「Late at night, in the Guard Corps’ dungeon in Twin Tower City.」

Raul huddled dejectedly in a corner. The Guard Corps wasn’t known for its civility—they gave every new prisoner a thorough beating, regardless of the crime.

However, his case was a little different. After a few soldiers came in, they first had him sign a few photos, and only then did they beat him.

They kept business and pleasure separate.

They beat him with extra malice. It wasn’t because of the despicable crime he’d been accused of, but because he had apparently received far more attention than he deserved.

The soldiers cursed as they beat him.

"So you’re handsome, huh? Star in Shadow of Evil, do you? Think you’re all that, huh?"

"’Oh, Raul is so handsome! Oh, I want to marry him!’ How about now?"

Things like that.

Raul felt incredibly wronged. ’Is it my fault? I’m the one who gets harassed by crazy fans. I’m the victim here!’

As for the so-called "victim" girl, they didn’t really care. The noble lords played far more depraved games than this.

There was nothing in the cell besides a chamber pot. Of course, there was no bed either, so he could only lie on the cold stone slab, groaning in pain.

The chamber pot, which had passed through who knows how many hands, gave off a foul stench that grated on his already exhausted nerves, keeping him from falling asleep.

And outside the cell, an obnoxious reporter was frequently using a recording Magic.

"Smile, Big Star. How does it feel to be in a cell? If you ever get out, you have to star in a Shadow of Evil about dungeon life. After all, your acting method is all about that... what’s it called... immersion. Yes, immersion."

Compared to this reporter, Raul would rather face those noble ladies who doused themselves in perfume.

Suddenly, all the torches in the dungeon went out. The sound of heavy footsteps echoed from the distance, along with the scrape of metal against the ground.

The old-timers who were used to dungeon life knew someone was about to have a bad time. They even started taking bets on the spot, wagering on how many seconds it would take for the poor bastard to start begging for mercy.

This very Hell-like wager even came with a strange touch of humanitarian concern.

If the poor bastard turned out to be a real tough nut who didn’t make a sound from beginning to end, then all the winnings would go to him.

A blinding Lighting Technique flared to life, making the reporter jump.

In the glare of the light, he couldn’t see the newcomers clearly, only make out the silhouettes of two burly figures.

The reporter instinctively tried to run, but the cell was right behind him, leaving no room to retreat. He slammed into the iron bars, and the rusty metal let out a groan.

He was lifted up like a chick and pressed against the cell door.

"I ask, you answer."

The reporter nodded hastily.

"Did you write the report about Raul?"

"Yes."

"Was the content a frame-up?"

"How could it be? My reports are always guaranteed to be true," the reporter stammered in his own defense. "The girl told me everything herself, it’s the absolute truth..."

"Shh, you’re talking too much. Just answer yes or no, understand?"

"Under..." The reporter cut himself off halfway through the word and corrected himself. "Yes."

"Very good. Let’s play a little game."

The other figure took out a massive iron tool.

"Know what this is? It’s a very, very big pair of pliers. It can easily crush fragile flesh. Right now, it’s clamped around your vitals. From now on, if you lie, that thing of yours will be crushed, stuffed in your mouth, photographed, and shown to countless people. I call this game ’The Ultimate Humiliation.’ Fun, isn’t it?"

The reporter’s already pale face was now completely drained of color. He could only answer "yes" mechanically.

"Let’s try again. Was your report a frame-up?"

"No."

"Think carefully. Are you sure? I’m starting to squeeze."

"I took money for it!" The reporter finally broke, tears and snot streaming down his face. He could already feel the cold touch of the metal.

"Someone brought the girl to me... they gave me money to write that report... WAHHH..."

"Where is the girl?"

"At the newspaper office."

"Who was the person?"

"I don’t know, I really don’t know! In this line of work, you never ask for identities. The less you ask, the safer you are. I’ve told you everything I know."

The reporter’s voice was hoarse, and his crying had turned into dry sobs.

"What a shame. Smile, it’s time for your picture."

"Noooo—"

A moment of silence.

"He passed out."

"That’s no good. We haven’t finished the procedure yet."

The Lighting Technique dimmed, revealing the two figures to be two Beastmen: War Axe and a Priest.

"Boss! You have to come see this!" War Axe shouted toward the dungeon exit.

"Can’t even handle a simple task like this." Zog, having wrapped his nose in several layers of perfumed towels, walked down into the dungeon with great reluctance.

The downside of having a superior sense of smell was that the stench here was simply too overpowering.

Arriving outside Raul’s cell, they saw the reporter had lost control of his bowels and bladder. But it didn’t matter; a little more filth made no difference in the dungeon.

"What did you find out?"

The Priest gave a brief summary.

"Is he telling the truth?"

"It’s the truth," the Priest replied.

This was why they had to go through the whole procedure. The more thoroughly a person’s mental state collapsed, the more accurate the Truth-Telling Technique became. Otherwise, certain professionals could easily deceive it.

"Well, there you have it. So what if you couldn’t get the person’s name? Get Raul out. We’re going to the newspaper office."

Zog left the dungeon in disgust. As he neared the exit, he remembered something and turned back to order, "After you get Raul out, lock that reporter in there. And dump the chamber pot on his head. This Dragon despises those who take money to write fake news more than anyone."

Although he himself had paid for fake news before, this was what you called "flexible moral standards"—the classic style of a pure-blooded Red Dragon.

The Priest used a key to open the cell door and cast a Healing Technique on Raul. War Axe slung him over his shoulder, and they left the dungeon.

The key was returned to the on-duty soldier, who was lost in an Illusion Technique, enjoying a late-night rendezvous with the star of the Purple Lily Theater Troupe.

Ever since he started participating in the Visible Inscription Workshop’s tests, Zog’s skill with Illusion Techniques had advanced by leaps and bounds.

For infiltration, he now had a third option besides brute force and sedatives: Illusion Technique.

All those adult films he’d watched in his previous life hadn’t gone to waste; they all came in handy when constructing illusions. The Guard Corps soldiers had never seen anything like it and were completely bamboozled.

They soon arrived at the newspaper office.

After War Axe had a "simple and friendly" chat with the security guard on duty, the guard guaranteed that he had absolutely not seen a Sub-Dragon and two Beastmen carrying a person into the newspaper office in the middle of the night. Furthermore, he had never heard of a little girl temporarily staying in the second-floor reception room.

「And so, to the second-floor reception room.」

A little girl, like a porcelain doll, was sleeping on the sofa, looking peaceful and lovely.

As Zog was pondering how to wake her, the little girl’s eyes fluttered open.

Her big, bright eyes blinked. Seeing the strange creatures before her, she didn’t panic. Instead, she sat up and straightened her clothes with a poised and mature demeanor that made it hard to believe she was only six years old.

Zog nodded at the Priest, then asked the little girl in a cutesy, high-pitched voice he rarely used in his entire life as a Dragon, "Little friend, what’s your name?"

"Mira."

"And your last name?"

The girl shook her head.

Zog considered his words for a moment. "You don’t have to answer this next question if you don’t want to." He pointed at Raul. "Did this uncle do anything bad to you?"

"Yes."

Zog looked at the Priest.

"It’s true."

"!"