Inside the dungeon, the maid Maureen—or rather, the traitor Maureen—was chained to an iron rack, her body tightly bound by anti-magic iron shackles.

Suddenly, crisp footsteps echoed from outside the cell.

High heels struck the cold stone tiles, reverberating through the damp and gloomy prison cage.

*Creak—*

The prison door creaked open, and Maureen could only vaguely hear that familiar yet commanding voice giving orders to the guards stationed to surveil her.

"Stand guard outside. His Highness and I wish to interrogate her ourselves."

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

The guards obeyed and discarded the blood-stained whip they held, a subtle hint of the unfinished business they left behind.

Leon’s gaze lingered briefly on the whip, its surface drenched in crimson, evoking the agonizing screams that surely haunted these dungeon walls. Raising his eyes to Maureen, the sight of this woman—once a loyal servant, now so broken—resembled a statue amidst ruins. Once radiant and revered, now reduced to nothing more than weathered remnants marked by the erosive scars of betrayal. Her disheveled hair framed her pale cheeks, while the cold iron rack formed the backdrop of this portrait—a monument of treachery.

For a traitor, no one, no race, would extend forgiveness.

Traitors, these deceivers wrapped in familiar guises yet concealing cold, sharp blades, were perhaps never truly aware of the catastrophic consequences their clandestine betrayals would unleash.

Silent acts of betrayal often rob countless innocent lives in an instant, sometimes even demolishing peaceful homes entirely.

Leon had witnessed betrayal firsthand. He bore the brunt of the disastrous aftermath it caused.

Thus, his sympathy for traitors, spies, or moles had long been extinguished.

Oh, just to clarify, his lack of sympathy wasn’t in the sense of understanding the reasons behind their disloyalty, but rather, he felt no inclination to show them mercy.

That shift in perspective was largely thanks to Victor. When the latter’s betrayal was uncovered, Leon saw the act of questioning motives as nothing but a waste of time.

Which is why, before executing this sting operation against Maureen, he had assured Roswitha—there’s no need to understand what drives a traitor. Their motives are irrelevant.

Well, it seemed his faux wife had actually taken his words to heart.

“Shall we interrogate her together, or would you prefer me to handle it?”

Roswitha’s voice snapped Leon out of his thoughts.

He shifted his posture, leaning against the wooden table, arms crossed. “You do it.”

“Why? This is clearly your business.” Though Roswitha verbally protested, her demeanor didn’t reflect unequivocal refusal.

Leon chuckled. “You’re the official. Not only do you outrank me, but you’re better at handling these sort of matters.”

Roswitha rolled her eyes at him, her face showing mild annoyance, but also resignation. “Then learn properly while I work. You can’t always just be good at fighting wars.”

“Yes, yes, I’m learning! Go ahead, Melkevi, show me your expert skills.”

(Excuse me! This is a dungeon, not some venue for flirtation and romance!)

Roswitha turned slowly, lifting her gaze to Maureen bound to the iron frame.

“What tasks did Constantine assign to you?"

Only Maureen’s weak breathing responded.

“Other than reporting my exact due date, what other instructions did he give you?”

The lifeless traitor remained silent, her head bowed without so much as a hint of acknowledgment.

“Maureen, Constantine is dead. You have no reason to remain loyal to him. If you tell me what I need to know, I promise to let you leave this world quickly and painlessly.”

“Haah… haah…”

More threats followed, accompanied by rounds of questioning, yet Maureen kept her lips firmly sealed.

Roswitha was about to renew her interrogation when stifled snickers reached her ears from behind.

She turned slightly, narrowing her silver eyes at Leon. “What’s funny?”

“It’s nothing… I just remembered something joyous.”

“What joyous thing?”

“I’m here learning interrogation techniques from the Silver Dragon Queen, but despite half an hour of questioning, the subject hasn’t uttered a single word. Truly a masterclass in interrogation skills, Your Majesty.”

Roswitha glared at him disapprovingly, opting not to rebut. Instead, she replied with a calm and deliberate tone, “Idiot. Watch closely.”

Roswitha stepped forward, raising her hand to gently rest her palm against Maureen’s forehead.

Instantly, faint silvery glimmers sparkled to life, transforming into numerous stream-like substances that surged through the blood vessels beneath Maureen’s skin, merging into her brain.

Leon squinted, observing cautiously, only to realize that the veins illuminated weren’t ordinary blood vessels; they were Maureen’s magical circuits.

As Roswitha’s supernatural force commandeered Maureen's magic pathways, the latter began to exhibit involuntary resistance.

Yet, her hands and feet shackled by anti-magic chains left her powerless, relegated to fruitless struggles and guttural groans.

Undoubtedly, the process was painful, though not fatal.

Leon trusted Roswitha knew her limits.

Even if traitors deserved death, this wasn’t the time for it.

After about several minutes, Roswitha withdrew her hand and exhaled deeply in relief.

Only then did Leon break the silence. “You just used a memory-probing spell, didn’t you?”

Roswitha, still trying to catch her breath, glanced back briefly. “Affirmative.”

Leon spread his hands. “If it’s such a potent skill, why didn’t you employ it sooner, Your Majesty?”

“Because memory probing spells come with significant costs and restrictions.”

Roswitha tilted Maureen’s chin upwards, allowing Leon to clearly see her face.

Maureen’s expression was desolate; her eyes vacant, more hollow than before.

“Firstly, probing spells forcibly inject one’s strength into the target’s cranial magic circuits. This act inflicts irreversible brain damage. If no valid memories are retrieved during the process, the subject becomes useless for subsequent interrogation. That’s why this magic is reserved as a last resort.”

“Secondly…”

She retracted her hand, letting Maureen’s head slump forward once again.

Her complexion looked markedly worse as well.

Seeing her drained state, Leon opened his mouth briefly, hoping to express concern. Yet, when the words finally came, they were less sentimental. “It took a toll on your magic supply?”

Roswitha shook her head. “Because it was a rapid flashback spell to review the subject’s memories, I essentially endured every event Maureen experienced over the past few years within mere minutes.”

Leon pressed his lips tightly together. Awkwardly, he muttered, “Thank you for your hard work…”

Roswitha snorted softly. “Finally, the idiot utters something that’s pleasant to hear.”

Leon flushed, suddenly recalling his own teasing remarks about her interrogation skills earlier. But now, the mighty Silver Dragon Queen had gone above and beyond to extract key information despite the toll it took on her.

The perspective in his mind shifted dramatically.

Roswitha composed herself and revealed, “Constantine never disclosed anything about your identity as a human, which means—”

She paused briefly, realizing her phrasing might be inaccurate. Correcting herself hastily, she continued, “Which means you don’t have to worry about that factor anymore.”

Leon raised an eyebrow, sharply catching her quick amendment. “You were about to say ‘we don’t have to worry.’ Am I right?”

Roswitha: →_→

“Kasmod, the Silver Dragon Clan’s dungeon isn’t meant for you and me to— to...”

Roswitha intended to rebuke him further but faltered while searching for a precise term to describe Leon’s behavior.

Fortunately, General Leon—well-versed in literature, history, and military strategy—casually supplied the missing words for his beloved wife:

“…isn’t meant for us to flirt or bicker. I understand.”

"Go to hell," Roswitha snapped.

Since Maureen lacked knowledge of Leon’s human identity, the couple had no further tension to worry about.

After a moment of banter, Roswitha regained her serious tone, delivering one final crucial clue.

“Oh, by the way, during Maureen’s direct conversations with Constantine, their exchanges suggest… the Dragon King collaborating with the human Empire isn’t limited to Constantine himself.”