The tension in the treatment room thickened.
"You survived the Blood Moon Trials, didn't you?" the medical officer, #222, asked skeptically.
"Yes, but my suffering isn't over," Ash replied earnestly. "My enemies are still watching, waiting for the chance to eliminate me, even within this prison."
She shook her head. "This is Lake Shard Prison, where the law is as absolute as truth itself. No one can defy it here."
"But they can follow the law while pushing me into despair," Ash countered.
"That only means you deserve your punishment," she replied with a shrug. "Not that I'm unsympathetic. If you're innocent, I hope you find salvation in the Blood Moon Sovereign's kingdom after your passing."
She sighed and added, "But sympathy doesn't give me the right to help you with anything illegal. Keep that in mind."
Ash raised his hands in mock surrender. "I'm not asking for anything unreasonable. I know my days are numbered, and my execution is imminent. That's why I wanted to thank you properly."
"Thank me?" she echoed, confused.
"Yes, Medical Officer #222. In this cold, unfeeling prison, your care has been a beacon of warmth for me," Ash said, his voice brimming with gratitude. "Meeting you before my end is something I'll forever cherish. I can now face my fate without regret."
"I…I didn't do much," she stammered, clearly flustered.
"But when night falls, fear grips me. I curl into myself, unable to sleep, my heart clenched by unspeakable terror. I can't eat, and every day feels like drowning in anguish."
"Wait, I can fix that!" she interjected, pulling out a syringe filled with a silvery liquid. "This tranquilizer will calm you completely. Side effects? Oh, just a bit of cognitive slowdown—think of it as temporary stupidity…"
"No, no, no!" Ash cut her off, waving his hands. "That's not what I mean! I need emotional solace, not sedation. I need you to be there for me."
"Be there? What do you mean?"
"You know, spend time with me—eating, sleeping, bathing…"
"Absolutely not!" she exclaimed, jumping to her feet and waving her arms. "I mean…uh…it's against the rules! Medical officers aren't allowed to fraternize with inmates like that. It's not that I wouldn't, it's just…I really can't!"
Ash sighed deeply. It was genuine. While he had expected her refusal, her immediate, emphatic reaction was disheartening.
At least pretend to consider it! Play along a little!
"I understand your position," he said, his tone tinged with melancholy. "It's wrong of me to burden you with my troubles, even though I crave your warmth and care."
He paused, his eyes glistening. "I've thought of another way."
"What way?"
"Your uniform. If you could give me your uniform, I could keep it close and pretend it's you. It would bring me comfort during the darkest nights."
She froze for a moment, then stepped back, her voice trembling. "You…you want to sleep with my uniform?"
"No, not like that!" Ash hastily clarified. "I mean your outer uniform, the Raven attire. I've never seen your…uh…personal clothes, so I couldn't associate them with you anyway."
"Oh, you mean my Raven suit," she said, finally understanding.
"Yes, exactly. Do you have a spare set?"
"I do. We're issued two for rotation. But giving it to you would break protocol…" She hesitated. "Besides, the idea of you hugging my uniform to sleep is…strange."
Ash let out a long, dramatic sigh, his shoulders slumping. "You're right. It was a selfish request. You've done so much for me already, and I shouldn't impose further."
He paused, voice heavy with despair. "A person like me doesn't deserve a peaceful end. I shouldn't have hoped for warmth where none exists…"
"I…" She bit her lip, glancing at him, then sighed. "Fine. You win. I'll give you my spare uniform. Happy?"
Victory!
Ash's heart leaped with joy. His elaborate performance had worked. After all, he needed a Raven uniform to escape, but he didn't want to harm her to get it.
His respect for the medical profession was ingrained deeply. If a peaceful solution was possible, he'd always opt for it. Leveraging their decent relationship, he had concocted a plan: first, make an outlandish request, then propose a more reasonable alternative. Layering his pleas with feigned despair, he had coaxed her into crossing a line for him.
But then her expression darkened. "Wait, this might not work."
Ash tensed. "Why not?"
"The spare uniform…I just wore it yesterday. It's dirty."
"I don't mind!"
"But I do! I'll wash it first. You can have it once it's clean."
Ash panicked. "No, no! I prefer it unwashed. Please, fulfill this one lifelong wish of mine!"
"Absolutely not!" she said, shaking her head vehemently. "I'll wash it and give it to you later."
"How long will that take?"
"The laundry room has a dryer, so maybe an hour."
"Fine. Go wash it now. I'll come back at noon."
Ash shooed her toward the door, leaving her baffled.
"But I thought you wanted to chat? Spend more time with me?"
"Your uniform will keep me company just fine. It can do so many things! Now hurry!"
Still confused, the medical officer shuffled off to her dorm to wash the uniform.
Back on the observation deck, Igula watched a dark speck grow larger on the lake's horizon. His heart raced, and a flush crept up his face. His knees felt weak, and his thoughts accelerated, spinning out of control.
It was a mixture of anxiety, fear, and…exhilaration.
This was why he'd never stopped conning people, no matter how much money he made. The rush before a high-stakes gambit was intoxicating, and today he was about to outwit an entire prison.
The thought of leaving the world in shock—anger, awe, fear—made his skin tingle.
But as the transport ship came into view, his excitement soured.
The vessel was no ordinary military craft. Its hull was encased in seamless high-strength steel, forming an impenetrable capsule. It resembled a massive bullet, offering no exposed decks—every part of it was "inside."
Igula's face paled.
This wasn't just any transport.
The ship docked, its anchor chains rattling. From its ramp descended a figure in dark crimson hunter's garb, a hood shading his face. Over his right shoulder draped a black half-cloak, its fabric billowing ominously.
As if sensing Igula's gaze, the man looked up. Their eyes met, his blood-red irises piercing through Igula's composure.
"Scourge Half-Sleeve."
Igula's pupils contracted.
The Scourge Directorate's commanding officers wore black cloaks, but their elite field captains donned these distinct half-cloaks.
And in Kaimon City, there were only two such captains.
Both were three-wing Sanctuary Sorcerers.