"The warden's stepped out, and the head guard position is vacant — the new appointee's been delayed. Until both of them are back, consider me the highest authority in this facility. Step onto the platform."
The guard on the other side of the examination room's glass wall.
He put particular weight on the words highest authority.
I stepped onto the platform and read his badge.
Gerek Grid.
Heavy frame. A face that had gone soft with excess.
The same guard who'd stood by and watched the beating for a bribe.
Hmmm—
A ring of light rose from the platform and swept up my body. Results appeared on the monitor almost immediately.
[Internal Mana Concentration — 0%]
"Heard as much, but you really are a baseline. No mana at all."
Gerek flipped through the papers behind him; the guard standing at the rear stepped forward and took them.
"Wing One classification."
"Yes, sir."
"Now step outside. I need a word alone."
The guard saluted and disappeared through the door.
Gerek's voice dropped — low, almost conversational.
"A Blue Serpent officer doesn't get to that rank easily."
"..."
"Can't work mana, sure — but you must've been one hell of a fighter."
He wasn't entirely wrong.
Wars between syndicates were constant. Cain had survived them all on raw instinct, raw intellect, and a body pushed to its absolute limit. That was what eventually got him his officer's seat.
In pure combat power, he fell short of the mana-wielding officer candidates — but what Cain had instead was presence. The kind that made people fall in line without being asked. He'd never lacked for men who'd follow him anywhere.
"But in your current state, fighting's off the table. Life inside won't be gentle. Rough crowd in there — you experienced that much yourself, didn't you? People settling old scores from outside."
I met his gaze without expression.
I already knew where this was going.
"One thing we pride ourselves on here is prisoner welfare. Inmates get paid for labor. Save enough and you can book a private cell — room to yourself. Pricey and the stays run short, but still…"
I gave him nothing.
He cleared his throat.
"Anyway. If you happened to bring something in by accident — now would be a fine time to take it out. Or if you left something on the outside, well, that works too."
Long-winded, but the message was simple.
He wanted a bribe.
...Cain hated men like this most of all.
Uncorrupted civil servants were a rare breed in the Empire — starting from the Imperial House itself, which turned its back on everything beyond the wall. Cain's mother had died because of men like this, in a way. The syndicates had made her village a warzone, yes — but it was the district officials who'd taken money to look the other way.
"I have nothing to offer you, Officer."
The coldness in my voice came out without effort.
"Now, think carefully."
Unfortunately for him, I hadn't smuggled anything in — and I'd left nothing of value on the outside.
"A former officer. A man at your level wouldn't walk in here without some kind of contingency plan——"
The memory seated in my skull whispered.
Hit him. Slap that greedy bastard across the face right now.
Put him on the floor. Grind his head under your heel.
[Cold Reason] just barely kept the lid on.
I answered quietly.
"Nothing."
The corner of Gerek's mouth twitched.
* * *
Prisoner number 776.
Green prison uniform. Standard-issue supply pack. Two guards gripping my arms as they walked me out of the examination building.
I took it in through peripheral vision — pressing every detail into memory.
West side: mines and factories. East side: housing blocks. Guard towers — more than a few.
Beyond the outer wall stretching impossibly high, armed personnel moved throughout the grounds — reinforced suits, firearms.
"Don't get any ideas. You try something clever, we'll ventilate you."
One of the guards made sure I understood.
As we neared the housing block, noise came up fast — shouts, voices, the low hum of a crowd. Rec period, apparently. Out in the fenced yard, inmates moved with something resembling freedom.
"Fresh meat! Pretty face too. See you at exercise time!"
"So much for the big officer — look at him limping. What a joke."
"I could take him!"
A handful of inmates pressed themselves against the chain-link fence, rattling it, hurling jeers. The guard leveled his sidearm and they scattered instantly.
"This is where you'll be staying."
Wing One housed five buildings in total. The guards steered me toward one with a placard reading Section A.
Down the corridor. To the room at the end.
Twenty-odd rooms per building, clustered into a section — something like that.
"In you go."
Creak. A heavy iron door swung open.
Six beds. Stone floor.
At the far end — a narrow window barred with iron.
Five inmates. All eyes on me the moment the door opened.
"Igor."
"Sir."
The man sitting on the bed deepest in the room — reading what looked like a bible — rose slowly to his feet.
Broad. Muscular. Shaved head.
One look was enough to tell me who ran this room.
"New inmate. Walk him through the rules."
"Understood."
A smaller man scuttled over from the corner, rat-quick, and pressed a crumpled bill into the guard's hand. Then he shuffled awkwardly in place.
"Heh, heh — we'd like to do a little initiation. The room might get a bit loud for a moment——"
"Don't kill him. Last thing I need is noise while the warden's away."
"Yes, yes, of course. Not our first time, after all."
Creak.
The door shut. The guards were gone.
What came next was obvious.
Lunge—
They moved all at once.
Not a surprise — so no panic. I threw myself sideways. The combat instincts carved into Cain's body took over without asking.
"You little—!"
Slipping a strike.
"Get his arm!"
Driving a shoulder into someone's chest.
"Ugh—!"
Landing a clean punch with the left fist — the one with the intact tendon.
I gave everything I had.
But there was a ceiling to that.
Cain's martial arts were real, and they were serious — but not enough to take down this many with a broken body. Eventually both arms were pinned and my knees hit the floor. A kick landed in my gut almost before I'd stopped moving.
"...!"
I swallowed the noise. Sent my stare back toward the one who'd kicked me. He flinched.
I looked up.
Two men rolling on the floor holding their faces. And Igor, walking toward me. Unhurried.
He crouched down in front of me.
"Welcome, new blood. I'm Igor — room head, and Section A's acting floor captain."
The scar at the corner of Igor's mouth pulled upward with his smile, bending at a wrong angle.
One of the men still on the floor picked himself up, nursing his nose.
"Uh — Igor, sir. You're the vice-captain, not—"
Grab — crack—
Igor's massive hand seized the man by the face and drove him straight into the stone floor. Every other inmate in the room went pale.
"Jeffer. This idiot just said something stupid."
"Brilliant move, Igor sir!"
Igor raised a hand — one flat gesture — and the room went quiet. He looked back at me.
"The captain's in solitary. Hundred-day stretch. He won't be coming back in any condition worth worrying about."
Captain. Solitary.
Something clicked.
Seven characters of my own design existed somewhere in this prison — people I'd built with specific roles in mind for when the protagonist eventually came here. Among them, inmates.
Not the man in front of me — but still.
"...Kyptel?"
Igor's eyebrow moved.
"How do you know that name——" He stopped himself. "Guards must've said something. Anyway. Rules of this place — simple. Only two. First: do what the captain says."
"..."
"Second: follow rule one."
I almost laughed.
"So — obey you. You'd have been more convincing telling me to listen to the guards."
Igor grinned.
Then, without another word, he drove his fist into my stomach.
Thud.
Teeth clenched.
Nothing like the others. This had weight behind it — the kind that turned your insides. Cain's conditioned body was the only reason I was still upright.
"This place runs on strength. No strength means you take beatings and stay quiet about it. The guards are rotten — don't expect the rules to protect you."
The corner of my mouth pulled upward.
"So if I had the strength — I could put you halfway in the ground and that'd be fine?"
Igor stared at me for a moment, blank-faced.
Then he laughed like a man who'd lost his mind.
"Hah — hahaha — I like that. I genuinely like that. Let me tell you how to keep that sense of humor alive a little longer."
Snap.
At the click of his fingers, one of his men produced a small safe from somewhere. A narrow slot across the top — like a coin box. Padlock on the front.
"This prison pays wages for labor. Five thousand shillings a month. Pocket change compared to what you used to handle outside, but enough to buy things from the commissary. Specialty cells, sentence reduction tickets — they sell interesting things."
Five thousand shillings.
Roughly fifty thousand won. Call it thirty-five dollars.
"But none of that matters if you don't survive long enough to spend it."
"...Get to the point."
"Give me your wages. I'll keep you alive."
His eyes glittered with something uncomplicated and ugly.
Cain's voice from somewhere inside — money. These leeches. I'm so tired of them.
I pushed the surge down again.
"After all that, you're just talking nonsense."
"You're not the only one. Most of Section A pays me. Jeffer — what's the current rate?"
"Thirty percent, sir."
The one who'd had his face introduced to the floor moments ago. Still a mess — blood drying on his upper lip. The other men's expressions had shifted noticeably at the number.
Extortion with a thin coat of protection painted over it. Better to pay voluntarily than take a beating and lose it anyway.
"Right. Given how many people are after you — let's say eighty percent for you."
Hahahahaha—
The laugh slipped out before I could stop it. Igor and his men went still.
"He's lost it."
"Maybe he's just pitying himself? Used to be an officer, now he can't even use his legs properly?"
"Jeffer. Do you think eighty percent is too high?"
"No sir! Perfectly reasonable sir!"
"Good. I agree. Starting next month, eighty percent applies to you as well."
"Par— pardon?"
The conversation had stopped reaching me. Soaked through with Cain's memory and his feeling, I couldn't help but laugh.
The reason Cain had taken the syndicate's scouting offer without hesitation — it wasn't complicated.
He'd wanted to climb to the top and tear the organization apart from within.
A final objective, yes — to be executed only after wiping out every rival faction. But the goal had always been the same.
Either way, he'd dealt with this exact type of parasite countless times across his career. Faced them. Killed them. And here they were — heads high, running their mouths like they owned the room.
How could he not laugh.
Slap—
A hand came across my face. My head snapped sideways.
Copper on the tongue.
"Stop laughing and answer me. I like my laughing. Not other people's."
No deliberation needed.
[Indomitable Will] and Cain's natural grain — together they kept my head up.
Besides: reclaiming my strength wouldn't take long. A month at the outside. After that, this man would be kneeling at my feet. He could have his entertainment until then.
"No."
I spat the blood from my mouth directly into Igor's face.
Then I smiled — slow and thin.
"Wha — you—!"
His voice cracked with something almost like shock.
And the message chimed.
[Synchronization with 'Cain Libert' in progress.]
[Current synchronization rate — 67.5%]