Minas Tirith, the temporary medical ward.
Velin had just left the bedside of a grievously wounded defender when Tristan hurried after him, a document in hand.
Divine Art wasn't a panacea. After the bleeding was stopped and the wounds were closed, the injured still needed time to rest and recover.
"My Lord, the preliminary interrogation results are in. They're not good." Barrett's voice was laced with anger. "Those five Multi-Armed Race officers are tough. Conventional methods can't get them to talk."
"That's to be expected." Velin washed the blood from his hands in a basin of clean water, his movements unhurried. "What about Master Valerius? I recall him mentioning a 'truth serum'."
"The Master tried it."
"The truth serum might work on ordinary people, but its effect on these iron-willed Level 5 Transcendents is negligible. They can easily use their Spiritual Power to resist the drug's effects, and even feed us false intelligence."
