A metal door swung open and I was thrown into a dim room.

My chin smacked against the granite floor.

I felt a sharp pain in one of my teeth, followed by a slight movement.

Touching it with my tongue confirmed my suspicion - it was going to fall out.

Struggling to my feet, I looked around.

I could barely see anything.

The floor was damp and cold.

Just like that, I was in jail. Accused of stealing plants that had been hidden under my bed, I had been dragged to this stark, square building and tossed into a cell.

Surprisingly, I wasn't even angry.

Just exhausted.

It felt like I was stuck in a never-ending loop.

My life in Hell had been reduced to constant imprisonment - whether trapped by my dwindling health bar, a madman, an XP bar, or debt.

It was never-ending.

But perhaps, this time, it really was over.

I had no idea how to escape when I was outside, but now that I was incarcerated, my chances were zero.

As the sound of the guards' voices receded and the metal door slammed shut, I was left in solitude.

I backed up and leaned against the cold wall at the rear of my cell.

As my eyes adjusted to the dark, I could now discern chains hanging from the ceiling.

The cell was spacious, clearly meant to accommodate multiple prisoners.

To my right, the rhythmic dripping of water into a small puddle on the floor echoed in the room.

"So, this is my final abode? It's almost better than the dorm," I thought, trying to lift my spirits.

I was cold and hungry. Hunger was a daily companion since my arrival here, for they scarcely fed the farmers in this village.

But maybe it was better to feel hungry than to eat those horrid herbs again.

"Hey, psst! Over here!" a voice cut through my thoughts.

To my left, someone was calling. I squinted my eyes, but all I could see was a wall.

"Here, through the hole," the voice said.

I moved closer and began to run my fingers across the wall, searching for this elusive hole.

Suddenly, my little finger and ring finger plunged into the wall.

Bending down, I peered through the hole. It was pitch black, save for a faint draft of air.

"Hold on," the voice said.

Then, there was a flash of light, and suddenly everything on the other side of the wall became clear.

An old man in tatters stood there, with long, white hair and a matching beard.

I scrutinized everything the hole offered: the wrinkles on his face, the gray of his rags, and the countless slash scars on his thin arms.

The old man looked miserable, yet a broad smile illuminated his face.

"Do you like what you see?" he asked, swaying his hips as though hula-hooping.

I watched the spectacle, questioning the sanity of my cell neighbor.

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"Who are you?" I asked.

He stopped swaying.

"I'm one of the founders of this village. Impressive, huh? Call me Sid," he said.

I was tempted not to believe him, but I gave him the benefit of the doubt.

"And why is someone as important as you in jail?" I asked next.

"I was betrayed by my friend, the current village chief. We had differing ideas, and it seems his prevailed over mine," he said, still with a big smile.

He seemed like a lonely old man, ready to open up to anyone willing to listen.

"The village chief?" I asked, sitting back against the wall.

I had seen enough and my back was starting to ache. His voice still reached me from the hole just above my head.

"Yes, we were close friends. We arrived with a small group from the North. Our scout had spotted a wall of trees, it was the perfect place to establish our Dweller utopia," the voice echoed from the hole.

I was half-listening, but was surprised to learn that the wall had been there before them. "Wasn't it one of you who built the wall?" I questioned.

"Of course not, that's a feat only a high-level mage could accomplish. Someone had lived there before us and had left quite a while ago," he explained.

"Just one person?" I asked.

"Yes, there was only a small house on this vast piece of land and a small fruit garden," he detailed.

"That sounds like a little paradise for a dweller," I remarked.

"Well, yes... But it wasn't a Dweller. The fruits this player was growing are what we call Secret Fruits. These are fruits that give XP when you eat them, and they don't normally grow here, but in the East, a very dangerous area," explained the old man.

The Secret Fruits... I was familiar with them. That's what my captor had fed me. "These fruits didn't come from here, meaning they can only be found in this village, in this part of Hell?" I asked.

"Yes, the only other way is to go east, but for that, you need to have a very high level," he confirmed.

"And does that fruit garden still exist here?" I wanted to verify this last detail.

"Yes, but it has grown and now occupies a large plot of land. People here don't want to touch it, they view anything that gives XP as cursed. Fools," he said.

I buried my head in my hands.

The Secret Fruits... my captor had a lot of them, and he was eating Black Turcos.

There was no doubt about it. The man who wanted to sell me had ties to this village.

"Hey, old man, do you know anything about a slave trader who does business with the village?" I asked, lightly knocking my head rhythmically against the cold wall.

"Slavery? Oh, sure. That's the main objective of the lookouts, they go out to bring back slaves," he replied.

I replayed the scene in my head over and over. If Guil was alone so late in a dangerous place when I ran into him, it's because he was supposed to meet my captor.

And those guards I overheard talking about a new sacrifice who was supposed to arrive.

"Old man, I think I just realized that I've been played," I told him.

"Ahaha, you're a bit slow. You've been in this cell for a good hour now," he said, laughing.

"Is there a way out of here?" I asked. Driven more by a desire for revenge than a yearning for freedom.

"No, as you can imagine, I would have already left if that was possible. My age should tell you that I've been here for a long time," he answered.

His age, I had forgotten one detail.

"But if you were friends with the chief, why is he so young compared to you?" I asked.

I heard the old man move closer to the hole. And stop. He was breathing hard. "Level 9... And not much else in your head," he said.

"Answer instead of making jokes," I retorted, irritated.

"Leveling up resets your body. Wounds heal, diseases disappear. And your age reverts to when you spawned. We all arrived here with bodies around 25 years old," he explained.

"Everyone?" I asked.

I couldn't grasp how I'd missed such crucial information.

"Yes, Dwellers die of old age... at least when Hell allows it. You've seen many old people in the village, right?" the voice asked.

"Yeah, many. But why is the chief so young? Is he a Dweller who levels up?" I asked.

"Ah... That's the problem with labels, they're not precise enough. Personally, I see him more as a Drifter. He doesn't level up to resurrect, but to stay alive and keep indulging in Hell's pleasures. When he becomes too bloated, or too sick from his excesses, he levels up and starts over. He's not really himself anymore, he's just guided by malicious desires," said the voice, a hint of disappointment in his tone.

"Don't any Dwellers complain about this?"

"Those in the know do the same, those who choose to ignore it are too tied to their privileges to attempt anything," he mumbled.

I got up, too angry to remain seated.

I'd been manipulated from the start and now they were going to get rid of me.

I had to act.

I began pacing around my cell.

The rhythmic sound of my footsteps alerted the old man.

"Don't waste your energy. I know what you're thinking and it's futile," he said.

I continued walking, ignoring his words.

"You don't gain any more XP after walking 100 miles. You won't level up that way. Unless you're just 100xp short of level 10, of course," he continued.

I was short of more than 200xp.

I stopped and sat down again.

"So I have to wait and die?" I asked.

"No, I can get you out," he said calmly.

I sprung up at hearing this.

"What do you mean? Why didn't you tell me sooner?" I asked.

"I need you to do something for me in return. If you agree, we can start," he said next.

"Okay, anything, tell me," I told him.

"You're going to help me commit suicide," he said, as if it was no big deal.