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I'm Just the Guard!
42: Convict Conversations Consists of Colloquial Confusion

42: Convict Conversations Consists of Colloquial Confusion

The heavily accented voice continued to complain about the noise but I ignored him. Who cares if some scum of the earth convict couldn't sleep while I was training? He'd probably done something truly despicable to be taken down here.

Like threaten his superior?

Will you ever shut up?

You're the one talkin' to himself, mate.

Rolling my eyes, I took a break from hammering my fists into the wall. I'd been going at a steady pace, throwing light punches so I could go for longer without taking a lot of breaks. So far, I'd gotten three more points in VIT as well as one in ATK. [Punch] had gone up to level 3, which was great.

I couldn't tell if my skills were leveling faster than before my system update or if it's because I was solely focusing on training one skill. Whatever the case may be, my consistency had shown results, in both the wall and my status. An imprint of my fists was slowly starting to form in the stone as my punches grew more accurate.

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Brushing my thumb against the shallow hole, I whistled in appreciation. "Decent, for now," I murmured. "At the rate that I'm goin', I might just [Punch] my way out of here!"

"Dat a criss, mon," came the voice of Prisoner Jamarco. "Now can yuh let ah bredda git sum sleep nah?"

Another voice cut in, this one speaking rapid-fire in a language I couldn't understand. "¡Ambos sabemos que has estado durmiendo desde que llegaste aquí, Jamarco!"

"Nuh one cah undastan yuh Groaty!" Jamarco snapped back.

"Thou are one to talk," another voice hissed. "What with thy undecipherable accent."

"Nuh bady did chatting tuh yuh, demon!"

"Thou are now."

"Shaddap!"

"¡Deja de ignorarme!"

"Enough!" I shouted. But they ignored me, yelling at each other somewhere in the donjon. "This is going nowhere," I said. "Do none of you speak proper Common?"

"Mi wi put Common rite up yuh butt," snarled Jamarco. "Now shut it! Mi tiad an all dis yelling a get pan fi mi nerves."

"Oh? Thy rotting meat carcass thou bid a corporal agent still possesses nerves?"

I huffed. "What does that even mean?"

"'Twere an insult, thou buffoon. Hast thou ne'r known of one?"

"No creo que este sea demasiado brillante..."

"This...this is all so very insane..." I mumbled, falling down onto my cot. The old wooden frame holding up the thin mattress groaned under my weight but it held. Closing my eyes as I pressed my head against the mattress, I willed the weirdness that I'd just experienced to go away and leave me alone.

Blissfully, my wishes were answered.