The Soul-Returning Rite is an ancient ceremonial tradition passed down in certain regions of Kakin.
This ritual originates from a belief…
That through physical and spiritual suffering, one can resonate with the souls of the departed.
At the core of this ritual is a special tool known as the 'pain-marking stone,' a palm-sized rock with a roughly polished surface covered in fine protrusions.
The priest overseeing the Soul-Returning Rite presses the pain-marking stone against specific parts of the participant's body.
By gradually increasing the pressure, intense pain is induced.
Different body parts elicit different forms of pain… dull aches, sharp stings, or throbbing agony.
When the pain reaches a certain threshold, the sufferer's consciousness hovers between haziness and clarity, entering a peculiar state.
In this state, they seem to witness the return of the departed souls, forging a connection with them.
As time passed, this ancient ritual became marginalized, now preserved only in a handful of regions.
However, in some places, the form of the Soul-Returning Rite has evolved.
In certain areas of Kakin, with 'permission,' those who have taken the lives of others are offered as sacrifices, plunged into an abyss of suffering by the pain-marking stone.
In this way, the perpetrators, their bodies riddled with wounds, are forced to confess their sins before the departed.
Once the ritual concludes, these offenders are cast into raging flames.
Just as Shalnark had guessed, Feitan's interest in the Soul-Returning Rite stemmed entirely from its brutal methods of tormenting the guilty.
Feitan cared nothing for the cultural significance or spiritual solace behind the ritual… the only thing that captivated him was how efficiently it inflicted pain.
He believed this technique could enhance his interrogation methods.
Yet, though Feitan was quite taken with the ritual's approach, he scoffed at the so-called 'pain-marking stone' and its usage.
In his view, any method designed to inflict suffering should be accompanied by torn flesh and flowing blood.
But the torment of the Soul-Returning Rite…
Was bloodless.
So Feitan planned to refine the technique as soon as he mastered it.
True torture, in his eyes, demanded more blood and violence… only then could the pain be made visceral and impactful.
Feitan had already made up his mind.
Once he improved the pain-marking stone's method, he would test it on a few random people.
—--
April 24th.
The day of the Soul-Returning Rite.
The sky was overcast, shrouded in thick, gray clouds.
The air was damp, carrying the scent of earth and vegetation.
The ritual was held in a cemetery.
The cemetery gates were supported by two weathered stone pillars, upon which the faintly visible words 'Land of Returning Souls' could barely be discerned.
Feitan arrived outside the cemetery gates.
Clad in a long black coat, its high collar resembling a mask that concealed the lower half of his face.
After a brief glance at the cemetery entrance, Feitan stepped inside.
Just then, a light drizzle began to fall.
Feitan paid it no mind, nor did he open the 'umbrella sword' in his hand. Instead, he walked along a winding stone path under the gentle rain.
On either side of the path stood rows upon rows of gravestones.
Some tombstones had already tilted, while others were covered in moss.
Feitan's gaze didn't linger as he followed the cracked stone path beneath his feet, heading toward the open clearing at the center of the cemetery.
Unlike the crowded rows of tombstones lining the path, the central clearing was remarkably spacious.
Even with an ancient altar standing at its heart, there was still ample room to accommodate hundreds of people with ease.
The nearby townsfolk who had come to attend the Soul-Returning Rite were all dressed in black, standing silently around the altar as they awaited the ceremony's commencement.
Upon the square altar knelt over twenty criminals, their heads covered with white hoods painted with bizarre symbols in blood.
Their bodies trembled slightly, clearly gripped by terror at the impending ritual.
Before the criminals stood a priest clad in a white robe.
In one hand, he held a black pain-marking stone; in the other, a torch as he murmured indistinct incantations in a low voice.
Feitan slipped quietly to the edge of the crowd.
Dressed in his black trench coat, he didn't stand out much in this setting.
Though the skull pattern emblazoned above his high, mask-like collar was somewhat conspicuous.
Wanting a clearer view of the altar, Feitan had to shift positions several times due to his height before finding a less crowded spot where he could observe the proceedings.
Under his watchful gaze, the priest raised his torch and lit the kindling at the base of the four stone pillars at the altar's corners.
Flames raced up the pillars, igniting the flammable material within their hollow tops.
Instantly, roaring fire erupted from the pillars' summits, casting a blazing glow across every face and enveloping the entire altar in searing light.
The corners of Feitan's lips curled upward, his eyes crinkling slightly.
He knew this was the sign that the ceremony was about to begin.
Moments later, the altar echoed with the criminals' blood-curdling screams.
The sounds were piercing and desperate, enough to make one's hair stand on end.
Yet the surrounding participants of the Soul-Returning Rite merely watched coldly, their gazes filled with loathing and indifference.
Standing among the crowd, Feitan's smirk deepened, the curve of his eyes becoming more pronounced.
His attention remained fixed on the altar, meticulously observing every detail.
The criminals' screams gradually grew hoarse, dwindling to faint moans before finally fading away completely.
Their bodies convulsed violently under the pressure of the pain-marking stones, as though every muscle fiber was enduring excruciating torment.
Feitan's focus wasn't on the criminals' suffering, but entirely on the executioners' handling of the pain-marking stones.
He carefully studied each point of pressure, committing the precise techniques to memory.
He realized that creating such intense pain didn't solely rely on the stone-carved instruments, but more crucially on the exact positioning and application of pressure.
Only with perfect control of both force and location could the pain's effect be maximized.
"Interesting."
A glint of excitement flashed in Feitan's eyes.
His mind was already working on ways to refine these techniques, itching to try them out himself.
The gray clouds overhead grew heavier, releasing a fine drizzle that gradually intensified into steady rain.
As the Soul-Returning Rite neared its conclusion, a pile of highly flammable wood was stacked at the altar's center.
Despite the increasing downpour, the pyre burned fiercely.
The criminals, tormented to the point of delirium, were drenched in what could no longer be distinguished as sweat or rain.
One by one, they were thrown into the bonfire, their bodies writhing in the flames. Sparks scattered with the searing updraft, only to be swiftly extinguished by the rain.
By then, the participants of the Soul-Returning Rite had begun to disperse, their faces etched with complex emotions.
Feitan retreated to a corner, watching everything unfold with cold detachment.
Only when the pyre on the altar had burned to ashes, and both the participants and the presiding priest had left, did the cemetery stand empty… save for Feitan alone.
He stepped slowly onto the altar, sparing a glance at the untouched black remnants.
Unconcerned with the remains that would lie there for seven days and nights, he walked straight to the edge of the altar and bent down to pick up a pain-marking stone.
Now, all that remained was to find a few test subjects…
But there was no need to search.
Holding the pain-marking stone lightly in his left hand, Feitan rested his umbrella sword casually in front of him with his right, tilting his body slightly as he turned his gaze toward the cemetery gates.
"Had your fill of watching?"
His voice was sinister and icy, laced with an oppressive aura.
From behind the weathered stone pillar at the cemetery gates, a figure emerged slowly.
Clink—
The sound of chains pierced through the rain, sharp and clear in Feitan's ears.
Narrowing his eyes, he studied the golden-haired young man stepping out from behind the pillar.
It was Kurapika.
Kurapika walked steadily across the cracked stone path, his steps firm and resolute.
Rain slid down his blond hair, dripping onto his shoulders and soaking his clothes.
His expression was cold, his gaze fixed on Feitan atop the altar.
"First, I need to confirm one thing… you're a member of the Phantom Troupe, aren't you?"
His voice was calm and clear, cutting through the clamor of the rain.
Swish—
Feitan had no patience for words. With a surge of aura, his figure vanished like a ghost.
In the next instant, he appeared beside Kurapika, his umbrella sword slashing toward the young man's carotid artery.
Though Feitan exuded chilling killing intent, his only intent was to knock Kurapika unconscious… after all, he wanted to test his newly learned torture methods on him.
Yet, Kurapika didn't react to Feitan's lightning-fast assault, standing motionless as if frozen.
But the chains in his hands moved as if with a will of their own, coiling like serpents and locking onto the tip of the incoming umbrella sword with a metallic clink.
Then, more chains unfurled from Kurapika's body, striking toward Feitan at point-blank range.
"An interception-type, huh…"
Feitan's eyes turned colder. He withdrew instantly, retreating a dozen meters in a flash, his gaze locked onto Kurapika's chains.
Chains with such traits were likely a Conjuration ability.
And when facing Nen tools, the wisest course of action before fully understanding their abilities was to avoid direct confrontation.
This was what made Conjurers particularly troublesome…
Their abilities often carried unique effects or rules, and a single misstep could leave one at a disadvantage, or even fatally exposed.
To capture this chain-wielder alive while deciphering his ability…
Feitan sneered inwardly.
There was no need for that.
Lab rats for testing torture methods could be found in abundance anywhere… why take such a huge risk?
After witnessing Kurapika's Conjuration ability, Feitan decisively abandoned the idea of capturing him alive.
Thus, the killing intent emanating from him became even more palpable.
Kurapika retracted his extended chains, his gaze as cold as ever.
"Dowsing Chain."
Originally, this ability was meant for tracking or lie detection. However, under the butterfly effect of Morrow and Biscuit's influence, Kurapika had endowed it with an automatic defensive targeting function.
Yet, this ability only worked against 'members of the Phantom Troupe.'
In other words, the defensive targeting function of the Dowsing Chain was actually a byproduct of the Vow and Limitation placed on his Chain Jail.
Given the life-risking resolve behind his Limitation, the birth of this automatic defensive targeting ability wasn't particularly difficult.
"Seems like confirmation isn't necessary."
Kurapika extended his arm forward, the chains coiled around his fingers gleaming darkly under the splattering rain.
This man was extremely fast. Though it couldn't be confirmed if he was the fastest in the Troupe, their earlier clash had already tested the Dowsing Chain's interception and targeting capabilities.
Next was to test the restraining strength of the Chain Jail.
As he calculated in his mind, a faint crimson hue flickered in his gaze as he looked at Feitan.
The results of their first exchange had made Kurapika place absolute trust in the Conjuration ability forged through his life-risking resolve.
Now, he only wanted to use this ability to subdue this spider as quickly as possible!
"Oh? A grudge, huh… I thought you were just some reckless Blacklist Hunter."
Feitan suddenly sensed the hatred beneath Kurapika's calm and composed demeanor, momentarily taken aback.
Then, with sharp perception, he noticed a faint red glow at the edges of Kurapika's eyes… as if concealed by contact lenses.
"Your eyes…"
Feitan narrowed his long, sinister eyes, revealing a trace of surprise.
The Scarlet Eyes of the Kurta Clan?
A survivor?
He remembered this group all too well.
Kurapika observed Feitan's reaction, preparing himself while slowly removing the contact lenses from his left eye in plain view.
As the lenses peeled away, those breathtakingly beautiful Scarlet Eyes were fully unveiled.
Yet Feitan wasn't fooled.
His gaze remained fixed on Kurapika's eyes.
"So it really is the Scarlet Eyes of the Kurta Clan."
Feitan's voice carried a hint of amusement, the corners of his lips curling into a chilling smile… as if reminiscing about something deeply satisfying.
"Seeing those eyes reminds me of the fun I had torturing those people. Their willpower was quite tenacious."
"I went through great lengths to force out their Scarlet Eyes. In the end, I had to get rough with the children. Hmm, if I'd had this back then, it would've been much easier. And I could've enjoyed tormenting them even more."
As he spoke, Feitan raised the black pain-marking stone in his hand, like a sly, cold fox proudly flaunting its prey.
Kurapika's Scarlet Eyes blazed with uncontrollable fury… and restrained agony.
His fingers instinctively tightened, causing the chains to emit a faint clinking sound in the rain, betraying his inner turmoil.
During their previous training sessions, Biscuit had identified Kurapika's weakness and specifically trained him in emotional control.
This specialized training had indeed brought noticeable changes to Kurapika.
It was also the reason he had initially remained calm when facing Feitan.
But when he realized…
Feitan was the very one who had tortured his clansmen, those horrific memories he had tried so hard to suppress inevitably resurfaced in Kurapika's mind.
Like blood, they stained his eyes crimson.
How could a human remain as rational as a machine...?
This sudden fury burned away Kurapika's reason.
And this was exactly what Feitan had intended.
Swish!
Seizing the opportunity, Feitan struck abruptly. A slender blade slid out from his umbrella sword, its cold gleam slicing through the cascading raindrops as it aimed straight for Kurapika's neck.
Yet, despite Kurapika's burning rage, his chains did not lose their intended functionality.
"Clang!"
Once again, the chains precisely intercepted Feitan's attack, producing a sharp metallic ring.
Sparks scattered through the rain, illuminating Kurapika's eyes, ablaze with fury.
Feitan, failing in his strike, showed no hesitation in retreating.
Like a ghost, his figure withdrew over a dozen meters away, his gaze icy as he stared at Kurapika.
"Even with your emotions in chaos, you can still maintain your tracking ability's operation..."
Feitan murmured to himself.
He had assumed Kurapika's emotional breakdown would weaken the potency of his chains, but reality defied his expectations.
And that clear intent to counterattack with Ren…
This guy's ability must be bound by an extremely powerful Vow and Limitation.
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Bonus chapter @150 power stones.