Nagou eventually took off his prized boots, revealing a pair of socks embroidered with golden lion cubs.
He had no choice but to comply.
With hundreds of thousands of citizens watching the live broadcast, each holding a vote in their hands, Nagou couldn't risk tarnishing his image. If he ever wanted to leave the prison system and move up the ladder to become a city council member, he couldn't afford a single misstep.
This role as a warden wasn't just handed to him—it was something Nagou personally requested, a deliberate move to increase his visibility and make himself a recognizable face for future political campaigns.
Failing to fulfill such a "simple" request on live television? That wasn't just bad optics; it was career suicide. The prison would question his fitness for the role, possibly demoting him to a regular guard, effectively putting his political ambitions on ice.
So, even as Nagou reluctantly handed over the boots he had eagerly waited a year to acquire and had worn for less than a month, his heart ached as if bidding farewell to a loved one.
"Hurry up! I don't have all day," Ash impatiently urged.
"Can you catch them if I toss them?"
"Of course!"
"When you put them on, make sure to slide your foot straight down—don't mess up the exterior!"
"Got it, got it!"
"I have another pair you might like—should I go fetch them instead—"
"Just throw them over!"
One of the floating camera drones let out a synthesized laugh, reflecting the viewers' reactions. Clearly, this exchange between Ash and Nagou had struck a chord, drawing laughter from an audience that had seen hundreds of Blood Moon Trials yet had never witnessed such an absurd dynamic between a convict and a warden.
Nagou gritted his teeth and threw the boots over, hoping to salvage what was left of his dignity.
Ash caught them and inspected the quality. "Nice! These boots are premium—good materials, high-end design, and stylish too. No wonder you're looking at me like I stole your girlfriend."
"Don't shove your foot in like that! You'll crease the leather! Be gentle, will you?" Nagou winced, watching Ash mishandle his precious footwear. After all, he planned to take them back once Ash inevitably didn't survive the trial.
Ash ignored him, lacing up the boots before summoning his Stand. A duplicate of himself appeared, down to the new boots on its feet.
"Stand on the wire for a few seconds," Ash commanded.
The Stand stepped onto the wire and held steady. This time, the razor-sharp wire couldn't slice through the soles of the boots. Without damage, the Stand remained stable and intact.
"Great!" Ash exclaimed, thrilled. "Come back!"
The Stand returned.
"Now crouch down!"
The Stand crouched.
Ash climbed onto the Stand's shoulders. "Carry me across the wire to the big platform!"
But this time, the Stand didn't move. Ash looked down, only to see his duplicate staring up at him blankly.
"Carry me across the wire!" he repeated, thinking it hadn't heard him.
After a brief pause, the Stand seemed to grasp the order—or perhaps resigned itself to its fate.
Whimper.
Groan.
Each step the Stand took made the wire tremble, its eerie wails making Ash's heart pound. Sure, he'd seen other convicts crossing the wire with relative ease, but now that it was his turn, just glancing at the abyss below made him feel like he was seconds away from wetting himself.
But the plan worked.
The Stand carried him steadily forward.
That was when Ash realized something profound about the mage system in this world.
For ordinary people, the rule was: "If it's not explicitly allowed, you can't do it."
For mages, the rule was: "If it's not explicitly forbidden, you can do it."
The former was restrictive; the latter was permissive.
The Stand's ability was simple: it created a perfect duplicate of Ash that obeyed his every command. If the task didn't exceed the Stand's limits, it would carry out even the most absurd orders—like walking a tightrope while carrying someone.
The Stand didn't question the order, nor did it hesitate.
It simply acted because Ash commanded it to.
Mage abilities weren't about bending reality—they were about pushing it to its theoretical limits.
If only I could bring this Stand back to my original world, Ash thought. It could help care for my parents, run errands, maybe even—wait. That's so mundane. Why not just make it go to work while I stay home?
Lost in his thoughts, Ash didn't notice how far the Stand had carried him until it was nearly across. Most of the other convicts had already reached the platform, leaving only Ash and Valcas still on the wire.
"Stop right there! Don't come any closer!"
A scar-faced convict raised a long rifle, aiming it at Ash. "One more step, and I'll blow you off that wire!"
The others, sensing trouble, quickly distanced themselves, keeping their mouths shut.
Ash blinked innocently. "Why?"
"Isn't it obvious?" Valcas chuckled from behind. "Cowards seize the moment. Fools fear for themselves. Weaklings always project their fears onto others."
Ash quickly grasped the situation.
They weren't afraid of him—they were afraid of the executioner following him.
Of course! Why didn't I think of this? I could use them as human shields!
It all made sense. Tonight's "chosen ones" were clearly between him and Valcas. If either of them reached the big platform, the executioner would follow, potentially wiping out everyone else in one massive attack.
Scarface's solution was simple: keep Ash and Valcas on the wire, away from the platform. Let the executioners handle them there.
"If you don't want to be shark food, stay where you are!" Scarface shouted.
"I refuse!" Ash declared righteously. "When someone tries to threaten me, I do the opposite. Move forward!"
The Stand obediently stepped forward, causing the wire to tremble.
Bang!
Scarface fired a warning shot, his scarred face twisted with rage and fear. "I'll do it! Stop right now!"
"I—don't—believe—you—will—shoot—me!" Ash taunted, taking another step with each word, his defiance infuriating Scarface further.
"You think I'm bluffing? I killed nineteen people before I got here! Check my record if you don't believe me!"
But Ash saw through his bravado. Calmly, he replied, "You're too smart to shoot."
"And why's that?"
"Because if I die here, the executioner will come for you next," Ash explained, his grin widening.
Scarface faltered. "T-That's not necessarily true!"
"Oh, it definitely is," Ash continued. "Right now, the audience is hyped to see me or Valcas executed. If you ruin their fun, guess who they'll vote for instead?"
Scarface hesitated, sweat dripping down his temple.
"And by the way, have you noticed how everyone else is staying far away from you?" Ash pointed out.
Scarface glanced around and realized the other convicts had shifted to the edges of the platform, isolating him in the middle.
"They're avoiding you because if you force me to stay here or kill me outright, you'll become the audience's next target. And once the executioner comes, do you really think these fine gentlemen will calmly accept their fate? Or will they drag you down with them?"
By now, Ash's Stand had carried him to the platform. He hopped off, patting Scarface on the shoulder.
"So, do you see your way out of this mess?"
Scarface, clutching at straws, asked, "What's my way out?"
"Go back. Or hang out on the wire," Ash replied with a smile. "As long as I'm standing here, your only option is to leave."
"This is my spot now. It's you who should leave."