Those who had been observing Atticus from the very beginning would consider him to be a very simple individual. And truly, he was.

Atticus had never believed in conscious mistakes.

Your brain was perfectly functioning, you weren’t unconscious, you knew exactly what you were doing.

So why then, why the hell would you call it a mistake?

It was utter bull**. Bull** he had no intention of entertaining.

Zephyr’s screams went on deaf ears. The sound of water bubbling and the smell of meat cooking filled the space.

Despite the intense pain, only his head moved, jerking backwards and forward. An incredible amount of spittle flailed around as he kept on screaming.

His whole body was still being restrained by the searing hot water, however, he could feel every inch of the pain.

The last time Atticus had done this was on Dell, but then, he had boiled him from the outside. It went without saying that they were both truly terrible, but if one had to choose the most brutal, it would be what was currently happening to Zephyr.

The feeling of water boiling you from the inside was not pleasant, truly. However, what happened next was the cherry on top that completely intensified Zephyr’s pain.

The temperature around Zephyr abruptly dropped, the air growing frigid in an instant. A dense mist materialized, swirling around him like a ghostly shroud.

The water within his body, already restricting his movements, began to freeze. His skin took on a pallid, almost translucent whiteness, as frost crept across its surface.

Zephyr’s luminous hair, once flowing like liquid light, became rigid and firm, each strand encased in a delicate sheath of ice.

The transformation was swift and merciless; from the searing heat that had tormented him moments before, Zephyr was now plunged into a bitter, bone-chilling cold.

His muscles, already stiff from the internal water pressure, now felt like stone, immobilized by the sudden freeze.

Every breath he drew was a struggle, the cold air burning his lungs and crystallizing the moisture within. His joints, swollen and immobile, were now locked in place by the ice that encased them, turning his limbs into lifeless appendages.

The pain Zephyr felt was immense, but he couldn’t even scream. His chest heaved with labored breaths, the cold air slicing through his throat and lungs like shards of glass.

Each inhale brought a sharp, stabbing pain, as if his insides were being cut apart. His heart pounded against the icy cage of his ribs, struggling to pump blood that felt sluggish and cold.

The frigid air infiltrated his bones, making them ache with a deep, marrow-deep pain that seemed to resonate through his entire being.

Even his face wasn’t spared; the cold gripped his jaw, making it hard to open his mouth, while ice crystals formed on his eyelashes and brows, blurring his vision.

Atticus’s expression as he gazed at Zephyr was tranquil.

Even as the intense cold suddenly melted, the temperature increasing and turning searing hot once more, his expression remained unchanged.

It felt endless and was timed to the last nanosecond.

One minute. Sixty seconds. That was the exact amount of time that would pass during each transition before they abruptly changed to icy cold or searing hot.

Zephyr had lost count of the number of times the switches happened. There was only one constant and redundant thought in his head: the counting of one to sixty.

It was only for a brief moment, just less than a second, but the switching of hot to cold or vice versa brought about a nanosecond of relief before the overwhelming pain would set in.

This torture went on for two hours, 120 transitions.

Words could not begin to describe what Zephyr was currently feeling as his body was suddenly enveloped in a bubble of water, healing him.

Emerging from the water and kneeling on the floor, Zephyr’s body involuntarily started shivering. His body became unable to differentiate between hotness and coldness. Despite the warm temperature in the air, both his hands were under his armpits, his teeth clattering, his body shivering as though he were freezing cold.

But unfortunately for Zephyr, his torment wasn’t over.

A kick landed squarely on the side of his head, driving his head into the sturdy ground.

Zephyr felt his vision immediately go blurry before his body started moving upwards against his control.

His eyes trembled intensely as he opened them only to witness the figures of five different white-haired boys standing before him.

His vision didn’t get a chance to clear up before a blitzing punch landed squarely on his nose.

The force of the punch deformed his nose, shooting his figure backward at fast speed.

However, he hadn’t even gone far before his momentum abruptly stopped midair, his direction changing as he shot forward toward Atticus, only for his face to meet the bottom of Atticus’s foot.

His body jerked forward like a ragdoll, his head stopping in place for a moment before the momentum of Atticus’ leg slammed his head against the ground with brutality.

There was no pause. Atticus’s fists instantaneously rained downward on Zephyr’s body, each pounding making the ground tremble.

Zephyr remained helpless, receiving the brutal punches without being able to react or even scream.

They landed everywhere, the bones in his body getting broken at a rapid pace.

After a while, Atticus stopped, another bubble of water enveloping Zephyr once more.

After a minute of healing, Zephyr was released from the bubble of water only to find himself suspended in the air.

The air suddenly electrified, tendrils of lightning snaking across Atticus’ figure. With an abrupt motion, they shot forward and landed on Zephyr.

Zephyr felt a jolt of searing pain shoot through his body like a thousand needles piercing his skin.

His muscles seized with spasms as the lightning surged through him, coursing along his nerves and setting every fiber of his being ablaze with agony.

He had no idea when a primal scream tore from his throat, “Ahhhhh!” raw and guttural.

Atticus’ torment was unending. After electrocuting the living daylights out of Zephyr, just when the latter thought his torment would be over, Atticus would resume another round of brutal punches and kicks before healing him and then switching to another one of his elements.

The division members of the camp went about their daily routine unaware of the torture their leader was currently facing. His screams were loud, but none seemed to be able to leave the confines of the mansion they were in.

Time went by and as the sun started setting, simultaneously his screams stopped.

Once again, a bubble of water enveloped Zephyr, healing him.

At this point, he had a lost look on his face as he sat down on the floor.

Atticus was always careful. Even though he wouldn’t be in the academy, Atticus had the first-year leader of the Nebulon youth draft a mana contract. The boy had already been enslaved by him, plus Atticus wasn’t sure if he was still considered a student anymore.

After getting Zephyr to sign it, which was incredibly easy, Atticus didn’t utter a word as he tapped on his artifact, a golden glow enveloping him before he disappeared from the scene.

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