A Convict Without Rights (3)

Dungeon Core was a labyrinth crawler built upon the classical bones of medieval fantasy.

Yet the moment I initiated Despair Difficulty, that foundation shattered completely.

Fine, I could swallow the change in the tutorial zone. If the premise called for a brutally punishing start, I could understand that a hundred times over. What truly mattered were the two lines etched beneath it.

A full century had passed—rivers and mountains shifting ten times over—and the game's core content had vanished into thin air. What the hell was even left when you stripped "medieval" and "labyrinth" out of a medieval fantasy labyrinth crawler?

Just... fantasy?

I had sensed something amiss from the very second I arrived. Berdal Prison's exterior felt grotesquely, unnaturally advanced. In the world I remembered, you rode horse-drawn carriages and picked up contracts at the local mercenary guild. Here, acoustic megaphones blared orders across the yard, and colossal searchlights tore through the dead of night so prisoners could labor around the clock.

...It had all been foreshadowed the moment I selected Abyssal Wizard during character creation. No wonder that leather longcoat possessed such a sleek, high-tech sheen! No wonder the boots had modern laces instead of crude iron buckles!

Either way, one undeniable truth stared me in the face: the civilization here was far, far more advanced than the world I once knew. Which was an absolute disaster. Every single scrap of veteran meta-knowledge I possessed had just been rendered completely useless.

Fuck my life... What good was being a Phase 20 veteran now? The damn Labyrinth didn't even exist! Every single NPC I knew had probably died of old age decades ago! Who could have known Despair Difficulty meant hard-resetting me into a totally clueless, wide-eyed newbie...?

Right now, information was more precious to me than air. And lying right across from me was a human bear who would spit out intel like a vending machine if you pressed the right buttons—currently snoring loud enough to shake the walls.

A few whispered words with the guards had gotten me sprung from solitary on the spot. Through the sheer, broken power of affinity farming, I had been assigned to a two-man cell with Kiara. Apparently, a bunk happened to be vacant—or so the story went.

Technically speaking, I was rooming alone with a woman, but not a single lustful thought crossed my mind. Her frame looked like it could snap me in half the second she felt an itch, meaning pure survival instinct drowned out everything else. She was, in every sense of the word, a barbarian. No other class could possibly justify a physique like that. I could only thank my lucky stars that the Affinity System had let me win her favor beforehand.

There was just one nagging problem.

No matter what tricks I pulled throughout the grueling manual labor disguised as our daily routine, the gauge refused to budge. Back in the game, you always needed a trigger for moments like this. You either had to hand over their favorite gift or spark a specific event to break through to Level 2. Unfortunately, as a penniless criminal stripped down to a prison smock, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠giving gifts was entirely out of the question.

Which left only a "specific event."

Hmm... What could it be? As a total novice to Despair Difficulty, I didn't have a clue. In a game, I would have thrown everything at the wall and kept retrying indefinitely, but this was cold, unforgiving reality. One miscalculation, and she might literally fold me in two.

"Mmm..."

Racking my brain failed to yield a single clear answer. By nature, I preferred agonizing over a problem until I cracked it, but... I was simply too exhausted. Being dragged out in the dead of night to chip away at raw stone had pushed this sickly, frail body past its limit. And it wasn't even like I'd pulled my own weight.

Had a monitor been floating before my eyes, an alert would have popped up by now.

Sigh.

According to Kiara, if you were late for breakfast in this godforsaken asylum, you didn't even get scraps. ...Time to sleep. Before long, the cell was filled with the sound of two people snoring in sync.

Morning arrived.

Pop!

I uncapped the small glass vial, greeting the new day with a brisk, reviving draw.

"Haaah... Whew."

The effect of the Petal of Ambrosia lasted roughly a day and a half. For safety's sake, turning it into a morning ritual was essential. That horrific sensation of creeping madness was an eldritch nightmare no sane person could endure raw. I might as well treat it like my daily routine; so long as the glass vial remained intact, its durability was effectively infinite.

This marked my second time inhaling it. Every time I drew a breath, the sensation felt uncanny—almost identical to an e-cigarette. It carried a cool menthol chill, lightly sweetened by a crisp, fruity flavor.

A faint anxiety still lingered in my chest, of course. The petal was guaranteed to ward off madness as a status ailment, but whether it could permanently suppress a baseline Madness stat locked at maximum (20) remained unproven. Judging by the fact that I hadn't succumbed to lunacy yet, however, it seemed to be doing its job admirably.

"Turns out this thing is totally broken."

Even a seasoned veteran still had mechanics to discover. Uncovering the unknown was always a joy—or at least, it would have been if this were still just a game.

"Up early, Maknae."

"Still not quite used to the bunk, ma'am."

Kiara stirred, running a thick hand through her tousled hair. She casually rolled her broad, muscle-corded shoulders, producing a series of sharp, bone-cracking pops. Damn, that's intimidating.

"Let's go grab chow. We're getting shoved straight into labor right after, so fill your belly good."

With that, Kiara strode toward the heavy cell door. Berdal Prison operated on a distinctly American penal model. By that, I meant guards didn't deliver trays to your bunk; inmates had to march down to the mess hall in person.

Trailing behind Kiara's massive back, I soon stepped into the cafeteria. Inmates bustled in every direction, and the people ladling out slop behind the counter were fellow convicts as well.

The menu was sparse, to say the least. A dense, gray protein bar pressed from unrecognizable ingredients, and a watery, flavorless stew that looked as though someone had briefly dunked a piece of scrap meat into boiling water before snatching it back out. That was the entirety of the spread.

Everyone took their rations without a word of protest. Throwing a fit over prison food here would instantly brand you as a troublemaker marked for correction. Just eat... Closing my eyes and forcing it down, it turned out to be reasonably edible.

"Hey Maknae, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠sorry, what'd you say your name was again?"

"Please call me Ian."

"Right, right, Ian. Listen up while you chew."

A towering mound of dozens of protein bars sat stacked on Kiara's tray. Snatching one up, she tossed it onto mine before fixing her sharp eyes on me. Did she have something important to share?

"Do what you're told around here, and you won't end up dead. Watching you yesterday, you handled yourself pretty damn well for a greenhorn. Keep your head down and work just like that, and you'll survive long enough to live a decent life. It's a place where people live, after all."

Her words brought to mind the inmate who had died on my very first day. A fool who threw his life away in the stupidest possible manner. That was the sum total of my sympathy. Even I was taken aback by how cold and ruthless my internal assessment was. It was a chilling change in mindset, but under these circumstances, I welcomed it. Being callous was infinitely better than sobbing in a dark corner.

"Outside of labor shifts, your time's your own. Wander the yard, meditate, do whatever the hell you want."

That was fantastic news. Being able to move around without guards breathing down my neck was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a massive tactical advantage. My overarching goal was to break out of this rock. To pull that off, I needed to memorize the map—the layout of the prison—as thoroughly as possible.

Yet a strange doubt nagged at the back of my mind. A maximum-security penal colony that granted this much freedom?

"It might sound rich coming from an inmate, but... is it really safe for them to leave prisoners this unsupervised? What about escape attempts...?"

"What, you don't know? We've got these, don't we?"

Kiara raised a hand and tapped the metal restraint locked around her throat. Clink, clink.

Did it possess a built-in tracking beacon or something? Hey, I've got amnesia! Explain it to me!

When I cocked my head in silent confusion, Kiara gave a low scoff and explained.

"Listen, kid. This mana restraint completely cripples our strength. Most of the bastards dumped in this hellhole used to be Fixers. That means having magic circuits is the bare minimum, and there are even a few wizards mixed into the lot. But the moment this collar snaps shut, every last one of us is brought down to the level of an ordinary human. Anyone skilled enough to pull off a prison break while wearing one of these wouldn't have been caught in the first place."

Fixers? Magic circuits?

A barrage of proper nouns I knew nothing about flew right past me, but context made the gist crystal clear: the collar actively suppressed the ability to wield magic. It was a far more terrifying piece of equipment than I'd assumed. I had wondered why they bothered locking such a heavy, cumbersome lump of metal around our necks, but it served a brutal purpose.

Wait, that didn't add up. If this shackle completely shut down magic, I shouldn't have been able to cast a single spell. Yet I had clearly...

"You lost your memory, so you wouldn't know, but you'll get it the second you take it off—if that day ever comes."

"Is there ever a case where someone can cast magic even with the restraint on...?"

Just as I attempted to resolve my confusion—

"Oi. I'm pretty sure I warned you before. Gambling is strictly forbidden in Berdal. And word has it you're the ringleader behind it all?"

A pot-bellied middle-aged man swaggered up, his voice thick with blatant provocation. He wore a crisp, tailored navy uniform. While it resembled the gear worn by the guards, the air around him was entirely different. The dense cluster of gold aiguillettes and medals pinned across his chest, paired with the high-ranking insignia on his peaked cap, made that abundantly clear.

Who's this guy?

Kiara replied with pure nonchalance.

"Come ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠on, Warden. Be human for once. We're rotting away in a dump like this—we need at least one scrap of entertainment."

So this fat bastard was the Warden. He looked the part to a tee, sporting a stereotypical, corrupt beer belly.

"I had a bad feeling the second you snatched those cards claiming you wanted to 'practice magic tricks.' And this is how you repay my leniency? I won't say it twice. Hand them over quietly while I'm still asking nicely."

"Can't do that, Warden."

The atmosphere instantly curdled. Even as a third-party observer, the shift in tension was palpable.

"To be frank, aren't the inmates this easy to manage because of me? You ought to cut me some slack on the small stuff. Or would you prefer to handle discipline yourself from now on?"

A subtle smirk tugged at the corner of her lips as her voice climbed in volume. Kiara was deliberately playing the insolent delinquent, picking a fight with the Warden in broad daylight. Why? What was she trying to accomplish?

"You insolent piece of shit...!"

As if suffering from chronic intermittent explosive disorder, the Warden slammed his meaty fist onto the metal table without warning.

SLAM!

Trays flipped, and food splattered violently across the concrete floor. While part of me mourned the wasted calories, what seized my attention far more was the sudden, suffocating silence that crashed over the entire mess hall. Talk about killing the mood in an instant.

I could feel every single pair of eyes in the room snapping toward our table. Trapped in the crossfire, I could only glance nervously between them, while the Warden stood wheezing with rage, glaring daggers at Kiara.

"You bastard. I've been meaning to ask you this for a while—are you pulling this shit on purpose? Just because I pampered you for working hard, do you take me for a fucking joke?"

"Haaah... With all the kids watching, maybe tone it down a notch."

"You fucking... Fine. Perfect timing. Both of you, get up and follow me."

The Warden jabbed a thick, trembling finger at Kiara, then swung it sharply toward me.

From the looks of it, she had been the prison's star inmate, so he'd looked the other way on minor infractions—until she crossed the line today. Wait, why the hell am I being dragged into this?! I was literally just sitting here quietly eating my slop! I didn't even complain about the food!

Talk about catching stray shrapnel.

It was outrageously unfair, but there was nothing I could do. Still wearing that bored, unbothered expression, Kiara rose smoothly to her feet and gave me a faint flick of her chin—a silent command telling me to play along.

I couldn't jump to conclusions, but Kiara didn't strike me as foolish enough to pick an empty fight with the supreme ruler of this island. Though it had only been two days since we met, my instincts told me as much. Much like how in the military you could spot a total screwup the moment they opened their mouth, you could also spot the veterans who knew how the system worked.

Maybe there was some unwritten rule only a Berdal Prison veteran understood—something completely alien to a Despair Difficulty newbie like me! Did pissing off the Warden magically yield better rations? Or was this some sort of staged pro-wrestling performance they put on every now and then?

Lacking crucial information, wild speculation was all I could muster.

Amid the dead silence cloaking the mess hall, my left fingers subtly brushed against the invisible grimoire concealed beneath my smock.

Slowly, we fell into step behind the Warden.