Courtyard Houses: Longevity Since the War of Resistance

The echoes of the ancient punishment still buzzed among the walls of the hall, like a swarm of invisible flies.

The methods of our ancestors have been used, and the experience must be unforgettable.

Now, it's time to try some Western snacks.

I stood in the center of the hall, my gaze sweeping over the limp bodies. The International Torture Chamber, opening today. Aren't you supposed to be civilized and scientific?

The gadgets invented by civilized people are just right for you.

Before Shiro Ishii, I was transformed into a guard of the ancient Roman Colosseum, dragging a heavy, spiked iron instrument called the Iron Maiden. This thing resembled a human coffin, its inner walls densely covered with iron spikes of varying lengths.

"I heard you like precise data," the voice echoed with a strange metallic tone, "This is very precise."

I grabbed Shiro Ishii, ignoring his feeble struggles, and shoved him inside the Iron Maiden. He faced inwards, his back to me. Then I slowly closed the spiked door.

The door closed very slowly. You could hear the sharp tips of the spikes pressing against the skin of his back, chest, and abdomen, followed by a soft "plop" sound as the skin was pierced by the pressure.

"Uh..." Shiro Ishii groaned.

The door slammed shut, and the internal mechanism caused all the spikes to simultaneously penetrate an inch deeper into his body. Hundreds of iron spikes were now deeply embedded in his torso and limbs.

He didn't die immediately. The iron spikes avoided most of the instantly fatal internal organs, but the wounds they caused were enormous, and the excruciating pain overwhelmed him like a tsunami. Blood began to drip from the opening beneath the Iron Maiden, following the grooves in the iron spikes, and soon pooled on the ground.

He let out a muffled scream from inside, as if his body was being suffocated. His body convulsed from the excruciating pain, but was pinned down by the iron spikes, making movement very difficult. He could clearly feel the coldness of each spike inside his body and the continuous sharp pain it caused, as well as the clear perception of his life slowly slipping away with his blood.

This is called the Iron Maiden's Embrace, a masterpiece of Nuremberg, Germany.

Before Kitano Masaji, I was transformed into an executioner monk of the Inquisition, with a peculiar device, the Judas Cradle, standing beside me.

This is a wooden pyramid-shaped pointed stool with the pointed top facing upwards.

"Doctor, sit down." My voice was cold and left no room for argument.

He was stripped naked and his hands were tied behind his back. Then "I" used a pulley to lift him up, adjusted his position, and positioned his buttocks so that they were aligned with the tip of the pyramid.

The moment he loosened his grip, all his weight fell onto that one point.

"Aww!!!"

An indescribable scream tore through the air in the hall as the pyramid's spire brutally pried open his buttocks, ripped open his rectal wall, and wedged deep into his body. His body stiffened and trembled like a pinned insect, every muscle tense from the extreme pain. The spire did not continue to descend to the bottom, but instead kept him suspended in this position.

Blood flowed down the wooden bench. He wanted to pass out, but the intense pain and humiliation kept him awake.

This is called the Kiss of Judah, a medieval European wisdom for dealing with heresy.

Before Tsuneshige Ikari, I transformed into a Spanish colonist, holding a specially made spoon—not for eating, but for gouging out eyes (Spanish Tickler). The edges of the spoon were sharpened to an exceptionally sharp point, with barbs at the tip.

I pinched his chin. "Now take a closer look at yourself."

Using the sharp edge of a spoon, I pressed it against his left eye socket. Then, steadily and firmly, I began to rotate and cut along the orbital bone.

"Ah!!! My eyes! My eyes!" Tsuneshige Ikari writhed frantically, but was held firmly down.

The sound of the spoon blade cutting through flesh and scraping against bone was sharp and clear. Soon, the connection between the eyeball and the surrounding tissue was severed. I used the barb at the tip of the spoon to hook the back of the eyeball and yanked it off sharply!

"Pfft."

A complete eyeball, still connected to the optic nerve and muscles, was gouged out alive and hung bloodily from the end of the spoon. Ikari Taisho's left eye socket had become a bloody black hole, from which blood gushed.

He could still see with his right eye, and he saw me holding up the still slightly trembling eyeball in front of him. The extreme pain and visual shock caused his body to convulse violently, and he lost control of his bladder.

This is called the Spanish fly, one of the tools used by colonists to promote civilization.

Before Masuda Tomosada, I was transformed into a local tyrant's executioner from somewhere in Southeast Asia, dragging over a huge earthenware urn with a narrow mouth. Beside it, a large pot of boiling, viscous coconut oil was simmering.

"Pathologist, let's change your research environment."

He was stuffed headfirst into the earthenware jar, leaving only his calves and feet sticking out. Then a spoonful of boiling coconut oil was scooped up and slowly poured over him, starting from the soles of his feet.

Tsk! ! !

The instant the boiling oil touched his skin, a loud bang and a scream erupted simultaneously. His feet were instantly torn open, covered in huge blisters, which then burst, revealing raw, rotting muscle underneath. The boiling oil flowed down his calves, and the scalded area continued to expand.

Spoon after spoonful. Boiling oil was poured over his calves, thighs, and finally his buttocks and part of his back exposed above the jar's opening. The air was thick with the strange stench of burnt flesh mixed with coconut oil. He let out muffled, dying moans inside the jar, his body writhing hopelessly in the confined space.

This is called "cooking in an earthenware jar," a traditional Siamese way of hospitality.

Before Yoshimura Hisato, I transformed into a pirate, holding several thick iron shovels with red-hot tips, and a pair of rusty but sturdy pliers.

"Frostbite research? Let's look at the effects of burns on nerves first."

He was tied to a wooden frame, and I used a red-hot iron to directly brand his fingertips and toes. The fingers are connected to the heart, and so are the toes. Each touch of the iron was accompanied by a hissing sound, a burnt smell, and his distorted screams.

Then he picked up the pliers, grabbed one of his half-burnt fingernails, and yanked it out!

"what!"

The fingernails, along with the tender flesh of the nail bed, were torn off in a bloody process. One finger, then the next... all ten fingernails were pulled out one by one, leaving only mangled, rotten flesh at the fingertips.

That wasn't all. I then used a red-hot thin iron shovel to stab it hard into the exposed nail bed after his fingernail was pulled off, all the way down to the finger bone!

"Uh... Hehe..."

Yoshimura Hisato could no longer utter a complete sound. His body was soaked in sweat, blood, and incontinent urine, as if he had just been pulled out of the water. His eyes were unfocused, and only his body was trembling violently and instinctively.

This is called a pirate's manicure, a little entertainment in the Caribbean.

In the hall, I transformed into an executioner from different civilizations and eras, performing infamous exotic tortures.

Some people were strapped into a rack, and their limbs were slowly stretched in different directions, causing their joints to groan under the strain, eventually leading to dislocations and torn ligaments.

Some people were fitted with a pear-shaped opening device ("Pear of Anguish"), which was inserted into their lower body or mouth. The executioner would then turn the mechanism, causing the metal pear to split into several petals and cruelly tear the body cavity from the inside.

People were placed inside the Brazen Bull, with firewood lit underneath. The bull was heated, and the people inside were roasted alive and suffocated. Their screams were transmitted through specially made pipes, turning into sounds similar to the roar of a bull—a cruel kind of "music."

Some people suffered scaphism, being tied between two small boats, with their exposed parts smeared with honey and milk to attract insects and parasites to feed on them, dying in prolonged agony and infection.

Some people are impaled, with a long wooden stake inserted into their buttocks, the tip of the stake exiting through their mouth or shoulder, and then the stake is erected. Under the influence of gravity, the stake slowly sinks, penetrating the entire torso. The death process can last for hours or even days.

……

Finally, when Shiro Ishii bled to death inside the Iron Maiden, when Masaji Kitano on the Judas Cradle fainted completely from blood loss and excruciating pain, when Tsuneshige Ikari lost his second eyeball, when Tomosada Masuda's body was scalded to a crisp in the urn, when Hisato Yoshimura's ten fingers were reduced to rotten flesh and bones... when everyone reached the brink of collapse and death.

I stopped, time reversed, and the Japanese soldier lay back in the same spot, completely unharmed.

"Alright, wake up, everyone."

Nobody paid any attention to me. Shiro Ishii's eyes twitched slightly, then remained fixed.

I cleared my throat and raised my voice slightly: "Um... everyone, that round just now was like an international expo, giving you all a glimpse into the world. However..."

I paused, looked around at the dejected fellows, and said with a hint of regret, "To be honest, I wasn't in top form today. I didn't perform well on several of my classic moves. For example, with Iron Maiden, the penetration depth could have been half an inch more precise, which would have increased the peak pain by at least 30%. And with Cradle of Judah, the descent speed was controlled a bit too quickly, so you didn't fully experience that delicate feeling of 'slowly sinking in'."

I walked over to Kitano Seiji and gently nudged his limp arm with my toe: "Especially for you, doctor, the temperature of that copper pillar wasn't ideal. It should have been heated to incandescence, and it should have carbonized instantly when branded. You're only half-cooked. The texture... no, the level of pain is a bit lacking."

I glanced at Tsuneshige Ikari again and shook my head: "The Spanish fly technique was too rough. They should have stirred it around the optic nerve a couple more times; that would have provided a longer-lasting stimulation. And that pot cooking... the oil temperature control was..."

I listed them off one by one, speaking quite seriously, like a chef critiquing a dish he didn't do well.

"How about... we do it again? This time I promise, I'll go all out according to the original standards of each country, giving you all the most authentic and genuine international flair. What do you say?"

My voice echoed in the hall.

"Then let's," I said, cracking my wrists and widening my smile, "begin?"