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6. Night

The third day after Carlix’s escape was chaotic. Taylor, who was not being tortured, still had to lie in his cell, but he didn’t feel bored since he was focusing on the voices coming from the stairs leading to the upper floor.

Moreover, the content was far from boring.

“They say the prisoner has been swapped.”

“What?”

“The guy who was tortured yesterday. He wasn’t the original inmate.”

“Great job. So what about his handler?”

“Who knows. If he got off with a recommendation for resignation, he’s lucky. He’s probably been beaten up and dumped somewhere. His Highness isn’t exactly lenient.”

Ah, so that’s what it was. Taylor easily grasped the situation.

Glacies had excellent teamwork. They had already set up everything to blame the prison. If they went as far as swapping prisoners just to show they had influence inside the prison, the message was clear. They had the ability to control the prison itself.

All he needed to do was unlock his cell door.

“Still as meticulous as ever.”

Taylor looked at the iron bars in front of him. The last time he grabbed them, the pain from the electric shock was significant, so he scrapped any reckless plans. Meanwhile, the conversation continued.

“Hasn’t he mellowed out?”

“Idiot. That’s just for Lady Rosen. She acts as if her lover has turned into a great sage.”

“Delusional.”

The guild had deft hands. But it seemed they hadn’t touched the guards. This meant one thing.

The guild wanted him but didn’t need him.

What they offered was a test and an uncertain opportunity, not a helping hand. Taylor had to remember that he was a disposable pawn. The sinking feeling in his gut emphasized that any failure would be solely his to bear.

For the first time in a while, Taylor’s red eyes flickered with reason as he looked at the items before him. The unchanged, blood-stained sheets and the disheveled pillow caught his attention.

“…Not bad.”

As long as he succeeded, it didn’t matter.

Taylor stood up, quietly contemplating the story Kestiel Reload had told him a few days ago.

“The blame for the escape must lie with Alcatraz itself.”

“If they had moved a bit faster, it would have been better.”

His murmuring voice was strangely excited. He looked down at his hands.

Despite the seizures, harsh conditions, and the side effects from stopping the use of the magic suppression device, his hands, which had constantly trembled as if having a seizure, were now steady. He recalled the turning point. It must have been the day of Carlix’s escape. Yes, definitely that day. Taylor stared into space.

“Escape….”

If news of a series of escapes reached the public, Kestiel and the Crown Prince would face significant criticism. Their engagement would inevitably be postponed, and Margaret’s wish for Florencia’s execution might be delayed.

Additionally, if criticism fell on the knight, it would be unfortunate for Kestiel but quite amusing for him. If Kestiel and Margaret’s ‘ending’ were twisted that way.

Perhaps the Crown Prince wouldn’t become the emperor as a result. The Grand Duke was no longer just a prisoner.

Taylor was certain. Not just escaping this place, but completely breaking the ending they referred to before twisting it.

Taylor smiled, his red eyes gleaming coldly under the torchlight.

Margaret would not return.

Of course, looking back on his memories, Beatrice might not care about the Crown Prince’s status. But Taylor was certain her lover thought differently. He remembered the man negotiating fiercely between the guild master and imperial support.

“Too bad, Beatrice.”

Taylor quickly made his decision. The Crown Prince might dote on Beatrice, but he wouldn’t consider happiness without status as complete. The perfect happiness they desired in the end would never be fulfilled.

He couldn’t suppress his sneer.

“The protagonist is no different.”

With the seizures stopped, there was no reason to waste time in this damn place anymore. Taylor didn’t want to rot here, accepting his eternal isolation passively. The change Margaret brought was more significant than he had thought.

The assassin of Alcatraz decided to finally act on his long-delayed plans.

With the Grand Duke escaped and the Crown Prince facing criticism, the odds were fifty-fifty. Taylor didn’t care for Glacies anymore, but there was no reason to refuse the situation they had set up for him.

Taylor took a deep breath. Then he started laughing maniacally and gave an order to the guard. Amidst his insane tone, his demand was simple.

“Tell the Glacies master this. After this, I’m done working under you. Make sure to relay that correctly.”

It didn’t matter if he was a supporting character or whatever.

‘As long as I have Mel. As long as she doesn’t leave my side.’

The guard stared at him, not understanding. In the past, he might have shoved a metal rod through the bars or thrown a rock to silence the madness. But this time,

“…”

He couldn’t. The killer before him was serious. The fundamental fear from the difference in power crept up his spine.

Margaret Eilish was a frail marquis’ daughter with nothing particularly remarkable about her. Despite the truth, that’s how she was defined by society. Despite her status and influence, the additional description attached to her was usually, “She’s kinder than her sister.” In and out of social circles, her presence was never considered significant, and that was about all that was noteworthy about her.

However, it wasn’t that there were no people who knew she was different from the rumors. The Crown Prince, Beatrice, Carlix, Kestiel, Taylor, and a few guards could testify to her true nature.

Although their connection was tenuous due to bribery, they sometimes evaluated her more intuitively than the higher-ups. The guards in charge of Florencia and the ones on the first basement floor had a unanimous evaluation of Margaret Eilish.

In front of Taylor Knight’s solitary cell, a guard recalled the collective opinion of his colleagues.

A dangerous woman. More cunning than her sister. Perhaps the coldest person of all.

Although the general guards of Sinalore did not doubt Margaret’s illness, those who had the most direct and indirect contact with her believed their judgment to be credible.

Guard Jacob, who was in charge of Taylor, tried to recall the information about the marquis’ daughter whom the life-sentenced prisoner was obsessed with and swallowed hard. Come to think of it, everyone she met…?

“…You.”

Jacob barely moved his lips to ask a question.

“Although it’s against regulations, let me ask you one thing.”

Is Lady Eilish someone like you?

* * *

Unlike most noble daughters who refrained from directly involving themselves in worldly affairs, Margaret Eilish had no hesitation in offering bribes. The incident when she first came to Alcatraz remained vividly in his memory.

“You cannot pass this point.”

His firm tone reflected his then diligent self. Like most of Sinalore’s staff, who generally despised and were rude to nobles, he didn’t have a favorable impression of the lady before him. Her languid expression, almost sleepy demeanor, and the inherent arrogance typical of nobles—much like the look Florencia had when she was dragged to the prison—ensured that he would likely mock her if she wished to pass by scattering money around.

Jacob was actually inclined to do so.

‘After all, nobles never listen to what I say anyway.’

The courteous warning was purely a formal act, considering Taylor’s danger. He had already begun to think of how to counter any insults or pleas she might hurl at him in a high-pitched voice, imagining her face flushing with anger.

But that was it.

“I have it.”

Clink.

Margaret, with a lackluster gesture, tossed a coin that rolled with a clear metallic sound. His colleague, who usually handled basic prison guidance, glanced at the scene and then chose to ascend the stairs, attempting to ignore it.

Afterward, only the two of them remained in the prison. Margaret looked at him and asked, as if joking,

“Is it enough?”

“…You’ll get hurt.”

Jacob was so tense that he didn’t even realize there was a pause in his response. Margaret pulled out a few more coins of the same color and threw them.

A single gold coin was slightly less than his monthly salary. He clenched his fist and swallowed. Margaret watched him with satisfaction, then murmured with a slight laugh,

“Oh, my hand keeps slipping.”

The coins continued to fall. Unable to endure it any longer, he tried to ignore the situation by maintaining his silence. Until Margaret, in her typically gentle voice, sighed and asked,

“Oh dear, I’ve dropped too many. I need someone to pick them up. Will you do it?”

Her voice, laced with greed, was sweet as honey.

“Or should I call your colleague?”

‘Damn it.’

Jacob had to muster all his patience to swallow the curse.

Jacob didn’t want to become a righteous prison guard. Nor did he want to become a criminal. From the day he was assigned as a guard in this damn underground prison, he had been caught in this conflict.

The woman before him seemed to understand this very precisely.

He mumbled to himself about the usefulness of the knowledge he had learned from his sister, staring directly into her eyes as if urging an answer.

Jacob was weak to material temptations, as most people were. Besides, he had a family to take care of. The guard couldn’t focus on the fact that his rapid self-justifications were mere excuses.

After all, he didn’t want to work in the lowest level of this underground prison. At least if he were an interrogator torturing prisoners, he would find some sense of satisfaction in his work. Or perhaps, fun?

The interrogators who tortured prisoners and the guards overseeing the multi-inmate cells above didn’t spend their surplus time idly.

In this place filled with criminals, they mocked and inflicted violence on prisoners without restraint, as they didn’t consider them human. The harsh and barren environment offered little amusement beyond that.

At least they had that much enjoyment. Beating, kicking, and cursing the obvious societal evils involved no guilt.

Watching over nobles, though boring, had its perks. Unless they were of very high status or inherently intimidating, they were just criminals here.

The insurmountable ‘status’ gap meant little here, and the catharsis the guards felt from mocking high-ranking individuals had its own charm.

However, being a solitary cell guard in Alcatraz offered no such merits.

Jacob looked at the coins scattered on the floor.

With that money, he could buy a building near the capital. Then he could quit this tiresome job and open a fencing school for commoners.

Maybe he could become a brighter person instead of watching others being tortured.

Margaret moved her gaze from his pondering face. She seemed to want to give him time to think. Jacob gritted his teeth.

“Did I jump to the point too quickly for someone who finally has a conversation partner?”

“My lady, that’s…”

“You must have been bored. I’m so sorry.”

Clink. Coins spilled from a small bag, usually meant for handkerchiefs, identification, small self-defense items, or trinkets to give to others. There were only gold coins.

Margaret was still smiling. Her silver-purple hair gleamed eerily under the damp torchlight, making her look like a dream demon.

The noble lady coughed dryly a few times, wrapped her arms around her shoulders, and asked lightly,

“Don’t you want to quit?”

“……”

The guard couldn’t answer. Margaret waited briefly, then clicked her tongue, unable to hide her boredom at the prolonged silence.

“…I apologize. I underestimated your professionalism. If there were more justice around me, I would respect your conscience enough.”

But revealing too much conflict isn’t good.

Margaret’s voice grew softer toward the end. She showed no expression now.

Nevertheless, Jacob felt a genuine respect, perhaps even admiration, in her dawn-like eyes. The subtle reverence shone softly like a halo.

Jacob looked at the scattered coins on the floor. The noblewoman, with the same fake smile as in cheap tabloids covering social events, turned away. She probably intended to call his colleague.

“But whatever you choose, I—”

A colleague would soon arrive. The image of him picking up the coins replayed vividly in his mind.

Jacob bowed his head, and Margaret, blinking away any lingering emotions, took a step forward.

Then, she pulled a silver knife from her sleeve and threw it toward Taylor Knight.

“My lady, what are you—!”

The guard shouted in shock. Margaret, hiding her emotions like any noble, continued with a clear voice,

“Now, if Taylor grabs that knife, either you or I will die in this cell.”

“Are you insane?!”

He yelled. Inside the cell, the assassin with white hair stared at the thrown knife.

Up until then, there was no will in Taylor’s red eyes.

The guard, who had just enough professionalism, began to calculate the situation with slight confidence. He wouldn’t die.

No matter how talented he was, he couldn’t overpower a mana-using knight while being drugged. Besides, the quality of the guard’s protective gear was the best in Sinalore, given the prisoner’s notoriety. He was confident.

But what about this frail marquis’ daughter?