The Return of the Cannon Fodder Trillion Heiress - Chapter 745

Chapter 745: Chapter 745 Extracting Information 2
And yet, he was still alive. Still holding on. But for what?

Was it the faint hope of escape? A thirst for revenge? Or was it simply the primal, instinctive refusal to die? He didn’t know anymore.

All he knew was that the pain was unbearable.

And he wanted out.

Just then, Leo arrived. His sleek black leather shoes came to a stop just a step away from the man chained to the wall. The prisoner, his heavy eyelids barely lifting, noticed the polished black shoes through his blurry, pain-hazed vision.

These weren’t the blood-soaked boots of his tormentor.

For some reason—perhaps desperation, perhaps pure delusion—he felt a flicker of hope. A sliver of belief that the man standing before him might be his way out of this hell.

It felt like he had been in this torture room for an eternity. Every second stretched into unbearable agony, the pain so relentless that time itself lost meaning. But in reality, it had only been twenty minutes.

The torturer had been deliberate, methodical—dragging out the suffering, making each wound linger, each cut feel endless. He wasn’t just breaking the man’s body; he was dismantling his mind.

And now, as Leo stood before him, the prisoner’s fractured thoughts clung to one last, desperate hope.

Maybe, just maybe, this man was his way out.

This is exactly what the torturer intended—to make the man believe that Leo was his only way out, that his only choices were to comply or suffer a slow, excruciating death. The essence of torture lies in breaking a person down, making survival their sole focus.

Instinctively, humans cling to life, even when their rational mind warns them that something is terribly wrong.

Now, drowning in agony, his mind barely functioned. He knew he shouldn’t speak—the people behind him would surely kill him if he did. And yet, the desperate, primal urge to survive whispered otherwise.

If he talked, he might live a few more minutes, maybe even hours or days. If luck was on his side, he could escape, vanish to some remote island or an untraceable corner of the world. But if he stayed silent? Death was certain. And not just death—an unbearable, merciless end. And he knew it.

Even without Leo saying a word, the man was already scrambling for something—anything—he could offer in exchange for his life. His mind, clouded by pain and fear, wasn’t working rationally, but one thing was clear: Leo was the one in control.

His demeanor, his clothing, the way he carried himself—it all pointed to authority. And if Leo held the power, then survival hinged on pleasing him. Everything else could be figured out later—so long as he lived.

“S-Sir… Please… Anything… I’ll do anything… Just… spare my life…” the man gasped, his words slurred as he forced them out with what little strength he had left. Each syllable felt like fire tearing through his battered body, the pain in his face radiating with every breath.

His toes curled involuntarily, his body wracked with agony, but he couldn’t let it stop him—his only chance at survival was slipping away, and he had to seize it.

Desperation took hold as his gaze flickered to the man standing behind Leo, now gripping a pair of pincers. He didn’t need to ask what they were for—he already knew. His torturer was preparing to rip out his nails.

The mere thought sent a fresh wave of terror crashing over him, his body instinctively shrinking in on itself, his neck tucking in like a trembling quail caught in the storm.

Whatever resolve he had was shattered—he was nothing more than a pitiful, broken man, clinging to the last thread of hope.

“Then tell me—where is the perfume-based drug being manufactured? Where is it being distributed? Who is behind it, and how is it being transported? I want everything you know,” Leo demanded, his voice ice-cold, devoid of mercy.

The man’s breath hitched, his eyes widening in sheer horror. What Leo was asking of him wasn’t just dangerous—it was a death sentence. If he spoke, he would become the enemy of every syndicate, mafia, gang, and underworld figure connected to the operation. The realization sent his mind spiraling into panic.

He was trapped. On one side, the grim reaper pressed a scythe to his throat, and on the other, a bottomless abyss waited to consume him. No matter which path he chose, the outcome was the same—certain doom.

The weight of his fate crushed him, and before he could stop himself, hot tears slipped down his blood-streaked face.

Earlier, despite the unbearable pain, he had managed to hold back his tears, screaming and begging but never breaking into tears. But now—now, he couldn’t stop them. His tear glands betrayed him, and despair flooded his entire being.

Hopelessness clawed at his chest, but as he met Leo’s chilling gaze, a deeper terror took hold. The people who might come after him were ruthless, but Leo—Leo was something else. Something far more terrifying. Instinctively, he chose the lesser evil.

His body trembled as he slowly nodded, tears streaming down his face. “I-I’ll speak…” he rasped, his voice barely more than a whisper. His body slumped forward, the only thing keeping him upright was the cold, unforgiving chains that bound him in place.

Only then did Leo smile—a smile far more terrifying than his anger.

“Good choice. Otherwise, you’d die without even leaving a corpse behind…” His voice was cold, each word sinking deep into the prisoner’s bones like ice.

Leo cast the man one last, lingering glance before turning on his heel and walking out of the torture room. The prisoner shuddered violently, his body feeling hollow, as if all life had drained from him.

The torturer, seeing Leo leave, put down his tools. Instead, he retrieved a recorder, his expression unreadable as he began the interrogation. His job now was to extract every last piece of information before sending the recording to Leo.

Leo made his way to a lounge within the underground bunker, his mind preoccupied as he waited. He thought back to the Russian drug supplier he had dealt with before—the one he had assumed was solely responsible for the operation.

After the second drugging incident with Hera at her hotel, he had personally handled the supplier, acting on the intel provided by Hera’s people.

But now, he realized the waters ran far deeper than he had initially thought. The scale of this operation was much larger, and if he truly wanted control, he needed more power—enough to infiltrate the underworld and manipulate its key players from within. Only then would he feel secure in his own territory.

He needed to do this—no matter what it took—to ensure Hera’s safety at all costs. He once believed that money, reputation, and influence were enough to stand beside her and shield her from harm.

But reality had proven otherwise. If he wasn’t ruthless enough, if he didn’t eliminate her enemies before they could reach her, she would always be at risk.

If he had to become the villain, the shadow that handled the darkness so she could remain in the light, then so be it. As long as she was safe, he didn’t care what he had to become.

Leo exhaled slowly, his mind filled with images of Hera’s smile and the warmth of her voice. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the couch, letting those thoughts steady his resolve.

‘My queen, I’ll do anything for you… all to protect your laid-back nature and sweet smile,’ Leo thought as he drifted into a light sleep.

Exhaustion weighed heavily on him—he had been juggling countless responsibilities while away from Hera, and he missed her terribly. He longed for her touch, the warmth of her presence, and the feeling of holding her close.

But since he couldn’t be with her right now, he could only seek comfort in his dreams, where he could see her, feel her—if only for a fleeting moment.

Sleep had become a rare luxury for him these days, but he cherished these brief moments of rest. He had wanted nothing more than to stay by Hera’s side last night, to be with her as much as possible, but fate had other plans.

Chaos was brewing around them, and he had no choice but to step up—to clean up the mess before it reached her.

Although the men around Hera were powerful in their own right, Leo refused to rely solely on them. He understood that only by strengthening himself could he truly ensure Hera’s safety. Besides, those men—no matter how capable they are—could only ever be her knights, not her equal.

After all, he was meant to be the queen who protected the king.

Leo had already made his stance clear to the five men who remained by Hera’s side. They could be her concubines, but he alone was her queen.

And as a queen, his responsibilities were far greater—his battles more significant. The thought alone brought a rare, genuine smile to his otherwise cold expression.

If the other five could hear Leo’s thoughts, they would surely go berserk, challenging him for dominance. Yet, in reality, they had long since accepted that Leo stood above them.

Even without Hera explicitly saying it, they all knew—no matter how much she tried to treat them fairly and maintain a balance—she had a favorite. And that favorite was Leo.

Why she favored him didn’t matter anymore. As long as they could remain by her side, that was enough. Their feelings for her weren’t just fleeting infatuation, like moths drawn to a flame. They genuinely loved her. And because of that, they endured, accepting their place with quiet devotion.