After an hour-long beating, the ugly cries gradually faded, transforming into barely audible whimpering.
The muscular jailer whipped the little kid across the face.
The kid was so drained that he didn't even flinch.
Satisfied, the jailer spat on the bloodied child and walked out of the room.
Ray once again heard the metallic creaking sound before the world turned dark.
He found himself floating in empty darkness, as if everything he had experienced was nothing but an illusion.
What was even more frightening was that he felt himself submerging into the darkness, slowly losing his sense of self.
Suddenly, he heard loud clapping.
Clap. Clap!
"Wake up, young master Aren. It's time for your remedy."
Ray fluttered his eyes open, only to stare wide-eyed at an unfamiliar red-robed, middle-aged man.
The man was crouching right in front of his face.
They stared at each other for a moment before the man smiled.
"Young master, are you ready for the treatment?"
Ray tilted his head and tried to push himself up, only for stinging pain to jolt through his body.
The pain helped him regain clarity as the image of the muscular man flashed through his mind.
Did the torture—
Ray froze.
Wait, did I just move?
Wasting no time, Ray tried to tilt his head downward.
Even that slight movement sent a wave of stinging pain through him, but his neck did twitch downward.
He saw two metal cuffs on his hands, each attached to a chain leading toward the back.
Not stopping there, his fingers twitched as he slowly formed a fist.
That single action sent a wave of relief through him. He could finally control the body.
Just then, the robed man coughed. "Ahem! I see you still have some energy left, young master Aren."
Ray focused on the middle-aged man.
The man had a wide smile plastered across his face. He leaned closer and whispered, "You'd better not scream this time."
Tense, Ray scanned the man, searching for any new weapon, but he found none.
Instead, the man simply stood up and sat down on a chair two feet away.
Ray tilted his head. Mental torture this time?
Just then, the man raised his right hand toward him and began mumbling something under his breath.
An unfamiliar sense of dread, mixed with a hint of excitement, rose in Ray's chest.
He suddenly noticed a red glow forming around the man's hand.
Magic?
Before Ray could fully process what was happening, the blood flowing through his veins began to heat up.
He grabbed the back of his neck and slammed his head against the floor.
It was useless.
It felt as if someone had injected molten lava into his veins, causing searing pain to rip through his body.
Red vapor rose around him, forcing his eyes shut.
He wanted to scream, but his body turned completely rigid.
The middle-aged man laughed. "Haha, good. Good. This is really effective."
The very next moment, the pain vanished as if it had never existed.
Ray lay there, drenched in sweat.
The middle-aged man muttered some incomprehensible words and then walked out of the cell, leaving Ray alone in the darkness.
Ray lay there limply, trying to make sense of everything he had just gone through.
He was no stranger to pain. In the past, he had endured things far worse.
But this was the first time he had felt pain erupt from inside his own body.
He shook his head. That was new.
He pushed himself up, bracing for stinging pain, but nothing came.
What?
He pulled the rags clinging to his body aside and stared at himself with wide eyes.
There wasn't a single drop of blood left on him. A stark contrast to what he remembered.
Additionally, the wounds on his body had already healed, and only faint red marks remained.
He rubbed a few of the brighter marks, but still felt no pain. Was that a healing spell just now?
He took a deep breath and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Maybe he had misjudged things.
The first man was clearly there to torture the kid, but the second one seemed to be some kind of healer.
And that man had called the boy "young master."
This might be a routine for this kid.
A smile formed on Ray's face. Interesting.
Suddenly, Ray grabbed his head. Wait. Did that kid really die?
He was familiar with the fantasy concept of transmigration, where someone dies and wakes up in another person's body.
This was clearly not his old body. And judging by the actions of the red-robed man, this didn't even feel like the same world. It felt new.
But was it really that simple? Did the kid truly die from the torture?
Ray closed his eyes as an immature, cold voice echoed inside his mind.
At first, it was incomprehensible, but then two words vibrated through his head, escaping his lips.
"Two days."
Ray sighed and opened his eyes. He stared blankly at the wall and smiled.
"Hello, Aren."
…
A few minutes earlier.
While Ray endured the execution-like healing, another gaze filled with emptiness and pain watched the entire process while suffering through the same familiar torment.
This pain was nothing new for sixteen-year-old Aren Druisburge.
It was just that this time, no one complained about his screaming and weeping.
No matter how much he roared, his body refused to respond, enduring everything in silence.
Aren had lost control over his own body, trapped deep inside it.
Still, he could see the familiar ritual.
He heard the familiar laughter of the old healer.
The air, thick with dust and a pungent, rotten stench, clawed at the back of his throat.
The metallic taste of blood lingered, along with the cold seeping up from the floor.
All his senses remained intact. Only control over his body was gone.
Is this the end?
Aren stared blankly at the wall as a wave of regret washed over him.
After enduring for years, he couldn't believe he had fallen short.
Just two more and I-
He couldn't finish the thought.
The world began to suffocate him, trying to extinguish the last fragment of his existence.
Out of the blue, a deep voice echoed around him.
"Two days."
Aren tried to understand what was happening. His face slowly twisted into a smile as the foreign presence spoke again.
"Hello, Aren."
Everything faded for Aren.
Only his own familiar voice remained. It was thicker and deeper, carrying an unfamiliar foreign depth as the one controlling his body spoke to him.