As Dante sat down, his earlier feelings of self-reproach and frustration slowly morphed into curiosity and unease. This wasn’t his first time meeting someone from Earth, but it was certainly the first time encountering someone of Arthur’s overwhelming strength. Previously, all the Earthlings he’d met were ordinary people like himself—some good, some bad. Most, however, didn’t last more than a few days in the prison. Many couldn’t even endure the initial chaos, succumbing to despair before their journey truly began.

Arthur broke the silence, his lazy grin firmly in place. “So, which Earth are you from?”

“Oh, I’m from Earth-69,” Dante replied, his voice steady but cautious.

“Sixty-nine?” Arthur raised an eyebrow, his grin widening slightly. “I’ve met a few people from Earth-69 before. Tough bastards, every single one. As far as I know, quite a few of them managed to enter the Sky Tower.”

“Sky Tower?” Dante’s brow furrowed, the unfamiliar term leaving him visibly confused. “What’s that?”

Arthur’s relaxed demeanor shifted for a fraction of a second. He cleared his throat awkwardly and quickly redirected the conversation. “Ah, don’t worry about that for now. It’s... complicated. Anyway, I’m from Earth-9.”

Dante noted the deliberate change of subject, but the words "Sky Tower" etched themselves deeply into his mind. Another question bubbled to the surface.

“I see,” Dante said thoughtfully, leaning forward with a curious glint in his eyes. “I’ve always wondered—just how many versions of Earth exist?”

Arthur shrugged nonchalantly. “Oh, definitely. Don’t ask me how many, though. Too many to count, probably.”

“Fair enough,” Dante murmured, though his mind buzzed with unspoken questions. After a pause, he hesitated before asking the next one. “Are you... also a prisoner?”

The words hung in the air, cautious yet direct. Dante had already guessed the answer after hearing the Armed Sentinel refer to Arthur as a "Envoy Prisoner," but he needed confirmation. Arthur seemed far too free and powerful to be shackled by the same rules as the others. Besides, he was the Guardian of Ashveil, which hardly screamed “prisoner.”

Arthur chuckled, stretching his arms lazily. “That’s right, kid. Just like you, I’m one of that damned prison’s inmates. But,” he paused dramatically, pulling out a strange, ornate badge from his pocket, “unlike most prisoners, I’ve got this.”

The badge gleamed faintly in the dim light, ancient and intricate. Its surface bore the worn engraving of a sword and a shield, symbols that seemed to pulse faintly with an inner power. Dante’s eyes lit up, unable to hide his fascination.

“This little beauty? It marks me as a Special Envoy for the prison,” Arthur explained, flipping the badge between his fingers with practiced ease. “It lets me operate outside the prison for extended periods, but don’t get the wrong idea—I’m not out here for fun. The prison put me in charge of Ashveil as its Guardian. This is my tenth year on the job.”

Dante stared at the badge, captivated. He could feel it wasn’t just a simple trinket; there was something potent, almost otherworldly, about it.

“Interesting,” Dante said slowly, nodding as he processed Arthur’s explanation. His gaze lingered on the badge. “So, it’s kind of like the Nameless Hero of Ashveil?”

Arthur snorted, his smirk turning into a dismissive sneer. “That old relic? Yeah, sure. Except he had way better luck than me—didn’t have to stick around playing babysitter for a decade.”

Dante’s interest sharpened. “You knew the Nameless Hero?” His tone betrayed his excitement.

“‘Knew’ is a strong word,” Arthur replied, waving his hand dismissively. “When he was out slaying dragons and being the golden boy, I’d just been tossed into the prison not long before. By the time he was done being a hero, he disappeared. Nobody knows where he went.”

For a brief moment, even Arthur’s usual aloofness faded, replaced by a flicker of genuine curiosity. It seemed that not even someone as jaded as him could resist the mystery of the Nameless Hero.

Arthur snapped out of his thoughts and spoke, a sly grin tugging at his lips. “I heard from that tin-can Sentinel boss that you managed to awaken your Infinite Fragment?”

“Yes, just a couple of days ago,” Dante replied with a sheepish chuckle. “Honestly, I’ve got no clue how it works. I’ve just been winging it.”

Arthur let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “Of course you don’t. Infinite Fragments are ridiculously complicated. Without guidance, you’re more likely to blow yourself up than figure it out.” He paused, his piercing gaze softening slightly. “Still, I heard you held your ground against that thing, kept little Billy alive, and made it long enough for Leon and the others to back you up. That’s no small feat. That monster isn’t just some random beast. Hell, even I couldn’t kill it—it managed to slip away.”

The words hit Dante like a gut punch. The Spawn of the Black Goat wasn’t dead? Even someone like Arthur couldn’t destroy it? Dante felt a chill run through him, his gut twisting into knots.

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Forcing a bitter smile, Dante muttered, “What’s there to praise? That wasn’t a fight. That thing was just toying with me, like a cat batting around a half-dead mouse.”

Arthur waved him off, leaning back with a smirk. “Maybe. But put anyone else in your shoes, and they’d be six feet under in the first minute. You lasted long enough to make a difference. That’s worth something.”

Dante didn’t respond. He just shook his head with a weary, bitter smile, the weight of recent events pressing heavily on his shoulders. His gaze drifted, almost unconsciously, to Arthur’s arm. The bandages wrapped around it were loose and uneven, failing to fully cover the ominous black veins creeping out from beneath them.

For a moment, Dante hesitated, his concern evident in his furrowed brow. “Your arm… Arthur, is it bad?” he asked, concern flickered across his face.

Arthur glanced at it, then shrugged with infuriating nonchalance. “Oh, this? Nothing major. Just a slow, creeping corrosion of the soul. No biggie.”

Dante practically choked. “Not a big deal?! Soul corrosion isn’t something you just brush off!”

Arthur chuckled darkly. “Relax, kid. This isn’t my first rodeo with this kind of injury. The prison’s got their ways to patch me up. No need to lose sleep over it.”

Dante wasn’t convinced, but before he could press further, Arthur changed the subject. His sharp eyes narrowed slightly as he studied Dante. “Tell you what, though—meeting you today feels like fate. I hear you’ve got two more days of grunt work to finish up. So I’ll stick around to escort you back. The road isn’t exactly going to be smooth sailing, and I owe a favor or two to the good folks from Earth 69. Consider it payback for those times they saved my sorry ass.”

Dante didn’t refuse. He simply nodded, though his mind still swirled with countless questions he wanted to ask Arthur. But before he could voice them, Arthur slapped his thighs and stood up, stretching like a man who had just woken from a long nap.

“Well, that’s enough chitchat. I’ve got to get back to town and resume my oh-so-glamorous duties as Guardian. Two days from now, I’ll come find you,” Arthur said with a lazy smirk.

“Thank you, Arthur,” Dante replied, standing as well. The two shook hands before Arthur leapt skyward, his figure quickly vanishing into the distance.

The tranquility was short-lived. A booming, gravelly voice shattered the calm.

“Billy! Where’s my Billy?!”

Dante turned to see Joseph, who had just jumped off a flying beast with the grace of a falling boulder.

Snapping out of his thoughts, Dante sprinted toward Joseph, who was already storming toward Leon’s house.

Inside the house, Joseph knelt by Billy’s bedside, gripping the boy’s hand tightly. Though he said nothing, the anguish etched into his rugged face spoke volumes.

When Dante entered, Joseph glanced up. His eyes, usually fierce and unyielding, softened. “Dante! Leon told me what happened. Thank you for saving Billy,” he said, his gruff voice unusually tender.

“You don’t need to thank me. Billy got hurt because of me too,” Dante replied, his voice tinged with guilt. “I didn’t expect him to... stay behind.”

Leon shook his head firmly, his usually stoic face filled with conviction. “No. Billy is alive because of you. Our family owes you a debt we can never repay.”

“That’s right,” Joseph added, his tone resolute. “This is a debt I, Joseph, won’t forget.”

Dante opened his mouth, trying to dismiss their gratitude, but the words wouldn’t come. He swallowed them back, letting silence speak for him.

The silence was interrupted when the door burst open, and Velanna entered with a bag full of bottles clinking together. Each was filled with brightly colored liquids, clearly various healing potions.

“I’m back! These are all the potions I could gather from town,” she declared, setting the bag down with a determined look. “I’ll start mixing them. Maybe I can whip up something to counteract whatever’s in Billy’s system.”

Dante stood quietly, watching her work. After a moment’s thought, he walked over to Billy’s bedside. Joseph and Leon, though puzzled, stepped aside to let him through.

Dante carefully unbuttoned Billy’s shirt, revealing his torso. The faint, blackened veins beneath Billy’s skin mirrored the corruption Dante had seen on Arthur’s arm. Though less severe, the resemblance was unmistakable.

Dante’s face darkened. Without a word, he turned and left the room, leaving Joseph and Leon exchanging confused glances.

Outside, Dante stormed across the camp until he found the Armed Sentinel Captain perched on a boulder, engaged in what looked like a silent conversation with an unseen party.

“Hey, boss,” Dante began, steeling his nerves. “I’ve got a favor to ask.”

The Sentinel ended its mysterious communication, its glowing eyes swiveling toward Dante. “Prisoner Dante, state your request.”

“It’s Billy,” Dante said, his voice firm. “His wounds are like Arthur’s. I’m asking the prison to help heal him.”

The Captain tilted its head slightly, considering. “This request exceeds my authority. I must consult my superiors, but I can tell you now that approval is unlikely. The prison does not involve itself in the affairs of civilians.”

“What? Can’t you make an exception just this once?” Dante pressed, desperation seeping into his voice.

The Sentinel paused, its cold, mechanical gaze locking on Dante. Finally, it said, “My superiors have issued a directive. If you collect ten tons of beast dung within the next two days, the prison will make an exception and allow Billy to be taken to the Frontier Bastion for treatment.”

"Ten tons?! Are you fucking kidding me?!" Dante burst out, his voice a mix of outrage and disbelief.

"Accept or refuse—it’s your call," the Armed Sentinel Captain said coldly, his voice devoid of emotion, as if discussing the weather instead of life and death.

Dante’s initial rage began to simmer down. This was about saving Billy’s life. Letting out a long, frustrated sigh, he muttered, "Fine. Ten tons it is. How hard could collecting crap possibly be?"

"Good," the Sentinel Captain replied with a curt nod. "Now leave. You’re disrupting my operations." Without waiting for a response, he resumed his ethereal communication.

Dante stormed off, his boots kicking up small clouds of dust as he made his way back to Leon’s house. He burst through the door, his energy still frazzled, and quickly explained the situation to Joseph and Leon.

Upon hearing the bizarre demand, Joseph’s eyes lit up with an almost unhinged optimism. "Ten tons of dung? Ha! That’s nothing! Dante, you’ve got this. And don’t worry—I’ll help you shovel every last ounce of it!"

But Dante shook his head firmly. "No. This has to be done by me. Prison rules. Nobody else can help with an inmate’s work."

Joseph’s face fell, his hopeful grin crumbling into concern. He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "But two days? Ten tons? That’s—"

"Insane," Dante interrupted with a groan. "I know."

Just as despair began to seep back into the room, Leon stepped forward and clapped a reassuring hand on his father’s shoulder. "Relax, Dad," he said with a grin that could only be described as suspiciously smug. "I’ve got a plan."

Dante turned to him, narrowing his eyes. "Why do I feel like I’m not going to like this plan?"