Dante wasted no time, diving behind a large rock for cover. The other three prisoners scrambled to find their own hiding places, each seeking shelter from the chaos erupting around them.

From his position, Dante could hear the unmistakable sounds of battle—metal striking metal, guttural roars, and the earth-shaking stomps of something massive. He cautiously peered over the edge of his cover, and what he saw made his blood run cold. The Armed Sentinels were locked in a fierce fight against a horde of massive, humanoid creatures.

These attackers were enormous, nearly as tall as Ares’s towering 3-meter frame, with muscles that looked as if they were made of steel cords. Coarse, gray fur covered their bodies, and they wore crude yet sturdy iron armor. Their weapons, though simple in design, radiated a raw, brutal effectiveness that made them no less deadly.

The Armed Sentinels, however, were a force to be reckoned with. They wielded their massive swords with a precision that was almost artistic, cutting through the enemy ranks with swift, calculated strikes. But despite their skill, the overwhelming number of attackers began to wear them down. The three Sentinels fought valiantly but soon began to falter under the relentless assault, sustaining visible injuries.

Dante watched the scene unfold, his heart pounding. It was the first time he’d seen Armed Sentinels in action, and their movements were both mesmerizing and terrifying. Their coordination was flawless—each attack, defense, and maneuver seemed to flow seamlessly into the next. But to Dante’s surprise, the enemy wasn’t the mindless swarm he’d assumed. They barked commands to one another, adapting their tactics as the fight continued. These were no ordinary brutes—they were experienced warriors.

As the fight raged on, Dante could feel the balance tipping. One Sentinel fell, its massive body crashing to the ground with a resounding thud. The remaining two continued to fight, but their chances looked grim as dozens of attackers still pressed in.

Dante clenched his fists, a strange feeling rising within him. To his own surprise, he realized he was rooting for the Sentinels.

Why do I even care? he thought, shaking his head. Then it dawned on him—if the Sentinels were defeated, the attackers would turn their attention to him next.

His worst fear was soon confirmed. Reinforcements for the attackers appeared on a nearby ridge, their guttural cries echoing as more of the towering creatures poured down the hill. One of them locked eyes with Dante, a twisted grin spreading across its face as it charged toward him with murderous intent.

“Damn it!” Dante hissed under his breath. “You lot act like gods in the prison, but now you’re getting wrecked? Seriously?!”

Frustration mixed with panic as Dante scanned the scene for a solution. He needed the Sentinels to hold their ground—not just for their survival, but for his.

Before he could act, Kunth sprang into action. The stone woman dashed from her hiding spot, her massive mineral limbs pounding the ground as she charged toward the fray. Without hesitation, she delivered a thunderous punch to one of the attackers, sending it flying with a loud crack.

Meanwhile, Edess and Moody remained hunkered down behind cover. Edess muttered something inaudible while Moody peeked over the edge of his hiding spot, only to duck back down immediately.

Dante’s pulse quickened as he saw the enemy charging straight at him. The beast was now less than 100 meters away, its sharp grin and glowing eyes promising a brutal end.

His mind raced for options, but fear clouded his thoughts. This was his first time outside the prison, and he had no idea how to handle a situation like this. Yet one thing was clear—he wasn’t ready to die here.

Not today, Dante thought, gritting his teeth. Not like this.

Driven by sheer survival instinct, Dante abandoned his cover and sprinted toward the embattled Sentinels. He didn’t have a plan—only the desperate need to do something.

He wasn’t foolish enough to think he could fight like the Sentinels. As a human, his physical abilities were nothing compared to beings like Kunth, whose stone body gave her immense strength and durability. Even she was struggling now, her punches only briefly stunning the attackers. The cracks forming on her stony limbs showed she wouldn’t last much longer under the relentless assault.

Dante’s only advantage was his smaller size. At 178 centimeters tall, he was a dwarf compared to the towering 3-meter monsters and the bulk of the Sentinels. Using this to his advantage, he darted through the chaos, slipping unnoticed toward the fallen Sentinel.

The downed Sentinel wasn’t dead but appeared immobilized, its mechanical body broken and sparking. Its flickering eyes turned toward Dante, and it spoke in a distorted, static-filled voice:

“Prisoner Dante… evacuate immediately. Return to the Frontier Bastion. It’s your only chance of survival!”

Dante didn't fully comprehend why the Sentinel seemed so concerned about his survival, but he knew one thing: escaping was not an option. The wildlings swarmed the battlefield, and any route back to safety was long gone.

“Escape isn’t an option anymore,” Dante said, his voice resolute despite his labored breathing. Kneeling beside the downed Sentinel, he added, “If I want to live, I have to fight!” His gaze locked onto the oversized handgun clutched in the Sentinel’s metallic grip. Without hesitation, he pried it loose.

“You fool…” the Sentinel rasped, its voice distorted yet oddly human. “You’ll die out there.”

“Die?” Dante smirked, inspecting the weapon. “If I’m going to die, it won’t be hiding behind some rock like a coward.”

As if to punctuate his statement, Dante accidentally squeezed the trigger. What happened next caught him completely off guard. The large, unwieldy handgun in his hands began to shift and morph, as though responding to his very thoughts. Its bulky frame shrank and transformed until it resembled a miniature Gatling gun—sleek, alien, and perfectly fitted for his grip.

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“What the hell?” Dante muttered, stunned. Only moments ago, he had wished for a weapon capable of taking on such overwhelming odds, and now the gun had seemingly answered his call. Its design bore an uncanny resemblance to Earth’s Gatling guns but fused with the advanced, alien aesthetics of Sentinel technology.

There was no time to question this strange phenomenon. A chilling scream pierced the air—Kunth had been overwhelmed. Her powerful stone body lay pinned beneath a group of snarling wildlings. Nearby, the last Sentinel was barely managing to fend off its attackers.

Raising the newly transformed weapon, Dante aimed at the wildlings atop Kunth. “Say hello to my little friend!” he bellowed, pulling the trigger.

A deafening roar filled the battlefield as the Gatling gun unleashed a storm of glowing energy rounds. The projectiles tore through the wildlings with ruthless efficiency, reducing them to little more than blood and mangled fur. In mere seconds, Kunth was freed.

Dante didn’t stop. Pivoting swiftly, he turned the weapon on the wildlings surrounding the remaining Sentinel. The sheer volume of energy rounds obliterated the attackers, leaving shredded limbs and broken weapons scattered across the field. Over the chaos, Dante shouted, “Get down if you don’t want to get hit!”

The Sentinel, without hesitation, dropped to the ground. “Prisoner Dante!” it yelled, its voice tinged with urgency. “Control your fire!”

Dante ignored the warning, his focus solely on eliminating the horde. The Gatling gun’s relentless barrage tore through the wildlings faster than they could regroup. For a brief moment, it seemed as though the tide had turned in their favor.

But Dante quickly realized he wasn’t fully in control—the sheer recoil of the weapon rattled his entire body. His arms strained to maintain aim as the relentless firing shook him to his core. The deafening noise, the glowing energy rounds, the raw power—it was all exhilarating yet terrifying. Despite his lack of training, the wildlings were no match for the overwhelming firepower.

The remaining wildlings hesitated, their morale wavering as they witnessed the carnage. Then, as if by unspoken agreement, they turned tail and fled into the dense forest. Only a handful lingered at the rear, seemingly emboldened by a particularly large and commanding figure.

This leader—a hulking wildling clad in crude yet imposing armor—bellowed orders to rally its comrades. It raised its weapon high, letting out a guttural war cry. Its rallying attempt was short-lived. Dante swung the Gatling gun toward it and unleashed another torrent of energy rounds. The leader disintegrated in a spray of blood and fur, its commanding presence reduced to nothing in seconds.

“Run, or die!” Dante roared, his voice raw and hoarse but triumphant.

Just then, the Gatling gun emitted a sharp, high-pitched whine. Its barrel glowed an angry red as smoke began to billow from its vents. Dante barely had time to react before the weapon overheated and exploded in his hands. The blast hurled him several meters through the air, slamming him hard into the blood-soaked ground.

Fortunately for Dante, the last of the wildlings had already vanished into the forest by the time the weapon failed.

Pain surged through his body. His hands were a mess of charred flesh, and his left cheek burned from the explosion. Blood trickled from his cracked lips as he coughed weakly, his breath ragged.

The battlefield was eerily quiet now, save for the faint rustling of retreating wildlings. The surviving Sentinel lay motionless, its injuries too severe for movement. Kunth, though free from her attackers, was battered and barely conscious. Edess and Moody were nowhere to be seen, their cowardice leaving them absent from the fight’s conclusion.

Dante’s vision blurred as the pain threatened to overwhelm him. His battered body refused to move, and exhaustion clawed at his consciousness.

So this is the price of being a hero, huh? he thought bitterly, a faint, rueful smile tugging at his lips. Heh.

And with that, the world faded into darkness. Dante lay unconscious amidst the wreckage, a lone figure on a battlefield littered with blood and debris.

Dante wasn’t sure how long he had been unconscious, but when his senses returned, he found himself lying in a small room. Too weak to sit up, he could only glance around from where he lay.

The room resembled a child’s bedroom—simple and modestly furnished, with a small desk cluttered with dolls and a dressing table nearby. A slightly open wardrobe revealed frilly little dresses, making it clear who might have once lived here.

“I’m… still alive?” Dante croaked, his voice hoarse. Relief quickly gave way to grim reality—both of his hands were gone. But instead of panicking, he sighed, almost as though resigned. This wasn’t the first time he’d lost limbs, and considering his rotten luck in this cursed prison system, it probably wouldn’t be the last.

In his long years of labor within the prison, injuries like losing hands or even entire limbs weren’t uncommon. Usually, finishing assignments on time meant earning medical treatment that could fix most wounds. Even here, far from the prison, he guessed that magic or advanced technology in this strange world might eventually restore him.

His face, though, was a different story. The sharp sting of the burn on his cheek sent waves of discomfort through him. “Damn it. My handsome face? Ruined? That’s my reward for being a hero?” Dante muttered bitterly, forcing a wry laugh. His attempt at humor did little to mask his frustration.

A creaking noise interrupted his thoughts. The massive frame of an Armed Sentinel squeezed awkwardly through the doorway. Its size caused the wooden frame to groan under the strain, making the usually intimidating figure seem almost clumsy.

The Sentinel, once inside, straightened as much as the cramped space allowed and cleared its throat as if trying to regain some dignity. “Ah, prisoner Dante,” it said stiffly. “You’ve regained consciousness. Good. I’ve brought a vial of restorative elixir for you. Administer it as needed. Then we will speak.”

It placed the potion on the floor with a dull thud and retreated with as much awkwardness as it had entered. Dante watched it go, baffled by the Sentinel’s unusually ungraceful demeanor.

“Did all of them get soft as soon as they left the prison?” Dante muttered, turning his attention back to the potion. He glanced down at his handless stumps and let out a bitter chuckle. “This should be interesting.”

Gritting his teeth, he slowly maneuvered himself out of the bed, determined to figure out how to grasp the bottle. Just as he leaned down toward it, a low rumble shook the room. The walls seemed to quiver as the vibrations grew stronger. His instincts flared—an attack? Another wave of wildlings?

The shadow that filled the doorway answered his unspoken question. “Dante, you’re awake!” boomed Kunth’s deep, gravelly voice as her immense stone body crouched at the entrance. Unable to fit inside, she peered at him, her sharp, angular face reflecting relief. “The Sentinel sent me. Let me help.”

Dante didn’t argue—he wasn’t in any position to refuse aid. With her assistance, he made his way to a small courtyard outside, where she carefully administered the restorative elixir.

“So,” Dante began, his curiosity growing as he studied the unfamiliar surroundings. “This Ashveil?”

Kunth nodded as she worked. “Yes. After you fell unconscious, the Sentinels sent out a distress call. A trade caravan from Ashveil happened to be nearby. They found us and brought us here.”

Dante smirked faintly. “Guess the universe decided to throw us a bone for once.” His grin faded as another thought surfaced. “What about the others? Did they make it?”

Kunth hesitated, her usually composed expression shadowed with discomfort. “No… They didn’t.”

Dante felt his chest tighten. Though he had prepared for bad news, hearing it still hit hard. “How? Was it the wildlings?”

Kunth shook her head, her crystalline features hardening with an unspoken emotion. “No… Their souls… burned.”

Her words landed like a blow. Dante didn’t respond immediately, his mind reeling. The memory of the black pills they had been forced to swallow rose unbidden—a brutal reminder of how inescapable the prison’s grip remained, even here.