"Yes, sir!" Hog responded crisply, moving with practiced ease.
He first took out several tourniquets and tied them tightly around the Thunderbird's wounds to ensure he wouldn't suffer from excessive blood loss. Then he pulled a box from his spatial equipment; judging by the cold air that emanated from it, the container clearly had a refrigeration function.
Following that, Hog skillfully manipulated a syringe with his paws, drawing blood from the Thunderbird's body until he had filled two dozen test tubes. During the process, he even forcibly administered two bottles of Blood-Replenishing Potion and one bottle of Healing Potion to the prisoner. Hog, usually so lackadaisical, now displayed the demeanor of a professional nurse, skillfully cleaning and bandaging the injuries. The sight sent shivers down the Thunderbird's spine as he lay sprawled on the ground.
What exactly did this dog want to do to him?
Meanwhile, Alan tirelessly cleared the scene, restoring the blasted ground to its original state with a Restoration Charm, then retrieving the buried landmines and explosive spiders using Control Magic. He had laid quite a few traps for this battle, using up nearly all the supplies he had prepared this year; just setting up the scene alone had taken a full day. There were also dozens of jammers and Portkey blockers. It was no accident that the Thunderbird had been captured so easily.
The Silver Spear's raw strength may have been greater than Alan's, but facing a well-prepared alchemist, he had been far too overconfident.
While Hog tended to the Thunderbird, Alan tidied the area. Both were incredibly efficient, and in no time, the Eb-Sawai mountainside was restored to its original appearance, as if no one had ever been there.
"Sir, it's done. 200cc of blood has been drawn, and tests show no contamination. The Thunderbird's vital signs are stable," Hog reported, wagging his tail.
"Very good. This is my blood. We'll set up camp right here and perform the bloodline alchemy on the spot," Alan said, handing two test tubes to Hog.
"Set up camp here? Won't that expose us? I thought we were going back to the hotel," Hog asked, looking a bit confused as he took the tubes.
"That hotel isn't safe. The owner's identity is questionable. It's too risky to move back," Alan said, remembering the Thunderbird's mention of Martin's name. He preferred to be cautious. He pointed to an empty space nearby. "We'll set up camp there and place enough shielding jammers around to ensure there's no risk of exposure."
"Understood." Hog had followed Alan for years and knew that when it came to serious business, his master valued efficiency above all else. He wasted no more words, darting out to pitch the tent.
"What exactly do you want to do?" After some time, the Thunderbird finally regained consciousness through the intense pain. He looked at Alan, who hadn't killed him and had even treated his injuries, and asked in confusion.
"You'll know in a moment," Alan replied coldly. He began gathering the items he had taken from his opponent.
As a high-ranking member of the Silver Spears, the Thunderbird didn't carry much. Besides his aspen wand, mask, and Portkey, he only had a close-fitting leather pouch enchanted with an Extension Charm. Inside, Alan found over a thousand Galleons in cash and several bottles of potion—mostly common tonics and healing draughts.
However, one potion in an exquisite crystal bottle was peculiar; it held a crimson liquid with a pungent smell. Alan, despite his extensive knowledge, was unable to identify its ingredients or purpose. Aside from the potions, there were a few parchment scrolls. One was identical to the black market invitation he had received from Aseria, though a different address was noted on the back. Another was a record of magical creature smuggling, and others contained detailed information about the United States black market, including locations, owners, and collaborators.
This was an unexpected gain. Alan put them away, then held up the crimson potion. "What is this?"
When the Thunderbird saw the bottle, his eyes shifted unpleasantly, signaling it was an important item. "Don't waste your breath. You won't get any information from me," he glared, then closed his eyes, pretending to be dead.
"A coward who was just begging for mercy is acting tough now? What a joke. You'll speak eventually," Alan sneered.
Not long after, Hog finished the tent. It looked small from the outside, but was quite spacious within. Alan silently picked up the Thunderbird and walked inside. The calm atmosphere made the Thunderbird feel increasingly uneasy; he still didn't know what this young wizard intended to do.
When he saw the interior, his heart sank. The tent had been transformed into a laboratory with a medical bed in the center. The surrounding workbenches were filled with alchemy instruments he didn't recognize, and the air was thick with the smell of disinfectant. Alan slammed the Thunderbird onto the bed, secured him, and began sticking wires with suction cups onto his body.
"What exactly do you want to do? If you want to kill me, just do it! I am the Thunderbird! I will not let you insult me!"
"I know," Alan replied blandly. "As a high-ranking member of the Silver Spears, directly asking you questions won't get me the answers I want. Given your organization's nature, Veritaserum and Legilimency won't work either. So I have to torture you first. Sorry."
Alan spoke chilling words in a calm tone; his frankness left the Thunderbird momentarily speechless.
"Let me explain. I will secure your limbs—or what's left of them—and put a mouthguard on you," Alan said, shoving a device into the man's mouth. "This is to prevent you from hurting yourself. The wires connected to your body monitor your condition to prevent you from dying. Don't worry, I will keep you alive and well."
Alan took two syringes from a medicine box and injected them. "These are two Muggle potions. One amplifies your senses, especially touch. The other keeps you stimulated and alert. Now, let's begin."
The Thunderbird experienced the longest half-hour of his life. His body stiffened from pain as he watched Alan work on him like a sculptor on a masterpiece. Lucid and alert, he watched as Alan inserted tiny steel needles into his fingertips and plunged red-hot nails into his thigh. He could only emit low, helpless whimpers. Whenever he was on the verge of fainting, Alan would slow down and feed him tonics to restore his strength.
Before long, the Thunderbird's eyes shifted from terror and malevolence to a hollow numbness. He felt that living was simply too painful. But he couldn't even bite his tongue to end it. Finally, Alan stopped and removed the mouthguard.
"The first half is over, Mr. Thunderbird. Do you have anything you want to tell me now?" Alan wiped the sweat from his forehead.
"I'll talk! Whatever you want to know, I'll tell you everything! Don't continue this, you're a devil!" The Thunderbird whimpered in a hoarse voice, shedding tears. He couldn't take it. He had seen torture before, but never someone who didn't even ask questions first. He had wanted to give in ten minutes ago, but he hadn't had the chance to speak.
"It's good that you're willing to talk," Alan nodded. "Let's start with the basics. Your real name, nationality, birth date, and your cover identity."
"My real name is Gerald Stevens. I'm German. I usually operate as a bounty hunter. As for my age..." The Thunderbird hesitated. "My current age is thirty-two."
"Still trying to lie to me?" Alan had been using Legilimency the whole time and caught the mental spike the moment the age was mentioned. "Do you think I can't see through you?"
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