The Poet's System
Chapter 80: Iron Maiden 2

Chapter 80: Iron Maiden 2

Daylan couldn’t see anything—only darkness—even though the cube had been transparent before. It was like all his abilities had vanished. He tried to activate Dark Spiral, to make it all stop, but even worse, his mind wouldn’t work, like it had been shut down, and he barely had the space to question why nothing was working.

The blades were slowly pushing forward, as if something inside him was forcing them out—but it never ended, each second bringing a new wave of pain to react to.

He kept screaming, tears streaming as he cried out in agony, but it was like he was trapped in the middle of nowhere. Even his screams came with their own pain, as the blade through his neck kept tormenting him with every slight movement. Suspended in the air, slightly tilted, he could see nothing—only the endless vacuum of darkness beneath him.

Not even his thoughts made sense, as the blade piercing through him continued to radiate an unbearable sound through his skull. To make it worse, the one lodged in his heart made him feel every broken, stuttering beat as it pulsed through his entire body.

He trembled in agony, trying to find even a sliver of solid ground to process the pain—but even that effort hurt, sending his temperature spiking by the minute. And yet, not a single drop of blood fell; all it did was torment him, inside and out.

He remained there for hours, never feeling hunger or fatigue—the torture never gave him enough time to process such things. All he knew was that he had to endure every ounce of pain, and that’s exactly what he did, even though he didn’t know why.

Before long, everything vanished, and he collapsed onto the floor. When he turned his head, he realized he was still in the training room. He couldn’t move a single muscle—he just lay there, panting slowly.

"Pain is the key to survival," Asaemon said as he walked forward. "You must either love it or hate it... so which one are you?"

He outstretched his arms, and Daylan felt those same tentacles from before begin to wrap around him, pulling him up—forcing him to stand. Yet, he had no strength left to stand, let alone resist.

"Your training isn’t over yet. You still have to defeat me."

The moment the words left his mouth, Daylan was slammed into the ground. Pain flared even worse as he gritted his teeth, dragging himself across the floor.

"I may be the smallest here," Asaemon said, "but I’m stronger than you. Not until you beat me."

The tentacles wrapped tightly around Daylan again, dragging him into midair.

"I am not the weakest!" he muttered, struggling to move—but all he could manage was a roll of his eyes and a shaky breath.

"Then defeat me," Asaemon said—and what followed was suffocation. Once again, Daylan felt himself drowning, sinking deep into an endless ocean.

The moment the suffocation ceased, he was slammed into the ground once more.

Asaemon glanced at him with glowing blue eyes as Daylan lay on the floor, looking more dead than alive. He watched for a moment, then returned with an apple and water—but this time, his eyes weren’t glowing.

He walked toward Daylan and sat beside him, feeding him the fruit. Even chewing and swallowing felt like walking through hell for Daylan—but he knew he needed to eat something.

"I’m sorry, but I have to. You need to understand— in your own way," Asaemon said, his voice gentle.

Daylan tilted his eyes to glance at him but stayed silent. As he thought it through, he realized they wanted to tell him something important—something he could only grasp if they gave him the time to process it.

"No," Asaemon said as Daylan’s expression darkened. His eyes flared back to a glowing blue, and what followed was a barrage of blows. Though his strikes barely touched Daylan—lighter than the day before, light enough to barely hurt a baby—there was no relief. Each hit came before Daylan could even process the last pain.

"All that matters is strength, and right now, you have none."

Blood splattered everywhere—trickling from his nose, pooling over his eyes—as he coughed it up, choking on the crimson flood.

This went on for hours. When Asaemon’s eyes glowed, he was no less than a monster. But whenever they dimmed, he became the most caring—feeding Daylan, wiping away his tears and blood.

Yet the moment Daylan dared to think of rest, Asaemon’s eyes flared again. By day’s end, Daylan was no different from a ragged towel, lying there breathing slowly, as if his lungs were being crushed.

It didn’t take long before Medora and Blind entered the room. Medora showed no sign of the care Daylan once knew—it was as if she wasn’t the Dora he grew up with. Her eyes, like Blind’s and Asaemon’s, burned with pure disdain.

In an instant, he was suspended midair, as if held by an enormous hand. Blind stepped forward and locked eyes with him.

"Wondering why Medora’s looking at you like that?" he smirked. "I already told you— in this world, strength solves everything. But you’re weak. So what use is she for you?"

He leaned in as Daylan stared down at his feet, his vision blurred as if seen through a red lens.

Blind whispered into his ear,

"Think about it—why do you think Princess Astara left you? Because you’re weak."

Daylan’s eyes widened, and Blind smirked.

[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]

Penalty: Iron Maiden Torture.

Daylan barely had time to react before the blade pierced his body again, just like before. What followed was a cube-like transparent metal enclosing him.

Medora and the others watched him from behind as his eyes stared into nothingness.

Though he screamed, they couldn’t hear a single sound.

"Are you sure this will work?" Medora asked, her body trembling—haunted by the fear that Daylan might die.

"It worked in theory, and when I tried it on Asaemon—so maybe. But it all depends on him," Blind said, staring directly at Daylan.

"You tried this on, Asaemon? But he’s just a child," Medora asked, confused and concerned.

Blind turned to Asaemon. "Do you really think he’s a child?"

"Then what is he?"

Asaemon grinned widely as Blind ruffled his hair.

"Have you considered how he’s strong enough to defeat his system—and yet still leaves no presence?"

Medora shook her head.

"He’s not a child... he just looks like one."

Medora looked confused, her eyes darting repeatedly between their faces. As she stood there, they began to walk out of the room. Taking one last glance at Daylan, Medora followed them out.

Daylan, however, continued staring deep into the darkness before him, seeing and hearing nothing. The pain felt fresh, like it was his first time enduring this torture.

Yet despite the unbearable agony and the relentless noise from the blade in his skull, he remained determined to make something out of nothing.

He knew Medora wouldn’t look at him that way—even if he was weak. That wasn’t something he had to question; it was a fact in his eyes.

This confirmed one thing: no matter what was happening, it was for his own good.

He just needed to understand what they were trying to tell him. Still, none of this made the torture any less excruciating, and his screams never ceased.

He endured it until morning, ready to face Asaemon once more. Asaemon began mercilessly attacking Daylan, then tended to him whenever his eyes dimmed—repeating almost the same words as the day before.

During the day, Pry and Medora visited. Medora stared at Daylan, her eyes unchanged from before.

"You promised my mother you’d protect me," she said, stepping closer.

"How can you do that when you’re weak in a world where only the strong survive?"

Her voice was cold and detached, the only words she spoke before walking away with Pry. Daylan’s heart pounded loudly beneath his chest as he tried to mutter something—at least the words, I will—but he didn’t have the strength to say them.

It didn’t take long before he was placed in the Iron Maiden. This time, his cries were louder than usual—not just from the pain and suffering, but because Medora’s words struck a painful truth.

The thought that he might fail to protect her, that she could die in his hands, crushed him. At that moment, Blind’s words about why Astara left felt all too real.

For the first time during his torture, he forced himself against the blades—but the more he struggled, the sharper the agony grew.

He fought for hours, desperate to prove he was strong enough to protect them. But eventually, the pain crushed his resolve, and he began to believe he was better off dead.

He stopped screaming and let the torture continue, though the pain was far from bearable. His fists clenched tightly and his teeth gritted as he endured everything thrown at him.

In that fleeting moment, he found a small serenity amid the chaos—though even that calm was no different from torture.

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