Todd asked, "Does that mean that when I enter the second form of the Tyrant, my soul won't collapse?"
“No, that’s not enough.” Scáthach pointed at Todd’s forehead and said slowly, “If you want to maintain your soul from collapsing after entering the second form of Tyrant, it’s not enough to just have strong mental power. You must also learn how to use this power.”
"You mean I still need training?"
“That’s right, but with strong mental power, your training will be much easier than others.”
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The Papal States, the capital of Tyre, the First Inquisition, the underground interrogation room.
The leather whip, bound with metal barbs, exploded in the air with a loud bang before striking the victim's back with a heavy blow. The whip flipped, tearing open a layer of bloody skin to reveal the slowly pulsating human muscle tissue beneath.
Tristan, bound to the cross, opened his eyes wide and let out a low growl of pain.
“Speak! What exactly were Cardinal Abel's instructions to you when Terence and his students fled?!” the executioner shouted, pressing his whip against Tristan’s blood-stained head.
Tristan glanced at the man in front of him with bloodshot eyes and said in a low voice, "I did it all."
The executioner angrily put down the whip, took a red-hot branding iron from the scorching fire, and forcefully plunged it into Tristan's chest.
Amidst heart-wrenching screams and the stench of burning flesh, the executioner grabbed Tristan by the hair and roared again, "Why is Abel's seal affixed to the document document documenting Terence's escape from the city gates?! Is he the mastermind behind this escape?!"
Tristan's face was deathly pale, and the immense pain caused his body to curl up like a cooked shrimp.
With lifeless eyes, he looked at the dappled sunlight streaming through the skylight of the torture chamber and said softly, "I stole Lord Abel's seal..."
Outside the tightly closed iron gate, Jacob sat in a chair, his face ashen, trembling with rage.
He roared at his subordinates, "Why? Why won't that bastard confess?!"
One of his subordinates, listening to the screams coming from the torture chamber, said to Jacob with some unease, "Sir, more and more people in the church are beginning to voice their opposition to the Tristan matter."
Jacob glared at his subordinate: "Dissenting voices?"
"They said Tristan had not yet been excommunicated and should not be treated this way; they also said that the Inquisition had overstepped its authority in this matter..."
"Enough!" Jacob stood up angrily and shouted in a low voice, "Tristan and his master Abel are both apostates! They deserve to be severely punished! The Inquisition is handling this case on the personal orders of Pope Alexandria. If they have any complaints, let them go talk to the Pope!"
"yes……"
Jacob turned to look at the iron door of the torture chamber and angrily said to his men, "Tell that idiot inside who's using torture! I don't care what methods he uses, you must get the incriminating evidence against Abelor from that guy!"
"But Tristan is very stubborn, I'm afraid..."
"Useless! Pig! No matter how tough a person's mouth is, can it be harder than steel?! Use pliers to pull out his teeth one by one! If that doesn't work, pull out his fingernails! If that still doesn't work, chop off his fingers!"
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