Chapter 13: The Captain’s Office

Chapter 13: The Captain's Office

If the Inquisitor's office was the presidential suite of Cape Prison, then Captain Prew's office was the royal palace.

Located on the second floor of the main prison building, it was spacious and bright, fully furnished and decorated to the owner's tastes—wolf pelts, bearskins, deer heads, and similar trophies were everywhere. Captain Prew must have enjoyed hunting.

Right now, though, the office was a total wreck.

Papers were scattered everywhere, the bookshelf was knocked over, and the hunting trophies lay on the floor staring blankly with dead eyes. Glass shards covered the floor, a shattered wine glass lay dead center on the carpet, and wine had splattered all the way up the walls—so much that Lyman's first thought was blood.

"Alright, you three, clean this up, and make it quick!" Deputy Captain Edton barked. "Tools are over there. Hop to it!"

The scholar looked totally let down. "...This is what you meant by 'Captain Prew has something important for us'?"

"What else? Isn't cleaning the captain's room important?" The deputy captain gave the scholar a kick in the rear. "Move it! If the captain comes back and you're not done, you'll be sorry!"

The scholar grumbled and grabbed a broom. Lyman and Eric exchanged a look, then had no choice but to follow Edton's orders.

You didn't need a genius to figure out that Captain Prew had thrown a massive fit—he wouldn't dare make a scene in public, so he'd let a tornado loose in his office instead.

Honestly, Lyman was relieved. He'd thought the Warden was going to take his anger out on the three prisoners, or personally interrogate him. But it was just cleaning a room. How hard could that be?

He rolled up his sleeves, picked up the scattered papers, and couldn't help sneaking a few quick looks. They were all financial reports, inventory lists, and stuff like that—nothing as important as he'd imagined.

Come to think of it, these were clearly letters from another world, yet Lyman could read them. Was this something his original body could do, or was it a natural talent of the transmigrator? Or maybe the power of the Book of the Evil God?

Lyman stacked the papers neatly, then worked with Eric to set the bookshelf upright. A few scrolls had fallen to the floor—maps or something like that. Lyman quickly scooped them up and shoved them back on the shelf.

He hung the wolf head and deer head back on the wall. He also put the books and decorations back in their places.

When he picked up a wolf pelt in the corner, something underneath it suddenly moved.

A little furry head poked out.

"Woof!"

It was a small puppy with white fur and black patches, about two or three months old, its ears not standing up yet. Its black eyes were wide and round, and its little tail was wagging like crazy, like it had a motor in it.

"Why's there a dog in here?" Deputy Captain Edton looked over, confused.

"Isn't it Captain Prew's pet?" Lyman asked, puzzled.

"Ha, as if... Hey! Stop licking me!"

The puppy bounded over to Deputy Captain Edton's feet, rubbing up against him and licking him. Edton yelled in disgust while a goofy grin spread across his face.

"I know—it must be from the litter of that hunting dog the stable hand keeps. Even the coloring matches." Deputy Captain Edton nodded, pretty impressed with himself.

The three prisoners gathered around the puppy, watching it hop and bounce with delighted expressions. In this closed-off prison, a lively little life was like sunlight breaking through the clouds and cold.

After a while, Deputy Captain Edton finally realized something wasn't right. "What are you staring at?! Get back to work!"

Lyman grabbed a broom and started sweeping up the glass. The carpet was a lost cause—it would have to be taken out and washed. He and Eric rolled it up while the scholar wiped up the wine stains with a cloth.

The three of them worked for what felt like forever, and by the time the moon was up and the night had gotten deep, the office was finally clean. Deputy Captain Edton checked it over, made sure nothing was missed, and only then went to respectfully escort Captain Prew back to his office.

The moment Captain Prew stepped in, the whole room seemed to brighten. His crimson cape and shiny sash made the office gleam.

The scholar and Eric both cowered in the corner, staring at the floor, trying their best to make themselves invisible. Lyman did the same, like a student scared of being called on in class.

"Sir, everything's been cleaned up," Edton said with a fawning smile. "Anything else you need?"

Captain Prew sat down in his chair, casually propping his feet up on the desk. He made a gesture, and Edton immediately got it—he fetched a bottle of red wine, carefully poured a glass, then went to the door to call a guard and order him to bring some late-night snacks from the kitchen.

The guard moved fast and soon came back with a plate of baked biscuits.

Seeing the biscuits still steaming, Lyman felt a sharp pang in his stomach. He'd only eaten one meal today, and now he was so hungry his vision was going black.

Suddenly, someone's stomach let out a loud growl.

Captain Prew swept a cold, sharp look over them. "Who was that?"

The scholar beside him tensed up, looking like he wanted to crawl into a crack in the floor.

"It—it was me, Captain!" Eric said, stepping forward.

Captain Prew looked at him with interest, lazily getting up from his chair and strolling over to Eric.

"Well, well, look who we have here. Isn't this young Master Marvo?" Captain Prew sneered. "Once so high and mighty in the Holy City, and now a prisoner. How'd that happen?"

The freckled boy's frail body trembled like a dead leaf in the wind, not daring to lift his head.

Captain Prew grabbed him by the hair and forced him to look up. "I'm asking you a question!"

"It's because... I wasn't devout enough," Eric said, his voice choked with tears, "so the God of Dawn punished me..."

Captain Prew tightened his grip, nearly lifting the boy off the ground. Suddenly, something soft bumped against his heel.

He looked down and saw a small dog circling his feet.

"Where'd this filthy thing come from?!" He kicked the puppy away.

The puppy yelped as it slammed into the wall, tumbled a few times after landing, let out pitiful whines as its legs scrabbled weakly—then went still.

The scholar turned his face away, staring at the floor, not daring to look at what happened to the puppy. Lyman clenched his fists. Deputy Captain Edton moved, like he was going to pick up the puppy, but lowered his hands under Captain Prew's threatening glare.

Captain Prew suddenly got an idea. He grinned, showing a row of gleaming white teeth.

He let go of Eric, walked over to the table, and picked up the plate of steaming biscuits.

"Young Master Marvo, you must be hungry, right? You were working for me and missed your meal, so it's only fair I treat you. Here, these are for you."

He made as if to hand the plate to Eric, then suddenly flipped his wrist and dumped the whole plate of biscuits on the floor.

"Oops, my hand slipped," Captain Prew said, faking sincerity. "But it shouldn't matter to you, right? It's no different from what you usually eat anyway."

Eric bit his lip, his eyes getting red.

Captain Prew kicked him to the ground. "Eat! I'm treating you—why aren't you eating?"

Eric's arms trembled, and a tear hit the floor tiles.

"Hurry up. Isn't this how dogs eat? You still think you're some high-and-mighty young master? Eat!"

Hot blood rushed to Lyman's head. He took a step forward, about to say something, when the scholar jabbed him hard.

The scholar grabbed his sleeve and frantically signaled with his eyes.

Deputy Captain Edton sensed something was wrong and quickly spoke up. "What are you two staring at?! You're dismissed—get out of here!"

With that, he shoved the two of them out of the office.

The moment the door closed behind them, Lyman caught a glimpse through the gap of Eric lowering his head.

"Lyman, are you out of your mind!" the scholar hissed once they were well away from the office. "That was Captain Prew! If I hadn't held you back, your head would be rolling on the floor right now!"

Deputy Captain Edton turned around too and said, "Prisoner 1154, I can see you're not a bad kid, so let me give you some advice—if you want to live, mind your own business. This is Cape Prison, not a courtroom."

"So, Deputy Captain, you think Captain Prew's actions are 'unjust' too?" Lyman retorted.

Deputy Captain Edton was caught off guard and immediately slapped a hand over Lyman's mouth. He looked around nervously, and only let Lyman go when he was sure no one was watching.

"Don't drag me into this, boy! I didn't say anything! If word of this gets around..." Edton drew a finger across his own throat. "You get what I'm saying? Then get back to your cell!"

***

"Damn it!"

Lyman slammed his fist into the wall of the dark cell.

That damned Prew, always pushing people around! What made it worse was that he'd just stood there watching, completely helpless!

Captain Prew had weapons and the entire prison's guards at his command. If he'd fought him on the spot, his body would probably be hanging from the gate by now, swaying in the wind. So the scholar was right—keeping his mouth shut was the right call.

But Lyman just couldn't let it go. He couldn't help envying Sylen. The merman boy had a supernatural healing ability that let him fight armed enemies with his bare hands. He was fearless and could openly swear revenge.

If only he had an ability like that!

Lyman summoned the Book of the Evil God: "Buddy, let's make a deal. Clean up that crappy gacha pool of yours and next time give me some strong abilities to take on that Prew guy. How come everyone else gets lucky pulls and I'm the only one who doesn't? All you do is farm, farm—what's the point!"

The Book of the Evil God stayed silent. Lyman noticed the eye on the cover crack open, but it rolled upward in disdain and closed again without a sound.

Damn it, now he was even more pissed!

Lyman punched the Book of the Evil God, plopped down dejectedly, and tucked the book back into his palm.

What should he do next? Not only was he stuck on this godforsaken prison island, but there was also a psychopathic captain running the place. What if he decided to target him one day...

Thump, thump, thump.

The rhythmic knocking broke Lyman's train of thought.

Thump, thump, thump. It wasn't a knock on the door, but the sound of knocking on stone.

Lyman looked around and realized the sound was coming from right in front of him, as if... someone in the next cell was knocking on the wall.

Was there someone in the cell next door? Every cell in the dark prison had its iron door locked, and Lyman had never run into any other prisoners in the dark cells when coming and going. He'd thought he was the only one on this floor—could there be someone else?

He moved to the wall and tapped three times in response.

The knocking from the other side stopped.

Lyman pressed his ear against the stone wall. "Is anyone there?" he asked.

Then he heard a short, clear laugh come through the stone wall.

"Who is it?" Lyman pressed.

"Shouldn't you state your own name before asking someone else's?"

Lyman stepped back, surprised. So there really was someone in the next cell?

From the sound of it, the neighbor was a young guy.

He pulled himself together and pressed his ear to the wall again.

"You knocked first," he said. "If you wanted my attention, shouldn't you go first?"

A hearty laugh with a slight echo came through the wall.

"Fair enough," the guy in the next cell said. "My name's Lunast. You can call me Luna."