Chapter 20
“My current status is a prisoner. This is Fortress Prison where only first-class convicts are gathered, and I am locked up in a cell. How else could you describe me if not as a criminal?”
For a moment, the tension I had felt drained away uselessly, and my shoulders slumped. Weakly, I leaned my forehead against the iron bars.
No words came to mind to convince him. After all, persuasion was never my weapon—deceit and emotional manipulation were.
When I stayed silent, Richard lowered his head, studying my expression. I quickly jerked my head up, glaring stubbornly with wide eyes.
“It doesn’t matter. Whether you were falsely accused or actually committed a crime, even if you were guilty of some terrible sin— to me, you’re still someone worth breaking out of here.”
Richard leaned forward as though he had been grabbed by the collar and pulled closer. He was listening intently.
“…Why am I special?”
The iron bars, warmed faintly by body heat, clung stickily to my palm.
“That’s…”
For some reason, it was hard to meet Richard’s steady, lingering gaze.
“Anyway, you’re different from the others. I don’t want you to die.”
Richard needed to cast aside his morals. And I had the perfect chance to show him that his convictions were wrong.
I decided to betray him.
That night, when Richard had fallen asleep, I reached out through the bars and beckoned to a guard. At first he ignored me, but after I waved for a long while, he finally trudged over, grumbling.
“Instead of sleeping, you’re summoning guards with hand signals now? What do you want?”
“Shh.” I pressed my finger to my lips. The guard raised his brow, clearly unimpressed.
I gestured for him to come closer. When he leaned in, I cupped my hands over my mouth and whispered,
“I can’t let the prisoner across the way hear this.”
“…And what’s this about?”
“Tell the warden I’ll accept his offer.”
The guard’s brows furrowed, but he seemed to realize there was some sort of deal between Kyle and me. He nodded without probing further.
Either he was discreet, or perhaps this was far from the first time Kyle had manipulated prisoners like this.
After a while, the guard returned from the fourth floor where the warden’s office was. He glanced at Richard’s cell before lowering his voice to deliver the message to me.
“The warden says tomorrow he’ll put poison in your food. Don’t eat it. Give it all to the prisoner across from you.”
“…I understand.”
But the guard didn’t leave right away. He eyed me suspiciously, likely remembering how I had stood up for Richard before.
“It’d be best if you don’t warn him or try anything else. I’ll be checking that your dish is empty.”
Crossing my arms, I sneered.
“Have you forgotten I’m a witch? You worry too much.”
At that, the guard seemed to recall I was imprisoned on witchcraft charges. He relaxed and looked embarrassed.
“True enough. Forget I said anything. Don’t forget—tomorrow evening.”
Even after he left, I lingered at the bars, uneasy. What if Richard had overheard? But his cell was silent, with no sign of movement.
‘He must be asleep.’
While I felt conflicted about betraying him, Richard slept peacefully, unaware.
Better that he stayed ignorant. With a sigh, I returned to my wooden cot and forced myself to sleep.
The following evening, as promised, the guard came pushing a food cart.
I had been nervous all day, but when the time came, I felt strangely calm. Richard too had been unusually quiet and subdued since morning.
“Dinner time. Eat it all.”
The guard slid a plate into my cell, his eyes glinting with meaning.
I stepped closer. Tonight’s meal was rye bread sandwiches stuffed with mashed eggs, served with tomato soup.
Breakfast that morning had been boiled potatoes. Here in Fortress Prison, potatoes—called “the devil’s plant”—and tomatoes—“the devil’s fruit”—were served often, since no one else wanted them.
‘So, poison for prisoners is fine. Works in my favor anyway.’
The poison Kyle had shown me was liquid. That meant it had to be in the soup.
Taking the tray, I carried it to the table with my back to the bars. Sneaking a glance at the opposite cell, I saw Richard sitting quietly, not touching his food at all. Maybe he was saying grace?
The guard was finishing the rounds and pushing the cart back when I cleared my throat and called softly.
“Hey, Richard. I’m not very hungry today. Want to eat mine?”
The squeaking wheels slowed almost to a stop. Richard turned, his eyes dark and heavy. An odd tension hung in the air.
“…You shouldn’t eat tonight’s meal. The smell is strange—it must be spoiled.”
“That can’t be right. To me, it smells just fine. Delicious, even.”
I hesitated, then scooped up a large spoonful of tomato soup and swallowed it. Richard’s eyes widened slightly.
When he saw my throat move as I swallowed, his voice trembled faintly.
“A-are you all right?”
“Of course. It tastes great.”
The guard glanced back, eyes flashing with an unspoken thought: What a vicious witch…
Ignoring him, I offered the food again to Richard.
“Eat my share too. You’ll do that, won’t you?”
“…Very well.”
Richard rose with a grave expression. I handed the plate through the bars.
Moments later—clatter! The plate hit the ground. Richard was coughing violently, spitting up red fluid.
“Cough! W-why did you deceive me? You poisoned me!”
His eyes blazed with betrayal as he looked at me.
Richard was vomiting blood.
No—that wasn’t possible. He couldn’t be.
I remembered: with my back to the bars earlier, I had tampered with the food. I hadn’t touched the soup at all. Instead, I’d slipped sprouted potato eyes into the rye sandwich. I’d saved them from the morning’s boiled potatoes, even stealing Richard’s portion to collect enough.
So Richard should have been vomiting from the potato toxins, not blood.
‘Then why does it look like blood?’
Frozen in confusion, I realized the truth—he had eaten not just the sandwich I gave him, but also his own tomato soup.
What he was spitting up wasn’t blood at all—it was tomato pulp.
Relief washed over me. Now I could finally take in the scene. Richard glared at me with blazing fury, his eyes more savage than when I’d first spoken to him.
But I couldn’t explain. The guard had already rushed over, alarmed by the noise.
“What’s going on here?!”
He looked between my empty dish and Richard, apparently retching blood. He quickly concluded the obvious: I had poisoned him.
“Are you all right? You look in bad shape…”
He reached to open Richard’s cell.
That couldn’t happen. From up close, he’d surely notice it wasn’t blood at all, but tomato.
I suddenly burst into shrill laughter.
“Hahaha! Serves you right. That’s what you get for blindly eating something someone else hands you. How could you know what was in it? Hah!”
The guard’s expression screamed: What a wicked witch… He was utterly convinced.
Even Richard believed my act completely.
“I knew I shouldn’t have trusted a witch like you. I’ll make you regret this poison.”
That stung a little. It wasn’t poison—it was potato sprouts. So unfair.
Still, thanks to my reputation and my crude performance, the guard suspected nothing. Muttering about reporting it, he stomped upstairs.
Richard kept glaring at me before finally retreating to his wooden bed. I staggered to mine, pulled the blanket over my head, and hid.
