Starting Today I'll Work As A City Lord

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"Move along!"

The patrol officers marched down the street, escorting twelve slave traders, who were closely guarded in the center of their formation. Sharp-eyed, the patrol scanned the surroundings carefully.

The torches they held aloft cast patches of light in the dark night, and the slave traders' spirits grew heavier with each step.

"Thud, thud, thud..."

The heavy footsteps echoed, waking a few townsfolk who pushed open their wooden windows to peer outside, watching the patrol in amazement.

"What's going on? Why are the City Guard patrols out at this hour, and with so many people in custody?"

"Those scoundrels must've done something bad, or else they wouldn't be getting hauled in by the patrol."

Whenever the City Guard made an arrest, they'd soon post a notice explaining what crime was committed and how the offenders would be punished.

This practice served two purposes: warning the public and teaching citizens about right and wrong behaviors.

"True, but let's get back to sleep. With the City Guard that the Lord has set up, I've been sleeping so much easier lately."

"…"

In times like these, for a territory to thrive, it needed not just food, shelter, and clothing but, most importantly, stability and safety. With this solid foundation, growth became almost inevitable.

The City Guard was a source of security, calming the restless hearts of many common folk, who no longer feared that their homes might be broken into by slave traders, bandits, or worse. 

Scarface and his gang were soon locked up in the City Guard's cells, where the officers began questioning them through the night. They needed to quickly pry information from the slavers to see if there were other accomplices lurking in Sedona City.

In one of the interrogation rooms, Scarface was tied to a chair. Across from him sat two individuals, one of whom he recognized as Ryan, the Deputy Commander of the City Guard.

"You must be brave, trying to kidnap people in Sedona City," Andrew said, glaring at Scarface. "Now talk—do you have any accomplices?"

Andrew despised slave traders more than anything—no, nearly everyone loathed slave traders, but beastkins harbored a special hatred.

"Heh… naive!" Scarface scoffed. Did they really think a few harsh words could scare him?

"You—" Andrew's eyes flared, and he stood abruptly. "Don't get cocky. This is the City Guard; you think you'll just walk out of here?"

"Trying to scare me?" Scarface's face darkened, his gaze fierce. "I was in the game long before you were playing in the mud."

Escaping? He'd done it before. If he could break out of the capital's high-security prison, he was confident this small city's jail wouldn't hold him for long.

"Damn you…" Andrew's arm muscles tensed, ready to give Scarface a few punches.

"Andrew, that's enough," Ryan said calmly, squinting at Scarface with a calculating look. He recalled a document the lord of the city had given him, which included methods for interrogating criminals and the "Ten Forbidden Tortures" for the most inhumane offenders.

Given the urgency to get information from the slavers, Ryan set aside any concern about being too harsh. If time weren't a factor, he knew that three or four days in solitary confinement would have Scarface talking.

"You're the leader of this slave-trading crew, aren't you?" A glint of insight flickered in Ryan's eyes.

"Yes," Scarface admitted without hesitation. That part wasn't a secret.

"I'm not sure how to convince you to share the information we need." Ryan sighed.

"Heh!" Scarface smirked, his eyes filled with pride.

"Then let me give you four choices," Ryan said, his expression neutral. "Choose one, and we won't pressure you further."

"Choices? Four choices?" Scarface looked puzzled but intrigued. Was this some kind of bribe? It'd take at least a dozen gold coins to get him talking, otherwise—forget it.

"The first option is simple: tell us everything you know, and you'll be given a chance at labor reform."

Ryan raised one finger, recalling the document's details on labor reform—typically hard labor in coal or iron mines, with terms of five, ten, or even twenty years.

"Not a chance!" Scarface rejected the option outright.

"I figured as much," Ryan nodded, the smile on his lips growing colder. "The second option involves bamboo—driven under your fingernails. And, of course, under your toenails as well."

Scarface's eyes went wide, staring at Ryan. A shiver ran through him as he remembered the agony of a splinter under his nail when he was young and working in the fields.

"The third option," Ryan continued calmly, his voice betraying none of the horrific nature of his words, "is a wooden stick. We'd start from… the rear end and drive it through until it exits from your mouth."

Ryan's hand trembled slightly under the table, though his expression remained composed. 

"Of course," He added with a chilling tone, "We have ways to ensure you don't die from it." 

In truth, he had no such methods—it was purely a bluff meant to rattle Scarface's nerves.

Scarface was drenched in cold sweat, his breath coming in quick gasps. The options laid out before him felt like a death sentence.

"The fourth choice, however, is quite… technical," Ryan said, his voice taking on a dark, chilling tone. "For this final option, we'll have a hunter choose any part of your body. Let's say your hand."

Leaning forward, Ryan's eyes widened menacingly as he continued, "With a small knife, we'd slice away at your flesh, each piece as thin as a hair, until, over the course of a day, your hand is reduced to nothing but bone."

"No, no, don't!" Scarface exclaimed, panic rising within him. What kind of twisted choices were these? Each one was more horrific than the last—especially the final option, watching his own arm being whittled down to a skeletal remnant.

"It's simple," Ryan pressed. "You need to make a choice now. Otherwise, we'll go through each of the three options in succession."

Ryan stood up, his expression icy. "Andrew, go prepare the 'City Guard massage' for him!"

"No, please… I choose, I choose the first one! I'll tell you everything!" Scarface's voice trembled as he hurriedly agreed.

"No, you're not required to say anything. I just want to see what those methods look like." Ryan said with a curious smirk.

Andrew couldn't help but twitch at the corner of his mouth, thinking that Deputy Commander Ryan truly had a sadistic sense of humor. The man was ready to spill everything, and yet Ryan still chose to keep the pressure on him.

"I'll talk! I'll tell you everything!" Scarface shouted in a panic as he looked at Andrew, who was preparing to act. "There are no accomplices in Sedona City! We come from the Black Tail organization, we're just peripheral members…"

Under Ryan's intimidating presence, Scarface spilled everything like a broken dam, answering every question without hesitation. It was as if he would even confess to wetting the bed as a child if asked.