CH 5. A Certain Prison
I fought, nearly losing myself to the exhilaration I hadn’t felt in ages.
My body moved purely on instinct.
By the time I’d warmed up enough, no more prisoners dared approach, forcing me to swallow my frustration.
“Still not enough? Come at me!”
“That monster bastard…!”
“Please. Let’s keep fighting.”
The prisoners had already retreated to a safe distance.
Dozens littered the dirt floor, including the giant.
I didn’t even notice when he’d joined—too lost in the whirlwind of fists and kicks.
“Th-This is impossible…!”
As the dust settled, guards watching from afar came into view. Their smirks froze just as Liou lifted his head.
“Wh-What the hell…? Did you do this…?”
“You missed the show. People pay good money for this kind of entertainment elsewhere.”
“How…? How did this happen?!”
Liou gaped, alternating stares between me and the fallen prisoners. When his lips silently formed, Did you use magic? I shook my head.
I wish I could use magic.
Damn these worthless mana stats.
“Attention, all!”
A guard’s booming voice cut through the chaos.
The flustered guards snapped into a rigid line.
Captain Clark soon appeared, his stomping footsteps radiating fury. He’d likely been watching from his office.
“…….”
Clark surveyed the scene as he approached.
His face cycled between rage, incredulous laughter, and finally cold emptiness.
He tore his gaze from me to glare at the guard in charge, then slapped him hard.
“You incompetent fool! How did you let a riot break out?!”
“Ghk—! S-Sir, I’m sorry!”
Pathetic acting. How did a man with no honor become a knight? Probably ditched his dignity at the kennel when he retired.
Clark barked half-hearted reprimands between forced coughs. Disgusting, but I stayed silent.
“…My apologies. This is the guards’ failure to control the prisoners… and my failure to control the guards.”
Did he graft armor onto his face?
His shameless delivery—no flicker of shame—left me speechless. My eyes drifted to the massive iron key at his waist before meeting his stare.
“Your management’s a joke. Do your damn job.”
“What…?”
“Your words, not mine. ‘My responsibility,’ wasn’t it?”
“……One question. Did you unleash your mana?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know.”
—Whoosh!
Clark’s aura erupted, a visible haze of mana swirling around him.
Prisoners choked, collapsing. Even weaker guards hit the dirt.
“St-Stop…!”
“Can’t… breathe…!”
No ordinary person could withstand a 5th-Circle knight’s pressure. With zero mana, I should’ve been writhing—until a blue screen flashed.
[Trait: ‘Champion’s Noble Soul (S)’ resists ‘Suppression.’]
Resist?
The notification glowed brightly.
Mental immunity? If true, this trait’s broken.
Holy shit…
A decade of gaming, and I’d never seen this. Another side effect of synchronization?
Insane. But then again, I’m a peak entity from another world. No way I’d kneel to some 5th-Circle hack.
“Hah!”
While others writhed, I stood unaffected. Clark’s composure cracked as I smirked.
He amped his aura, but the same message repeated:
[Trait: ‘Champion’s Noble Soul (S)’ resists ‘Suppression.’]
An S-rank trait. You really think you can break through?
“……What’s happening?”
I almost pretended to struggle but decided against it. His bafflement was too entertaining.
When even guards began collapsing, Clark finally relented, glaring at me with a mix of confusion and frustration.
Yeah, must be mind-blowing. How’s it feel to get schooled by someone with no mana?
“Hmph.”
I shrugged.
Get stronger if you’re mad. That’s how this world works.
“……Get back to work. Secure the area.”
“Y-Yes, sir! Return to your posts!”
Clark retreated, too many witnesses to act openly. No doubt he’s seething alone in his office now.
“218… You okay?”
“Never better.”
“Seriously? I thought I’d suffocate!”
“Try lifting rocks instead of whining.”
……
I stared where Clark had vanished.
Could I beat him in a real fight?
The iron key’s phantom gleam taunted me.
Two problems plague me.
First: I can’t get the nutrients to counter my penalty. Building muscle requires food, but sand-bread and gruel are literal poison.
Second: Clark.
Humiliated, he’ll scheme relentlessly. Trapped here under his thumb, I’m a sitting duck.
“Liou. How much do you trust me?”
The boy scratching his stomach on the floor is my only ally here.
“Why ask suddenly?”
“You want out, right?”
“You have a plan?”
“Answer the question. Will you follow my lead?”
Escaping requires Liou’s skills. A direct fight with Clark is possible, but breaking through guards afterward? Unlikely.
“I’ll hear you out first.”
“Let’s get sentenced to death.”
“What?!”
Liou jerked up, meerkat-scanning our surroundings.
“If I request execution, Clark will bite. We’ll ambush him then.”
“You’re insane! Volunteering for death row?!”
“It’s our ticket to a private meeting—and a last meal. They grant any wish, right?”
“……So we’re trading hell for a decent dinner?”
Not entirely wrong. I’m handing Clark a perfect excuse, but it’s safer than walking into his trap. Plus, my stats—already slashed by 50 points—can’t survive on gruel much longer.
“Then we’re agreed.”
“No! I didn’t say yes!”
“Guard!”
“Shut it!”
Liou cursed my insanity as a guard approached.
“Prisoner 218. Explain yourself.”
“Fetch your captain.”
“…Excuse me?”
“Tell Clark I want a chat. Now.”
The guard snorted like I’d asked him to lick boots.
He turned to leave, but I grabbed his arm.
You should report it immediately. Otherwise, you'll regret it for life."
"Unbelievable. I'm already in a shitty mood, and now you want me to get beaten to a pulp?"
"No. I want to die."
"What?"
"Bring the warden. I’ve said my piece."
The guard stared at me strangely, tilting his head in confusion. After a long hesitation, he finally left. He had no choice but to report it—he knew exactly how the warden viewed me.
"Attention, all personnel!"
As expected, guards soon swarmed around my cell. Heavy footsteps echoed. I shoved Liu aside, ignoring his pleading eyes, and stepped forward to face Clark.
He snapped irritably, "You’re being troublesome. What is it? If this is trivial, you’ll face severe punishment."
"I want to be placed on death row."
"What?"
Clark’s eyes widened. This bastard’s enjoying this.
"Deaf? I said designate me for execution."
"Hah! Do you understand what you’re asking?"
"Yeah. Like you said—I’m done living. Sick of stacking pointless stone towers and waiting to get shanked by inmates."
The corner of Clark’s mouth twitched. Does killing me turn him on? I bit my tongue to stifle a laugh.
"If this is a whim, I won’t forgive the disruption you’ve caused."
"Why? Planning to record it on a crystal orb?"
"Hmm. There’s no better proof."
"Then fetch it. I’ll comply."
"Fine. But why the informal speech?"
"I’m a walking corpse. Etiquette’s pointless."
"Keuk! Fine. I’ll overlook it."
Overlook my ass. He’s practically salivating.
With his demand met, it was my turn.
"My last meal will be Berti beef. Enough to burst my stomach."
"Wha—?!"
The guards groaned in unison.
Berti cattle, grazed on the southern empire’s plains, were among the rarest delicacies in Rase’s world. The game lore constantly hyped its flavor—of course I’d crave it.
"Warden, Berti beef is…"
"Correct. Extravagant for a single prisoner."
Extravagant? For my life? A steal.
Unlike Clark’s stoicism, the guards panicked.
"Who said ‘single’? I’m sharing with him. Enough for two."
"What about Weiji beef? The quality gap’s negligible—"
"I accept nothing below S-grade. No Berti beef, no deal."
As guards floundered, Clark cut in abruptly: "Make it happen."
"Sir?! But—!"
"He’s no ordinary convict. We’re executing an Arhan. This is justified."
"Glad you agree. Try swapping the meat and I’ll know instantly."
One guard blurted, "What’s the difference?!"
"Fools like you wouldn’t know. I’m an Arhan—you think I haven’t tasted this?"
"Tch! You’re just a dead man!"
"Then bring it faster if you want me gone."
The guard clamped his mouth shut. Clark remained silent, likely savoring my impending death.
"Warden, the crystal orb."
A guard presented the magical recording device. Clark’s composure flickered as I stated my terms. He carried it to his office like a sacred relic.
Procuring the beef took a week. I squeezed more concessions from Clark: no labor duties and proper meals until delivery. Guards’ rations weren’t gourmet, but compared to sand-bread and gruel? A banquet.
"Ugh, why exercise when you’ll die soon?"
While others worked, Liu lamented. I kept training. My stats didn’t spike, but my body felt steadier.
"Why push yourself? You’re doomed anyway!"
Liu badgered, but I only said, "Boredom."
Truth was, Last Savior had a unique system: maxing a stat at 100 overflowed its XP into others. With all stats except Magic capped, every gain funneled into Magic. Slow, but my only path.
Recover through nutrients and training while boosting Magic—two birds with one stone. A secret I couldn’t share.
"Prisoners 218 and 172! Your last meal awaits."
Finally.
The guard led us to a spacious hall. Before us lay a mountain of meat—crimson flesh marbled with white fat. Undeniably Berti beef.
"It’s real! Actual Berti beef!" Liu shrieked. Fresh vegetables and rice completed the spread—a flawless last supper.
"The warden pulled out all stops."
"He’ll arrive shortly. Start eating."
"You preheated the grill? Impressive."
"Enjoy. It’s your final meal."
Liu, ever the complainer, gaped in awe. He lunged at the grill, slapping meat onto the sizzling surface.
"Never thought I’d taste this…"
"Remember who got you this."
Liu nodded absently, hypnotized by the glistening beef.
