On Basement Level 1 of Herrom Prison, several intern guards walked slowly down a dim corridor leading toward the warden's office.
Emerging from the Teleportation Hall, they crossed a suspension bridge, from which they could see the cell blocks below and the guards on patrol.
From time to time, other guards in matching uniforms passed them from the opposite direction. These guards appeared much sterner, walking at a brisk pace with eyes focused yet weary. When passing the interns, they might offer a slight nod before quickly returning to their duties.
Not a few wore grim expressions, their faces laden with anxiety and stress, seemingly in the middle of resolving some intractable crisis.
After crossing several suspension bridges, Hyperion led the Poet of Great Love back into an indoor area. Both sides were flanked by tall bookcases crafted from dark oak, packed with thick legal tomes and historical archives.
The guards handling clerical work in the offices seemed quite leisurely, as though bearing no burdens at all. Smiles played across their faces, and the prison's somber gravity appeared to have nothing to do with them. Some even hummed softly under their breath, holding books and turning a page every now and then, thoroughly lost in their own worlds—far more at ease than the guards on the foundation floor.
Still others chatted by the office walls, their voices absorbed by the corridor stones, leaving behind only faint echoes.
Hyperion paid little attention to the guards on Basement Level 1, leading the others along at a swift pace.
Judging by what she saw of their duties along the way, she recognized the sheer diversity and complexity of the jobs and states of mind on this level.
Some tasks were simple enough that anyone could handle them; others required the mindset of someone walking straight to their death.
And delegating and assigning these tasks was precisely the warden's responsibility.
As their group approached the warden's office, the presence of guards grew increasingly sparse.
It seemed the other guards on Basement Level 1 had already picked up their assignments for the day earlier that morning.
The interns had arrived slightly later than the regular guards' shift began.
Ahead, the double doors to the warden's office stood wide open. Affixed to one side was an engraved brass plaque displaying the name of the office and the office hours of the Basement Level 1 warden.
Hyperion arrived before the doors and paused briefly. Confirming there were no restrictive wards, she led the Poet of Great Love through the open, heavy brown wooden doors.
The spacious interior of the warden's office was decorated as exquisitely as a grand hall. In the center stood an antique terrestrial globe, the outlines of its continents long blurred and faded.
Beside it were rows of wooden bookshelves, their surfaces stacked with folders. The covers of these files were brand new, their dark gold ornamental patterns glinting faintly in the dim lighting. Between the shelves ran a long corridor paved with polished flagstones, etched with faint, intricate geometric motifs.
As Hyperion held the Poet of Great Love by the forearm and advanced deeper into the hall, their footsteps echoed through the silence, mingling with the occasional rustle of turning pages and the humming operation of magic apparatuses.
Circling around the globe to the innermost section of the hall, they found office counters joined into an enormous desk, neatly arranged with folders and pen holders.
Behind the desk sat the warden, a lean, stern-faced man who appeared to be in his fifties.
He was focused on examining documents, checking them against the Basement Level 1 central control magic apparatus and stamping them. He wore a crisp, tailored warden uniform, the nameplate on his chest bearing his title and name: Warden Corendan.
When the intern guards walked in, the warden did not look up immediately. He merely lifted his eyelids by a fraction, studying the young newcomers through his spectacles before returning to his paperwork.
"Mr. Corendan, we are students from the Protos Royal Magic Academy, here today at Herrom Prison to complete our guard internship assessment," Hyperion said, bowing slightly to him. "Could you please assign us our duty commissions?"
Yet the warden gave no reaction whatsoever.
As if he had heard nothing and noticed no one, he continued focusing entirely on the work in his hands.
Seconds ticked by. Hyperion stood there in mild bewilderment, every moment stretching like an eternity.
She was unsure whether she should speak up again.
Finally, after finishing several more documents, Warden Corendan laid down his papers and looked up at Hyperion, who had been waiting not far away like a student being punished.
"Why didn't you knock when you entered?"
He raised his head slowly, his voice deep and resonant, his demeanor giving away nothing of his mood.
Hyperion was taken aback.
Given the operational style of Basement Level 1, the warden's assignment office functioned more like a public area, with guards coming and going constantly. She had assumed the doors were left open for efficiency and had not considered knocking.
"My apologies, Warden Corendan. We were thoughtless," Hyperion immediately replied with humility and regret in her voice.
Warden Corendan leaned back in his chair, picked up the water cup from his desk, took a sip, and cast a casual glance at Hyperion.
"Here, rules come first. If you don't even understand the basic courtesy of knocking, how do you expect to abide by institutional regulations?"
His words sounded like an elder lecturing a junior, not only pointing out the fault but carrying an authority that brooked no argument.
Hyperion did not argue, simply nodding.
Her eyes remained steady and calm.
Under such circumstances, proper humility and respect were the wisest choice.
"Thank you for the reminder, Warden Corendan. We will take this lesson to heart and strictly observe the rules from now on."
Her words bore neither complaint nor resentment, only sincere apology and dedication to the work.
The warden's expression barely shifted at her response.
Reaching across the desk, he pulled over a folder, opened it, and drew out several documents already stamped with the imperial seal. Running them one by one through the central magic apparatus before him, he murmured as if to himself, "Go and complete them."
Following his actions, the black wristbands worn by Hyperion and the other interns began glowing with a deep red light, displaying the newly assigned tasks.
They bowed their heads slightly to examine the information on their wristbands, above which detailed mission descriptions and specific execution requirements materialized.
Chapter 393