Lakebreak Prison, Treatment Room.
"So if I just stay quiet, you'll keep pretending I'm still unconscious?"
Ash opened his eyes, staring straight at the medic fiddling with his face.
The medic's uniform bore the number [222], the same as last time.
"Unless you want your face to rot off, keep your eyes shut!"
"Got it."
The medic worked for a few more minutes before stepping back. "Done. You can sit up now. Oh, and here—your apples, as promised."
Ash shot up, immediately checking his face in a small, cracked mirror. A sigh of relief escaped his lips. Beside the bed sat a plate of rabbit-shaped apple slices, toothpicks neatly inserted. Ash grabbed one and bit down.
"Two eyes, one nose, one mouth. Still all there. Whew. I thought I was about to diversify the gene pool."
"I just fixed you up; how could you doubt me?"
The medic crossed her arms, attempting to look offended. But with the raven mask and voice modulator, Ash found the display more amusing than threatening. He stretched out his hand toward her.
"What now?"
"Didn't you say if I let you do some cosmetic surgery, you'd owe me money?"
"Oh." The medic obediently pulled out her wallet before freezing mid-motion. "Wait, I only offered, you didn't actually agree!"
"So... did you do it or not?"
"Cosmetic surgery isn't that simple—"
"So you did?"
"Just a tiny bit! Barely even noticeable... How much do you want?"
"One silver coin."
The medic visibly relaxed, rummaging through her wallet. "Is gold okay? I don't have any change."
Ash blinked. Gold? In this world, silver coins were apparently pocket lint.
One was bold enough to offer, and the other shameless enough to take. Ash accepted the gold coin, feeling a sudden, subtle warmth deep in his consciousness.
His palm grew hot for a moment, and he had a fleeting vision of a pajama-clad toddler-like spirit patting its belly contentedly before curling up and falling asleep.
Ash glanced down at the coin—it seemed just a bit smaller than before. He guessed it would last about a year at this rate.
Huh. Feeding a spirit was easier than expected.
While Ash had no problem extorting people now and then, he actually had a reason this time.
Sword Maiden had once told him that spirits required money to sustain, and with no income to speak of, Ash figured he'd just target someone not exactly known for their brains.
Satisfied, Ash tucked the coin into his pocket. "So, what exactly did you do to my face?"
"A simple Dru's Brow Relaxation Technique, nothing major. Basically, I erased your forehead wrinkles."
The medic straightened up, her mask looming over Ash. "I gave you this treatment out of pure goodwill. You should be thanking me. Out there, you'd pay a fortune for such premium care—"
"Wait, you erased my ruggedly handsome wrinkles?"
Ash gasped in mock outrage. "What kind of quack medic defiles her patients while they're unconscious? You've robbed me of my most striking feature! This is malpractice! A crime against aesthetics!"
The medic froze, caught off guard by his dramatic reversal. After a beat, she sheepishly pulled out her wallet again.
"How much?"
"Whoa, whoa, calm down. I'm not that kind of guy." Ash waved her off, looking indignant. "I'd never exploit someone like that."
The medic frowned, thinking.
"Wait here. I'll check your criminal record—"
"Point! Taken!" Ash hurriedly grabbed her sleeve. "I just want to ask a few questions."
"No names, no taking off my mask, and definitely no touching my skin!"
The medic stepped back, arms crossed protectively. Her paranoia only made Ash feel more like a proper inmate.
"Why not?"
"Prison rules. Medics aren't allowed personal contact with inmates. If I'm caught, I'll lose my job—or worse, end up in here myself!"
"So... we might become cellmates soon?"
"Just ask your questions already."
The medic clearly didn't care about the rules. Ash guessed she was overdue for a vacation anyway.
"That elf I fought—did he survive?"
"His injuries were lighter than yours. He left hours ago."
"Lighter?"
"Sure. His throat was slashed, but that's nothing. Took us a few minutes to fix him up. You, though? I spent over an hour regrowing chunks of your meat."
The medic spread her arms as if to emphasize her point. She didn't seem to be lying.
Ash glanced down at his fully healed leg and shoulder. Was treatment charged by weight?
Lose too much flesh, and you're in trouble. But a slit throat? No biggie.
"So... the butt's the real vulnerable spot in here, huh? More important than the head?"
"Any more questions? Make it quick."
"Yeah. Is there a place in here to trade spirits? You know, a lonely guy needs a pet..."
The medic stared at him.
"I'm reporting you for planning an escape."
"Come on. I'm a death row inmate. What, you gonna give me extra death?"
"We could revive you after execution and kill you again."
"What?! That's an option?"
"Of course not. Too expensive and inhumane. It was outlawed a century ago."
"So... inmates a hundred years ago could die multiple times?"
"Anyway, I'm not answering your question." The medic folded her arms. "You death row guys are better off as medical experiments. Once you're used up, just go die already."
"You're surprisingly principled..."
"Excuse me?!"
"I figured you'd be one of those rebellious types fascinated by criminals, seeing as you've talked to me for so long."
"I—I'm not curious about you! If I wanted to know, I'd read the news!"
The medic huffed, packing up her tools. Ash hopped off the bed, flexing his leg and shoulder.
The surgery was successful. Aside from some faint discoloration on his new skin, he was good as new.
"What if I told you I'm innocent? Would you believe me?"
"Do I look that gullible?" The medic sneered. "With the Memory Evidence System, false convictions are impossible. They must've seen your crimes in your own memories—"
"They didn't pull my memories."
"What?!"
"Go check the records. No memory evidence. I was framed."
Ash spoke with confidence. After all, the real criminal was Heath, not him. And Ash didn't even have Heath's memories, so he felt zero guilt.
The medic eyed him suspiciously.
"You're not lying?"
"If I'm lying, may I never get overtime pay again."
"If you're lying, you're dead. Better pray you don't get hurt again, or next time, I'll turn you into a different species!"
That last comment shook Ash to his core. He'd been curious about the "diverse" healthcare options in this world, but apparently, the tech was advanced enough to change your species and gender.
So... could you even trust anyone outside? Were the "cute girls" really girls?
"Anyway, I still can't help you," the medic said with a shrug. "Your spirit power is locked. Trading spirits requires the seller to release theirs with spirit power and the buyer to reawaken it with their own. Without that, nothing."
Spirit power as a key and authenticator? Ash was impressed. It really was like a universal energy source.
No wonder the prison didn't bother confiscating spirits. If your spirit power was sealed, they were harmless.
Ash pressed on. "There's gotta be a way. Like, a spot in here with less restrictions? Maybe like the Fight Club?"
After one trip to the spirit realm, Ash realized how hard it would be to collect the spirits he needed. It was like searching for needles in an endless fog. He needed alternatives.
If he could find a spirit trading market, he could at least sell off junk spirits from the realm for a chance at something better.
"There is," the medic said unexpectedly.
"Really? Where?"
"Every death row inmate goes through it at least once. Oh, right—you've only been here a few days. Guess you haven't yet."
Her meaning hit Ash instantly.
"The Bloodmoon Trial?"