Oriana Kingdom Detention Center

My interrogation ended up being surprisingly perfunctory.

The Oriana Kingdom was so high-strung that it felt like war could break out at any second. I suppose they didn’t have the luxury of fussing over a background mob like me when the whole country was a powder keg.

After being fitted with a collar that sealed my Magic Power, I was hauled in front of a massive building.

"This is the Detention Center where you’ll be rotting from here on out."

"A detention center?" I asked, playing the part.

"Lord Doem is busy purging everyone in the Royalist Faction. Unfortunately, the actual prisons are already at capacity."

"Oh, is that how it is?"

"Heh. Well, do your best. Whether you survive in here or not depends entirely on the choices you make."

"Choices? What do you mean by—"

The soldier gave me a cryptic smirk, threw open a set of heavy iron doors, and shoved me inside.

The doors slammed shut with a heavy thud. I took a moment to survey my surroundings.

I’d initially imagined a classic fantasy-style stone dungeon, but this place was something else entirely. Simply put, it was a massive courtyard enclosed by soaring stone walls.

Thousands of prisoners were scattered across the paved ground.

Some were huddled in rags, sleeping; others just sat there, staring at me with hollow, lifeless eyes; others still stood around talking in groups. It looked like they’d already split themselves into several distinct cliques.

Up on the high walls, guards stood watch over the yard.

Looking closer, I realized the walls weren't just fortifications—they were the cell blocks. I could see prisoners inside, moving freely between the interior rooms and the courtyard.

Looks like they let people run things however they want in here.

I started walking, figuring I should probably secure a place to sleep.

That’s when it happened.

"Yo, rookie."

I heard a voice call out from the side and turned to look.

There stood a tall man with disheveled hair who looked every bit the local punk. The instant our eyes met, my Bandit Radar gave a little twitch.

No doubt about it. This guy’s a former bandit.

"And you are...?" I asked.

"The name's Zack. Think of me as your friendly, neighborhood big brother. I like to show the new meat the ropes."

Zack spoke with the eyes of a predator sizing up its prey.

"I-I’m Cid. Thank you so much... I'm still trying to figure out what's going on..."

"I get it, I get it. Anyone would be shaking in their boots after being tossed in here without an explanation."

Zack gave my shoulder a few friendly pats. Then, he leaned in and whispered directly into my ear.

"Listen close, Cid. In here, food, beds, entertainment, freedom—none of it is equal. Look over there."

Zack pointed toward a group of gaunt, homeless-looking people crouching in a far corner of the courtyard.

"The prisoners here are split into three main groups. Those guys are at the bottom of the barrel. They're the most numerous, and we call 'em Trash. They're worthless garbage with no reason to live. They’re given just enough food and water to keep them from dying immediately, but they’ll kick the bucket soon enough. They’ve got no strength, no wits, and no info. Now, look over that way."

He pointed toward another group that seemed to be holding some sort of meeting.

"Those are the Royalist Faction types. Idiots who got rounded up in Lord Doem’s purge. They get the bare minimum of food and a place to sleep just to keep 'em breathing. They... are our prey."

"Our?" I repeated.

"Exactly. The final group is us: the Doem Faction. Some are people who wised up and betrayed the Royalist Faction after being tossed in here; others are criminals like me. The Doem Faction gets decent meals, comfortable beds, and freedom."

"...Freedom?"

"Yeah. For us, for example, even if we beat one of those Trash pieces of garbage to death, the guards let it slide—like this!"

Without warning, Zack lunged out and kicked a nearby vagrant.

The man screamed and scrambled away. The guards on the wall definitely saw it happen.

And yet, not a single one of them moved to stop him.

Zack turned back to me with a smug grin and whispered in my ear again.

"Of course, murder and violence are technically against the rules. But the guards just look the other way. Mind you, only an idiot kills people for no reason. Even Trash has its uses if you're smart about it, and you don't want to rack up too much karma. Anyway, Cid... you’re probably wondering why we’re the only ones allowed to get away with this, right?"

"Y-yes."

"It’s simple. We keep an eye on the Royalist Faction and snitch to the guards. You provide info, you get good food, a soft bed, and freedom. Easy, right?"

"I-Information...?"

"Anything goes, as long as it’s about the Royalist Faction. Give us something good, and you can join the Doem Faction today. If the intel is high-quality, they’ll even hook you up with entertainment and women."

"B-but I don't know anything..."

"I know, I know. You’re a blank slate. But think about it. The only people who come in here with info are the traitors. How do you think a guy like me gets his hands on intel?"

"U-um..."

"There’s a few ways. Method one: kidnap someone from the Royalist Faction and torture it out of 'em. Though they’ve been on high alert lately and sticking to groups, so that’s getting tough. Plus, if you get too loud, the guards have to step in.

Method two: infiltrate the Royalist Faction and act as a mole. They’re suspicious of everyone lately, though. It’s a hard sell unless you’re a pro.

Method three: eavesdropping and theft. They’re careful, but the chances aren't zero.

Then there’s method four. Believe it or not, there are people in the Royalist Faction who want to sell info. Everyone wants a good meal, a woman, or a drink eventually. This life wears you down. That’s where we come in. It’s hard for a Royalist to bring info to the guards directly without looking like a traitor, so we 'help' them. They get to stay in their faction while secretly eating good food and drinking. Everyone wins."

"I-I see..."

"I’m sure you get it by now, Cid. At this rate, you’re just going to end up as Trash. Worthless garbage, just like them. If you want to survive, you either find some info to join the Doem Faction, or you suck up to the Royalists and hope they take you in."

"That's so..."

"That’s as much as a nice guy like me can do for you. If you happen to stumble onto some intel, come find me. I’ll introduce you to the right guards."

Zack flashed me a greasy, suspicious smile.

"T-thank you so much, Zack-san!"

"Yeah, yeah. Good luck, kid."

"Ah, wait, Zack-san!" I called out as he turned to walk away.

"What now?"

"Actually... I have some top-tier information," I said, my voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

"...Oh? If you give the guards useless crap, they’ll beat the hell out of you. Why don’t you tell me first so I can vet it for you?"

"Not here... somewhere private."

"I hear ya. Follow me."

Zack led me inside the high walls.

The interior was a series of stone corridors. Rooms lined both sides, each packed with prisoners.

"Only the Doem Faction and the high-ranking Royalists get private rooms. The Trash sleeps in heaps in the halls or out in the dirt. Even the hallways have territories, though. If you try to sleep in a spot that isn't yours... you’re a dead man."

"...I’ll keep that in mind."

"In here."

Zack stopped at a door and led me inside.

"This is my private suite. Not bad, huh?" he said, closing the door behind us with a proud smirk.

The room was about six tatami mats in size—plenty for one person. It had a clean bed, a change of clothes, books, board games, and even a stack of porno mags. I even spotted some candy wrappers on a shelf.

"The big shots have it even better, though. Word is the boss holds strip parties in his room." Zack gave a lecherous chuckle. "Alright, no one’s coming. Let's hear this 'information' of yours."

"Information, huh? About that... I don't actually have any."

"The hell—?!"

In a single motion, I closed the distance and stepped into his guard. I grabbed his throat with one hand and hoisted him into the air. His legs dangled, kicking uselessly at the empty space above the floor.

"Y-you... bastard... you think... you'll get away with..." Zack wheezed, his face turning a lovely shade of purple.

"Food is what builds the body," I said calmly. "I could survive a month without eating if I had to, but the quality of my muscles would definitely decline. I can't compromise on my diet. I mean, I could always just sneak out of here to grab a snack, but that’s a hassle. As for sleeping, I don't mind the outdoors, but... well, I'd prefer a roof over my head when it rains."

I slowly increased the pressure on his windpipe.

"S-stop... gack..."

"Zack-kun, you have two choices. Life, or death. Which one are you going to pick?"