"I once saw a medic board the transport ship using the excuse, 'I just want a good meal back home.' What's more, they didn't even have to remove their masks. No one checked their identities the entire time."
"Though I can't say why they have such privileges, all evidence suggests that the medics' status is higher than even the prison guards."
Ronna's gaze shifted uneasily. "You're planning to go after the medics?"
"Not 'go after.' Just borrow their clothes," Igula replied with a sly grin. "The plan is simple: we'll regroup in the restroom. Ash will purify our chips. Within the ten-minute window before our absence is detected, we head to the treatment rooms. There, we'll subdue the medics using our miracles, take their uniforms, and infiltrate the transport ship scheduled to leave. Of course, no harm can come to the medics. If one dies, it'll trigger an alarm and draw the guards' attention."
"Understood? It's a straightforward plan. The only thing we need to practice is moving from the treatment rooms to the port as quickly as possible. Spend the next two days training for it."
Ash raised his hand. "What if the prison discovers the injured medics and orders the transport ship to stop for inspection?"
"That's where 'The Gourmand' and 'Golden Beak Woodpecker' step in," Igula replied, coolly. "Ronna, can you and Ronald handle the Bloodmad Hunters on board if it comes to that?"
Ronna glanced at Ronald, who took a deep breath before nodding decisively. "Yes!"
"I'll protect Ronald," Ronna added with confidence.
Ash continued, "When's the next transport ship arriving?"
"They arrive on the 1st, 11th, and 21st of each month," Igula explained, scrawling a large "2" on the mirror with his finger. "Today's the 19th. That gives us two days, Ash. You must master your purification miracle and perform it under the prison's power restrictions. Can you manage it? If not, we'll have to postpone the escape until next month."
Ash hesitated briefly but then nodded firmly. "I can do it."
"Good," Igula concluded. "Dismissed. Spend the next two days however you like—mentally preparing, rehearsing the escape route, or just relaxing. Leave no regrets behind."
As Ronna and Ronald left, Ash called out to Igula, stopping him just before he exited. "This whole plan relies on the assumption that the chip signal frequency changes in special situations. But what if it doesn't? What if the chips stick to a fixed schedule, even in special conditions? If we remove them, the processors might detect us immediately."
Igula paused, turning to face him. "You're absolutely right. That's the worst-case scenario."
"Then what do we do if it happens?"
"What do we do?" Igula stepped closer, grabbing Ash by the collar. His eyes burned with a sharp intensity.
"Are you expecting me to give you a flawless plan? One you can criticize and toss back for revisions? Maybe with a rainbow bridge leading us out of this hellhole?"
Ash didn't flinch. "If it helps, I'm sorry for using you. But I'm grateful it was you. No one else could've devised a plan this solid."
"You think flattery works on me?" Igula sneered, but his expression softened into an almost mocking grin. He let go, straightening Ash's collar meticulously.
"Still, if you really want to prepare for every contingency, there is one thing you can do."
"What's that?"
Igula's smirk deepened. "Pray to your Four Pillars God, my dear cultist leader."
With that, he left, leaving Ash alone in the dim restroom.
Galos City, Swordflower University
"Professor Librom, I really think Lois would be a better host for the event. She's done this kind of thing before and would love the chance to shine—"
The young professor halted, clearly exasperated. "Miss Servi, the host for this intercollegiate gala was chosen after review by six coordinators and final approval from the principal. This isn't some casual campus club activity where decisions can be freely swapped around within your little social circle."
Sonia panicked. "That's not it! I'm not trying to help Lois. I don't even like her! Anyone else can take my place—maybe a second or third-year senior—"
Librom sighed. "Miss Servi, do you remember our school's motto?"
"'Honor is the finest rose on the hilt of a sword. Protection is the sharpest blade beneath it,'" Sonia recited reluctantly.
"Exactly. Honor and protection. That's what this institution values most in its students. If you want to step down, you'll need a valid reason. Otherwise, shirking such a responsibility would severely impact your standing with the school."
The professor's tone turned grave. "And as Professor Trolzan's apprentice, your actions are under intense scrutiny. If you refuse this duty without good reason, the school may issue an official warning."
Sonia's stomach churned. She knew all too well what a warning entailed. First came the warning, then suspension, and finally expulsion.
A warning would leave her one step away from returning to her hometown to tend crops.
"It's just… there's a specific reason I'm not suitable for this," she stammered.
"And that reason is?"
Sonia opened her mouth but couldn't form the words. She struggled for a full minute, lips trembling, before managing, "I…"
"Are you feeling unwell? Family issues? Overwhelmed with your studies? Focused on sword training?" Librom tried to prompt her with plausible excuses, hoping she'd take one.
"It's not… any of that. It's just…" Sonia's voice cracked, tears welling in her eyes. "I… I can't lie."
Librom blinked.
"That's… admirable, Miss Servi. I hope you continue to uphold that virtue. Now, do you have a valid reason to step down?"
Sonia's jaw clenched. After a long pause, she admitted through gritted teeth, "No. I don't."
"Then I wish you a successful evening."
As Librom walked away, Sonia stomped her foot in frustration. She wanted to argue more but instead found herself heading to the training hall—because training time was sacred.
Stepping into the hall, Sonia immediately drew attention. But today, the usual admiration in her classmates' eyes was tinged with something else—mockery? Respect? Pity?
"I heard Professor Wesley canceled his class out of sheer rage."
"She's so full of herself."
"Even Felix wasn't this arrogant. Being a genius doesn't mean you can stomp on social graces…"
Each whisper stung. Sonia, who prided herself on her social finesse, was now being viewed as an unapproachable prodigy.
As if to twist the knife further, Felix himself entered the hall and smirked at her. "Hey, Sonia. Did you know Professor Trolzan finally consulted a stylist? Guess he took your advice to heart."
Gasps rippled through the hall. Everyone knew Trolzan's tacky mushroom haircut was untouchable, a point of pride for a decade. Not even his rivals dared mock it.
Yet Sonia had somehow shattered that ten-year legacy with a single remark.
Ingrid jogged over, clenching her fist in encouragement. "Sonia, you're amazing. We swordfighters should stand tall, unyielding, and true to ourselves. Keep it up!"
But Sonia seethed internally.
I don't want to be unyielding! I want to lie! I want people to like me! I want effortless connections and admiration, not to be seen as a socially inept outcast!
Fueled by frustration, Sonia threw herself into training. Her strikes bit deep into the practice target, each blow sharp and precise. Oddly, she felt her energy surge rather than drain. Her movements grew fluid, her mind clear, her body light.
With a final, resonant slash, her sword rang out as a bright, winged entity materialized at its tip—a one-winged miracle, Cleaveblade.
Sonia froze, stunned. She couldn't understand how today, of all days, she had performed so flawlessly. She chalked it up to her actions throughout the day.
Today, she had worn no mask, spoken no lies, and stayed true to herself.
A terrifying thought dawned on her.
Could it be that deep down, Sonia Servi… was a fundamentally good person?