Astonishing Immortal

The blazing furnace flickered with light, leaping like a passionate, exotic dancer. A group of gaunt men, women, and children huddled against the wall, pressed closely together on the ground. Every head was bowed, faces lowered, terror flickering in their eyes; some timid girls trembled uncontrollably.

In front of the fire, a man clad in silver robes lounged on a cane chair draped with bear fur. His pampered, fair skin was more delicate than that of many young maidens. He appeared barely past twenty, reclining with languid indifference, utterly unmoved by the cries of agony that occasionally pierced the room, and completely unbothered by the bloody spectacle unfolding on the table before him.

Upon the table lay a blood-soaked figure, limbs bound and fixed in place. The curves of her body betrayed her as a young girl, yet it was impossible to discern whether she was beautiful—her head and face were smeared with a mixture of blood and sweat. She bit her jaw tightly, struggling not to make a sound, but the sharp pain repeatedly broke her resolve, and each scream was met with a merciless lash upon her hips.

Beside the table stood a middle-aged man, past forty, his beard trailing down to his chest. He worked swiftly with his tools, plunging them into the girl's skin again and again. Whenever he paused, someone would rinse her back with water, momentarily washing away the blood, only for fresh crimson to well up from the open wounds.

Ordinary tattoos did not bleed so much, but this was the master's perverse pleasure—he wanted deep incisions,