We were eating breakfast when there were loud knocks on the door. Our butler opened the door, and twelve guards armed with crossbows marched into the suite, followed by three mages, judging by the wands they were holding. They immediately formed a circle around Rue and me, crossbows trained on both of us.

Rue growled, his massive body tensing as if ready to pounce. I sent him a quick telepathic message. “Settle down, buddy. Let’s find out what they want first. Don’t turn invisible or fly; it’s a secret we must keep.” His growling softened, but I could still feel his alertness buzzing through our bond.

I turned to the man I assumed was the commander—his uniform was fancier than the others. “Good morning, sir. What exactly is going on here?” I asked, keeping my tone calm despite the rising tension in the room.

“You’re coming with us,” he barked, his voice sharp, his eyes hard. He looked like a storm cloud was hanging over his head and wasn’t in the mood for small talk.

“Why?” I asked, frowning.

One guard sneered, shifting the grip on his weapon. “Why do you think we will answer you?”

“If you’re arresting me, I have a right to know why,” I said, staying composed, though my heart beat faster.

The commander shot the guard a warning glance, clearly not pleased with the interruption, before returning to me. “You stole Lord Damarion’s familiar.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, a genuine belly laugh that echoed in the tense room. “How exactly is it possible to steal a familiar?” I gestured toward Rue, sitting beside me, untied and free. “Here he is, right here. If he was Lord Damarion’s familiar, don’t you think he would have bolted back to his master by now? This claim makes no sense.” I tilted my head toward the mages. “You’ve got three mages here. Ask them if you don’t believe me.”

“Shut up,” one mage snapped. I turned to look at him, spotting the all-too-familiar symbol on his shirt. It was the same one etched all over Lord Damarion’s spire.

The commander narrowed his eyes at the mage. “Is that true?” he asked, suspicion creeping into his voice.

The mage shifted uncomfortably, glancing at his colleague. “That’s true,” the second mage said, stepping forward to help. “But he stole the familiar before Lord Damarion could bind him.”

I sighed, turning back to the commander. “Sir, why don’t you ask my familiar instead of asking us? He’ll tell you how long we’ve been together and if he’s ever met Lord Damarion. By the way—the answer is no.”

The commander looked furious, barking at me. “I will not talk to an animal! I interrogate people, not beasts. You will accompany us to the guard station, and we’ll settle this matter there.” His tone was sharp, leaving no room for argument.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed one mage pull out a collar covered in runes. I immediately sent a telepathic message to Rue. “Put your other collars away before they spot them. Act as dumb as possible. Don’t talk to anyone or listen to anything they say. Pee and poop in the most inconvenient places you can find, and constantly demand food and petting. Be the most annoying, ill-mannered dog ever. Don’t worry, I’ll get you out of this.” Rue nodded imperceptibly, his eyes shifting with understanding.

While I was busy instructing Rue, the commander said something, but I didn’t catch it.

“Can you say that again?” I asked, turning back to him.

His face darkened. “I said, hold out your hands.”

“Why?” I asked.

Three guards raised their crossbows, fingers inching toward the triggers, ready to fire if I made a wrong move.

“Because I told you to!” he snapped, his voice practically vibrating with anger.

I knew they would search the suite, and I didn’t want them to find the core. Something about that runic collar they slapped on Rue felt off. Sensing danger, I sent a quick message to the core. “Leave the backpack around you, but inside the bag, disguise yourself as a leather spell book that no one can open. Let it emanate mana, and no matter what, don’t let them get the book open. If they try to force it, use the lightning defenses.”

Two guards suddenly grabbed my wrists as my focus shifted to the core. Thin metal bracelets clamped around them with a soft click. Instantly, I felt… off. Like they’d corked something inside me, right through my wrists. The sensation wasn’t painful, but it was deeply unpleasant, like a part of me had gone missing.

I concentrated, checking my Storage. No problems there. I could access it. I opened the Archive without a hitch. But when I tried to channel lightning through my hand, I felt the mana flow smoothly through my channels, only to stop dead at the bracelets.

Hmm. That’s a problem.

I felt a faint tug through my connection to the backpack holding the core. Someone had touched it. At least the handcuffs hadn’t severed my link to the core and Rue. I reached out with my mana sense and tested its reach—it worked perfectly. The restraints only affected my hands. That was something I could work with.

One guard handed the backpack to the commander, who carefully pulled out the core disguised as a book. He turned it over in his hands, studying it closely before asking, “what is this?”

“My spell book,” I said, keeping my voice steady.

He tried to open it, fumbling with the cover, but of course, it wouldn’t budge. Growing frustrated, he shoved it into my hands. “Open it,” he demanded.

“I can’t,” I replied, meeting his glare with a calm, even tone.

His voice rose to a yell, “This is your book! Open it at once!”

“I can’t for two reasons,” I said, slowly holding up two fingers and ticking off each point. “One, to open it, I need access to mana, and your handcuffs block that. Two, this is my family’s spell book—a very old and respected family of wizards. Only those of our bloodline can open it, and never under duress. No matter what you try to do, I won’t be able to open it. The book knows I’m under duress.”

One mage suddenly snatched the book from the commander, his eyes gleaming with excitement. “We will open it!” he exclaimed, almost bouncing on his feet like a kid with a new toy.

The commander’s face flushed an angry shade of red as he loomed over the mage, casting a long, intimidating shadow. “You will take nothing!” he snarled. “You are here as a courtesy, and if I find out you fabricated these charges just to steal a wizard’s spell book, both you and Lord Damarion will regret it. I answer only to the king, not to any lord.”

The mage paled, looking like a mouse staring down a massive, hungry cat. His hands shook as he quickly handed the book back to the commander. “Sorry, Commander. I was just… excited. It’s not every day you see an aware spell book. I’ve read about them, but never thought I’d actually see one.”

Wait—aware spell books are real? I thought I’d made that up. Good to know.

They led Rue and me outside, forcing us into two separate carriages—identical square cages with iron bars mounted on wheels. The heavy doors clanged shut behind us with an unsettling finality.

The drive across town to the guard station took over an hour, during which I focused on Rue and the core. They were close, and that brought a slight sense of calm.

When we finally arrived, the commander barked, “Lock him in a cell on the first floor.”

The two guards beside me exchanged displeased looks for some reason. Without a word, they led me down a narrow, dimly lit staircase that twisted further down than I expected. We descended three full floors.

This doesn’t look like the first floor, or even a basement level. More like minus three.

“Are you sure this is the first floor?” I asked, glancing between the two.

The guard on my right sneered. “Shut up unless you want to have an unfortunate accident down the stairs.”

The other guard chuckled darkly, clearly enjoying the exchange.

I couldn’t help but be curious about what was really happening here. What struck me as odd was that neither my Perception nor my Luck gave me any warnings—nothing. It was as if I were on a casual stroll downtown. That strange calmness kept me steady. I’d been in plenty of situations where I should’ve felt fine but ended up anxious. This wasn’t one of them. In fact, the more dangerous things got, the calmer I became.

So, I waited to see how things would unfold.

They led me to a large cell with bars in the front, already holding several people. As one guard opened the door, I noticed two of the men inside nodding at my captors. Skulduggery was definitely afoot.

The guard on my right gave me a hard shove from behind, nearly sending me sprawling, but I caught myself. The shove had more surprise than strength behind it. They locked the door, turned, and left without a word.

A man sitting in the corner slowly stood up. I had to crane my neck to see his face—he had to be at least two meters tall and a meter wide. His build, beard, and wild hair reminded me of the lumberjacks from the last towns I’d visited. I suspected he was one of them. A long scar stretched from his temple, down his cheek, across his lips, and to his chin, making him look even more menacing. Despite his appearance, I remained completely calm.

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“What do we have here?” he asked, his voice low and gruff. “Look, they brought us a new rat.”

Figures. Of all the strange creatures in the various worlds, of course, there would be snakes and rats in every one of them.

He stared at me expectantly, as if waiting for a response. I just blinked, unsure of what he wanted.

“Don’t you have anything to say?” he pressed, his voice growing impatient.

“No, not really,” I replied.

He chuckled darkly. “Look, they brought us a comedian.”

I frowned. Huh? What was so funny?

Suddenly, without warning, he charged at me, arms outstretched like he was going to crush me in a bear hug. Instinct kicked in, and before I had time to think, I launched a sequence of three quick strikes—throat, solar plexus, and groin. It was a move one of my Krav Maga trainers had drilled into me countless times, and my body responded like a machine on autopilot. The giant crumpled to the floor like a sack of potatoes.

He made choking sounds, and I noticed a dark pool of blood spreading beneath him on the floor. That got me worried. I didn’t want to kill him and end up being accused of murder. Panicked, I rushed over to him. His buddies, seeing their friend down, charged at me.

I quickly summoned my sword from Storage—thankfully, it worked without delay. The moment the blade appeared, they skidded to a halt, eyes wide. One of them almost didn’t stop in time. If the cell had been any smaller, he might’ve impaled himself on my sword.

“Stay back,” I ordered, holding the sword out defensively.

I knelt and looked at the lumberjack, only to realize with a sinking feeling that I had crushed his Adam’s apple and broken through his rib cage with my fist punch. He looked barely alive.

Oops!

I tried to diagnose him, but the magic stopped at the line where the bracelets were clamped on my wrists. I couldn’t cast through my hands. In desperation, I touched him with my foot and focused, casting through my leg instead. It was much more challenging, requiring intense concentration, but I managed. Finally, I sat down on the floor with a sigh of relief.

That was close.

He coughed and sat up. And I got back on my feet.

Thank you, spirits!

He looked up at me—or, more accurately, barely had to look up, even though I was standing and he was sitting on the floor. Embarrassing.

“You healed me,” he said, his voice still rough.

“Yes.”

“Why? I attacked you.”

“Because I’m not a murderer.”

Before he could respond, a short, wiry guy piped up. “How did you get swords out like that?”

“I’m a battle wizard,” I said matter-of-factly.

The air in the cell suddenly thickened with fear. They all audibly gasped, taking a few steps back, eyes wide.

From the back, where I could barely make out the speaker, someone shouted, “Are they crazy? They wanted us to beat up a battle wizard? Did they want to get us killed? They promised he was just a merchant!”

I quickly changed my class, and as the eyes of most of them glazed over, they again audibly gasped, followed by a collective groan.

Half of them collapsed onto the floor, landing hard on their butts. One guy lowered his head, his voice shaky as he muttered, “Make it quick, please.”

Huh?!

I looked around, completely baffled. What did he mean by “quick”? And why did they all look as pale as death, trembling like they were about to meet their end?

“What exactly is going on here?” I asked, looking around at the frightened faces.

They all stared at me with that “look” I knew well as a Traveler. The kind that said, Is this guy for real? Is he from another planet?

The guy who had begged me to make it quick spoke up, “Aren’t you going to kill me?”

“No! Like I told your big friend here, I’m not a murderer.”

They exchanged confused glances, clearly not expecting that response. Then, one by one, a few of them let out long, relieved sighs. The whole situation felt surreal, like I was stuck in a bad dream—not because of the prison itself, but because of how out of sync this moment was with my normal reality. I had no idea how to react to it.

An older man, who had been sitting quietly to the side and hadn’t joined in the “attack,” cleared his throat. “Did you really heal him?”

“Yes…?” I replied, uncertain where this was going.

“Um, I’m sorry,” he said, shifting nervously. “I don’t have any money right now. They take all your things before locking you up. But I promise to pay you as soon as I get out. Umm… Can you check my leg? I think it’s broken. I promise to pay you.”

“Sure, no problem,” I said, still feeling like I was in some bizarre alternate reality. “But first, I need to figure out those cuffs. Give me a few minutes.”

Now that everything had calmed down, I looked around and assessed where I was. The cell was relatively large—about seven or eight meters wide and long—with stone benches lining three walls. The fourth wall was entirely of floor-to-ceiling bars. In the far-right corner, there was a fairly large hole in the floor, and judging by the smell wafting from it, I guessed it was the “toilet.” A thick layer of straw covered most of the cell floor. At least it wasn’t cold or damp—just a big, solid stone cell.

I turned my attention to my “neighbors.” Eight people were in the cell, all between their thirties and fifties. They looked like commoners, not criminals. Even when well-dressed, criminals had a certain air about them that gave them away. These people didn’t. They just looked like regular folks.

I asked the big guy still on the floor, “Why are you in here?”

“Financial debts,” he replied with a shrug. “A tree crushed my leg, and I couldn’t cut trees anymore. But my wife and kids needed to eat, so…”

I had noticed his injured leg earlier but had paid little attention to it—I was more focused on saving his life.

“Everyone here because of debt?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said. “This is the debtors’ cell.”

“And why did you attack me?”

He sighed. “A guard brought us a message from Lord Damarion. Said if we beat you, he’d pay off our debts. If we killed you, he’d pay us too. None of us were interested in the killing part, but paying off our debts for a beating? Hard to pass up. Only Solom over there,” he pointed to the old man with the broken leg, “refused to join in. He said he wouldn’t humiliate himself like that. But he’s a widower. It’s easy for him to keep a clean conscience. The rest of us have wives and kids to think about.”

It sounded like excuses, but I said nothing. I just nodded.

I felt Rue and the core getting further and further away until I could no longer communicate with him telepathically. Still, I could sense the connection to him and the core, and knew I could influence it if necessary. That separation worried me for a moment, but I calmed myself. Lord Damarion didn’t want to kill Rue—he wanted him for himself.

I sat down on the floor and examined the bracelets carefully. They appeared to be made from a mixture of different metals, with no visible runes or magical script. I closed my eyes, concentrating with my mana sense. The metal contained an embedded spell—I could feel it, and it wasn’t engraved. While I couldn’t identify every aspect, I didn’t need to. I sensed the intricate mesh holding the spell together, preventing it from dispersing.

With enormous concentration, I unraveled the weaving of the mesh, slowly and methodically. I had no idea how long it took, but eventually, the entire mesh collapsed. Unfortunately, this didn’t remove the spell’s effect entirely. The magic remained embedded in the metal itself, and I needed to find a way to break it.

I delved deeper into the spell’s components, analyzing its structure. Two key ingredients stood out—Absorb Mana and Exude Mana. That gave me an idea.

Though I couldn’t channel mana through my hands, I’d managed to do it through my foot, albeit barely. The big guy had no clue how close he came to death earlier. I tried something different. I pressed the right bracelet against my nose and attempted to channel mana through it. It was just as difficult as using my feet, but at least it was more comfortable.

I “pushed” mana into the bracelet, focusing on the Exude Mana spell. My experience with spirals and compressing mana helped, even though the spell didn’t remain inside the bracelet, since the metal wasn’t molten. Still, it had an effect. The bracelet lost some of the mana stored within it. I kept repeating the process, slowly draining the bracelet until it was empty. Instantly, the “plug” vanished from my right hand.

I moved on to the left bracelet and started the same process. But after only two minutes, I had to stop. The bracelet had absorbed mana from the environment and regained its strength, reactivating the spell.

Hmm, that’s not the solution.

I sat for a long time, thinking about my next move, and eventually decided to try using magic script or runes to break the effect. I sketched out some ideas on the floor. Initially, the concepts were complex, with intricate magic circles, but over time, I trimmed them down until I arrived at a simple chain of runes with magic script symbols in between. I felt confident that if I engraved this design on the bracelet, it would overload the spell and break it.

Now the real challenge was figuring out how to engrave them. Just carving the symbols wasn’t enough—I had to channel mana simultaneously into them the first time I inscribed a rune or magic script symbol in order for it to work. You couldn’t engrave first and then channel mana later. The engraving and mana channeling had to happen at the same time.

In the end, I used the same trick I’d developed earlier—draining the bracelet’s spell by channeling through my nose. I quickly engraved two runes and a symbol, drained the spell again, then added two more runes and a symbol, and so on. It took over an hour, but I felt the bracelet heat once I carved the last symbol.

To be safe, I pulled out a water bowl and submerged my hands in it. I wasn’t sure how hot the bracelet might get, and I didn’t want to risk a burn. Sure enough, the metal grew scorching hot, and I could feel the embedded spell inside it overloading and finally breaking.

Yes!

I approached Solom and healed his leg, which was broken in two places. My appreciation for him grew. He must have been in immense pain, yet he had waited patiently for me to finish my conversation with the big guy and “fix” the first bracelet.

I repeated the same process with the other bracelet. In some ways, it was easier—I didn’t need to drain the bracelet with my nose this time, which was a relief. But being right-handed, engraving with my left hand, was a real challenge. Each stroke felt awkward, and I had to move slowly to avoid messing up the runes or symbols. The risk of making a mistake loomed over me, but after a painstakingly slow process, I finally succeeded.

I pulled out an operating table—this time a sleek, stainless steel one, not the old Shimoor table—and gestured to the big guy, nodding toward the table. “Climb up.”

He gave me a confused look, his brow furrowing. “Why?”

“I’ll fix your leg,” I said, crossing my arms and rocking on my heels.

He blinked, taken aback. “I went to a healer. He said there was nothing to be done. The bone was crushed and didn’t heal right.”

“Yeah, I know. I can fix it."

His expression shifted, skepticism creasing his face. “Why? I attacked you, and now you want to give me back my livelihood? Why?”

I glanced at him, my tone steady but matter-of-fact. “Because you have a wife and children to feed.”

He stared at me for a long moment, his eyes searching my face as if trying to figure out if I had some hidden motive. Finally, he let out a heavy sigh, muttering under his breath, “You’re just making me feel even more ashamed.”

I shrugged, meeting his gaze. “A little shame won’t kill you,” I said, not unkindly. “And you still need to feed your family.”

Once he lay down on the table, I cast Anesthesia, pulled out my surgical tools, and worked on his leg for almost an hour. It was a mess—when the tree had crushed his bone, someone had likely cast a simple healing spell, speeding up the recovery in the worst way possible. Or maybe it just healed that way naturally. Either way, I had to re-break the bone in three places and reattach it properly. The entire time, the other occupants of the cell watched me with a mix of admiration and fear. I thought they’d gotten over the fear, but apparently not.

When the big guy finally woke up, it was clear he was thirsty and starving. I handed him some food and water, tossed a mattress onto the floor, and said, “Eat, drink, and rest. Your body’s burned through a lot of energy, and you need to replenish it. Oh, by the way, what’s your name?”

He chuckled awkwardly. “Shamis.”

“Nice to meet you, Shamis. Now, follow the healer’s orders.”

After he got off the table, I asked the others, “Anyone else here in debt because of an injury or physical issue?”

A chorus of embarrassed “Me,” “Yes,” and similar responses filled the cell.

I tended them one by one for hours, well into the night. The cell was underground, but the torches outside cast flickering light. Occasionally, someone came by to renew the flames, but eventually, they stopped doing that. The guards passing by in the corridor peeked in at what I was doing, but none said a word.

I was exhausted. Between working on the bracelets and intensely healing eight people, each with a serious medical problem that demanded my full attention, I felt completely drained.

My cellmates, on the other hand, were in a festive mood. Now healthy, and after being given food and drink, they were lively and energetic. I glanced at them, shook my head, then pulled out a mattress and collapsed onto it. This was how I spent my first day in prison—definitely not something I ever expected to experience. But despite everything, I wasn’t worried. I knew I could get out of this.