As Hotrassi lay there pretending to be dead, hoping to survive until Night left, footsteps approached.
Then, he heard the familiar voice of the devil himself.
Night said casually,
"Look at this… seems there's still a noble left alive here. Can someone help me wake him up?"
At his command, several excited retired soldiers eagerly stepped forward to respond.
After all, they had been completely won over by Night's power and were now eager to impress him.
Night selected one soldier at random and ordered, "Start with ten lashes."
"If he faints again, give him another ten. Focus on the most sensitive parts of the body. Hit him where it hurts the most."
The soldier's face lit up with excitement at the prospect.
He had never in his life had the chance to whip a noble, ah, what a rare opportunity this was.
Sensitive spots, painful places?
While the soldier wasn't sure where these might be on a woman, when it came to men—
His gaze instinctively fell towards the sensitivity.
At that moment, lying on the ground, Hotrassi's heart seized with panic.
His little brother suddenly felt a cold chill, and he peeked through barely opened eyes to see the large, grinning soldier staring at his crotch with a whip in hand.
!!!!!
Stop—!
Hotrassi realized he couldn't keep up the charade any longer.
This was a nightmare—his enemy was a devil!
Suddenly, he scrambled up, not daring to fully stand, and cried out in terror to Lista Night,
"Stop! Call him off!
I surrender!! I surrender!"
However, his plea came too late—smack!
As soon as he stood, the soldier's whip lashed out, landing squarely on Hotrassi's groin.
"Ahhhhh!!"
A scream, like a pig being slaughtered, echoed across the
square.
The Roman citizens watching couldn't help but wince, feeling a chill run down their spines.
Damn!
That was horrifying.
What man could endure such an attack?
"Ah! Damn you! You filthy peasant!" Hotrassi cursed in agony.
"Peasant, is it?" Night's face darkened. "Keep whipping."
Enraged by the insult, the retired soldier's expression hardened, and he tightened his grip on the whip.
Having endured decades of military life, these veterans had no patience for such insults, especially after years of scraping by in the streets of Rome.
In these harsh times, even as a lowly thug, you needed to be ruthless to survive.
With Lista Night leading them, the retired soldiers felt free to unleash their full fury.
Smack!
"Ah…! Ahh, I'll kill you! My… my balls!" Hotrassi screamed.
Smack!
"Ahhhhh! The Senate won't spare you! You're all going to die... You'll pay for this with your lives!"
Smack!
"——!!!
Awoooo!"
Smack!!!
Another vicious strike fell, and the onlookers swore they heard a *crack* as if something fragile had shattered.
Finally—the man collapsed, unable to endure any longer.
His earlier bravado was gone within moments as he broke down in tears, snot dripping from his face.
"Stop! Please, no more! It hurts too much, I beg you!
If this continues, I won't ever be able to use... my weapon again!"
he cried out, trembling in pain.
The excruciating agony made him realize how hopeless the situation was.
The strikes were always aimed precisely at his most sensitive area, causing unbearable pain.
At that moment, all sense of noble pride vanished as Hotrassi, a young aristocrat, knelt before a mere commoner, pleading for mercy.
What could be more humiliating?
But faced with physical torment, he had no choice but to yield.
Unlike hardened soldiers or strong slaves, his pampered body had never been tested by the brutalities of the battlefield.
His delicate skin couldn't endure the lashes.
Especially the constant targeting of his most vulnerable part.
After all, even a hero would struggle to endure such a blow, and no amount of physical training could prepare a man for that kind of pain.
Yet—
Although he had surrendered, and the retired soldier paused to look toward Night for further instruction, the latter's next words chilled Hotrassi to the bone:
"The ten lashes aren't done yet. Why are you stopping? Continue!"
'W-What?!' Hotrassi's mind raced in panic.
'Are you even human?! I've already surrendered, and you still want to keep whipping me?'
As he glanced at the soldier—who was at first stunned but then smiled with perverse excitement—he let out a scream and immediately
passed out from the fear.
However, another whip cracked through the air, landing with a loud smack on his already broken body.
With an even more painful, bloodcurdling cry, Hotrassi's bloodshot eyes snapped open.
In a weakened, desperate voice,
he screamed hysterically,
"I—I can help you!
I can tell you anything you want to know, any information! Just stop… Please stop! I'm still useful!"
As soon as those words left his mouth, Night raised his hand, signaling the soldier to halt the whipping.
Though Night was ruthless in battle, he wasn't someone who enjoyed torturing people.
If someone was an enemy, he preferred a swift kill, sending them to meet their fate.
But—
Whenever he thought about the actions of these people in history, he felt completely justified in tormenting them.
Historically, when Tiberius Gracchus sought to continue his reforms by running for reelection as Tribune, he persuaded a large number of citizens to support him.
He promised to shorten military service, strip the Senate of its right to serve as jurors, and grant Roman citizenship to allies.
Many citizens even brought clubs to protect him.
Tiberius himself wore mourning clothes, preparing to die if his reforms failed.
And his foresight proved correct!
On the day of the election, Tiberius was betrayed by his cousin, Publius Scipio Nasica, a former Roman consul and the current high priest.
With immense influence, Publius accused Tiberius of having ambitions to become king, to seize the Roman crown.
The Senate, spurred by his accusations, stormed the election site on Capitol Hill with their private soldiers.
They attacked and killed anyone they saw with Tiberius, and Tiberius himself was beaten to death by the Senate.
The assembly was forced to end.
In total, over 300 of Tiberius's supporters, including those outside the gathering, were slaughtered.
Their bodies were thrown into the Tiber River, and their families were
not allowed to retrieve them.
The Senate later purged reformists, exiling or executing them.
Even though some of Tiberius's policies were later implemented, the Gracchi brothers were forever branded as criminals of Rome, forever shamed.
The Senate continued to benefit from Tiberius's laws while denying the justice of his cause, preventing people from even commemorating him with statues.
The Roman Senate was capable of committing such shameful acts.
Though it was impossible to say whether all Roman nobles were wicked, the ones involved in this current treachery, especially those repeating history's crimes, were without a doubt the worst.
Perhaps this very guy standing before him was one of those who would have done the same in history.
Thinking this, Night almost felt like whipping him a few more times.