Do Not Respond! Do Not Respond!

Blood Moon Country, Shattered Lake Prison. "If hurt enough, use a pair of hands to cleanly sever yesterday's curse. Waiting for dawn as night falls, only scars remain..." Igola awoke from his large velvet bed, yawning as he walked into the bathroom and stripped off his nightclothes and sleeping cap. Testing the temperature with the tip of his toe, he slipped into the bathtub, which had filled with warm water on a timer, and enjoyed a comfortable morning soak. Just to be able to take a bath whenever he wished, Igola paid a steep price of one contribution point every three days to stay in this luxury cell. His points were consequently quite tight; staying here for five months cost fifty contribution points, equal to a death row inmate's entire initial allotment. Even so, he considered it well worth the cost. Bathing was not only Igola's personal hobby, but it also seemed to be a favorite pastime of the Contract sorcery spirit. Once, while soaking in the tub, Igola had fallen asleep from exhaustion. In his dazed, half-asleep state, he had vaguely caught sight of the Contract spirit riding a little rubber duck, splashing happily in the bathwater. Though the Contract spirit vanished the instant Igola opened his eyes, as if it had never been there at all, Igola trusted his own judgment. The Contract spirit truly loved taking baths. In the outside world, this would have amounted to nothing more than an amusing tidbit for idle conversation, carrying no practical significance. Sorcery spirits undoubtedly possessed intellect, along with their own moods and preferences. Most sorcerers, however, rarely paid much attention to a spirit's temperament. So long as sorcery power was channeled into them, a sorcery spirit was forced to obediently carry out commands, no matter how reluctant it might be. Yet inside Shattered Lake Prison, this detail had become Igola's lifesaving trump card. In an environment where no one could channel sorcery power, death row inmates seeking to cast spells had to rely entirely on triggering resonance with their sorcery spirits. Whether a sorcery spirit was willing to cooperate became the critical factor! Igola still couldn't say for sure whether his near-hundred-percent success rate in activating the Contract spirit inside the prison had anything to do with pampering it with frequent baths. Still, as the saying went, more action brought more mistakes, while no action brought none. Prison was no place for academic research. As long as he had contribution points to spare, Igola had no intention of changing his slightly extravagant lifestyle. After dozing off in the tub for a short second sleep, Igola climbed out, dried off, and proceeded to wash up without bothering to put on clothes. He emptied his thoughts as best he could, thinking of nothing, letting himself go blank and dazed as he mechanically brushed his teeth before the mirror. His brushing motions were exaggeratedly vigorous, splattering white toothpaste lather across the glass. Before long, the white foam dripping down the mirror in winding trails rearranged itself into words. This meant Igola had successfully activated another of his sorcery spirits: Revelation. The Revelation sorcery spirit was a prize Igola had obtained in the Void Realm in the past. It was exceptionally versatile. One could essentially activate Revelation before undertaking any task to assess the situation, and subtle changes in the surrounding environment would then offer useful guidance. After entering prison, Igola had tried numerous methods before finally discovering the proper way to resonate with Revelation: he had to empty his mind while brushing his teeth, yet avoid emptying it completely—he had to preserve a faint sliver of intent, something along the lines of wanting advice, to trigger the spirit's resonance. Striking that exact balance was extraordinarily difficult. Igola didn't manage it every day, but he was lucky today. Even so, Igola treated the process merely as a small diversion in his prison routine. Most of the advice Revelation offered consisted of trivial tips like "Avoid Lalafell for lunch," "Remember to bring tissues," or "Don't wear underwear." Such advice was indeed useful, but only marginally so. Even if Igola ignored it, no real harm ever came of it. That was only natural. Igola had never studied the Prophecy faction, so coaxing this level of performance out of Revelation was already commendable. If the Revelation spirit ever delivered a severe warning, however, Igola would truly have reason to fear—because that would mean he stood at a momentous crossroads of fate, with an unknown tapestry of countless intertwined destinies hovering right in front of him, to the point that Revelation reacted strongly! Such as right now! Beneath Igola's widening, horrified gaze, the white toothpaste foam left a stark, pale warning across the glass: "Do not respond! Do not respond!" It was the first time Igola had ever seen punctuation in a prompt—and exclamation marks, no less! He quickly regained his composure, weighing whether he should heed Revelation's guidance. Guidance from Revelation was not always inherently correct. Rather, concepts of right, wrong, benefit, and harm were cultural constructs of mortal society—deeply personal and subjective. The same matter could be viewed entirely differently across regions, races, and individuals. Sleeping late, for instance, was considered bad by some, while others thoroughly relished it. Minor habits like sleeping in were one thing, but even on monumental issues of life and death, people held conflicting views. Some believed dying early meant early reincarnation; others believed a miserable life was better than a good death; still others swung back and forth between wanting to live and wanting to die. If mortals themselves couldn't untangle right from wrong, how could a sorcery spirit be expected to? Consequently, the prompts provided by Revelation were often remarkably shortsighted. It used the sorcerer's current state as its baseline, deeming any unforeseen accident that threatened to alter that state as harmful. On the day Revelation advised him "Don't wear underwear," for example, a prison guard had approached Igola seeking advice on how to woo women. Igola was handsome, dashing, and carried a touch of Veela blood, looking every bit the heartbreaker and philanderer. That guard happened to have very delicate features and long hair, radiating an ambiguous, heart-melting charm that blurred the lines of gender. Though Igola's sexual orientation was ordinary enough, his Veela blood made him somewhat omnivorous and prone to sudden desire. The end result was an involuntary physical reaction that scared the guard away, costing Igola a golden opportunity to build a friendly rapport with the staff. Now that Revelation was warning him to "not respond," could it cause him to miss another chance to forge a deep connection with a guard? Igola soon made up his mind—ignore Revelation's word, and regret would follow swiftly! His current life was fairly comfortable anyway. Aside from lacking the freedom to curse people out, he didn't have it bad at all: good food, good sleep, a regular schedule, and complete entertainment facilities. Besides, he had already been locked up for over a year. Prison was a strange place. At first, you hated it; then, you grew accustomed to it; in the end, you couldn't bear to leave it. Igola was used to this existence and had no drive to change his reality. Amusingly enough, during last night's live broadcast of the Blood Moon Trial, when Igola watched a death row inmate unleash a barrage of profanity, an instinctive revulsion had welled up inside him. It wasn't disdain for vulgarity, but a subconscious sense that "swearing is wrong." Igola, the Swindler who specialized in exploiting legal loopholes, was gradually turning into a supporter of the law. Once you grew used to shackles, you began to accept and even romanticize their purpose. That was the point of Shattered Lake Prison, and that was the power of the chip's reformation. Leaving his quarters, Igola walked briskly toward the cafeteria, firmly resolved not to utter a single word outside. No matter who approached him, he would ignore them, finish breakfast, and return straight to his room. He had considered spending contribution points to order meals directly and hide out in his room all day. But having lost once to Yaxiu, his contribution points were a bit tight; needless expenses like delivered meals were best avoided. It was only eating a meal in silence. Igola refused to believe he couldn't manage that much! Carrying his tray, Igola picked a corner and sat down, but the very next second, someone slid into the seat opposite him. "Good morning, my friend Igola! Hey, those lobster balls look great. Mind if I have one?" The corner of Igola's mouth twitched. He silently watched Yaxiu use an uncommon pair of chopsticks to pick up a lobster ball. Yet Yaxiu seemed clumsy with them. He failed to grasp it, and the lobster ball slipped from the chopsticks, bouncing onto the table. Yaxiu blinked, then tried again. He missed once more, and it rolled away. On the third attempt, he finally gripped the lobster ball securely. Yaxiu placed it back onto Igola's tray, then reached out with his chopsticks to pick up a clean lobster ball and popped it into his mouth. "You don't mind, do you?" Igola's mouth twitched again, but he kept silent, merely speeding up his eating. As they ate, Yaxiu knocked over his own cup with an exaggerated gesture. Milk spilled across the table, splattering onto Igola's clothes. "Ah, I'm so sorry, so sorry! Let me wipe that off for you, alright?" Yaxiu grabbed a napkin to wipe Igola's clothes. Without a word, Igola slapped his hand away and headed straight for the cafeteria restroom. After washing the milk stains from his shirt, Igola figured that since he was already here, he might as well use the urinal. Yet Yaxiu materialized right beside him again. "Oh, what a coincidence, Igola. You're taking a leak too?" Igola remained silent, quietly increasing his flow rate. "Oops, I forgot to wipe my mouth earlier. Igola, could you hold this for me for a second? I'm going to grab a paper towel." Igola nearly snapped. But recalling the warning on the mirror, he gritted his teeth, inhaled deeply, and forced the words back down his throat. "There're no towels after washing hands. Can I use your clothes to dry them?" "You're done with breakfast already? Let's head to the Death Match Club together. Could you introduce me to the heavy hitters there?" "Did you watch the Blood Moon Trial last night? I have a few questions I'd like to consult you about. Of course, in return, you can ask me questions too." "Don't walk so fast! Wait up, won't you?" Throughout the walk, Igola treated Yaxiu's words as hot air, refusing to answer any of his requests as he quickened his pace toward his quarters. Watching Igola's hurrying back, Yaxiu found the situation utterly bizarre. He had deliberately exposed so many openings—why hadn't Igola taken the bait? Igola Bogin was a villain notorious under the titles of Swindler and Fair Beast. Bullying the weak, fearing the strong, and taking a mile when given an inch were second nature to him. Why was he behaving today like a harmless kitten that hadn't even been weaned? No, there was only one move left! Clink! At the sound of a gold coin hitting the floor, Igola's professional reflexes kicked in, and he glanced down almost subconsciously. A heavenly voice rang by his ear: "Could you help me pick up that gold coin?" "No problem." With a flick of his sleeve, Igola instantly produced a copper coin painted with gold pigment to swap out the real one. Only after palming the gold coin did it hit him—he had spoken. Even so, Igola did not panic. Looking at Yaxiu, he said, "I don't know why you were so bent on making a request of me, but now you have your wish. The Contract sorcery spirit has taken effect. I fulfilled your request, so you must fulfill the demand I make of you." Inside Shattered Lake Prison, no one dared accept a request from Igola, nor did anyone dare make a request of him. Under the influence of the Contract spirit, whenever anyone established a transaction with Igola, he could use the contract to compel them to fulfill their promise while remaining free of obligation himself. And the most exquisite contract of all was when someone made a request of Igola without specifying how they would repay him. That was the equivalent of handing Igola a blank check, free for him to fill in whatever terms he pleased! That was why Igola had exerted such immense willpower earlier to suppress his urge to answer Yaxiu. The moment he agreed to one of Yaxiu's requests, he would gain an unrestricted demand over him—he could even force Yaxiu to throw their next death match without issue! Igola had realized Yaxiu was doing this on purpose, but he felt no fear. Even if Yaxiu truly had some scheme in mind, Igola now held the right to make a wish of him. What was there to be afraid of? To intimidate Yaxiu, Igola deliberately summoned his Contract sorcery spirit. The Contract spirit took the form of a two-winged rogue carrying chains. The ethereal chain in its hands stretched all the way to Yaxiu's neck, appearing ready to choke the life out of him at any moment. "I suggest you behave yourself, Yaxiu Heath," Igola said, narrowing his eyes. "I can now make an entirely unrestricted demand of you, and you must comply." "Any demand at all?" "Of course. Even if I demand that you shit while doing a handstand," Igola said haughtily. "Yaxiu, you're already my 'good friend,' ripe for the taking." "That's truly wonderful, then." Yaxiu extended his hand, and a single-winged sorcery spirit manifested in his palm. The spirit resembled a single-winged balance scale. The moment it appeared, a segment of the chain extending from the Contract spirit suddenly dropped onto the left side of the scale. To maintain balance, an identical chain materialized on the right side of the scale, extending all the way around Igola's neck! The Contract spirit's chain bound Yaxiu, while the Balance spirit's chain bound Igola! "Balance in all things." Looking at Igola's face as it twisted into an increasingly hideous grimace, Yaxiu smiled. "Igola, helping one another is what makes us 'good friends,' don't you agree?"