In the afternoon, just as Ethan had recovered from his wounds, a group of knights burst into his room with a thunderous sound, collapsing the door. The wood splintered, and dust filled the air, making it hard to breathe.
Their armor clanked as they advanced, their boots leaving muddy prints on the floor. The leading knight, a stern-faced man with a scar across his cheek, pointed his sword at Ethan. "Murderer," he barked, "get down. You're charged with killing innocent civilians. Don't resist!"
All the knights had drawn their swords, the tips of the blades shining with cruel light. Their expressions were grim, as if he were some kind of heinous criminal. Ethan glanced around, bewildered. When had he murdered civilians? That was utter nonsense! There must be some conspiracy involved.
Nonetheless, for now, he complied, lowering himself to the ground. The cold stone floor pressed against his knees, and he felt the weight of their judgment. These weren't ordinary knights—they were high-level hunters, skilled in combat and relentless in their pursuit of justice.
Aunt Greta was also behind them. The scene unfolded like a twisted plot. Aunt Greta's desperate pleas fell on deaf ears as the knights remained resolute. Their cold eyes bore into Ethan, and he wondered how he'd become the target of such wrath.
The strange belt they used for handcuffs puzzled him. Why not regular metal cuffs? But then it hit him—the belt suppressed his ability to wield Mana. He was completely trapped, powerless.
They dragged him out of his room, the rough stone floor scraping against his knees. The cage they threw him into felt like a coffin, its iron bars closing in around him. As they moved through the streets, curious onlookers watched—their expressions a mix of fascination and disdain.
Rotten tomatoes and rocks flew his way, each impact a reminder of his supposed crimes. Ethan kept his head low, avoiding eye contact, while his mind raced. How had he ended up here? His foolishness, perhaps—he should have accepted Aria's help earlier.
Now, as the prison loomed ahead, he regretted that decision.
The imposing prison loomed before him, its massive walls stretching in all directions. The sheer size of the place—over 5,000 square meters—left him awestruck. It was a fortress designed to contain the most dangerous of criminals.
As Ethan stepped through the prison gate, his belongings were swiftly confiscated. Well, when he said "belongings," he really meant his Titanium Sword—the one thing they deemed too dangerous to allow.
At least they let him keep his clothes; he half-expected them to force him into some scratchy prison uniform.
But there was no time for wardrobe complaints. The guards hustled him into a dim cellar, their laughter echoing off the cold stone walls.
"Now, rot in here, you vile murderer," one of them sneered, the sound dripping with malice. They reveled in his misfortune.
The cellar was completely dark, with no means of perception. "Is this how a real prison looks like?" he wondered.
"Hello, anybody here?" he shouted to see if anyone was inside the cellar other than him.
The dim cellar seemed to close in around him as he shouted into the darkness, hoping for a response. And respond it did—a venomous, angry voice that cut through the air like a blade.
"Hey, motherf*cker! Why are you being a shouting ass? We're all here, stupid. Now shut the hell up, or I'll send you straight to hell." The words reverberated off the stone walls, and Ethan shrank back, realizing he was far from alone.
These weren't just ordinary prisoners; they sounded vile and vicious.
Ethan surveyed his surroundings, seeking a corner away from the menacing voices. As he settled down, relief washed over him—they hadn't tried anything funny with him yet.
But then, a new voice, closer this time, startled him. "Hey, boy, why are you here? What crime offense did you commit?" The question hung in the air, leaving him startled.
"Who is there?"
"Hehe, relax, boy. I am your neighbor." A chuckle was followed by a creepy smile.
The chuckle from his neighbor echoed in the dim cellar, and Ethan squinted to make out his features. A skinny old man, shirtless, with a face etched by time and hardship.
"So tell me," he probed, "What's your case?"
Ethan hesitated, then decided to share. "I killed a robber for protecting what's belongs to mine. What's it to you, old man?"
His eyes glinted, and he leaned in. "Oh, nothing. But your work was justifiable, not like some disgusting rapists here."
He gestured toward the other prisoners, their shadows dancing on the walls. "Be careful of them—they're the real criminals with twisted morality. They hadn't even spared the kids from their rotten grasps. Disgusting!"
"I understand. But why are you here, old man?" Ethan asked, curious to know the answer.
The old man came close and said creepily, "Because I ate people!" He revealed his bloody teeth.
The old man's revelation hit Ethan like a punch to the gut. "Because I ate people!" His bloody teeth gleamed in the dim light, and Ethan's mind recoiled at the thought.
"Eating humans?" he stammered, his stomach churning. The mere possibility of such an act made him want to retch, but he forced the nausea down.
Just moments ago, Ethan thought the old man must be somekind Saint from his righteous speech, but now his true nature was revealed as he unleashed a menacing aura, making Ethan question everything he had assumed about him.
"Hehe!" The old man's laughter grated on Ethan's nerves, as if he found his discomfort amusing.
But then, a deeper voice cut through the tension. "Hey, you old coot, why are you laughing again? Don't you want us to have some peace in here?" Annoyance dripped from his words.
His underlings chimed in, their voices hushed. "Boss, don't provoke that old man. He was doing some strange stuff ever since he was transferred here. He's really creepy."
The boss's anger flared. "Creepy? Creepy my ass! Are we going to be scared of an old man now? We haven't fallen that low yet. Old coot," he hissed, "if I ever hear you making noise, I'll silence you forever."
The old man's smile didn't wane; instead, it grew more sinister. His aura sent shivers down Ethan's spine.
The night dragged on, and no help arrived. Regret gnawed at him—he should've accepted Aria's offer. But now, alone in this cell, he wondered if she'd ever come to his aid.
Sighing, he realized pride had led him astray. Perhaps it was time to swallow that pride and seek help, even from unlikely sources.