Dante, though he barely knew the other two prisoners, couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for their loss. Like him, they were condemned, expendable, and vulnerable. Their deaths were a harsh reminder of how fragile his own life was in this unforgiving system.
Amid the somber mood, a small movement caught his attention. From the corner of his good eye, Dante noticed a tiny figure peeking around the doorway. He turned his head and saw a little girl in a spotless white dress, her delicate face filled with curiosity mixed with hesitation. Their eyes met, and she let out a soft gasp before quickly disappearing behind the doorframe.
The heaviness in Dante’s chest lifted slightly as he chuckled. Smiling despite himself, he decided to play along. He whipped his head toward the doorway and made an exaggerated face.
“Boo!”
The little girl squealed in surprise, her high-pitched shriek echoing in the hallway as she scampered away with hurried steps. Dante grinned, amused by her innocent reaction.
Kunth, who had been silently watching, let out a hearty laugh that rumbled like distant thunder. For a brief moment, the weight of their recent ordeal seemed to lift, replaced by the simple joy of shared laughter.
As their laughter subsided, Dante turned to Kunth.
“Kunth, is this your first time doing an Outer Territory assignment?”
Kunth nodded, her granite features reflecting rare openness.
“Yes, it is. Honestly, I didn’t expect this. I’ve only been in the prison for about a hundred years. My friends used to say I was lucky since most prisoners don’t get sent out on these missions until they’ve been locked up for centuries—or even millennia.”
Dante smirked wryly. “If that’s their idea of luck, they need a new definition. We almost got killed out there. Doesn’t feel very fortunate to me.” His expression darkened slightly as he added, “Speaking of which—you saw that weapon I used during the fight, right?”
Kunth tilted her head in thought.
“Of course. That thing was... unusual. I’ve never seen anything like it, even on the Armed Sentinels.”
“Neither have I,” Dante replied, frowning. “It just—changed. One moment it was a handgun, and the next it was... something else. The Sentinels said they’d explain it once I recovered. Let’s hope they actually have answers.”
Kunth’s expression softened, her voice quieter than usual.
“Dante, I need to thank you. You saved my life out there. I won’t forget that.”
Dante shrugged nonchalantly, though a hint of a grin played at his lips.
“Don’t sweat it. I was just trying to save my own skin. You just happened to be in the crossfire.”
Kunth didn’t argue, but her crystalline eyes gleamed with quiet gratitude. Though her stony exterior revealed little emotion, the sincerity in her gaze spoke louder than words. For the first time since their mission began, Kunth felt a sense of trust toward Dante. In her heart, she began to see him as more than just another prisoner.
The restorative potion worked its magic quickly. Though Dante’s body still ached, his hands and face began to heal. The process was far slower than the near-instantaneous recovery methods in the prison, where advanced tools and strange magics could mend injuries within minutes. Here, full recovery would take hours.
As they talked, Dante learned more about their situation. They were staying temporarily at the home of an elderly farmer named Joseph. Joseph’s eldest son, Leon, worked as a Beastkeeper in Ashveil, and Dante and Kunth had been assigned to assist him. The little girl Dante had frightened earlier was Leon’s three-year-old daughter, Eileen. Joseph proudly mentioned that Eileen showed incredible promise as a "Chanter," someone capable of performing small miracles despite her young age.
Dante wasn’t entirely familiar with the term “Chanter,” though he had heard of them in passing during his years in the prison. Rumors from the Outer Territories occasionally reached even the depths of the Endless Prison. Chanters were said to be practitioners of mystical arts tied to divine miracles and sacred rituals. Their abilities were rooted in personal faith, hinting at the existence of gods—or beings like them—in this strange, fog-shrouded world.
He recalled mentions of professions like Chanter in the prison’s scattered lore. The enigmatic Tower of Echoes, a legendary library hidden in the prison’s Outer Layer, was rumored to contain detailed instructions for advancing such vocations. But the tower was inaccessible to prisoners like Dante. Entry required passing the First Judgment—a trial he had yet to face, and one he wasn’t eager to confront anytime soon.
Dante mused aloud, chuckling bitterly, “That little girl is a Chanter? Even a toddler’s got more going for her than I do. That’s just embarrassing.”
Kunth gently patted him with her massive stone hand, her touch unexpectedly soft despite her size. “Don’t put yourself down, Dante. Who knows? Once you pass your First Judgment, you might awaken as a Chanter—or something even more remarkable.”
Dante shook his head, his smile weary. “I’ve been in that cursed place for 300 years, and my ‘Infinite Fragment’ hasn’t even twitched. I’m not cut out for any kind of Judgment. Let’s be real—I’ll probably just rot in that prison forever.”
Kunth hesitated, unsure what to say. Her own situation wasn’t much brighter. As a Daughter of Nature, she had natural advantages, but even after over a century of effort, her Infinite Fragment remained dormant. Like Dante, she shared a sense of uncertainty about what her future held.
Shifting the subject, Dante asked, “What about the other Armed Sentinels? Are they okay?”
Kunth’s expression lightened slightly as she answered, “They’re fine. They’ve already recovered and taken over the duties left by the two... prisoners who didn’t make it.”
Dante frowned, curiosity flickering in his mind. “I just don’t get it. Why can’t the townsfolk handle this stuff? Are those creatures really that hard to deal with?”
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Kunth shrugged, though her massive shoulders barely moved. Dante could tell she didn’t have an answer, which only made him more suspicious. What exactly made these beasts so dangerous that even the locals couldn’t manage them?
At that moment, the heavy, deliberate footsteps of the Armed Sentinel broke the silence. Dante and Kunth fell quiet, their attention turning toward the approaching figure.
The towering, mechanical form of the Armed Sentinel entered, imposing as ever. It addressed Kunth in its usual monotone. “Prisoner Kunth, you are now ordered to proceed to the ranch and assist Beastkeeper Leon with patrol duties.”
Kunth nodded immediately. “Understood.” She turned to Dante and gave him a light pat on the back with her massive stone hand. “Take care, Dante.”
“Same to you,” Dante replied briefly. He knew her departure meant a chance to have a private conversation with the Sentinel—one he had been itching for.
Once Kunth had left, the Armed Sentinel seated itself on a stone bench, the weight causing it to creak slightly. Its glowing eyes scanned Dante, flickering briefly before it spoke. “Assessment: Your injuries will heal completely by evening. Your work is scheduled to begin tomorrow morning. This delay will not affect your performance evaluation.”
Relieved, Dante exhaled but couldn’t hold back his curiosity. After a brief pause, he asked, “So... are we going to talk about what happened out there?”
The Sentinel’s response was delayed, its glowing eyes flickering as though processing something complicated. Dante waited patiently until it finally replied. “The attack was not unusual. The assailants were members of the Raine Tribe, a tribal group inhabiting the outer regions near the Frontier Bastion. They have a long history of hostility toward the prison. The reasons for this are classified and beyond my authority to reveal.”
Dante frowned, leaning forward slightly. “If that’s the case, why doesn’t the prison just wipe them out? With the Bastion’s size and firepower, it seems like it wouldn’t even be a challenge.”
The Sentinel hesitated—a rare moment of pause for such a precise entity. Its voice carried a faintly strained tone as it answered, “The Frontier Bastion is designed for defense, not offense. It exists to maintain stability, not to wage war. Unless the tribes initiate direct aggression, we do not engage. The reasons for this policy are also classified. Do not pursue this line of questioning further.”
Though frustrated, Dante recognized the futility of pushing the subject. The Sentinel’s answers only deepened the mystery. Why was such restraint necessary? What was the true purpose behind allowing these tribes to persist near the prison’s borders?
Fine. Dante thought, deciding to shift focus. He leaned back and asked, “Then let’s talk about the weapon I used during the fight. What was that thing?”
The Sentinel fixed its glowing gaze on him, the intensity enough to make Dante’s nerves prickle. Its voice, sharp and deliberate, replied, “What I am about to share is highly classified. Under normal circumstances, this information would be inaccessible to you. However, given the events that transpired, an exception has been made. Do not interpret this as leniency, and tread carefully with your curiosity.”
Dante mulled over this information, his thoughts heavy with curiosity and unease. The bastion, it seemed, operated under strict rules of defense rather than offense. But why such restraint? What stopped the prison from eliminating threats preemptively? There had to be a reason—something intentional, something hidden.
Wouldn’t it be smarter to eliminate nearby threats to ensure long-term safety? The question lingered in Dante’s mind, but he knew better than to push it further. The Armed Sentinel had made it clear—such answers were off-limits, perhaps even to itself.
“Fine,” Dante said, shifting focus. “Let’s talk about the weapon I used during the fight. What was that thing?” His usual lighthearted tone was gone, replaced by rare seriousness. That weapon had saved his life, and understanding it might mean the difference between survival and death next time.
The Armed Sentinel fixed its cold, glowing eyes on Dante, a palpable tension in the air. Its voice took on a sharper edge, commanding attention. “What I am about to tell you is classified. Under normal circumstances, this knowledge would remain inaccessible to you. However, due to the unusual circumstances, I am authorized to share limited information. Do not mistake this for leniency, and do not overstep your boundaries.”
Dante nodded, his expression serious. “Got it.”
The Armed Sentinel crossed its broad arms, its gaze drifting momentarily toward the tranquil fields beyond the courtyard. “Our weapons are specifically designed for us and are bound to our systems. Any prisoner who attempts to use one without authorization would normally face severe consequences—immediate execution, in most cases. There are, however, rare exceptions.”
Dante’s brow furrowed. Rare exceptions. It seemed his life was suddenly full of them. The rigid rules of the prison—designed to enforce order and control—had cracks, strange loopholes that provided fleeting glimpses of freedom or power. Yet, such opportunities were never straightforward or easy.
The Sentinel continued, its voice even but firm. “When I was incapacitated, the weapon’s safeguards became irrelevant. That is the only reason you were able to use it. However, the transformation you witnessed—the weapon reshaping to suit your needs—was not due to its standard functionality. It was triggered by your subconscious, made possible by the activation of your Infinite Fragment.”
Dante blinked in surprise. His Infinite Fragment? He’d spent centuries in the prison without so much as a hint that it existed. The Sentinel’s mention of the Awakening Chamber—a grueling training process meant to help prisoners unlock their potential—flashed through his mind. The sessions had been grueling, forcing him to confront his deepest fears and desires, yet he had come away with nothing but frustration.
“So that’s it,” Dante muttered, a mix of awe and skepticism flickering across his face. The weapon’s transformation hadn’t been some external miracle; it had been shaped by his own mind. It wasn’t the power of the gun alone—it was something within him, dormant and untapped, now clawing its way to the surface.
“You’re saying I somehow altered the weapon’s form?” Dante asked, his voice tinged with doubt. “But I’ve never been able to do anything like that before. Hell, I didn’t even know I had an Infinite Fragment.”
The Sentinel hesitated briefly, its glowing eyes flickering as if processing the complexity of Dante’s question. Finally, it spoke. “Your Infinite Fragment’s activation was likely a response to extreme stress—an instinctual reaction. However, it remains dormant unless further cultivated. The transformation you witnessed was only a glimpse of its potential.”
Dante absorbed this information, his mind racing. His Infinite Fragment had activated under duress, shaping the weapon to his subconscious desires. But it wasn’t enough. If he wanted to survive, he needed to unlock its full potential. He needed to understand what lay within.
Rising from its seated position, the Armed Sentinel’s tone shifted, its words curt and final. “This conversation is concluded. Report to Beastkeeper Leon tomorrow morning. Until then, you are permitted to explore this property. However, any attempt to leave will result in immediate punishment. Understood?”
“Crystal clear, boss,” Dante replied, rolling his eyes. The Armed Sentinel resumed its stoic demeanor, striding away with mechanical precision, leaving Dante alone with his thoughts.
Determined not to dwell in uncertainty, Dante decided to stretch his legs. As he passed by a small outhouse near the barn, a voice rang out—a mix of anger and distress.
“Damn it! This constipation’s going to be the death of me!” the voice bellowed, strained and pained.
Dante grimaced and pinched his nose, planning to walk away quickly. But before he could make his escape, the outhouse door creaked open loudly, revealing the old man’s red, distressed face.
“Hey! Kid!” the old man shouted. “Go get me some toilet paper, will you?”