Kunar’s Dungeon and Reken’s Resolve

Evening. Kroměříž, by the Morava River.

This was a rudimentary town, so designated because it lacked even the most basic log walls.

A wide moat, fed by the Morava River, encircled Kroměříž.

A wooden bridge spanned the moat, a constant thoroughfare for merchants’ carriages and farmers’ livestock.

Though the town’s perimeter lacked walls, rudimentary wooden watchtowers, each manned by two soldiers, stood at intervals of several hundred feet.

Archers scanned the distant horizons from above, while spear-wielding guards maintained a vigilant defense below.

If Kroměříž could be considered merely an oversized village, then the Mayor’s wooden fortress at its heart served as the village’s noble estate.

The fortress itself was encircled by stacked walls constructed from interlocking logs, where fully armed warriors maintained orderly spacing along the ramparts.

With grim expressions, some clutched sturdy single-piece bows, while others bore spears and shields, safeguarding the Mayor and the visiting gentry within the double-layered circular wooden fortress.

Yet, at this very moment, within a cold, damp cell of the underground dungeon beneath the wooden fortress—

Various instruments of torture hung from the walls, their forms partially illuminated by the faint, flickering light of a torch, casting a man’s silhouette.

The man, clad in a short robe of luxurious velvet, stroked the trimmed beard on his chin.

His gaze was fixed grimly upon the prisoner within the cell, his brown eyes gleaming with malice and cunning.

“Ugh, ahhh, ahhh, I’ll tell you, I’ll tell you! We truly didn’t get any potion!!!”

Inside the cell, a brawny man was bound to a cross, his torso bare, his nipples brutally clamped by iron tongs and pulled with all the torturer’s might.

He wailed in agony, his eyes rolling wildly, his body thrashing desperately, his raw, booming voice deafening as it echoed throughout the entire dungeon.

The brown-eyed man calmly observed the brawny man’s hoarse, desperate screams.

Once the screams faded into exhaustion, he cleared his throat softly and raised a hand, signaling the torturer.

Receiving the signal, the torturer released the tongs, then bowed his head and respectfully retreated to the side.

The brawny man’s tormented chest was already a canvas of purplish-blue, his pectoral muscles swollen and bulging, dark purple and faintly seeping blood.

The brawny man no longer possessed his former vigor; his breath came in ragged gasps, strong one moment, weak the next, pausing erratically.

Clearly, even with the tongs removed, the agony had not subsided, but lingered, a prolonged torment.

The brown-eyed man gently lifted the brawny man’s chin, meeting the gaze of his now unfocused pupils.

After a terrifying silence, he inquired, “You truly didn’t acquire any potion?”

Upon hearing the brown-eyed man’s words, the brawny man’s dilated pupils contracted once more.

After two more gasping breaths, he weakly uttered, “I, I, we, *hic*… didn’t, didn’t, didn’t, didn’t!”

“Is that so…” The brown-eyed man’s eyelids drooped as he fell silent, seemingly pondering the veracity of the brawny man’s words.

After only a moment’s contemplation, the brown-eyed man withdrew his hand from the brawny man’s chin, then reached for his chest, seized a nipple, and twisted it with brutal force!

“Ugh—!” The brawny man’s neck snapped upward, his body rigid and taut, his throat stiffly convulsing.

A crimson flush relentlessly climbed from his neck, spreading until it covered his forehead, now crisscrossed with bulging veins.

The brown-eyed man suddenly released his grip.

The brawny man instantly relaxed, his trembling ceased, and his head slumped powerlessly.

The redness gradually receded from his neck and face, and only after a long while did he draw his first breath, which he then exhaled with a shaky gasp.

Satisfied with the immediate effect, the brown-eyed man spoke in a soft, gentle tone, “I shall ask again: where is the potion?”

The brawny man’s breath was faint, his words barely audible, punctuated by shallow gasps: “I… I… it’s… it’s…”

A smile spread across the brown-eyed man’s face, his eyes curving downwards, his mouth stretching into a grin that seemed to reach his temples, a devilish lure.

“Yes, yes, tell me quickly, and I’ll release you, you know~”

The brawny man’s dry, pale lips parted and closed, his voice almost imperceptible.

The brown-eyed man pressed his body tightly against the brawny man’s, his forehead touching the prisoner’s feverish brow.

He then slowly slid his face down, past the brawny man’s nose, until his ear was pressed against those dry, chapped lips.

A wicked smile twisted his features, for the treasure was finally within his grasp!

“M-Mayor…” The torturer beside him couldn’t help but attempt a warning, suggesting he shouldn’t get too close, as the prisoner might bite his ear.

But Mayor Kunar’s eyes narrowed, and he cast a chilling gaze upon the torturer, for he detested being interrupted.

The torturer swallowed hard, not daring to utter another word.

“Come now~ Tell me quickly~ If you do, I’ll even release your wife and daughter~~~” Kunar continued to entice the brawny man, the uncontrollable smile on his face growing increasingly twisted.

“I, I, I… *CRACK!*” The brawny man, summoning his last ounce of strength, lunged forward to bite, his teeth clashing with a sharp, resounding snap!

Kunar swiftly darted away.

He stared impassively at the dying brawny man, then personally unhooked a small, rusty iron sickle from the wall.

Beneath his calm exterior, a tempest raged.

Kunar turned to the torturer beside him. “Continue.”

****

Meanwhile, outside the dungeon.

Reken and his young henchman, Cat, stood guard outside the main door.

Hearing the agonizing screams from within, Cat felt goosebumps prickle his skin, his voice trembling slightly.

“Boss Reken, what are we doing here…”

Reken, long accustomed to such scenes, had personally participated in tortures where many had been flayed alive.

He offered a comfort that was anything but. “Don’t worry. Kunar is merely issuing a warning to us.

And with your small arms and legs, he wouldn’t even need to torture you; you’d simply bite off your own tongue.”

Cat’s smile was strained, his ruddy face now fearfully pale. “Then, Boss Reken, why did we come back?”

Reken chewed on a blade of grass he had idly plucked from the roadside.

His hands were empty now, his weapons having been confiscated by the guards at the entrance.

Bored, he had resorted to chewing to pass the time.

Chewing, he spoke. “What else could you do if we didn’t come back? Run off into the mountains to live like a wild man? Or perhaps flee to a village and become a farmer?”

Reken continued, “What else can vermin like us, born in the gutter, do besides serving nobles and engaging in murder?”

Cat fell silent, lowering his head in dejection.

For outcasts like them, there seemed to be no other path than to serve their masters.

Become a foul-smelling farmer in a dilapidated village?

More likely than not, the lord would find some trivial excuse to whip them to death the very next day.

Or perhaps become a monk in a monastery?

If he could become a monk, that would be wonderful!

Alas, he was penniless and couldn’t offer a substantial donation to the monastery.

Lost in thought, Cat couldn’t help but sigh.

Reken, of course, understood the youth’s anxieties about the future.

He patted Cat’s shoulder. “Though this Mayor is cruel, suspicious, and cunning, he is quite generous to his subordinates.

As long as we remain loyal, our time will come.”

Cat managed a forced smile, offering no clear agreement or disagreement.

“THUD—!” The dungeon door was violently flung open.

Kunar emerged, wearing a felt hat and dressed in noble attire.

Kunar continuously kneaded a piece of cloth in his hands, wiping away the bloodstains, then casually tossed the bloodied wad aside.

He looked at Reken. “It seems you truly did not deceive me.

Although you failed to accomplish your task this time, considering the number of subordinates you lost, I will not pursue your transgressions.”

Reken bowed. “I thank your Lordship for your mercy.”

“Very well, go inside and take a look~” Kunar dismissed Reken, and attended by his servants, made his way towards his wooden fortress.

After watching the Mayor depart, Reken turned to Cat.

“Come on, let’s go in.”

Inside the dark, damp dungeon, small puddles of water collected in the uneven ground.

Torches flickered along one side of the two-man-wide corridor, while several cells lined the other.

Reken and Cat arrived at the innermost cell.

Outside this cell, a guard sat nonchalantly at a wooden table, sipping wine and munching on dried meat.

He paid no mind to the pervasive scent of blood in the dungeon, a fact attributable to his poor sense of smell—or, in 21st-century medical terms, his sinusitis.

“The Mayor said, ‘He won’t survive anyway. Have Reken drag him out so he doesn’t occupy the cell.'” The guard unlocked the cell door with a key and told Reken, “Take him away.

He truly won’t make it.”

Reken and Cat stepped into the cell, where they saw a creature barely recognizable as human, nailed to the cross.

The humanoid’s body was a raw, crimson mess, while a complete skin was displayed, drying on a nearby wooden rack.

Reken couldn’t help but marvel, “The Mayor’s craftsmanship has improved yet again.”

Cat, however, began to retch violently; it was his first time witnessing such a sight.

Reken patted his shoulder. “Get used to it! Once you’re accustomed, you can assist me.”

Cat wiped the acidic bile from his mouth, not understanding what Boss Reken meant.

But when he saw the blood-stained small sickle hanging on the cell wall, he suddenly remembered Reken’s nickname.

Reken the Flayer!

Cat’s face instantly turned ashen.

He began to question whether coming from the countryside to Kroměříž and joining the gang had been the right choice.

Reken approached the humanoid and leaned in, his ear close.

The humanoid’s life force remained stubbornly tenacious.

Its lips twitched. “Take… take care of my wife and daughter.”

“I will. I most certainly will.”

Reken offered this lie as a final farewell to his subordinate.

From Reken’s understanding of Kunar, no one, regardless of age or gender, who fell into Kunar’s hands ever survived.

His subordinate’s wife and daughter?

Reken was powerless to help them.

After uttering his last words, the subordinate drew his final breath.

“Rest in peace…” Reken closed his eyes and offered a eulogy: “May you ascend to heaven, may you revel in milk and honey, may you eternally enjoy ultimate bliss and tranquility…”