The Impregnable Prison Zero

“Only two days remain until the final confrontation with the lawbreakers. Everyone must hold firm; perseverance guarantees victory!”

The City Lord’s booming voice, amplified by the loudspeaker, echoed through every street and alley. Cairns slammed the window shut, muttering curses under his breath:

“This rotten city, it would be better if it just collapsed.”

Returning from the rooftop to his living room, Cairns was startled to find a young girl seated in the center.

Cairns immediately snatched an item from the table. “Who are you?”

“Don’t be alarmed, Cairns, I’ve merely come to speak with you,” Iordera stated calmly. “I hear the Witch Hecate was once your teacher?”

Cairns slammed the item down with a resounding thud. “I’ve already told everyone, that remark from years ago was nothing more than academic praise! I have absolutely no association with her!”

“Don’t fret, Cairns, I haven’t come to interrogate you on behalf of the City Lord,” Iordera said with a smile. “Quite the opposite, I come representing the Witch herself.”

The old man scoffed. “And just because you say so? What exactly is your relationship with her?”

Iordera raised her hand, revealing a bone ring on her ring finger.

“She calls me ‘dear’,” Iordera chirped, tilting her small head. The tilt grew more and more exaggerated. “What do you suppose our relationship is?”

Cairns’s heart stuttered in his chest.

As Juenburg’s most cantankerous old man, his notorious temper was widely known; he feared nothing and no one, and none could ever get the better of him. When the City Lord had forced him from his position, he had stubbornly stood before the City Lord’s gates, railing curses for a solid half-hour.

Yet, there were always exceptions to every rule, such as when an outwardly adorable young girl tilted her head to an impossible 120-degree angle while staring at you.

Cairns was an old man, and his bones felt every bit of it, his neck a constant source of rheumatic pain. Witnessing the young girl’s contortion, he felt a phantom ache begin to throb in his own neck.

“Alright, alright, I get it,” Cairns conceded, closing his eyes briefly. “Now, could you possibly speak to me normally?”

A surge of triumph warmed Iordera’s heart.

Indeed, Hecate’s method had proven effective: a preliminary show of psychological intimidation had successfully established dominance.

‘Though, perhaps the neck tilt had been a touch excessive…’

She pressed her small head, then gave it a forceful twist.

Crack!

“There, old sir, now we can converse normally.”

Cairns opened his eyes, letting out a sigh of relief upon seeing the young girl had reverted to her adorable demeanor.

“State your business, then leave,” he said, his face resuming its surly expression. “Even if you are affiliated with the Witch, what concern is that of mine? You people are responsible for my current predicament; my not throwing you out already counts as a great mercy.”

Iordera’s lips curved into a wide grin.

“Cairns, it wasn’t us who orchestrated your downfall, but Martin Sword-Picker, who merely seized the opportunity, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, but you are not entirely blameless either…”

“At best, our culpability would be secondary, unless, Mr. Cairns, you rank your enemies based on who you dare to provoke and who you do not.”

Iordera paused for a mere instant, then, just as Cairns opened his mouth to speak, she abruptly interjected: “You believe there’s no distinction; they are all adversaries, after all. However, enemies are hardly friends, are they? What transpires when these opposing foes confront one another?”

Her words grew rapid and insistent: “Cairns, I’ve heard your temper has always been formidable. After being forced from your position, you stood before the City Lord’s gates, railing for a considerable time. How unyielding you were then, even in defeat, choosing to nurse that grievance deep within your heart.”

“You knew Juenburg was slowly becoming uninhabitable, yet your reputation and capabilities remained. After six months out of office, you could have left, resumed your old profession anywhere else, and enjoyed a far better life.”

“But you remained here, because that grievance festered within you,” Iordera said, lowering her gaze to meet his. “You’d rather perish of old age in this place than not personally witness Martin Sword-Picker’s downfall.”

The wrinkles on Cairns’s face twitched imperceptibly.

“And yet, you may not realize the myriad opportunities available to you. Even now, every word you utter to me could serve as a form of vengeance against Martin Sword-Picker, but you choose to remain silent.”

Cairns opened his mouth, a single word escaping: “I…”

“Tell me, Cairns,” Iordera’s voice suddenly turned frigid, “does that grievance still burn within you?”

Cairns involuntarily swallowed a mouthful of saliva.

Seeing his stunned expression, Iordera knew she had succeeded.

First, psychological intimidation; then, a barrage of swift words to overwhelm them, followed by ambiguous statements designed to foster the illusion of being utterly seen through. Finally, just as the opponent prepares to speak, deliver the killing blow.

This was Hecate’s signature tactic.

Cairns remained silent for a long moment, then let out a heavy sigh.

“I understand your intent, but regrettably, I cannot assist you. Any professional with even a rudimentary understanding of the prison holding the Witch knows it’s an impossible task to rescue her.”

“Oh?” Iordera queried, raising an eyebrow. “How do you mean?”

She certainly hadn’t come to rescue Hecate, but she understood the necessity of concealing her true objective: to follow the other’s lead, letting them believe they grasped her intentions.

A true objective, Hecate had taught, must always be subtly concealed.

“Surely you’re aware, none of Juenburg’s defenses can possibly breach the Witch’s seal,” Cairns stated.

Iordera nodded. “Sir Olcott mentioned to me that it was those six chains that sealed Hecate, and even he could not sever them.”

Unexpectedly, Cairns scoffed. “Chains sealed the Witch? Ha!”

“Are they not?”

“Of course not. Sir Olcott is merely a swordsman; what does he know of magic and alchemy?”

Cairns paused to consider, then turned and picked up a pen and paper from the table. “Look, Prison Zero is actually structured like this…”

Iordera moved closer to him, glancing at the pen in the old man’s hand, and casually remarked, “Aren’t you using a pencil? This will leave evidence, you know.”

“It seems your… family hasn’t taught you basic alchemy,” Cairns said. “Alchemists never use pencils, as the graphite dust they produce is troublesome and greatly affects alchemical products with poor protective casings. If it accidentally seeps into the core, the consequences can be severe.”

“Oh, I see.”

Cairns didn’t elaborate, and Iordera didn’t press further; it wasn’t important.

“To return to the main point, why do I say Prison Zero is absolutely impregnable?” Cairns offered a faint smile. “Have you heard of supreme-grade materials?”

Iordera gently shook her head.

“Any natural substance capable of causing damage only when subjected to energy intensity above level ninety is called a supreme-grade material,” Cairns explained, sketching a pile of rocks on the paper. “Basalt (TL Note: Basalt is used here to represent a type of ‘exceptionally hard rock,’ not necessarily the exact geological basalt found on Earth.), a supreme-grade material. There’s only one such deposit in all of Juenburg, and its volume isn’t large, but it was just enough to construct a prison cell.”

“More than half a year ago, The Guardian Sheila came to Juenburg and asked us for a prison design. I was the primary person in charge at the time,” Cairns continued, quickly sketching the general outline of Prison Zero. “Of course, designing a simple room wasn’t difficult. The Guardian, upon receiving the design, personally intervened, using her supreme power to transform the basalt into Prison Zero.”

“Then came the most crucial part: her method of sealing the Witch Hecate.”

****