CH 2. A Certain Prison
At first, I felt a prickling sensation. Then my body grew hot, and my head began to spin violently.
I pressed a hand to my forehead, battling the intense headache as I tried to steady my breathing. When I finally cracked my eyes open, the sight that greeted me made them snap wide in disbelief.
“What the…?”
People scurried like zombies across a vast, sports field-like space. Rain poured as though the sky had been ripped open, blurring my vision, while their chaotic shouts buzzed dully in my ears.
Just moments ago, I’d been at home. Where was this?
‘A dream…?’
Had I gamed too long? Admittedly, I’d been hyper-focused—finishing a match, sprinting home without rest. Maybe I’d blacked out briefly…
-Splish-splash!
‘Rain… Wait. If this is a dream, why does it feel so cold?’
I tilted my head back to stare at the bruised sky, but heavy raindrops forced me to duck again.
“……?”
My soaked clothes clung to me. Water sloshed in my shoes. Wiggling my toes confirmed the clammy, revolting sensation—and as it did, the distant shouts sharpened into clarity.
“Break through! Everyone, charge!”
“Wahhh—!”
My senses rebooted one by one, starting with touch. For a second, I clung to the dream theory, but my body’s raw physicality rejected it.
I turned toward the noise.
A swarm of orange-uniformed figures stampeded like locusts. Wait—I wore the same outfit.
“Hey! 218! Quit daydreaming! You bailing?!”
A boyish-faced teen shook my shoulder, yelling over the din. Did he know me? 218?
“Seriously! You wanna rot here forever?!” he pressed, the number 172 glaring on his chest. I glanced down—218 stared back from mine.
“Do I know you? Where is this?”
“Quit yapping! We’re outta time!”
Instead of answering, he grabbed my arm. I shook him off, scanning the area.
What was this? A kidnapping? Had I been unconscious that long?
Everything felt wrong. Strangest of all—though certain I’d never been here, it didn’t feel new.
That dissonance sharpened my focus until my gaze locked on a distant detail: a black hawk emblem on a yellow banner, flapping above the main gate.
‘Where have I seen that…?’
Déjà vu surged. I knew that symbol.
Then it hit me.
“Wait—the Kerion Prison?!”
“Wake up, dumbass! This is our only shot!”
“Hold on—”
“This is Kerion, right? For real?!”
“Why’re you like this today?! Yes! The ‘prisoners’ graveyard’! Stay here, and you’ll rot or get executed—your pick!”
What? A hollow laugh burst from me.
No wonder it felt uncanny. The infamous hellhole. But that meant… I was in the game? As a prisoner?
“Almost through! Push harder! Freedom’s close!”
“Charge—!”
Absurd. I’d obsessed over the game, but trapped inside it?
Even as I reeled, prisoners battered the gate. Thousands swarmed—fitting for the Empire’s largest prison. Their roars drowned the storm as the boy tugged at me, frantic.
“Help! Just a little more!”
The gate’s crack widened, guards barely resisting. I followed halfheartedly before halting.
“Wait. Something’s wrong.”
“You’re what’s wrong! Since when are you this dense?!”
“This is Kerion?”
“Ugh! You high? You didn’t even eat today!”
Odd. The Kerion I knew wasn’t this sloppy. A ‘graveyard’ for a reason.
“Stay put.”
“We need you!”
“No. Wait.”
I studied the guards. Their halfhearted efforts and sparse numbers didn’t add up.
Logically—how many guards manage 3,000 prisoners?
“Their numbers are way too thin.”
“Warden Clark’s gone. We checked—he’s off-site. No better chance!”
Makes sense—prisoners outnumbered guards. No one wants to die pointlessly.
Yet my gut churned.
“Almost… there…!”
“Hahaha! Freedom!”
The gap now fit an arm. Hope hung thick—but I stepped back.
“Let’s move!”
“No.”
“If we go, we die.”
“The hell’s wrong with you?!”
A champion’s instincts outclass normies’, especially for danger. The scene screamed hope—my nerves screamed trap.
“Stay far from the gate. Or we’re dead.”
“You’re insane! After all th—”
-BOOM!
The gate exploded open.
For one heartbeat—victory. Then freedom cries became shrieks.
“Kekeke! Squash these roaches!”
Amid fleeing prisoners, a grotesque grin emerged—Warden Clark.
“H-how?! He was gone!”
“You took the bait.”
“Wha—?”
“Move!”
I yanked the boy’s arm, sprinting gate-opposite. Our distance spared us—for now.
We ran. Behind us, slaughter unfolded.
“N-no—!”
“Spare me—!”
Rending flesh. Desperate wails. Guards’ mockery. The storm carried it all.
“Far enough.”
“Huff…! Huff…!”
We’d reached the prison building. Surprisingly, many lingered inside—trembling, watching the carnage. Smart or cowardly, they’d survived. Like us.
“Impossible! How?!” The boy trembled, muttering disbelief.
I understood. To cram more prisoners, this purge was inevitable.
“Line up the leftovers.”
“Yes, Warden!”
“Bring them out!”
Hidden guards herded us to the training ground. I stood dumbly near the center, forced into formation.
“Don’t move! Straighten up!”
The massacre ended only when blood-runneled rain clogged the drains. The field lay strewn with mangled remains.
“Ugh…!”
-Thwack!
“I said don’t move!”
Vomiting prisoners were beaten mid-retch. We stood rigid, enduring the hellscape.
No rights. No mercy. A place where humanity was erased.
Kerion Prison is that kind of place.
"Vermin worse than bugs. Cut down anyone who twitches from this moment forward."
"Understood!"
-Swish!
Guards with swords paced slowly between prisoner ranks. Paralyzed by terror, inmates squeezed their eyes shut and clenched fists, barely enduring.
But I kept my eyes open and shoulders steady.
Closing eyes would blind me to attacks. Stiffening muscles would slow reactions.
‘500 guards. Main gate’s the only exit?’
Why line up surviving prisoners?
If more executions come, I’ll need different preparations.
Though my thoughts remained scattered, one truth crystallized - this moment straddled life and death.
"Warden, formation complete."
"Headcount."
Relief washed over me - just an inventory.
Apparently satisfied with the bloodshed, the warden sheathed his blade. His scrutinizing gaze swept across prisoners as if hunting specific prey.
Until he stopped before me.
"......"
Disdain radiated from his stare.
I met his gaze, every sense sharpened.
Sword drawn = instant counterattack.
"Lucky brat, Arahan. Or should I say... too spineless to flee?"
"?!"
Arahan?! Did he just-?
"Typical mage cowardice. Honorless, prideless failures. Calling you rivals insults me."
His vitriol became white noise.
One word consumed me.
"You’ll curse this day. Wish death had claimed you."
Clark spat his venom before retreating.
I stared at the puddle where he’d stood.
Faint ripples revealed my reflection.
‘This... is Arahan?’
A youth’s face - fifteen, maybe sixteen. Petite frame.
And crimson eyes, the Arahan birthright, staring back.
"Se-senpai! Emergency!"
"Newbie? What’s the fuss on day one?"
"An Arahan’s here! Red eyes! I saw them!"
The panicked rookie flailed as veterans chuckled.
"Oh? You too?"
"I... made eye contact... I’m dead, right?"
"Pfft-HAHAHA!"
Guard veterans roared at his terror.
Ah, that old wives’ tale.
Meet Arahan’s gaze = death.
Crimson eyes cursed by countless kills.
"HA! First day jinxed already?"
"Joking?! Arahan’s here! You’re next—"
"BAHAHAHA!"
The rookie gaped at laughing seniors until one gripped his shoulder, pointing my way.
"Three prison mysteries, kid."
"Mysteries?"
"First: Why’s Arahan here? Second: Why can’t he cast magic? Third—"
"Wait! Magicless Arahan?!"
"Relax. Stare all day - nothing happens."
"This isn’t funny! Arahan’s learn mana before walking!"
"Rumors inflate everything. Look at him - obvious fraud."
Their mockery wasn’t even whispered.
I clenched teeth, enduring.
"Third mystery?"
"Newest one: Why he works so hard."
"Eh...?"
As he spoke, I placed the final stone.
The guard foreman bellowed:
"Now move it across!"
Kerion’s routine: Build rock towers.
Then dismantle them. Repeat.
Pointless labor designed to break spirits.
"Whew."
One week incarcerated.
Initial mental collapse gave way to adaptation - champion’s resolve or familiar hellscape?
‘Damn.’
Truth? Adaptation required brutal effort.
Survival favors the adaptable. Can’t die pathetically.
Current status: Microbe at food chain’s bottom.
Adapt or perish - simple ecology.
‘Maybe better this way.’
Adaptation’s key?
Delusional optimism. Hence reframing everything positively.
‘No attachments left aboveground anyway.’
Demon King defeated. Returning meant boredom.
Maybe here’s better... Bullshit.
‘Goddamn prisoner vessel?!’
Negative thoughts resurfaced.
Deep breath. Suppress. Restart hope-cycle.
‘Bottom feeder perks: Plenty to surpass.’
Spent ten years on shitty "Last Savior" game craving challenge.
Sometimes fantasized fighting Demon King for real.
Now living that dream? Perfect.
‘Not just him - guards too.’
World overflowing with strong prey.
Could spend lifetime challenging superiors. Prisoner tag? Minor inconvenience.
"Hey! Slow down!"
Hulking prisoner blocked my path.
The yard boss - always surrounded by lackeys.
"You doubled our workload! Guards compare us to your pace!"
"My business."
"Normal people stall time! Why hustle?!"
"Exercise substitute."
"Exercise?! Hah! Magicless halfwit calling rock hauling exercise?"
"Move. Or get moved."
"Huh?!"
Inmate resentment simmered daily. My fault - while others moved two stones, I shifted five.
Madness? Maybe. But wasted time is death.
Such habits forged Earth’s strongest champion.
"Labor’s torture. Exercise? Manageable."
"Wha...?"
"Change perspective before confronting me. Positivity helps."
"Changed enough. You’re beyond words. Expect quiet death."
"Live deluded then."
I stepped past him, grabbing another stone.
Their shocked stares? Irrelevant.
"Quit dawdling! Move!"
Guard’s bark scattered hostile gazes.
I sweated, hauled another rock.
"Whew..."
Week’s discoveries about this body:
Pathetically weak. Mage physique with zero training.
Bench pressing hundreds would barely help - single stones leave me gasping.
Magic attempts
Secret mana tests yielded nothing.
No training? Possible. Or deeper reason.
‘Arahan can’t cast? Absurd.’
Arahan - legendary mage lineage.
In Last Savior lore, their ancestor was supreme powerhouse. Descendants maintained dominance.
The guards’ "mysteries" mirrored my questions:
Why scion of supreme family here? Magicless?
Answers connected, likely.
Logical conclusion: Discarded for magic failure.
Typical Arahan cruelty.
‘That floating screen means game systems active.’
Since rebellion night, blue hologram hovered:
[Synchronization: 78%]
[Excessive data causing delays]
I check it constantly.
Why?
Only lifeline available.
