The moment Felicia saw Baldy, she recognized him instantly as the sniper who had watched her from the seventh-floor balcony.

“Who sent you?”

She sat on the hospital bed, her face pale from blood loss, highlighting her dark, bright eyes. A fierce intensity burned within them.

Now, facing his imminent demise, Baldy understood his fate. He was going to die anyway, so he remained silent, turning his face away with a sneer. “Kill me quickly. I've dealt in death for years; if I feared it, I wouldn't be here.”

She rose, walked slowly toward him, bent down, and grasped his chin with her bandaged hand. A sharp crack echoed as she dislocated his jaw. Flipping her palm, she tossed a black pill into his mouth. Her voice was calm. “You won't die, but you'll wish you had.” A quick death was not an option.

She smiled faintly, patted his face, wiped her hands clean, and returned to the bed. He remained defiant, his expression cold and unafraid, even as the poison dissolved. He didn't flinch.

The nine men who had brought him in exchanged glances. The female mercenary stepped forward. “Little girl, since you're paying, I can help interrogate him if you want information.” She was confident that with various torture methods, he would break.

Before she finished, Baldy, still on the ground, suddenly raised his head. His face reddened, and he thrashed violently, his throat emitting rasping sounds as his body convulsed. It was as if he were being slaughtered. Several men couldn't restrain him. With incredible strength, he broke free, writhing on the floor in agony, tearing at his bonds and slamming into the floor with a deafening thud.

The impact was so forceful it shattered even his so-called "Iron Skull Technique." Blood spattered everywhere; the floor was nearly cracked. The mercenary and the others recoiled in shock, instinctively taking several steps back.

Baldy's condition was horrific; he couldn't even scream, only producing a horrifying wheezing sound, his face contorted in excruciating pain. He deeply regretted his choice. His torment was unimaginable—a sensation like countless bugs gnawing at his insides, an itch that penetrated his bones, far exceeding any physical pain. His head throbbed violently, his nerves felt stretched taut, threatening to split his skull open, yet his throat remained choked, trapping him in a silent hell.

Felicia watched calmly, her expression unwavering. Finally, he surrendered, crawling to her feet, banging his head against the ground. His words were broken, uneven. “I… I’ll talk… I’ll tell you everything…”

He was utterly broken. The shift from defiance to submission took less than three minutes. The nine men stared, stunned. Their gaze toward Felicia shifted, filled with awe. They were hardened mercenaries, accustomed to bloodshed, yet she remained far calmer and more composed than any of them.

She threw two silver needles, which landed on his shoulders. The pain subsided. Baldy, now limp as a fish, his pride gone, immediately began confessing everything he knew.

However, when asked about his employer, he replied, "I don't know. Are you sure?"