The blade lowered toward his abdomen.
Lindarion closed his eyes.
He didn't pass out.
That was the worst part.
His body wouldn't let him.
Every nerve that should have fried itself quiet—reconnected.
Every reflex that should have died—reset.
The blade slid in just beneath his ribs, smooth and deliberate, until it reached something important. The deepest parts of Lindarion.
The man didn't dig.
He twisted the thing.
And the mana inside Lindarion's core screamed.
But Lindarion didn't.
His body jerked against the restraints, veins glowing faintly under the strain of interrupted mana flow.
Somewhere inside, his Core was thrashing—like a caged animal trying to rip its way out of him just to breathe.
Then—
A quiet click.
The blade was withdrawn.
Blood ran in a clean line down Lindarion's stomach, pooling in his lap. It wasn't a mortal wound. Not yet. That wasn't the point.
"Still silent," the man mused.
He knelt so they were eye-level.
