Evan's POV

  The secret door slid open without so much as a creak. Not a speck of dust stirred, not a cobweb in sight. Which could only mean one thing—this passage wasn’t some forgotten relic. It was used. Often.

  “Most of the cultists are being interrogated in the normal jail,” Daisy said, stepping inside. “But this… this is a special place. My brother should be here.”

  We stepped into what looked like the hallway that every horror movie director dreams about—long, narrow, and drenched in pitch-black darkness. Daisy calmly raised a hand and summoned a glowing golden orb that hovered beside her, casting warm light that painted everything in soft yellow.

  Hey… wait a second.

  Wasn’t that the Orb of Light pet from like, Terraria Alpha? Didn’t it get replaced with the Shadow Orb or something? God, that’s a throwback.

  As the hallway stretched forward, so did the rows of jail cells embedded into the walls—one after another like some kind of medieval honeycomb. Most were empty, but a few weren’t. Daisy took the lead with Trish beside her, while I brought up the rear, scanning each cell like I was treasure hunting.

  And then…

  I stopped dead in my tracks.

  No—no way.

  I squinted into one of the dim cells. My heart practically leapt out of my chest.

  There he was.

  Tied up in the corner of a cell like a hostage in a low-budget RPG parody. Office-white dress shirt, red tie, blue skin, glasses clinging to the edge of his nose, bald head reflecting the glow of the light orb like a beacon of hope—

  IT’S THE GOBLIN TINKERER.

  OH MY GOD, IT’S THE ACTUAL GOBLIN TINKERER!

  The literal king of reforge. The patron saint of loadout optimization. The sacred mechanic of every late-game playthrough. Bound. In. Ropes.

  He’s one of the must-have NPCs. Usually, he spawns randomly in caves after you defeat the Goblin Army—but here? In this prison?

  Oh, this was fate. I had to get him out. Right now.

  “Daisy!” I shouted, a little louder than I meant to.

  She paused, confused, and turned around.

  “Come here. Quick.”

  She approached the cell, peered inside—then looked at me like I’d gone mad.

  The Goblin Tinkerer looked up, his face calm as always despite the situation.

  “Master Evan. I require assistance.”

  That voice. That calm, vaguely nerdy tone. It was him. It was him.

  “Daisy, that’s my servant you’re keeping in there,” I said, pointing dramatically.

  “...What?”

  “We were separated ages ago. I thought he died. But no! He was in your freakin’ basement dungeon the whole time. So uh… can I have him back?”

  Daisy blinked. Looked at Trish. Back at me. There was a visible system crash behind her eyes as she processed the absurdity of what was happening.

  “I… I guess? B-but you’ll have to notify the dungeon master about this.”

  Trish, ever the dependable side character, placed a hand on his chest with knightly elegance.

  “Don’t worry. I shall do it in your stead.”

  “Ohhh! Thanks, Trish!” I grinned.

  Daisy pulled out a massive keyring—like, ridiculously massive from under her dress. The thing jingled like a boss chest from a dungeon crawl. Dozens of keys hung from it, each one probably leading to some poor bastard’s regrettable life choices.

  She flipped through the keys with impressive speed, finally selecting one and unlocking the cell. The door creaked open.

  I stepped in and crouched down. The goblin sat quietly, tied up like a kidnap victim in a budget action flick. I sliced through the ropes with a quick swipe, and as I did, a little pop-up appeared in my vision:

  Name: Fjell

  Oh-ho? So that’s his name.

  “Thank you for freeing me, Master Evan,” he said calmly, adjusting his crooked glasses. “I was tied up and left here by the other goblins. You could say we didn’t see eye to eye.”

  “Office politics, huh?” I nodded sagely. “Been there.”

  “Can you teleport home on your own?”

  “Yes, Master Evan. I shall do so immediately.”

  Without another word, he pulled a recall potion out of nowhere—dude didn’t even fumble with it—and gulped it down. In a flash of blue sparks, he vanished.

  “Umm…” Daisy looked a little baffled.

  “He’s fine,” I said casually. “He’ll respawn at my house. Probably already setting up a reforge table.”

  She looked like she wanted to question that, but decided against it. Wise choice. We had bigger problems to deal with.

  We pressed on.

  I wasn’t seething anymore—not as much—but Hope’s tear-streaked face still haunted the edges of my mind. That fear in her eyes? Yeah, no. That doesn’t just go away. That prick was going to pay.

  But how?

  Pain? Obvious. But not enough.

  Humiliation? Better.

  Terror? Oh, now we’re talking.

  I smirked to myself. Yeah… I had a plan.

  “…There he is,” Daisy whispered.

  We stopped.

  Beyond the next cell sat Ramas Gabriel—the Cultist Prince. Daisy’s long-lost brother. He was hunched over in the corner, silent, his back to us like a scene straight out of a psychological thriller.

  “Open the door,” I said.

  Daisy hesitated for a second, then started flipping through her keys again. Ramas didn’t look up, but I knew. I knew what was coming.

  Sure enough, the moment the lock clicked—

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  He spun around, hurling a black orb straight at us.

  Daisy flinched but threw up a magical barrier just in time. The orb fizzled uselessly against it.

  I grabbed her by the arm and yanked her backward toward Trish. “Move!”

  Before the bastard could toss another spell, I activated Shield Charge and launched myself into the cell like a wrecking ball with daddy issues.

  He raised an arm to block me—bad idea.

  CRACK.

  His forearm snapped like a breadstick. A bright red “-20” floated over his head, just before he crumpled against the cell wall.

  Blood bubbled from his mouth as he coughed violently, gasping for air.

  “Trish,” I said coldly, “cover Daisy’s eyes. What I’m about to do shouldn’t be seen by a kid.”

  “I’m not a kid!” Daisy snapped, furious.

  I gave her a look. Not condescending. Not mocking. Just that quiet, serious stare that said, You’re about to see a side of me you’ll wish you hadn’t.

  “Excuse me, Your Highness... but it’s for your sake.”

  Trish’s voice was calm but firm as he gently pulled Daisy aside. She didn’t resist, though her hands trembled as she tried covering her ears. I didn’t blame her. Even I didn’t want her witnessing what was about to happen.

  I turned back to the bloodied coward slumped in the corner. My footsteps echoed through the stone cell floor as I slowly approached.

  He looked up—eyes wide, blood running down from his nose and lip, arms twisted from the earlier impact.

  I activated Intimidation.

  His pupils dilated instantly. His breath hitched. Even with his bones screaming and his lungs wheezing, he scrambled backward like a cornered animal.

  “Y-You! What do you want!?”

  I didn’t answer.

  Instead, I conjured a dagger—thin, curved, glowing a hungry red. Its blade pulsed with heat like the forge of a dying star. A Flame Torch spell, modified with the sharpness of a surgical knife and the cruelty of my mood.

  He whimpered. His back hit the wall. There was nowhere left to run.

  “W-Wait, wai—!”

  I slammed the burning blade straight through his hand, pinning it to the cold stone floor.

  His scream wasn't human. It was primal. A raw, broken howl that echoed down the hallway like a soul being ripped in half. The dagger didn’t just burn—it seared, melting skin and cauterizing nerves while holding him in place like a branding iron from hell.

  The scent of charred meat filled the air. Steam rose from his hand like a cursed offering. He thrashed, body convulsing in pain as he tried to pull free. But the flame didn’t spread. That’s the cruel part of this spell—it focused its torment precisely.

  Localized agony.

  I let it simmer for a few seconds. Just enough for the pain to set deep—into his nerves, his memory, his soul.

  Then I dispelled it.

  His hand dropped to the ground with a wet, charred slap. A blackened hole smoldered through his palm—bone exposed, the surrounding skin crackled like burnt parchment.

  He sobbed. Mucus ran from his nose. His voice had already started to give out.

  And I still wasn’t done.

  With a flick of my wrist, I conjured another spell—Ivy Tendril, one of my nastier creations. A parasitic vine, coated in hundreds of jagged, poisoned needles.

  Normally, it binds and restrains.

  Today, it would burrow.

  I used Mana Ball to shrink it—condensed it into a wriggling green worm the size of my finger. Then, with a casual underhand toss, I aimed it at the hole in his hand.

  The moment it made contact, it latched on.

  He didn't even scream right away. He just twitched—his body locking up in shock as the vine squirmed inside the wound. Then it started moving. Coiling. Burrowing.

  That’s when he screamed.

  Not like before.

  This time, it was real. A sound that made the walls shiver. His free hand clawed at the cursed thing inside him, desperately trying to yank it out. But the tendril just coiled tighter—its poisoned barbs digging into nerves, chewing through tissue, embedding itself deeper and deeper.

  Blood sprayed across the cell as he flailed, eyes rolling back, foam collecting at the edge of his lips.

  I didn’t say a word.

  I just watched.

  Because monsters like him—those who go after children—deserve to learn what real fear tastes like.

  Behind me, I heard Daisy's muffled whimpering. Even Trish had looked away, his jaw tight, his hands trembling. The thick silence of the corridor only made it worse. Every agonizing sob, every tear, every gasp—it echoed through that dungeon like a requiem for monsters.

  I took a step back.

  And waited for the noise to stop.

  When the screaming finally stopped, the dungeon felt hollow.

  The only sound left was his raspy, panicked breathing. I dispelled the writhing vine and stepped back, watching him slump forward like a puppet whose strings had been violently cut. He curled over his burnt hand, cradling the ruined limb with a whimper as his body trembled from the inside out.

  I checked his health bar — barely clinging at 20%. Honestly? I hadn’t even warmed up yet.

  "You’re gonna be so damn sorry, Ramas."

  I reached down, grabbed a fistful of his dirty pink hair, and yanked his head up. His neck gave the slightest pop as I forced him to look at me. His eyes were glazed, unfocused — but behind that, the fear still clung like frost on a windowpane.

  There was no hatred in him now.

  Only the understanding that death would be a mercy I wasn’t offering.

  I pulled out a lesser health potion from my inventory and shoved it between his lips.

  He struggled, weakly trying to turn his head, but I gripped tighter and forced his mouth open, tilting his chin until the whole bottle was drained.

  Like pumping life into a rotted corpse.

  His body jerked as the effects kicked in — not enough to fully heal, but enough to restore function. His burned arm began to knit together slowly, muscle returning under ruined skin. The nerves were still raw. Good. He could feel it.

  He could talk again.

  Which was the point.

  I tossed him down like throwing away a bag of trash.

  “P-Please…” he croaked, voice trembling, “Please stop…”

  I crouched beside him, eyes calm. “Why should I?”

  He blinked, confused, breath catching in his throat.

  “W-What?”

  “You hurt my daughters, Ramas.”

  His eyes widened.

  “I don’t know if you’ve figured this out yet,” I continued, summoning the tendril again into my palm. The vine coiled like a hungry serpent, pulsing with poison, each barb twitching in anticipation. “But an angry dad? Makes your little murder club look like a toddler’s tea party.”

  I brought it closer to his face.

  He whimpered.

  “I’m giving you a chance,” I said flatly. “You’re going to tell me something useful. Something good enough to stop me from shoving this down your throat.”

  I held the writhing vine up to his cheek.

  “And just so we’re clear, I have more health potions. A whole damn stack. So don’t count on dying to escape this. I will make sure the tendrils don’t touch anything vital. I’ll keep you conscious. I’ll keep you alive. And if I get bored, maybe I’ll move on to another part of you.”

  His face was soaked. Tears, blood, mucus — a pathetic mixture of everything that makes a man fall apart.

  “Chop chop, Ramas,” I whispered, gripping his jaw again. “You’ve got three seconds.”

  His eyes went wide as I forced his mouth open with one hand, the other lifting the tendril like a doctor preparing a throat swab from hell.

  “One.”

  The vine twisted eagerly in my grip.

  “Wuit! WUIT!” His voice muffled by the fact that I had kept his mouth open by tihtly holding on to his jaws.

  “Two.”

  I brought the vine closer. It hissed — or maybe that was just him.

  “IL TEL UUUU!!!” he shouted.

  I paused. The desperation in his eyes was real — the kind that comes from knowing the worst is yet to come.

  I let go of his jaw.

  He gasped, sobbing harder. “I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you everything!”

  He shouted, voice shrill with desperation, then turned to his sister — the last thread of hope he had left.

  “Daisy! I’ll tell you everything! Just get this monster away from me! Please!”

  He was sobbing now — not from pain, but from sheer terror. His voice cracked, the words slurred through tears and snot.

  But I didn’t flinch.

  Didn’t blink.

  Didn’t care.

  I grabbed his jaw again and forced it open, slowly shaking my head with mock disappointment.

  “Time’s up, Ramas. You still haven’t said anything useful.”

  He wriggled and screamed as I forced his mouth wider.

  “Three.”

  The tendril in my other hand squirmed eagerly, as if it too was hungry for vengeance.

  “Open wide.”

  The barbs neared his lips, heat and venom practically steaming off the surface.

  That’s when he broke.

  “THE LEADER!!! I’LL TELL YOU THE MASTERMIND!!”

  “Evan, stop it already!” Daisy’s voice rang out sharp and urgent, cracking with emotion.

  I paused — just enough to show I was listening. Then I let go of his jaw and slowly stood.

  Ramas immediately collapsed forward, gasping for air, then tried to crawl toward Daisy on all fours like a wounded dog. Pathetic. He dragged himself only to find Trish’s standing in between him and her. the knight stood calm, blade drawn out , one eye watching Ramas and the other Daisy.

  “D-Daisy! I swear! I’ll tell you everything about the cultists! Everything I know! Just—please, get him away from me!”

  Daisy had her eyes squeezed shut, her hands trembling as they tried to cover her ears. But just in case she grew soft-hearted—

  I grabbed Ramas by the ankle and slammed him back against the stone wall like a sack of meat.

  “Grah—!!” His breath flew out of his lungs like a dying bellows.

  He wheezed on the ground, broken and twitching, only to look up and see me standing over him — calm, collected, and glowing with satisfaction.

  “Looks like you’ve finally got my attention.”

  I summoned a mana ball, and this time, I imbued it with pure — Intimidation at full power. My aura cracked like the heat from a furnace, shadows twisting across the walls.

  I crouched low so he could see my eyes up close.

  “Let me make something very clear, Ramas.”

  He whimpered.

  “If I ever see you near me… or my family… again—” My voice dipped to a whisper laced with venom. “You’ll wish Cthulhu had taken you first.”

  His whole body trembled. Then he nodded. Not once. Not twice. Constantly. Over and over like a puppet begging not to be burned.

  Satisfied, I dispelled the tendril in my hand.

  Trish, ever the professional, let out a slow breath and stepped forward.

  Daisy… poor Daisy.

  She hadn’t opened her eyes since the first scream. Her hands were still pressed to her ears as if trying to drown out a nightmare.

  Trish gently tapped her on the shoulder.

  She flinched and slowly opened her eyes — only to see her brother slumped on the floor, his face pale and blank like the soul had been scared out of him. And then she looked at me.

  Standing tall.

  Quiet.

  Rejuvenated.

  Vengeance, after all, was one hell of a medicine.