Before long, lamps flickered to life in several rooms that had already gone dark. A chorus of footsteps and curse-laden grumbling followed as more than a dozen men and women squeezed into the room. Their faces were uniformly vicious; even the women—thick-waisted, fierce-eyed—were clearly no strangers to villainy.

  “All here?” Glenn asked, perfectly calm despite being surrounded.

  Chels, emboldened by the numbers, stepped forward with renewed confidence. “Mr. Glenn, I don’t care how many people you brought, but starting a fight here is absolutely the worst option. Why don’t we settle this outside town, somewhere deserted? What do you say?”

  He had absolute faith in his people—they had clashed with other gangs before, and rarely came out on the losing end. Even his sisters were notoriously ferocious, scarcely weaker than the men.

  Glenn smiled. “No need.”

  Chels’ expression darkened. Just as he was about to call Glenn an idiot, his vision blurred— his consciousness snapped instantly— and in the last heartbeat before darkness swallowed him, he heard the panicked shouts of his siblings.

  When he finally regained awareness, he found himself hanging upside down in a stretch of wilderness—along with all of his brothers and sisters. The others were already awake, struggling desperately.

  “So, you’re all awake,” Glenn’s voice floated up from below.

  They looked down to see him standing beside a pile of strange objects, a cruel smile curling his lips. Faces flushed with fear and rage, they tried to curse him—but their mouths were gagged, producing only muffled, helpless groans.

  “I figured killing you outright would be far too merciful,” Glenn said lightly. “So I’ve decided to let you die piece by piece. Only then will my anger be satisfied.”

  He lifted several bizarre contraptions for them to see. “I improvised these just now. I still remember plenty about ancient torture techniques from my past life. You’ll find them… enlightening.”

  They didn’t understand all his words, but they understood enough— he intended to torture them alive.

  Some were already trembling with the urge to beg, but their gagged mouths could form no pleas.

  Glenn loosened one rope. The balding brute dropped to the ground, thrashing wildly, terror written across his eyes. The others shrieked incoherently, trying desperately to stop Glenn— they had grown up together, shared blood and hardship, and witnessing one of their own dragged into such a fate was unbearable.

  Glenn hauled the balding man onto a massive wooden “slab,” secured for this very purpose. In the reflection of their trembling pupils, he drew a slender, gleaming boning knife.

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  “The first demonstration… lingchi.”

  The hours that followed were nothing short of hell. In truth, even hell itself might have been kinder than what they endured.

  A few days later, rumors of the Chels family’s mysterious disappearance swept through Kanchi Road. The tale soon twisted into a local horror story— evildoers, it was whispered, would eventually vanish just as they had, carried off either to hell or by some darker force.

  Glenn learned of these rumors only much later.

  Upon returning to Bayek, he focused entirely on constructing staff dormitories on the farm. And with the workers Glenn had brought over, Luther and the others at the Dud shop were finally free from the crushing workload.

  After several nonstop days, Glenn at last found himself with spare time. He was still waiting for Gothaya’s reply— if she wished to leave, he could arrange the journey. But she had yet to seek him out, so he set the matter aside for now.

  Over the next few days, Glenn moved all the magical equipment he had brought from Kamboling into the basement. After sorting, arranging, and installing everything, a decent-looking magical laboratory finally took shape.

  He already had a concept for a practical tool simmering in his mind. So Glenn put aside all other tasks and immersed himself fully in research.

  During this time, Tiya was handling the farm and household meals entirely on her own—her days were hardly any freer than anyone else’s.

  She had been longing to nudge Glenn into writing more fairy tales, but aside from mealtimes, he was buried in the basement. Seeing his frantic pace and intense focus, the little maid couldn’t bring herself to interrupt.

  Bayek Town remained as quiet as ever, though even the distant commotion from the forest couldn’t escape the ears of the more perceptive townsfolk.

  Miss Puppet had snuck away from her brother several times to play at Glenn’s farm, delighted by the humans’ busyness and the clumsy charm of the livestock.

  The farmhands—startled at first by the talking puppet—had nearly attacked her out of habit. After all, Glenn had warned them that anything coming out of the forest was usually a Tier Three monster or stronger.

  The scare was understandable.

  But after some time together, they realized the delicate puppet girl meant no harm. They eventually treated her like air—occasionally even chatting with her.

  Little Miss Puppet was thrilled. Her brother, however, was furious.

  Paryndes dragged Aina home each time, fuming, repeatedly warning her not to get close to outsiders. And each time she nodded obediently… only to slip away again at the next opportunity.

  The puppet brother in the blue vest was beside himself— his once obedient sister was gone.

  As for Glenn’s workers—elves like Kael included—they were allowed to go into town for supplies, but only after disguising themselves. Especially Kael, whose elven features would attract far too much trouble.

  In Glenn’s underground laboratory—

  The hanging lamp flickered erratically as he stood before a magical apparatus, hands moving rapidly, assembling something that sparked with arcs of violet magic.

  Boom!

  A small explosion rattled the device. Black smoke burst upward, coating Glenn’s face in soot.

  “Cough—cough.” He waved away the smoke, wiped his face with his sleeve, smoothed his hair, and gently lifted a long, tube-shaped component from the machine—something resembling a telephone receiver.

  Examining it carefully from every angle, he found no errors. Drawing a deep breath, he murmured, “It should be finished.”

  He gripped the handle, raised the device to his ear, and silently recited the activation formula.

  At that exact moment, in the police office of Dud Town, Chief Doggery—busy reviewing paperwork—noticed a strange, half-illusory object materializing before him.

  He immediately tensed, ready to retreat— but then a familiar voice echoed from the device:

  “Hello? Hello? Can anyone hear me? Chief Doggery, are you there?”

  Chief Doggery froze. It took him several moments to recognize the voice— Glenn.