"You won't escape, you know," Siflyn said calmly.
In the prison treatment room, Siflyn was drenched in sweat, her hands coated with fluids as she worked tirelessly. Across from her, Ash let out a contented hum, watching her labor with casual ease.
"Don't be so absolute," he replied. "There might be a miracle."
"Miracles are made, not given by reality's mercy," Siflyn countered, her tone matter-of-fact. "In the Blood Moon Dominion, every form of travel, consumption, and even vagrancy requires validation of a miracle chip. You might've pulled off the impressive feat of purging your chip here in the prison, but that also means you've forfeited your right to live in modern society. You won't be able to access any public facilities or services. From now on, your best shelter will be a cardboard box under a bridge."
"I can live off the land," Ash said, shrugging.
"And where will you find salt? Shelter? Do you even know how to hunt? Even if there are vagrants in the wilds, they're just ignored by the Bureau of Criminal Wrongs because they're insignificant. You, however, have stirred up too much trouble. The Bureau will do everything in its power to hunt you down."
"That's still better than waiting here to die," Ash muttered.
"The Blood Moon Tribunal might kill you, but breaking out of prison guarantees it," Siflyn replied. "You've already lost the support of the Human Rights Association, and the Bureau will issue a 'Level One Arrest Warrant,' which allows Blood Hunters to kill you on sight."
Ash let out a small chuckle. "At least I get to choose how I die."
"I didn't peg you for someone so headstrong," Siflyn said, shaking her head. She grabbed a tissue to wipe her hands. "All done. Bleeding's mostly under control. By the way, what's with all your humming and groaning?"
On the bed before her lay a wounded ogre, its abdomen bandaged tightly. The flesh around its grievous wound had nearly rotted away, and Siflyn had painstakingly excised the decay before stabilizing its condition. Now the ogre lay unconscious, its breathing finally steady.
Ash held up a small ear-pick. "I was cleaning my ears. Felt too good—couldn't help it. Sorry about that."
"Cleaning your ears feels that good?"
"Maybe it's because I get to sit while doing it. Unlike in the restroom, where there's not even a chair. Unless you count another man's lap, there's nowhere else to sit." Ash glanced at the ogre. "Will he be okay?"
"Ogres recover quickly. He'll wake up in a few hours." Siflyn frowned. "How did he get injured?"
Ash sighed, his expression helpless.
"Would you believe me if I said he got hurt for just looking at someone the wrong way?"
Earlier…
About thirty minutes prior, Ash had brought Fenanche, the ogre mayor, to the hall to register him in the Criminal Directory. Afterward, he intended to lock Fenanche in a cell.
But during the registration process, Fenanche happened to glance at Harvey, the necromancer managing the directory. That single glance was enough to set Harvey off.
In a flash, Harvey's nails morphed into sharp gray talons, stabbing into Fenanche's abdomen like spears.
Ash had managed to restrain the enraged necromancer, but he doubted Fenanche would thank him once he woke up.
"In Fractured Lake Prison, a quick and clueless death might be the best one," Ash muttered.
His escape team had always known about Harvey's grudge against Fenanche, but they had agreed to let Harvey take his revenge only after they were gone. The prison's "Processor" monitored vital signs, and if Fenanche's death were reported prematurely, it might alert Cayman City's Bureau of Criminal Wrongs.
Similarly, when Ash used the Cut Self Miracle to purge the chips from the team and Harvey manipulated the Processor to restrict the guards' movements, they avoided killing or even seriously injuring anyone. It wasn't out of morality—they simply couldn't afford the risk. If the guards' deaths triggered an alert, their escape wouldn't even leave the lake.
Unfortunately, the team lacked healing expertise. Harvey could stitch wounds—an essential skill for a necromancer—but Ash wasn't about to let him handle Fenanche's bleeding. That's why he'd come to Siflyn.
"Your teammates don't sound very reliable," Siflyn commented.
"Of course not. I'm the only sane one in the group."
"That doesn't inspire much confidence in your escape plan."
"Who says I'm confident? The whole team's riding on my shoulders. But it still beats sitting here waiting to die—"
"Do you really believe that?"
Ash froze, staring at her raven mask. Siflyn returned his gaze steadily.
"Do you truly think staying here is a dead end? In less than a month, you've figured out how to escape, established your position in the prison, and even rallied others to your cause. Even if someone framed you outside the prison, are you really out of options?"
"Wouldn't it be simpler, safer, and smarter to find loopholes and survive here than to escape and pit yourself against the entire Blood Moon Dominion?"
"If you just wanted to scrape by, you wouldn't have chosen the most dangerous path. You're gambling your life for something else, aren't you?"
Ash was momentarily speechless.
Reflecting on the past weeks, he realized he had never seriously considered accepting his sentence—or the false charges against him.
From the beginning, his thoughts had revolved around escape. Aurora's Arcana Manual, the Swordmaiden, Igula—all these were tools he'd found to aid in his prison break. But the idea itself had been a constant in his mind, unwavering.
Did he not understand the odds? The risks?
Even if he succeeded, he'd face a lifetime of running—hungry, cold, hunted. The Dominion would have no place for him, no respite, no sanctuary.
A person can't stand against the collective. They can only merge with it.
If survival was his only goal, there were easier paths. He could leverage his knowledge, becoming a plagiarist to boost his contributions and prove his value. Or he could craft a comedic or dramatic performance, turning the Blood Moon Tribunal into his stage.
There were countless alternatives—safer, more successful paths than escape.
So why had he never once entertained thoughts of submission or compromise?