Chains of Fate

Night Shift

After two weeks on the day shift, Ralph de Morgan was transferred to the much quieter night shift. The prison was divided into morning, afternoon, and night shifts, typically staffed by a group of experienced older guards. However, most of these veterans showed little interest in the night shift, tending to slack off once the gates were locked, leaving the cell inspections to Ralph. Thus, he found himself alone, navigating the long, damp corridors of Cell Block C at night.

Arriving at cell thirteen during his patrol, Ralph followed routine by knocking on the iron bars. Inside, the prisoner stirred slightly like a bug, signaling he was still alive. Ralph had never seen this prisoner's face; he only knew he was a special inmate who lay on the floor all day.

Ralph continued his inspection deeper into the prison.

"Hey, young man, young man..." At cell twenty-five, a plump prisoner waved him over. It was rare to see an overweight prisoner, especially one without any visible injuries. Ralph had noticed him before; he was reportedly the leader of a loan sharking group who had crossed some powerful figures and ended up here.

"What is it?" Ralph asked, his face expressionless and his tone serious.

The chubby prisoner leaned in, whispering, "Young man, if you could pass a message outside for me, I'll give you a hundred silver coins."

Ralph ignored him and turned to leave.

"Wait, young man! One hundred fifty, how about that? Or even two hundred! Just say something, can you do it or not?" the prisoner called after him anxiously.

Ralph didn't look back, uninterested in engaging. Clearly, the prisoner thought he was an easy mark, a newbie to be easily manipulated. Why hadn't he approached the more "experienced" guards instead? Ralph was no fool; he wasn't about to believe the prisoner was looking out for him. His supervisor, Lou, had repeatedly warned about preventing prisoners from communicating with the outside. Without any real backing, Ralph couldn't afford to take such risks—it was one thing to earn money, quite another to be able to spend it alive.

Disregarding the tempting offer, Ralph continued his rounds, counting the inmates in each cell to ensure everyone was accounted for.

At cell sixty, he paused longer than usual. The occupant was Roderick Evans, a notorious gang leader who had once run a martial arts gym. While Roderick had outwardly operated a gym, he had engaged in various illegal activities and was eventually apprehended by the city's knight brigade.

Ralph had been hoping to get in touch with Roderick because he possessed real martial arts skills. He was once a master of the first rank in martial arts and had taught many students. Ralph hadn't forgotten his main reason for working in the prison: to learn martial arts.

Noticing Ralph's repeated glances during his patrols, Roderick seemed to understand his intent and finally spoke up, "Young man, come here."

Ralph stopped outside the cell, asking coldly, "What is it?"

"I'll pay for some wine and food," Roderick licked his chapped lips, his body marked with scars from severe torture before his imprisonment.

Ralph snorted dismissively and turned to leave. Although he wanted to make contact, he knew better than to let Roderick have his way too easily.

"Wait! Young man, name your price, and I won't quibble," Roderick called out urgently.

Ralph turned back, asking coolly, "Why me?"

He was just a guard without any connections, hardly worth the investment for these cunning prisoners.

Roderick gave a wry smile, "The other guards are extortionate—a jug of wine for ten silver coins, a roast chicken for twenty. I have money, but I'm not keen on being fleeced by those greedy old guards. If your price is fair, I'll agree without a second thought."

Ralph narrowed his eyes, weighing Roderick's sincerity. He replied disdainfully, "I don't need money."

"What do you want, then?" Roderick asked, puzzled.

"I want to learn martial arts," Ralph stated bluntly.

Roderick appeared surprised, assessing Ralph carefully before shaking his head, "It seems you don't have the physique for martial arts?"

"I need to defend myself somehow," Ralph said flatly.

Roderick nodded thoughtfully. He understood that even basic martial skills could be beneficial for a guard, even if it was just learning a few simple moves.

After a moment, he said, "I do know a technique called 'Thunder Strike,' designed specifically for those without martial prowess. However, this technique has a serious drawback."

"What's the drawback?" Ralph asked.

"Thunder Strike, as the name suggests, is an extremely forceful and aggressive technique. It burns through vitality, hence it shortens life expectancy. The first level costs a month of life, the third level three months, the fifth level a year, and mastering the ninth level costs at least five years of life. Few are willing to learn it because of this," Roderick explained. "But for someone without martial veins, it's the only external technique they can practice."

Ralph felt a surge of excitement. For him, losing a bit of lifespan wasn't important because he had the 'Elixir of Immortality,' making life expectancy losses irrelevant.

Still, he didn't agree right away but instead feigned disinterest, "Isn't there another technique?"

Roderick sighed, "Other techniques require internal cultivation, which someone without martial veins can't practice. Only this external technique is available."

Ralph made a show of reluctantly deciding, "Then teach me Thunder Strike, and I'll bring you food and wine another day."

Roderick nodded and immediately began instructing Ralph on the essentials of Thunder Strike, patiently explaining the details and precautions of cultivation.

After finishing his patrol, Ralph returned to the guard room, where it was noisy with activity. The old guards were drinking, gambling, and some were asleep, completely lax in their duties.

Blake was in the midst of a heated game, sweating profusely and down to his undershirt.

Ralph quietly approached and subtly helped Blake recover some of his lost chips at critical moments. Afterward, he slipped away from the crowd and settled onto his bunk, ready to rest and begin his training journey.