Marcus's Secret

Despite enduring various forms of torture, Sid remained tight-lipped, not uttering a single word about Martin.

Marcus, with his military boots lightly tapping the ground, sat on the leather sofa, his chin slightly raised, emanating an aura of dominance befitting an advanced orc.

Soon enough, Sid coughed up another mouthful of blood.

Despite his refined appearance, his glasses had been knocked off, yet his demeanor remained remarkably calm.

A hint of madness flickered in his eyes.

Marcus detested this expression, slowly removing his white gloves and approaching Sid.

He extended his hand, resting it on Sid's arm.

"What's the matter? Ninth Prince, are you planning to personally break my arm? As an orc, even if it's broken, it can regenerate."

"What if it's shattered?"

"What?"

In the next moment, Sid felt his right arm instantly go numb.

Lowering his head, he discovered that his right arm had been frozen solid!