By the time Ash reached the cafeteria, it was nearly 8 PM, and the limited-edition delicacy Seafood La-La Delight was long gone. Resigned, he grabbed a few cold leftover meat dishes and sat down to eat.
"Does food taste better after a victory?"
Looking up, Ash saw Valcas sitting across from him, holding a cup of water.
"To be honest, these leftovers are cold, and the La-La Delight was completely wiped out…"
"You could've ordered something special," Valcas said, smirking. "You won 37 contribution points from me. Spending a couple to reward yourself isn't too much, is it?"
"Order? Spend contribution points?"
"You didn't know? Of course, you didn't—you've only been here a few days." Valcas gestured toward a menu board near the cafeteria. "You can order off-menu items anytime, even after regular service hours. If it's outside free activity time, they'll even deliver to your cell. That is, if you're willing to spend contribution points."
Ash stared at the menu board. He'd assumed it was just decoration—a way for the prison to pretend they weren't shortchanging inmates on food.
Each item seemed reasonably priced at first glance. For just 1 contribution point, you could order a meal combo with three dishes—like Seafood La-La Delight, Creamy Chicken Alfredo, and Mist-Spinach Quiche. A feast, really.
But then the reality hit: inmates started with only 50 contribution points. Ten points were deducted automatically every month, and contribution points were required to apply for Death Matches.
The fewer contribution points you had, the closer you got to the front of the line for Bloodmoon Trials, the live-streamed death show.
Here, contribution points weren't just currency—they were lifelines. Spending them was akin to a slow suicide.
"It's not like there's much else to spend points on here," Valcas added. "But if you're itching to burn through them, there are options: haircuts, custom uniforms, premium toiletries... You can even rent a better cell. Three bedrooms, two baths, with a window—1 point per day."
"1 point a day? That's insane! Who'd waste points like that?"
"Someone like 'Diamond' Tiger. He's been living in that VIP suite for years. His points overflow because newbies keep handing them over like idiots. If you convert contribution points to gold coins, Tiger's probably richer in here than he ever was on the outside."
Ash raised an eyebrow. "So, according to this place's math, we inmates are only worth 50 gold coins each?"
"You think that's too low?"
"Isn't it?"
"The average person without higher education doesn't earn 50 gold coins in their lifetime. Even mid-tier mages would struggle. A 1-gold-coin annual salary is enough to live comfortably in Caemon City."
Ash finally understood the value of the single gold coin he carried—and just how extortionate this prison was. Three dishes for the equivalent of a year's salary? The La-La Delight must've been PhD-certified.
"Suddenly, these leftovers don't taste so bad."
Valcas chuckled but said nothing, simply watching Ash eat.
After a while, Ash couldn't take it anymore. "Look, Mr. Elf, I'm the type who gets stage fright when someone stares at me—"
"Shhh."
"It's a figure of speech! You don't have to shush me!"
"I thought you kids these days liked multitasking—eating and peeing at the same time." Valcas smiled briefly before his expression turned serious. "What I'm about to say is just me rambling. You didn't hear anything, alright?"
Ash's chewing slowed.
"Shilin Dor isn't just a professor, a city council member, and head of the Elven Rights Association in Caemon. He's also a hidden backer of the Woodpecker Gang. Publicly, he opposes the Blood Saints and Moon Shadows, but in private, he's done plenty of shady deals with them. The Woodpeckers are his dirty glove. Even Mayor Fainanshe owes her position to his influence."
Ash's hand froze mid-bite.
"The Four Pillars Cult has been silent for years, practically extinct. Except for one unconfirmed rumor: Eight years ago, during an archaeological dig in the Eastern Ruins, some important ritual texts tied to the cult were supposedly uncovered. That same year, a voidstorm destroyed most of the findings."
Valcas sipped his water and continued.
"Shilin Dor was the lead advisor for that excavation."
"He's a patient man—more patient than any elf I've met. If he wants someone dead, it means that person holds something critical to him. Something that, if exposed, could ruin him."
Valcas's gaze sharpened as it landed on Ash.
"Normally, every death row inmate's memory is thoroughly inspected. If you had anything on him, the Criminal Inquiry Office would've found it. Unless, of course, someone's memory wasn't inspected at all."
Now it all made sense.
Ash didn't know what his connection to Professor Shilin Dor was, but he understood why the elf wanted him dead. Shilin believed Ash possessed dangerous knowledge that hadn't been exposed yet—knowledge that could destroy him.
Because of the Four Pillars Cult, the Criminal Inquiry Office couldn't probe Ash's memories. That made him the only inmate in the prison still holding onto secrets.
For Shilin, this was both a blessing and a curse. His secret hadn't been exposed yet, but Ash was a ticking time bomb.
If Ash actually knew anything, he'd happily hand it over to the Inquiry Office. Not because he was virtuous, but because he was curious about Shilin. Maybe even enough to invite him to a one-on-one Death Match.
But the truth? Ash knew nothing.
Not a single memory from the original Heath had been transferred to him.
It was infuriating.
Here he was, falsely accused of harboring secrets, and now someone wanted him dead for something he didn't even know.
This was just like being a kid again, accused by a teacher of stealing a classmate's pen when he hadn't even touched it.
"Hey," Valcas said, standing up. "Didn't hear a word of my rambling, right? Good. We'll chat again sometime."
"Really?"
"Hah. As if. I don't have time for that, and you don't have the brains."
"Wait, Valcas," Ash called out. "Why are you helping me?"
Valcas smirked. "I'm not helping you. I just want to make life difficult for that bastard Shilin."
That made sense. Spite was always a solid motivator.
Ash pressed his luck. "Do you know of any way to trade for sword-related soul arts? If I could get a few, I could cause real trouble for Shilin—"
"Not my problem."
"Right. So… are you in trouble for not killing me?"
"Not your problem."
"Can you at least tell me what Shilin's next move will be?"
Valcas glanced back as he walked away, leaving a cryptic reply.
"Next time we meet, you'll know."
Ash sighed. Valcas's sharp tongue and cryptic demeanor explained how he'd ended up in this prison.
But one thing was clear: the mastermind behind all of this was Heath's former professor, the elven scholar Shilin Dor.
Back in his cell after dinner, Ash called out softly.
"Sword Empress? You there?"
"I'm here… sort of."
The Sword Empress lounged on the bed, her legs crossed. Her deep black stockings traced elegant curves as she propped her chin in her hand and cast a sidelong glance at him.
"What is it?"
"You gave me that warning during the fight, didn't you?"
Ash raised his hand, revealing the sleepy, chubby Stand-In Soul Art cradled in his palm.
"The chip still limits my soul power output, so how did I manage to activate this soul art?"
"It's simple. You understood it."
"What?"
The Sword Empress leaned forward, her voice calm.
"Soul arts are clusters of knowledge. When you truly understand one—when the conditions are right—it resonates with you and manifests itself. That's how inmates here can activate soul arts even under suppression."
Ash frowned. "But I never studied anything about the Stand-In Soul Art."
"You did. And you understood it."
Her words made him pause. His mind replayed her earlier advice:
"If it hurts too much, imagine you're someone else. The pain won't feel as real."
"That… was the key?"
"Exactly," she replied. "When you grasped that truth, you unlocked the soul art. Remember, understanding isn't about surface knowledge—it's about living it. The pain you felt brought you to that realization."
Ash stared at the little Stand-In in his palm, trying to delve deeper into its essence.
This time, he could see fragments of its structure, but its true nature still eluded him.
"You'll never fully grasp a soul art unless it's born from your own knowledge," the Sword Empress explained. "The truth behind it must be yours, pure and untainted."
"Truth doesn't tolerate flaws."
Truth, it seemed, was unyielding.
Ash sighed, dismissing the Stand-In.
"Why were you gone for most of the day?"