While the knight was tormenting the young man, Omar, the male wizard, kept his head lowered, his expression indifferent.
He listened to the young man's screams and felt the malice radiating from the surrounding knights, yet his heart remained as calm as still water, with even a trace of barely perceptible disdain.
"A pack of hyenas who take pleasure in tormenting Muggles and extorting money wherever they go..."
Omar coldly judged the knights and clerics in his mind.
"...and another group of cowardly swine, their hearts filled with fear and greed."
His gaze swept over his numb and terrified fellow prisoners without the slightest trace of sympathy.
The knight's brutality continued to escalate.
Apparently feeling that punches and kicks were no longer satisfying enough, he pulled a half-red-hot wooden stick from the bonfire and walked towards the young man, who was already on the verge of death, with a sinister smile.
"Let the holy fire purify the evil within you, boy!" he cackled, pressing the glowing stick firmly against the young man's thigh.
Sizzle!
The harsh sound of burning flesh was accompanied by the young man's heart-rending scream, made even more shrill by his weakened state.
The smell of burnt flesh mixed with blood spread through the air.
Several knights nearby burst into laughter, as though they were watching the most entertaining performance.
Even the subordinate cleric's lips curved slightly, seemingly approving of this method of "purification".
The knight carrying out the torture seemed to notice Omar's unusual gaze, and it made him deeply uncomfortable.
He threw aside the burning stick and strode towards Omar, grabbing him by the hair and forcing his head up.
"What are you looking at, old man?"
The knight glared fiercely into Omar's eyes, which seemed almost devoid of human emotion.
"Do you want a taste of the holy fire too?"
Omar said nothing.
He merely met the knight's gaze with those cold eyes, a faint mocking smile even appearing on his lips.
That expression completely enraged the knight.
"You damned wizard!"
The knight roared and raised his fist to strike.
Just then...
"Enough."
A slightly lazy yet unmistakably authoritative voice came from the entrance of the main tent.
The Chief Priest had emerged at some point.
He was wearing a velvet dressing gown and holding a quill, apparently disturbed by the commotion outside.
He glanced at the young man on the ground, who had nearly been tortured to death, then at Omar, who was still being held by the knight, and frowned.
"You may deal with the others however you like, but this old man must be brought back intact for the report. If he's damaged too badly, it won't look good on the record of merits."
The Chief Priest's tone was flat, as though discussing the condition of a few pieces of merchandise.
The knight reluctantly released Omar and spat.
"You're lucky, old man."
After reprimanding the overly excited knight and restoring some semblance of authority and order, the Chief Priest told everyone, "Save some energy for tomorrow's journey."
Then he turned, lifted the tent flap, and returned to his warm, luxurious tent.
The sweet scent of incense drifted towards him, dispersing the faint smell of blood and burnt flesh from outside.
He had just let out a sigh of relief and was preparing to enjoy the rare moment of peace when his gaze suddenly froze.
At his table, which was covered in soft velvet and decorated with silver candlesticks, stood a young man in simple black robes with his back to him, casually flipping through the thick leather-bound book of magic that the Chief Priest had just left there.
The young man's movements were calm and natural, as though he were the master of the place.
"Who are you?!"
Alarm bells rang in the Chief Priest's mind.
He shouted sharply as his hand instinctively reached inside his robes, where he usually kept his holy emblem and rings.
He could not understand how this person had slipped past the knights guarding the perimeter, nor how he had silently entered a tent protected by alarm magic.
Sagres seemed not to hear his question. He continued turning the pages at an unhurried pace, his gaze quickly scanning the contents. From time to time, he gave a slight shake of his head and let out an almost inaudible sigh, clearly disappointed by what the book contained.
Being so completely ignored infuriated the Chief Priest, while at the same time deepening the unease in his heart.
He hesitated no longer and quickly chanted a short incantation. A trace of scorching white light began to gather at his fingertips. It was the Holy Flame magic he was most skilled in.
But just as the spell was about to take shape, the soft, expensive wool rug beneath his feet suddenly seemed to come alive.
The tough wool fibres twisted upward like countless tiny tentacles, moving with astonishing speed. In an instant, they wrapped around his feet and calves, then rapidly climbed higher, tightening around his waist, chest, and arms.
He felt as though a giant python had coiled around him. The tremendous force left him completely immobilised, and even breathing became difficult.
The holy light he had just gathered immediately dissipated.
"Ugh!"
The Chief Priest struggled in horror, only to discover that all his strength was useless against the bizarre restraint of the rug.
The unease in his heart quickly turned into fear.
He opened his mouth and tried to call for the guards outside.
"Guards! Sentries! There's an assa..."
"Do you think they can hear you?"
Sagres did not turn around. His calm voice cut off the futile shouting.
The Chief Priest's voice stopped abruptly.
To his horror, he realised that his cries seemed to be swallowed by an invisible barrier. Not even the tent flap stirred.
The noise from the camp outside, the crackling of the bonfire and the laughter of the knights, now sounded distant and muffled, as though separated by a thick pane of glass.
The entire interior of the tent had become a cage cut off from the outside world.
Sagres paid no further attention to the bound Chief Priest behind him and continued reading.
He read extremely quickly, almost skimming ten lines at a glance, yet his gaze remained focused and sharp, missing nothing that might contain useful information.
At last, he reached the final page and casually tossed the thick book back onto the table with a soft thud.
Sagres shook his head, his brow slightly furrowed, and spoke with obvious disappointment.
"Ninety percent of it is useless rubbish. Outdated dogma, shallow applications of light and heat, and a few pages of incomprehensible analysis of so-called 'Holy Words'... It seems the Church's reserves of magical knowledge are pitifully meagre."
Only then did he slowly turn around and look properly at the Chief Priest for the first time.
The man was wrapped tightly in the rug, almost like a mummy, his face filled with horror and rage.
Sagres's gaze was perfectly calm, as though he were examining an object rather than a living person.
"Now we can talk."
He walked towards the Chief Priest, his steps light but carrying an invisible pressure.
"About your 'harvest' this time, about the School of Withering, and... about you personally. Or anything else that might interest me, even slightly."
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