Chronicles Of The Crafting Hero

The sun bled crimson across the sky of Aria, its vibrant hues of orange and gold slowly devoured by the encroaching darkness. The bustling marketplace, once teeming with the lively chatter of vendors and the murmur of the crowd, now began to thin, shadows lengthening as the day surrendered to night. The darkness, like a ravenous beast, crept outwards, reaching the edge of the town where the imposing Black Cloud Guild mansion resided, nestled within a small, ancient forest that seemed to drink in the waning light, shrouding the area in an early twilight.

Beneath the mansion, deep within the cold, damp embrace of the cellar, the darkness intensified, pierced only by the flickering, wavering light of small, iron torches that cast dancing shadows along the stone walls. Here, the torment of Rebecca continued. Strapped to a cold, metal chair, her body was a canvas of suffering. Wires, tipped with cruel spikes, pierced her arms and fingers, remnants of what they once were. Her fingers, once whole, were now severed, leaving raw, bleeding wounds. Her eyes, once windows to the world, were now sightless, lost to the torturer's blade.

Blood, a thick, dark stain, coated her mouth, originating from her nose and trickling down her chin. Every ragged breath was a struggle, a testament to her agonizing pain. The air that escaped her lips was now a painful whisper, a choked squeak born of the broken cage of her ribs. Each inhale was a fresh torment, a searing reminder of the damage inflicted upon her shattered frame.

Silvia, her long black hair now pulled back into a severe ponytail, was clad in simple, practical light leather armor, a stark contrast to the gleaming silver knight armor she typically wore. The leather, however, bore the gruesome markings of violence, stained with the chilling crimson of her victim's suffering.

Silvia's back was turned to Rebecca, her gaze fixed upon the array of instruments laid out upon the table – the tools of her grim trade. She lifted each one in turn, examining them with a cold, assessing detachment, her movements slow as she seemingly wrestled with a decision. A sigh escaped her lips as she finally settled upon a vegetable peeler, its simple form a stark contrast to the more brutal instruments. Turning her head, Silvia's eyes met Rebecca's sightless gaze, and a cruel smile twisted her lips.

"You know," she began, her voice a low, almost conversational tone, "It didn't have to come to this." She paused, as if considering the weight of the statement. "They want to know where the Hunter is, and you're not telling. The irony is, I believe you. You've insisted you don't know. I even told them as much. But they insist I continue... They don't trust you. But, from my experience..." She trailed off, taking a few measured steps toward Rebecca, her leather armor creaking with the motion. "Considering what you've endured... there's no way you'd be lying, is there?"

A chilling smile spread across her face, barely concealing a hint of genuine amusement. "I've broken your fingers, then I severed them. I've struck you, poured salt into your wounds, choked you... I've done a great many things. And still, they doubt you." She chuckled, a harsh, mirthless sound. "And the way you screamed, 'I don't know,' over and over... and still, they disbelieve." Another sigh, this one heavy with a strange weariness, escaped her. "It's been a while since I've done this. Who knows? Perhaps you *are* lying. I am a little rusty, after all."

With deliberate slowness, she positioned the vegetable peeler against Rebecca's skin. "Do you know what this is?" she purred, the words laced with a dangerous intimacy. "Can you feel it?" As she slowly dragged the blade across Rebecca's flesh, the edge, thankfully, did not break the skin, only adding to the torment of anticipation.

Silvia leaned in close, her breath ghosting against Rebecca's ear as she withdrew the vegetable peeler. Her voice, a chilling whisper, slithered into the darkness. "It's a vegetable peeler. I've always... wanted to try this, you know." She then straightened, the whispered confession hanging in the air. "Always wanted to. I wonder what it would be like... peeling a person's skin." She paused, her voice taking on a new, unsettling energy. "I think I'll start with your legs. And then, pepper and salt."

Taking a deliberate step back, she laughed, a short, sharp sound. "To be honest, I was rather pleased they didn't tell me to stop." Another chuckle escaped her, revealing a hint of genuine mirth. "Everyone seems to believe I'm some kind-hearted knight. No one truly knows me... Well, except for Sabrina, perhaps. She knows a little, but not all. I've always... taken pleasure in others' suffering. Ever since I was a child, actually." Her hands found their way to the cold metal table behind her, and she leaned against it, a casual posture belied by the icy glint in her eyes.

"You see," she continued, her tone now reminiscent, almost wistful, "we used to live in the capital." She removed one of her brown gloves, placing it carefully on the table. "My father had the task of... interrogating and torturing our enemies. Spies. Enemies from the West, you see. And sometimes... I would wander near the dungeons. The screams... they always echoed in the halls. I knew my way around. There was a secret passage, you see, one that few knew about. Except for my father, of course." She smiled, a thin, predatory curve of her lips. "I saw him use it once. Didn't know I was following him, though. I would always... go and take a peek."

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Silvia removed her second glove, the soft leather falling onto the table with a quiet thud. Rebecca remained facedown, her breaths shallow and punctuated by agonizing squeaks, a testament to the pain that wracked her body. Yet, even amidst her suffering, she was forced to endure Silvia's words, each syllable echoing within the confines of the cellar.

"I saw everything," Silvia continued, her voice taking on a hypnotic quality. "And I mean everything. Every single thing that was happening. I heard every word. I would only see them... when they finally broke. The first time? I was terrified. Traumatized, even, if I'm honest. But then... I don't know why, I went back. And again. And again. And again. I started to find it... fascinating. I became disappointed in the others, you see. They would spill the truth before my father could even truly... *begin.*"

She paused, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes. "My father would speak of it with my mother, but always in private. Wouldn't want me to hear, of course. That's how it was, you know. And I... I would always peek when my father would... *work.* The cycle... it just continued, day after day."

Her voice took on a sharper edge, the memory clearly still fresh. "But then... something happened. Something very... ironic. You see, it turned out my mother was also a spy. She was discovered." A beat of silence hung in the air. "My father was ordered to interrogate her himself. When he refused... they interpreted it as treason. They insisted he prove his loyalty to the kingdom. Because... there was a possibility that even my father..." She trailed off, the implication hanging heavy in the air. "So my father agreed."

"You see, my father wasn't the only inquisitor in the kingdom. He couldn't allow another one to... touch my mother. He said he would do it. If anyone could... it would be him. Plus, he had to prove his loyalty, so he had no choice. If he refused... they would kill them both, and I would be an orphan. So, he agreed." Silvia's voice was a low, steady drone, the narrative unfolding with a dreadful inevitability.

Then, a violent convulsion racked Rebecca's body. She fought to contain the pain, biting down hard, the wounds in her mouth - on her tongue, on her lips - causing blood to well and mix with the pain. She was able to force out a single, ragged word, a harsh whisper lost in the air. "You're... psychotic."

Silvia heard the muttered accusation, a dark amusement sparking in her eyes. She chuckled, a brittle sound that echoed in the silence. "Yeah, I suppose you could say I was... or am. I never truly loved my mother, to begin with. My father... he always abused her. And yet... I never felt sorrow. Anyway... I watched. I watched the whole thing, from beginning to end. That's when I saw... that my father actually loved her." The words seemed to catch in her throat, a brief, almost painful hesitation. "It almost seemed... he was suffering more than she was."

She took a breath, regaining her composure. "The strange thing is... my mother actually confessed. She told everything. She *was* a spy. I was... surprised. That night... that's when my father found me. He was... distraught. He cried. He told me he didn't mean for any of it to happen. I cried with him. My mother... she couldn't endure it all. She died. That day... I was truly sad. We both were."

A sudden, harsh light filled her eyes, a twisted hunger. "But then... I told my father... I wanted to be just like him. I also wanted to be an Inquisitor."

"Of course, my father disagreed," Silvia continued, her voice now laced with a hint of defiance. "He said... if I wanted a dangerous life, I should join the army, become a knight. But this job... he didn't want that for me. But knowing the right people... I secretly became one anyway. I *started*. I tortured. But... I noticed something. It's not as easy as it looks. Most of my victims... they died before they could tell me the truth. I was maybe a little... *too* harsh. Then I realized... I had to be slow. I had to prolong the suffering. Plus... it was more *fun* that way."

She paused, a chilling smile playing on her lips. "After each and every victim... I became better. That was until my father died. Of an illness. And after that... I quit. Became too desensitized. It was... *boring*. So, I joined the army. Became a knight. Then... I became a Hunter." The words tumbled out with a sudden, almost reckless energy. "Come on! It's been so long since there's been a war between two countries. So... *boring* having to stand guard all the time. Doing nothing."

She straightened, her posture taking on a renewed confidence. "Right now? I'm A-Rank. KNight-class Hunter. Yeah... I know. I've worked hard, haven't I? It's actually a good profession. Always facing new monsters, slaying them, making money... And, of course... that's how I met... Sabrina again. Haven't seen her since we were children in the capital. She wants me to join her Guild, but... I told her I can't. For... reasons. But enough about me." She turned her attention back to Rebecca, her gaze hardening. "Now, where we're we?"

The heavy cellar door creaked open above, a fresh wave of light from the torches lining the corridor spilling into the chamber. Anna stood in the doorway, her face a mask of horrified concern as her eyes fell on Rebecca. Her gaze then shifted to Silvia, who stood bathed in the cold light, her expression a blank canvas, untouched by remorse. "The captain... is calling for you," she stammered, her voice laced with a hesitant tremor.

Silvia placed the vegetable peeler back on the table with a decisive thud. "I'm coming," she replied, her voice devoid of inflection. Then, with a final, lingering glance at Rebecca, she turned and followed Anna back towards the stairs, her boots echoing softly on the stone floor.

Meanwhile, Tyler had emerged. Now he stood in the crossroads base, his steps leading him towards the large tent. A small smile played upon his lips, a confident gleam in his eyes. "With stats like these..." he mused, his voice barely audible, "...I feel almost untouchable." He paused, a sudden, reckless impulse seizing him. "I almost want to provoke one of those hunters... just to test things." He surveyed the surroundings, his gaze falling on the other hunters that surrounded him. One, clad in leather armor, met his gaze, confusion and a flicker of fear dancing in their eyes. But Tyler paid them no mind, his focus firmly set on his goal: the tent in the crossroads base.