"Ah, ah, ah, ah——"
The piercing screams reverberated within the "Confinent Room", yet they were imprisoned by the thick walls within this not-too-large room.
Seated in his wheelchair, Fran ordered his subordinates to pull out the fingernails one by one from the handless person tied up in front of him in an Exodia-like posture. Although he couldn’t understand the other’s curses, the pained howls were the only dicine that could soothe Fran’s own soul.
But today, no matter how ghastly the screams from his victim were, Fran found it hard to feel even a bit of peace. It was as if his usually favorite song had suddenly beco as unpleasant to the ears as noise.
Nonetheless, Fran did not order his n to stop. Watching the scars being branded onto the other’s body, he began to think more clearly.
He was not oblivious to the reason behind his current predicant—
His position was being threatened.
Jeston was a fool, discarded by his family, a waste left to scrape by in a place as filthy as Saint Luton City.
But, just like most rich second generations treated this way, they weren’t lacking in money or enlightennt, which is why he had the opportunity to develop here. If it had been soone who started from scratch, even if he pleaded earnestly, the other might still regard him as nothing but a lunatic.
However, things were different now; even if his accidentally successful Trojan Horse had succeeded, at most it brought in a few dozen magic items a year. This was nothing compared to a craftsman who could create magic items every day.
The mont his abilities were fully proven, the costly and difficult-to-keep-secret Trojan Horse Plan could easily be abolished. By then, knowing about the existence of the craftsman, he might even be silenced directly.
Even if Jeston, that fool, didn’t think of silencing him, it would be very hard for himself to seek revenge against those demons.
His life had already been completely destroyed by those demons, and now what drove him to continue living was to seek revenge against these monsters.
But once he was cut off from Jeston, his financial backer, he wouldn’t even have the capital to restart his revenge plans—even though Jeston had given him quite a sum of money over the years. But the Trojan Horse Plan needed more than money; it required disposable bait, a trustworthy ard team, and the ability to monitor the city’s movents.
And these were things he lacked. Moreover, with his disabled body, it would be very difficult to find a qualified new partner.
"Enough, that will do for today," Fran said without much enthusiasm as he activated his wheelchair and returned to his quarters. After pondering for a long ti, he finally picked up a rudintary, almost laughable cell phone and dialed a number.
"Who are you? How did you get this number?" A voice containing a condescending tone ca from the earpiece. Fran frowned slightly, but still said,
"How I know this number doesn’t matter. Instead of worrying about that, Mr. Johnson, don’t you want to know how your brother ca to possess so many magic items?"
"Oh? Interesting. What do you want?" The voice on the other end of the phone beca warr imdiately, and even without a face-to-face encounter, Fran could almost see a face shifting rapidly from cold to cordial.
A sinister smile spread across his scarred face, and he slowly said into the phone:
"Trust , what I want is of no consequence to you..."
...
"It’s enhanced again... hmm, is it five tis now? Or six?" Feng Xue felt the "Money Printer" tag’s "Identity" had increased once more, the corners of her mouth twitching slightly. There was no doubt, the number of people aware of her secret had multiplied.
However, she noticed sothing: ordinary Bodyguards, even when they beca aware of her ability, didn’t seem to contribute to the Money Printer tag’s Cognition. Perhaps it was because they understood that no matter how much "money" they "printed," it would never belong to them.
Following this logic, it appeared that only those confident they could extract sufficient benefits from her would be capable of charging the tag.
"It seems like a jailbreak will occur soon," Feng Xue mused, yet she had no intention of seizing the Opportunity to flee. Frankly, she didn’t believe the jailbreakers would be any less foolish than Jeston.
Not to ntion that the idea of soone breaking her out was purely speculative. Perhaps Jeston had simply reported her situation to his superiors.
"Clang, clang, clang..." The sound of knocking on tal bars interrupted Feng Xue’s thoughts. Turning her head, she saw it was Jeston’s secretary. After the second Transformation into a "Magic Item" had occurred, Jeston’s attitude towards her had certainly shifted. Not only was her al delivered by the secretary now, the food itself had also improved from fried chicken to a far more sophisticated Spanish seafood paella.
"Sir, here’s your lunch for today. The boss said that if there’s anything in particular you’d like to eat, you can tell directly." The secretary awkwardly enunciated in Yan Country’s language using a Phonetic Translator, but the miraculous effect of the translation tool allowed Feng Xue to easily comprehend this peculiar linguistic hybrid.
However, she did not reveal this comprehension capability. Instead, she pretended to be only half-understanding, and then took advantage of the syntactical errors in the other person’s speech and the fact that the secretary didn’t understand Yan Country’s language to twist the aning of his words. She pulled out two cards from the sentence cards and showed them to him.
"Comfortable," "Clothes"...
The secretary furrowed his brow, wanting to correct her by saying I asked what you "want to eat," not "what you want," but considering potential mistranslations, he felt a temporary headache. Still, he followed the prepared script,
"I need to report to the boss."
Upon hearing this, Feng Xue nodded in understanding, then took the plate passed through the al slot and began to eat by her bed.
The food was, as always, a testant to Columbia’s strong flavors, heavy on both salt and oil, a marked improvent over the previous evening’s exceedingly salty fried chicken.
Yet what concerned Feng Xue at the mont was not the taste of the food, but the Tableware included with the plate.
While she had not been provided with a full set of Western cutlery, there was a plastic spoon, a bow-type floss pick, and a few napkins; a considerably more thoughtful gesture compared to the previous day when she had to wipe her hands on her prison uniform.
The thoughtful gesture was still based on her being a Prisoner, but it ant her status in the prison had risen from that of an ordinary Prisoner to one who needed to be treated well. This subtle shift in thinking could cause the guards’ vigilance to drop by several degrees.
Feng Xue quickly finished the bowl of seafood rice, patted her belly, and started pacing in the cell to aid digestion. While this seed unnecessary, it was part of crafting a stereotype for the prison guards. According to a spymaster in a certain story, as long as one repeats a certain behavior day after day and makes it routine, it was easy to secure a window of freedom.
As she contemplated her Escape plan, a series of footsteps rang out again. Feng Xue turned her head to look, only to see the secretary who had delivered her al appearing once again in her line of sight, holding a tray in his hands containing neatly folded fabric—
"Sir, here are your clothes."
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