refuse to believe there's no way to camouflage magic," the masked man protested.

  "There are magical towers capable of doing that, as well as nullification rooms," the prisoner replied, "but I've never heard of anything as small as a medallion capable of doing it." He then turned to the masked man. "By the way, where did the voice that said I didn't lie come from?"

  "That's not something you need to know right now," Nana replied coldly. "Answer me: do you have any resentment toward us?"

  The prisoner looked at everyone carefully, his gaze fixed on the masked man for a moment.

  "Honestly," he replied, "I don't hold any grudges against those I've just met. But I couldn't hate anyone more than the madman in the mask, the one who murdered the team I worked with for decades. If I had the chance, I won't deny it: I would enjoy inflicting the worst torture imaginable on him."

  Almost immediately, the masked man, surprisingly, was the first to comment, with an almost mocking acceptance: "Sounds fair."

  Nana was silent for a moment, as if weighing each word before speaking. Then she addressed the prisoner again with a tone of complete certainty: "I estimate that to obtain your power, it will require a good portion of your body and blood. I will have to extract it in several stages, with time and precision, so as not to kill you in the process... It will be very painful. Are you sure about this?"

  "I see no other way out if I want to stay alive," he replied without hesitation, with the cold certainty of someone who has already accepted his fate.

  The masked man let out a chuckle that was meant to be carefree and then added theatrically, "Well, this ended in a way I really didn't expect." He turned to the prisoner with a mock melancholy. “I guess this is the final goodbye. Despite my short existence, it's been a pleasure playing cat and mouse with you... I would have liked to stay and watch this statue tear you to pieces, but I'm afraid I must pass the baton and let the boss return to his throne.”

  The prisoner's face twisted in confusion as the wooden tentacles dragged him into the trunk, disappearing in a matter of an instant, as if the tree had swallowed him.

  "I suppose you can't hold on any longer," Ashoka's soft voice then sounded from the medallion. It's commendable that you've remained in control of Joel's body for so long.

  "The secret is not to sleep," the masked man replied in a childish voice. "With the help of many drugs and stimulants... but sleep is impossible to defeat forever. I even doubted if I'd even make it here with Nana's gift."

  Nana remained motionless, stony, blocking the path to the shelter with the same firmness as always.

  "I know very well this is your way of thanking Joel," the voice in the medallion continued solemnly. "The gift of a new life, however short, is not something to be scorned."

  "I quite enjoyed it," the masked man muttered, letting himself fall backward onto the surface of the tree branch. Then his tone changed, turning grave. "Make Joel understand the depth of human corruption here. Let him see what I discovered in the nobility of the Empire... He must do everything possible to leave this region, perhaps even this world. There is no room here for him to prosper or fulfill his dreams."

  "I have no doubt he will understand," Ashoka replied calmly.

  "He has yet to glimpse the true potential of Earth's technology," the masked man insisted. “He's seduced by firearms, neglecting other tools that are equally or more lethal. Remind him of something that may sound cliché, but it's true: the pen is mightier than the sword.”

  Liam, still not fully understanding what he had just witnessed, watched as the masked man gradually lost the unsettling aura that surrounded him. His breathing became more measured, and within seconds, he began to emit a soft snore. An almost innocent sight.

  From among the tree roots, a wooden tentacle slid elegantly toward him. With slow, precise movements, it grasped the leather mask that covered his face and removed it. Beneath it, Joel's face was revealed, peaceful and asleep, with an expression so serene that for a moment Liam doubted if it was really the same man he had just seen, embodying someone so strange and perhaps demented.

  "Liam, please take Joel to his room," Nana ordered, for the first time in a more relaxed and neutral tone.

  The young man nodded, still incredulous.

  "And one more thing," the statue added, its tone returning to a sober balance, "don't tell the others what you saw. It's best if you wait until Joel wakes up. Only he can explain what really just happened."

  Liam, his heart still pounding, bent down to carry his mentor's body. Despite the weight, there was something comforting about it, as if holding someone returning home after a war that had lasted too long. As he approached the shelter door, the forest seemed absolutely silent, as if the whole place held its breath for the return of its guardian.

  Somehow, he knew this sleep would be deep, perhaps long, and that when Joel opened his eyes again, nothing would be the same.