Conditions
“To our vice warden!”
“To him—!”
Glasses filled with every kind of liquor clinked in the air. Empty ones lay scattered across the vast dining hall like drunken revelers.
“I really didn't think he'd win.”
“I never doubted for a second. Not one bit!”
“The guy hedging his bets was anxious, huh.”
“Hey now. No need for pointless talk on a night like this with such a fine show.”
No matter how renowned the nobles and power players locked inside, a prison was still a prison. To these men starved for new thrills, the duel had been like rain in a drought—or a stone hurled into a still pond. Even without the star of the show present, it made for the perfect drinking tale.
Every so often, they raised their glasses toward Seolhwa on the second floor. He'd long since stopped counting the toasts, merely shaking his own in lazy reply. No need to refill an already empty one—the drunks below would drink his share too.
His bruises began to throb, making their presence known. Probably the tension from the duel finally easing. He might not even manage to lie down properly for days.
That guy was a real bear. If I'd been even a fraction slower with the curse word...
Seolhwa would've been the one rolling on the floor. He'd never planned to use it in the first place—intending to end things with sword and magic at a respectable line. But the first clash had shown him his opponent allowed no such leisure.
Still, I was reckless. What if I'd held back on the shamanism even if it meant a narrow loss...?
Water under the bridge now. Regret changed nothing. He knew that all too well. To shake off the lingering thoughts, Seolhwa tipped back his glass. Only the faint scent of liquor from its empty depths wet his throat.
Coo—!
A plump pigeon landed on the railing Seolhwa gripped. Spotting the note tied to its leg—thick as a man's finger—he smiled.
* * *
The Utopia infirmary, usually empty as a ghost town, held a massive man sprawled on a bed. Aside from minor bruises and a mild concussion, Mobile Patrol Captain Boris Lesner had no real injuries to speak of. Ignoring the early exchanges, Seolhwa hadn't landed a single solid hit. And after the shield came up? Zero.
Felt off from the start.
Yet the discomfort of total bodily paralysis from Seolhwa's curse word lingered in his limbs. For the first time in his life, he'd felt like an object rather than a subject—a conscious mind trapped in a useless shell. Heightened sensation made it all the sharper.
That was why Boris feigned his fake ailment: more psychological than physical. Just as he thought it time to rise and wrap things up, the door opened.
Spotting the visitor, Boris started to sit up, but a casual wave stopped him.
“You were down when you needed to be—why rise now? Forget it.”
“Should I have gotten up?”
“Nah.”
Jepeto chuckled lightly, dragging a chair to the bedside. His gaze held a hint of apology—or maybe not.
“So, how was it?”
“As you saw, I lost. No excuses.”
“I saw that much. I mean the vice warden.”
“What is there to say? The loser can't complain.”
“That's 'cause I told you to go easy.”
“Didn't.”
“What?”
“Didn't go easy. From the moment I raised the riot shield, I fought to win for real.”
Jepeto yanked his chair closer, eyes gleaming with delight. The iron legs scraped harshly across the stone floor, shattering the infirmary's silence.
“Even when it hit, right up to passing out, and now looking back—I still don't get it. What the hell kind of magic was that?”
“Hm? Oh, only the caster knows for sure. You know magic isn't some miracle that does anything—it's conditional abilities loaded with ifs and buts.”
Finishing, Jepeto popped open his peanut pouch and tossed a handful into his mouth. He offered it to Boris, who shook his head.
Not magic, really...
Jepeto swallowed the word shamanism along with the nuts. This secret would prove useful later. Pity the gloomy ex-aide, but patience now.
“If even you don't know the general, nothing to be done. Just keep your promise later.”
“Eh? Oh, right! You think I'd go back on my word?”
Times like this, Boris's straightforwardness was a blessing. He'd shake off this loss lightly and grow.
“But... is this contrived setup okay?”
“Contrived how?”
“Fresh academy grad vice warden, handing the warden spot to a parachute, pushback from the old guard, proving it with skill...”
“Neat, no?”
“Outdated.”
Jepeto's hand froze mid-peanut.
“Outdated?”
“I'd never buy such an obvious setup.”
Brushing crumbs from his lips, Jepeto shoved back his chair and stood.
“You're a long way off, lad. That's why your skills rank top five in the northern army, yet no promotion.”
“I was content as your aide, General—not that I couldn't promote.”
“Anyway! That's exactly why it disarms suspicion. So blatant it's like, 'No way they'd be that shameless?' We both know the world's run by such types.”
His words rippled with strange conviction, evoking the Empire's fang who once ravaged battlefields at legion head.
“And...”
Patting his knee lightly, Jepeto reverted to neighborhood grandpa mode.
“Showing this much satisfies the jackals.”
“Jackals...?”
“The ones lurking in Utopia, eyeing chances. Oh, outsiders too? Anyway.”
“Speak of the outer jackals—they're here. I've got fun—er, business. Later.”
Leaving Boris baffled, Jepeto headed to Barrier Control. On the thin magic stone slate linked to the massive barrier crystal, three circles glowed red.
“Sir.”
“Skip greetings. Status?”
“Unauthorized intruders attempting north outer wall breach. Internal distortion field will confuse any who cross—easy to suppress.”
“On that... just open it.”
“Understo— Pardon?”
Like a fanatic awaiting post-credits, Jepeto's flushed face kneaded the operator's shoulder eagerly.
“Didn't hear? Release the barrier for them. Tell watchposts to pull back.”
Tingling under the muscled grip, the operator deactivated a barrier section and radioed north posts, punching a hole in defenses.
Utopia's security chief, Jepeto Cervantes, watched with paternal pride, his face blooming in a twisted grin.
* * *
Whiiiish!
May in Manrmursk meant blizzards, sand-like snow lashing through winter gear.
“Fucking snow. Why build a prison here?”
“Better than heat. Remember that desert gig?”
“Shut it. Moving in.”
Men who scaled the outer wall on grapnel harpoons flattened to the ground, scanning. No one braves this blizzard, they figured—guards were lax.
“Where's this Cynthia? Search the whole place?”
“No need.”
“Then how...?”
“Follow the feathers.”
The leader pointed to a distant tower. Pigeons poured in windows, fleeing the gale.
Target locked, they checked weapons. Familiar chill confirmed, three snakes slithered into shadows.
* * *
“Congratulations on your victory.”
“Not quite a victory... haha, embarrassing.”
Today a holiday for carrier pigeons? They roosted wings folded, asleep. A few on watch aimed beaks at Seolhwa.
“Still, inviting me for tea makes winning more sound worthwhile.”
“My, such pretty words.”
This tea milder than last—no coughs, sipped elegantly before setting down the cup. Watching, Cynthia smiled faintly and handed over an envelope.
“What's this?”
“Open it.”
Rough textured paper, sealed with wax—old-school taste of the sender. Carefully opening without tearing, Seolhwa's eyes widened.
“......”
Pigeons held breath, peering at the table. As clock ticks blurred, Seolhwa spoke.
“Impressive...?”
Cynthia lifted her teacup wordlessly.
“Or have I proven my worth?”
His words packed wariness. Pigeons cooed loudly in response. Coo—!
A lead pigeon spread wings behind Cynthia. She gestured lightly; silence fell like magic.
“You showed skill, Vice Warden... so I figured I'd show some sincerity.”
Prisoner Profiles
Crimes, Backgrounds, Weaknesses — Compiled for Suhwa Romanov, Vice Warden
Beyond like or dislike—this is exactly what I need. And she knows it.
“How... satisfactory?”
To sift gems from dross among inmates, this was a treasure map. But...
“Hm...”
“Oh dear, not to your taste?”
“Feels like... 'This'll regret later, like it'll make me fat...' Tempting to skip, but then I'd regret not eating. That's this envelope exactly.”
As if expected, Cynthia leisurely took a cookie. Half for her, half fed behind to a pigeon.
“Won't ask my price?”
“If the answer's fixed, does content matter? I'll take the hit eyes closed.”
“So bold. My condition's simple, Suhwa Romanov, Vice Warden.”
A dimple bloomed shyly at her smile's end. Folded pigeon wings behind her seemed her own. The flightless angel clutched her purple necklace, eyes on Seolhwa.
“Kill me.”