Crater Lake Prison, Cafeteria
"You're telling me I just won 45 contribution points, and I still have to participate in the upcoming Blood Moon Trial?!"
Ash froze mid-bite, staring at his tray in disbelief. "Didn't you say that the higher your contribution points, the further down the trial sequence you are?"
"That's correct," Ronal said casually, sipping his milk. "But there's a catch—every prisoner must attend their first Blood Moon Trial. Only a rare few escape this requirement due to special pardons."
"And what happens if I die in my first trial?"
"Well, if you're that worried, you could always throw a fake fight with me and hand over your contribution points."
"In your dreams!" Ash retorted. After a moment, he frowned. "Wait, didn't you say only one person dies in each trial?"
"Yes, eight participants, one death per trial," Ronal confirmed. "That's a 12.5% chance of dying—not too bad, generally speaking."
"But am I 'general'?" Ash snapped. "I'm the so-called head of a cult, remember? Kidnapping, murder, blood sacrifices… At least a thousand people were victims because of me—or rather, because of him. Thanks to that, my face is practically the cover story for public outrage. Let me guess, they'll put me in the spotlight for the trial, won't they?"
Damn it, Heath! Ash silently cursed the former owner of this body. Why couldn't you just run a pyramid scheme or something? Instead, you went full-on supervillain! Even loan sharks don't inspire this level of hatred.
"How about it?" Ronal teased. "Still feeling confident? If not, you could give me your contribution points. I promise to honor your sacrifice by living happily ever after with my boyfriend."
"Get lost!" Ash huffed. "Who knows? I might actually survive. I'm not giving up just yet."
"Suit yourself." Ronal shrugged, unfazed. "Anyway, someone wants to challenge you. Care to accept?"
Ash squinted at him. "So that's why you've been waiting for me here?"
"Bingo." Ronal leaned forward, smirking. "Take a look at how many points they're wagering: 37 points."
Ash's eyes narrowed. "So, someone who's already fought 36 matches is challenging me? Just so you know, I'm only betting 2 points in this match. Doesn't sound like a fair trade, does it?"
"Exactly why I came to tell you," Ronal replied. "Usually, it's rookies who challenge veterans to try their luck. Veterans rarely bother with newcomers unless they've gone through at least five matches. If they challenge too early, the risk outweighs the reward.
"But for a seasoned fighter to target you specifically? That's… interesting. I couldn't help but wonder if there's some history between you two."
"Who is it?"
"Valcas Uhl."
Ash blinked. "Never heard of him."
"Schilling Dor."
"What?"
Ronal waved him off. "Never mind, just someone I was reminded of. So, are you accepting Valcas's challenge?"
"What weapon does he use?"
"Sword."
Ash glanced sideways, catching sight of the swordswoman perched on the edge of a nearby table. She sat with one leg crossed over the other, arms folded across her chest, watching him silently. The black stockings covering her legs practically gleamed under the cafeteria lights.
"Got a good look, peeping tom?" the swordswoman muttered coldly.
"Sorry," Ash muttered before shamelessly turning his gaze back to her legs. A sudden thought crossed his mind: Wait, if she can touch me, can I touch her? Huh… Swordswoman, make sure to wash—
Shing!
Her ornate sword slid halfway out of its sheath, the blade catching the light menacingly.
Ash immediately straightened up, turning back to Ronal. "Tell Valcas to clean his neck and wait for me tomorrow."
"Then tomorrow morning at the fight club it is," Ronal said with a grin, standing to leave. "I won't keep you from your meal any longer. My boyfriend's waiting for me. See you around."
Ash watched as Ronal disappeared into the distance, his departure path notably leading toward the fight club rather than the couples' quarters. Maybe there's a late-night duel going on. Hope the medics don't end up working overtime, Ash thought.
"Back to your cell," the swordswoman commanded, hopping off the table gracefully. "We've got a busy night ahead. I'm going to show you a world you've never known."
Ash flushed angrily. What does she mean by that? Do I look like a virgin to her?
Her words felt like a challenge to his pride. He clenched his fists, ready to fire back—
"Well?"
"Coming~!"
8:45 PM, Fight Club
In the dim, empty arena, Ronal stood next to a wiry middle-aged man who stared down at the bloodstained ring.
"Ash agreed to your challenge," Ronal said. "Though not because of the name you gave me. He was more interested in facing a swordsman. When I told him you fought with a blade, he didn't hesitate."
"Thank you. Consider this a debt repaid," the man said quietly.
"You could repay me now, Valcas. Tell me why you're so interested in Ash. Does it have to do with the name Schilling Dor?"
Valcas's sharp features twisted into a faint smirk. "I don't mind explaining—if you're prepared to regret asking."
"On second thought, I'm good," Ronal replied quickly. "I'm content with my boyfriend and my life. No need to get caught up in the affairs of big players."
Valcas scoffed but said nothing more, his attention drifting back to the arena.
In the center of the ring, something moved—a pitiful, writhing form. Its weak cries echoed faintly in the vast chamber, but no one responded. To Valcas, it was nothing more than meat.
Prison Hallways
Valcas walked alone, his footsteps echoing through the sterile corridors. Every inmate and guard he passed instinctively veered away, their faces averted.
Even new prisoners couldn't hide their reactions, their eyes darting to Valcas's pointed ears with thinly veiled derision.
When Valcas reached his cell, a guard was waiting outside.
"Ash has accepted the duel," Valcas said, opening his door.
"Ensure his brain, heart, and spine are irreparably damaged," the guard said coldly. "Make it so even a two-winged medic can't save him."
"I'll do my part," Valcas replied flatly. "What about your end of the deal?"
"As soon as Ash dies in the arena tomorrow, you'll disappear from this prison after the next Blood Moon Trial," the guard promised. "But you and the child must leave the city of Caimon. That's Mr. Schilling's condition."
"I have no interest in breathing the same air as Schilling any longer." Valcas's face darkened with contempt.
"Free time is almost over. Get back inside," the guard barked.
Valcas hesitated briefly, then stepped into his cell without another word. The automated door slid shut behind him.
The guard turned and walked away, a cruel smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"A lowly elf death-row inmate, still clinging to his noble airs... Pathetic."