The castle was eerily quiet.
I was taken down from the slave trader’s carriage and marched along a stone corridor, both hands bound behind me. I kept my eyes fixed on the back of the man walking ahead. The castle itself was grand, yet it felt strangely deserted.
The lone maid we passed glanced at me for a split second before quickly looking away.
I was led into a spacious hall.
A woman sat on a chair at the far end.
She was middle-aged, with a harsh face and sharp eyes. A thin smile played at the corners of her lips.
The instant her gaze turned toward me, a chill raced down my spine.
The woman rose and approached.
She seized my chin. Her long nails dug in painfully as she turned my face from side to side, inspecting me like a farmer judging livestock.
“My, what a pretty and well-bred child. I do hope you’ll entertain me for a long time.”
Entertain. I didn’t yet fully grasp what that word meant. Since I had been purchased as a slave, I assumed I would simply be put to hard labor.
After all, who would do anything truly awful to a seven-year-old?
I was taken underground.
With every step down the stone staircase, the air grew heavier and damper, thick with the metallic scent of blood. The memories that didn’t belong to me told me exactly what that smell was.
The room was small and made of stone. Chains dangled from the walls, and dark stains spread across the floor.
I was shackled to the wall. The attendant left without a word. The heavy door slammed shut.
It was dark. Cold. The air reeked of iron.
My teeth began to chatter uncontrollably. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking. The clearer that borrowed knowledge made the situation, the more my seven-year-old body trembled with terror. I couldn’t suppress the physical reaction.
Footsteps approached—light and almost cheerful.
The door opened. The woman stepped inside. She had changed out of her earlier dress into clothes that could get dirty and wore a heavy leather apron.
An attendant carried in a small table and arranged several knives upon it.
The woman crouched before me. She rolled up my sleeve, took hold of my arm, and ran her fingers along it.
“Be sure to scream nicely for me, won’t you?”
I tried to respond, but before I could, the knife was pressed against my skin.
It sliced across.
I screamed. The cut was shallow, yet the pain was so sharp my vision flashed white. Blood welled up. Before it could drip to the floor, the woman held a vessel beneath the wound.
She was collecting it?
Another cut. This time on the opposite arm. I screamed again. More blood fell into the vessel. Then my back. Then my legs. Every wound was shallow, but to a child’s body they all hurt just as badly.
“It hurts… please stop…”
I begged. The woman narrowed her eyes with obvious pleasure.
Water Magic slammed into me. The impact wasn’t enough to send me flying, but striking the fresh cuts made the pain explode several times over.
She watched me cry and scream with a delighted smile on her face.
After some time, the woman set the knife down. She looked at the vessel filled with blood and gave a satisfied nod.
“That’s enough. Prepare a bath before the blood spoils.”
She handed the vessel to the attendant as she spoke.
A bath. Of blood.
The memories surged back in a rush. Stories of nobles who bathed in blood. The legend of a woman who collected human blood to preserve her youth and beauty.
Was that why she had been cutting me?
An attendant returned carrying a heated iron rod. It was pressed against the wounds.
I screamed. The pain was entirely different from being cut. The smell of burning flesh filled the air—my own flesh. They were cauterizing the cuts to stop the bleeding.
One after another. Every single wound was burned and sealed.
My throat eventually gave out. No sound would come anymore.
Afterward, a meal was brought—thin soup and stale bread.
My body felt heavy. My mind was foggy. I didn’t have enough blood.
But I wasn’t killed. I was being kept alive to supply blood. That meant there would be tomorrow, and the day after, and every day beyond. This would never end.
I forced the tasteless food down my throat.
There was no escape. I was chained, and I had no idea of the castle’s layout. The only thing I could do now was—
“Physical Enhancement also has the effect of accelerating recovery. It is said that those with the proper aptitude can even reach the level of Recovery Magic if they master it.”
Anton’s words came back to me. If I used Physical Enhancement, perhaps my wounds and lost blood would recover faster.
It was the only hope I had.
As long as I stayed alive, my family would keep searching. I had to survive until they found me.
That night, I repeated those words like a mantra for the first time.
The torture continued with several days between each session.
I began casting Physical Enhancement before every cut. I couldn’t tell if it was working. The pain was still agony. Even so, I refused to stop. Stopping felt like giving up completely.
Cut, drained, treated, fed. Then cut again. The cycle repeated endlessly.
One day, I noticed a change.
The wounds on my arms were closing faster than they had the previous day.
Continued use of Physical Enhancement had sped up my healing. At first I thought it was my imagination, but the improvement grew more obvious with each passing day.
Then, during one session, a shallow cut began to glow with a soft green light and closed right before my eyes. The knife’s trace vanished as I watched.
This had gone far beyond Physical Enhancement.
This was—Recovery Magic.
The woman noticed it too. At first her eyes widened in surprise when the wounds she had just carved healed almost instantly. Then, realizing I was using Recovery Magic, her face lit up with pure ecstasy.
“A toy that doesn’t break! And what’s more—even if I drain you dry, you make more blood right away. You’re an infinite blood bag!!”
From that moment on, the torture changed.
Because I would heal, she cut deeper. She cut more often. Even if she broke me, I would recover, so she broke me even worse. The sessions that had once been spaced out became daily.
My meals increased in volume. The quality remained poor, but the quantity became more than enough. It was all to make me produce blood. I was no different from livestock—fed, drained, and fed again.
During one of those sessions, I learned an important lesson.
When I made noise, the woman’s eyes would sparkle. If I screamed, the torture grew even crueler. If I said it hurt, she would make it hurt far worse.
So I stopped making any sound at all.
At first I did it deliberately, clenching my teeth and holding back my screams. Eventually, even without conscious effort, no sound emerged. My throat simply wouldn’t work. Even if I opened my mouth, only air leaked out.
By then the variety of torture had also expanded. It was no longer just blades—there were tools to crush, stab, tear, and burn. Being struck with Water Magic had become an everyday occurrence.
My body was broken again and again, and each time it was forced to heal.
Then one day, I reached my limit.
I stared at the chain around my wrist. The end was sharp. If I pressed my wrist against it and pulled hard—if I simply didn’t use Recovery Magic—
That person’s memories flooded in.
‘Once you’re dead, nothing remains.’
I—that is, that person—had said those words.
‘I know how painful it is. But if you die, the people who love you will suffer for the rest of their lives.’
‘As long as you’re alive, someone’s hand will eventually reach you. So please. Just for today, just live through this one day.’
The voice from those memories stabbed into my present self.
My hand stopped.
I let go of the chain. No tears came. I had already forgotten how to cry.
Katia. Mira. Father. Mother. Elder Brother. Elder Sister. My little sisters.
I finally understood. If I died, the people precious to me would suffer forever.
“Ah… aah…!!”
I was now bound by that person’s words. I couldn’t even choose death.
If I had known it would come to this, I wished I had never been reincarnated.
◇◇◇
I no longer knew how much time had passed.
My left hand was gone. Both legs were gone. My right eye had been crushed.
Only my right hand remained—so I could feed myself. Only my left eye remained—so she could enjoy my reactions.
My hair had turned white. I couldn’t remember when.
My body had stopped growing. Although I was given food, every ounce seemed to be diverted to recovery.
I could no longer speak. It had been a long time since any sound had left my throat.
Recovery Magic now activated on its own, without any conscious effort. The moment I was wounded, the injury would close automatically. No matter how many times I was broken, I healed. No matter how often I wished for it to stop, the magic continued to sustain my body against my will.
It was a curse.
My emotions had grown dull. I had grown used to pain. I had grown used to fear. Even feeling anything at all had become tiresome.
There was nothing but being broken, healing, being broken, and healing again.
Then one day, something changed.
The chains were removed.
My body was dragged from the room and carried up the stairs. Since I could no longer walk, an attendant hauled me like a sack.
Light poured in.
I narrowed my left eye against the glare. How long had it been since I had seen anything other than the darkness of that underground cell?
“We’re going to the villa,” the woman’s voice said.
“Bring my favorite along as well.”
I was loaded into a carriage and tossed onto the cargo bed like luggage.
A change of place meant nothing. As long as that woman was there, nothing would ever change.
I focused what little strength I had left into the fingertips of my right hand. They moved, if only slightly.
After confirming that, I closed my eyes.