"Hey, Yuri... What will you do once we're out of this shithole?" Sitting casually in the dining hall, Sam asked curiously, massaging his neck.
Yuri didn't answer for a few moments, chewing his food thoughtfully. After swallowing, he replied with a melancholic tone. "Most likely see my daughter. That's all I want, really."
Sam sighed, feeling a bit nostalgic as the faces of his family appeared in his mind. And with that came memories of all the beatings and torture he'd endured.
Well, devil families aren't exactly sunshine and rainbows. They were cold-blooded, cruel and sadistic. The only warmth he'd ever known came from his brothers and... Mother. It was because of her he managed to escape from the Abyss, really.
Meanwhile, his father was a bit of an asshole. He'd actually made Sam a stable boy. In other words, Sam didn't enjoy the pleasure of nepotism. And while his father was a merciless bastard, he was fair. Sam could say this with confidence. Makarov would treat everyone the same way, be it subordinate or his own blood.
As for why Sam ended up as a stable boy, it wasn't anything cliché like being a disappointment or something similar.
Sam was simply a rebellious son, always disobeying his father and doing whatever he wanted. And as punishment, he was forced to take care of horses and clean their shit. Sometimes the punishment was more severe, like getting beaten up, starved or imprisoned.
At least he loved horses, so being a stable boy wasn't that bad.
He also had a half-brother, Mikhail. He was more distant and awkward, by devil standards at least. He could use hundreds of people as materials for ritualistic magic in one moment, but in the next second, escape from society like a rabbit chased by a wolf.
"What about you, Sam? What will you do?" Yuri looked up at him with an amused smile. While he was twice Sam's age, conversation between them was never awkward. Mostly, it was because of Sam's laid-back nature. He rarely took things to heart. Besides that, Sam was his student.
While Sam was a better and more experienced fighter despite the age difference, he didn't know the techniques the Prisoner pathway offered. They weren't mystical abilities anyway, so Yuri was able to teach him. Sam wasn't as skilled yet, though.
He'd only trained for three months, and even then, their time was limited because of prison rules. And while Sam was talented, he wasn't a Savant who could absorb knowledge like a sponge and never forget it.
Sam leaned back, his hands in his pockets, stretching out his legs in a not so gentlemanly manner. "Hmm... Most likely I'll follow you so I can graduate from your school of prison breaks. After that, I'll explore the world and spread the word of my Lord."
Yuri was nodding in approval at first, but when he heard Sam mentioning his 'Lord' once again, he sighed. Yuri wasn't religious. He knew gods existed, but he didn't worship them. Because of that, he didn't care whether Sam was worshiping evil existences or some unorthodox deity.
What worried him was the fact that spreading the name of an unorthodox god would result in Sam's head flying high in the air, waving at him and saying goodbye.
"Listen... We've talked about this. Be more cautious when it comes to your God. Don't go around praising Him everywhere or you'll end up executed, understood?" He whispered, his expression solemn.
"Fine, fine, I won't..." Sam nodded reluctantly, crossing his arms in displeasure.
At the same time, he screamed in his mind. Of course I will praise the Lord! Everyone should witness the almighty power of the God of Gods!
As he thought that, a body crashed onto his table, shattering it and destroying whatever little meal they had.
Sam and Yuri shared a glance, knowing that guards would interfere soon. Well, normally they would remain still and enjoy watching, but not now when nobles were about to arrive.
Observing the fight, Sam tilted his head, intrigued, and covered his mouth. "So black versus white?"
"That's racist." Yuri deadpanned, glancing at the prisoners from Balam colonies clashing against the Loenese.
Sam's eyes widened, his jaw dropping in outrage at his friend's remark. Racist? Me? That's absurd. I'm not even human. Not to mention, for devils, humans are nothing but materials for ritualistic magic or supplementary ingredients for potions.
Ah, Yuri, my friend. Sometimes, you say the most ridiculous things. Why would I even discriminate against them? For my kind, they're no different than animals.
But then again, for devils, it doesn't matter if it's human or their own kind, really. They'll torture and use them equally. So in other words, devils are the most egalitarian race in the world! He thought and shook his head smugly, like a sage listening to an ignorant mortal's mumblings.
"Say... Does this fight have anything to do with you?" Yuri asked, narrowing his eyes. Sam was too calm and casual about the whole thing, as if he already knew it would happen.
Hearing this, Sam blinked in surprise, raising an eyebrow as he chuckled. Then he grabbed the man who had crashed onto their table and pulled him up. He had black hair, green eyes and brown skin, clear traits of a person from Balam.
"Hey, did you destroy my table because I'm a stable boy?" He asked, his expression growing more displeased.
"W-what? That doesn't-"
"Did you!? Do you look down on stable boys because we clean horse shit!? Do you know the pain of being a stable boy?! Huuuuh? Why don't you answer me?" Sam sneered, his voice irritable and loud like a hooligan's.
"No, I don't understand what you-" Staring at him bleakly while holding him like a puppy, Sam scoffed and kicked him away in annoyance, not letting him finish his words.
But Yuri, who was observing him closely, noticed how Sam used the chaos to slip a piece of paper into the man's sleeve.
"So that's your plan?" Yuri's expression brightened, his lips curling up involuntarily as he said in a low voice. "Guards wouldn't think someone from the Balam colonies would help a Loenese, huh?"
At the same time, the green-eyed man smirked, standing up and continuing the fight once again.
"See? I'm not racist at all." Sam shrugged, not saying another word. The damned guards were approaching.
"Number 87, follow me." One of them ordered coldly, his gaze filled with disdain.
Sam locked eyes with the guard, staring at him for a few seconds, then picked up meat from the floor and started chewing it. "As you wish, gentlemen."
Nodding to him, they took him to the administrative area where the warden's office was located. A young man, three or four years older than Sam, walked closer to him, smiling widely. "Should we expect another easy victory, 87?"
Sam tilted his head, his hands in his pockets. Inmates in prison were addressed by numbers. Guards weren't allowed to call them by names or be friendly with them as that would undermine their authority.
But there were always exceptions. Humans weren't robots. They were inherently flawed. And thus, every system created by them was as imperfect as them.
"Well, I'm not sure. There's always someone stronger, so I might lose, Mr. Morgan." Sam smiled casually. He wasn't arrogant nor was he bitter about losing.
"Mhm, I'll be betting on you, so you have to win." He laughed softly, only to freeze when his superior's piercing gaze landed on him.
Sam shook his head, wondering why such a cheerful guy ended up working here. But everyone's circumstances were different, so there must have been a reason.
A few minutes later, they arrived at the warden's office. A guard walked ahead, knocking twice respectfully and opening the door only when he heard a deep voice giving permission.
"You may come."
Sam sighed, walking inside while the guards remained outside. A foolish choice, but then again... the warden was a follower of the Lord of Storms. From what Yuri told him, he was Sequence 8, Folk of Rage. The warden was capable of defending himself.
He was the most dangerous individual in this prison. He and the Savant. Those two were obstacles Sam had to overcome if he wanted to escape.
"May the Storm be with you, my lord!" Sam proclaimed in an energetic tone, bowing to him, his fist on his chest.
"Mhm..." The warden nodded expressionlessly, not sparing him a look. At first glance, the warden was a stern man who glared coldly at the world, his blue eyes frigid by design. He deigned to style his hair, or what was left of it given his receding hairline, in a desperate attempt at modesty. He wore a formal suit polished with meticulous care, as if looking to impress someone.
So... when will he start talking? Sam thought, grimacing internally. He'd been standing here for two minutes in silence and he was getting tired of this.
Yeah, I know you want to act noble and mysterious, but cut the crap, old fart. Just spit your shit and let me go.
Speaking of shit... damn, I forgot to take a shit. Because of you, I have to clench my booty cheeks now. He sneered at the warden in his heart.
"You are well behaved and respectful, Sam. I can see that you indeed wish to become a better man. You never disobeyed me and always exceeded my expectations." The warden spoke at last, his tone deep as he looked back, his dull eyes appearing bleak. "I hope this time too, you will give me a pleasant surprise."
"What can I do for you, my lord?" Sam nodded in fake gratitude. If he wasn't planning his escape, then he would show what real disobedience looked like. Sadly, Sam needed to be in the warden's good graces.
"Lose." The warden replied. A small, greedy smile appeared on his face.
"Lose?" Sam blinked, confusion flashing in his eyes, but under the warden's darkened gaze, Sam lowered his head respectfully, understanding what he meant. "I understand, my lord."
Sam's voice was calm and obedient, even if his clenched fists spoke of his inner turmoil.
The warden noticed Sam's reluctance but seeing his obedience, he nodded in approval. Deep down, Sam couldn't care less about winning or losing, nor did he care about the warden's ego.
Sam was aware of the warden's insecurities when it came to his status. After all, he was a bastard with no inheritance or title. He couldn't stop trying to elevate himself by putting others down. He liked to act cold and untouchable in front of prisoners and guards, but really, he was pitiful.
Sam knew that the moment nobles arrived, he would become an obedient puppy, trying to please them as much as he could. His self worth depended entirely on others' reactions. Most likely, they had placed bets on Sam's opponent, and since the warden was deadset on kissing their asses, he would force Sam to lose.
After explaining the importance of this event, the warden dismissed Sam without even turning back to look at him.
As Sam was escorted back to his cell, he saw a man being taken away. It was the same man who had destroyed his table.
For a moment, he looked back and locked eyes with Sam. A small, cunning smile appeared on Sam's face as the man nodded and looked forward, walking ahead to avoid the guards noticing their brief interaction.
Sam looked down, his golden eyes gleaming in anticipation. So it's starting...