"I'll have some toast, a glass of milk... and, uh, what's that? Braised Lala Fat? Sure, one of those too."
Ash carried his tray and sat down, letting his eyes roam over the dining area.
Among the prisoners clad in their standard-issue uniforms were several wardens, casually eating alongside them. This prison didn't seem to emphasize hierarchy. Wardens and inmates coexisted on equal footing—or so it appeared. The wardens paid little attention to the prisoners, and the prisoners, in turn, refrained from provoking them. Together, they seemed to maintain a harmonious penitentiary ecosystem.
Ash could understand the wardens slacking off—human nature and all—but why weren't the prisoners causing trouble? After all, weren't criminals supposed to be a rowdy bunch? Or was Ash just projecting his own stupidity as a cult leader dumb enough to get caught by a few local hunters?
"So why don't the prisoners mess with the wardens, you ask?"
The Sword Maiden appeared beside him, poking curiously at his braised Lala Fat with a finger. "Because their chips are locked, obviously."
She gestured vaguely to the prisoners. "Every nerve and every bone in their bodies is shackled by these chips. No fighting, no cursing, no self-harm. That's why this place feels so... free. Even the posters say 'Building a Civilized Prison,' and they've got pictures of death row inmates smiling alongside school kids. Apparently, they bring students here for field trips sometimes."
Ash instinctively touched the back of his neck, eyes wide. "So it's like having a bomb in my neck..."
"Could you not shout that so loudly?" The Sword Maiden nodded toward the prisoners and wardens who were now glancing in his direction.
Ash quickly shoved a piece of toast into his mouth to muffle himself. "So as long as I have this chip, escape is impossible, right? It probably has a tracking function too!"
"Not just tracking," she said with a shrug. "If they wanted to, they could send a jolt strong enough to stop your heart. So, yes, you're correct: escape is theoretically impossible. Even trying to dig a tunnel with a spoon would trigger the chip to stop you for 'vandalizing property.'"
"Theoretically impossible? What about in practice?" Ash sipped his surprisingly sweet milk, hope flickering in his eyes.
"In practice? Still impossible." The Sword Maiden rolled her eyes. "I'm not from here—how would I know?"
"Then where'd all that info you just spouted come from?"
"Your onboard files." She smirked. "I found a document titled Fragmented Lake Prison Encyclopedia and skimmed through it while you were busy stuffing your face."
Ash blinked, suddenly wary. Great. She has access to my files. There go my plans to check out any... questionable sites in this world.
"I can't help you escape," she said flatly. "But if you want to get stronger, I might have a few suggestions. For starters, find someone to fight. There's no better way to learn than through combat, wouldn't you agree, Observer?"
"Wait, if prisoners can't attack each other, how am I supposed to fight anyone?" Ash finally realized that the prison's chip system fundamentally prevented even a single punch from being thrown.
"Why is everything my problem?" the Sword Maiden sneered. "Am I the one trying to escape here? What's next? You need me to spoon-feed you breakfast too?"
"Mom! Grandma!"
"Die." She flicked his forehead with surprising force, leaving him rubbing the sore spot. How is she not real, but that still hurts so much...
Spotting the bald, tattooed guy from earlier sipping a glass of milk, Ash felt a surge of boldness now that he knew no one could hit him back. Without hesitation, he marched over and sat across from the man.
"Hi, I'm Ash. What's your name?"
"Hi, Ash. I have a boyfriend," the man replied cheerfully.
Ash froze, his mind blanking. He felt the weight of every nearby gaze, from prisoners to wardens, as they turned to stare. Scrambling to explain, he waved his hands. "No, no, that's not what I meant! I just wanted to ask you something!"
"I understand, I really do," the man nodded sympathetically. "It must be so awkward for you, hitting on someone only to find out they're taken. But my love for my boyfriend is pure and unwavering, so I have to set boundaries. Don't feel bad, Ash—you're a good guy. I'm sure you'll find love someday."
"I'm not—this isn't—ugh, never mind!" Ash groaned.
"Go ahead, ask your question." The man's expression was encouraging. "There's no need to be shy. Rejection is a normal part of life. If you need time to think of a question to cover your embarrassment, I can wait. But honestly, Ash, your method of getting my attention—knocking over my milk? So juvenile."
Ash was speechless, completely cornered by the man's relentless misinterpretation. Resigning himself to the situation, he sighed. "I just want to know—how can I get into a fight around here?"
The bald man blinked, then recognition lit his face. "Ah, you're new here, aren't you? Wait a second—you're that guy from the news! The Four Pillar Cult leader!"
Ash winced. "Uh, yeah, that's me..."
"Hmm... If I didn't have a boyfriend, maybe I'd give you a shot—"
Ash slapped the table, ready to storm off, but the man's next words stopped him.
"If you're looking for a way to stretch your muscles, you've come to the right person. Oh, by the way, I'm Ronna, a member of the Deathmatch Society."
"The what?"
"Because of the chips, we can't hurt each other under normal circumstances. But with the warden's permission, the Deathmatch Society has a loophole. During a sanctioned deathmatch, the chip's restrictions are temporarily lifted. It's a special privilege for members of the society."
Ash's eyebrows shot up. "The prison actually allows that? That's... surprisingly accommodating."
Ronna shook his head. "There's a catch, though. The biggest one is in the name itself."
"Deathmatch?"
"Exactly." Ronna finished his milk and licked his lips clean, his gaze steady.
"If you enter a deathmatch, it doesn't end until one of you is dead. A deathmatch only ends in death."
Ash blinked. "But... wouldn't the prison stop us? Isn't killing strictly prohibited?"
"Killing isn't the same as death." Ronna chuckled. "The deathmatch arena is right next to the medical wing. As long as the body's intact and brought there within five minutes, they can revive you. Whether you walk away whole or not, though, is another matter."
"And if someone does die permanently?"
Ronna leaned back, his tone indifferent. "The prison doesn't care. Because everyone here is going to die anyway."
Ash frowned at the cryptic phrasing. "Well, yeah. Everyone dies eventually—"
"No, I mean here." Ronna's calm voice cut through the air like a blade. "Every inmate in Fragmented Lake Prison is on death row. No appeals, no escape. Permanent political exile.
"You can eat well, sleep well, train your body, watch movies, even play games. But the one thing you can't do is avoid your fate. No one leaves this place alive.
"Because in the end, we all face the same destiny: the Blood Moon Trial. Under the eyes of the world, we will die—horribly."