Both the bandits and his own soldiers now wore expressions of immense excitement.
This was exactly the effect Solomon wanted. He wanted everyone to see that serving him, regardless of origin, would yield rewards, and merit would never be buried.
Just then, two soldiers walked over escorting a tightly bound person, forcing him down at Solomon's feet. One spoke:
"Lord Solomon, this is the captured messenger."
Solomon looked down, sizing up the person curled into a ball on the ground. The man looked up, his eyes full of calm and unyielding spirit.
Lushen exclaimed, realizing he had forgotten the most crucial thing, and hurriedly began to narrate to Solomon how this person was suspicious.
"Search." Solomon said only one word.
The soldiers immediately set to work, patting the messenger down from head to toe, even tearing open the lining of his clothes, but found nothing. A soldier whispered somewhat awkwardly: "Lord Solomon, nothing."
Solomon wasn't surprised. His expression didn't change at all. He even poked the bonfire with a branch, looking at the messenger who raised his head to meet his gaze, before speaking: "Who is your master?"
The messenger sneered, turned his head aside, and shut his mouth tightly.
"You think your bones are hard?" Solomon's tone was flat. He picked up the branch with the carbonized tip and slowly pressed it against the man's face, making a sizzling burning sound.
The messenger's body stiffened imperceptibly—a small pain—but his expression remained unchanged.
Solomon chuckled lightly, moved his gaze away from him, pulled out his short dagger, and began gently whittling the branch in his hand, speaking slowly: "Have you heard of the Golden Empire of Yi Ti?"
"It is said that in the era of the Valyrian Freehold, they and Valyria were both masters of the world, just one in the west and one in the east."
The messenger frowned at Solomon, who was gently blowing the wood shavings off the branch, not knowing how he steered the topic to this.
Solomon didn't look at him, continuing to whittle the branch, narrating slowly as if telling a story: "It is said they are very good at punishments."
"Death by a Thousand Cuts. The executioner uses a small knife, bit by bit, slowly, gently, ensuring you are awake the entire time, until the last cut lets you breathe your last."
"Peeling skin and stuffing with straw. It is said they pull the whole person out of their skin sack and stuff it into a scarecrow."
The messenger kept swallowing saliva, still bowing his head in silence. The soldiers, greatly interested in the world outside Westeros, also gathered around to hear Lord Solomon tell stories, but they didn't expect such torture methods existed, feeling deeply chilled.
Solomon looked up at the messenger, his voice becoming gentle: "But I have a few novel ideas I'd like to invite you to try."
"Absolutely no one has tried them before. You will be fortunate to become the first person in history to experience them."
"I want to put you in a large vat and light a small fire underneath—this process is very long, you will slowly perceive all the pain."
"Or."
"Lock you in a cage and slice off a small part of your body each time. I'll send the best physician to ensure you won't die easily from pain or infection. This process will last for weeks until you become a breathing, incomplete chunk of meat."
"Or I strip you naked and cover your whole body with syrup. Do you know, snakes, insects, mosquitoes, and ants love syrup the most? They will crawl all over your body."
Solomon stroked his face gently: "Which one do you want to choose?"
Before his voice fell, the whole field was silent. Soldiers swallowed saliva and trotted away to patrol the surroundings.
The messenger's face turned from red to white, then from white to green. His breathing became rapid, beads of sweat the size of beans seeped from his forehead, and his body began to tremble uncontrollably.
He tried to remain tough, but every word Solomon described formed an incredibly clear picture in his mind.
His psychological defense line was collapsing piece by piece.
"Who is it?" Solomon asked again.
The messenger's lips trembled, teeth chattering, but he still didn't speak.
Solomon stood up and stopped looking at him.
The two soldiers holding him down, pale-faced after listening to the story, instantly understood. They grabbed the messenger's hair and pressed his head firmly against the ground.
Another soldier drew the dagger at his waist and took a step forward.
The messenger struggled in horror. A white light flashed, and a miserable scream pierced the night sky. The soldier's movement was surprisingly fast; his hand rose and the knife fell. A finger of the messenger had fallen into the dust, blood spurting out.
"I'll talk!!! I'll talk!!!" The messenger's defense collapsed completely. Snivel and tears flowed down his face. One hand tightly grasped the palm of the other hand with the severed finger, blood gushing like a spring. His voice changed tune due to severe pain and fear: "It's House Ryger of Willow Wood! It's them!"
Solomon stroked his chin: "Keep it brief. What are they doing?"
"War! Organizing bandits! Harassing your territory! Creating chaos!" The messenger shouted continuously like pouring beans from a bamboo tube. "I have successfully organized three other bandit groups! Formed an alliance! Counting Mad Dog's men! There were originally over a hundred!"
Solomon's eyes narrowed: "How many people now?"
"Seventy!!! Probably over seventy people!!!!" The messenger felt himself starting to get dizzy. "My Lord!! Damn it!!! I need to stop the bleeding!!! Lord Solomon!!"
Solomon didn't respond, just continued speaking slowly:
"One more question."
"Where is their lair?"
The messenger's body began to tremble again, eyes dodging, seemingly falling into hesitation.
Solomon didn't speak again, looking up at the soldier behind him.
The messenger looked up in panic, only to see the soldier behind him raise the dagger again, beads of blood dripping from the tip onto his face.
The messenger was completely terrified, almost shouting it out: "I know the location!! I'll take you there!!! My Lord!!!"
"I can help you trick open their gates!!!!"
"You can't kill me!!! Lord Solomon!!!"
"Gods!!! I am useful to you!!!"
"Very good." Solomon waved his hand. "Bandage him up."
Two soldiers immediately dragged the screaming messenger away, leaving only a pool of blood and a finger on the ground.
Lushen and Lauchlan swallowed saliva, frightened badly by Solomon's stories. They walked lightly to Solomon's side and asked in a low voice: "Lord Solomon, what do we do now?"
"Should we go back down the mountain first, mobilize soldiers, and discuss it at length?"
Solomon didn't answer. He stood up, sheathed his dagger, then gently patted the dust off his body and the ash from the bonfire. He turned to look at the two:
"Since we are already here, there is no reason to go down the mountain. We will accomplish everything in one battle."
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