After Estina left, Raphael brought Lilia to Employee Dormitory No. 1.
The first floor of Employee Dormitory No. 1 served as the military office area.
The prison’s original military force had been assigned directly by the Empire, with its commander holding a rank equal to that of the warden.
Ten years ago, however, military reforms recalled all regular troops to the central government and divided them into three branches. One of these remained permanently stationed in the Northlands, led by General Clovis, who also happened to be Raphael’s uncle.
Local garrisons were subsequently replaced by locally organized militias and mercenary forces.
The unit stationed at the prison was one such mercenary company.
Its leader, Lanser, styled himself as a “Lieutenant.” Rumor had it that his left eye had been gouged out by a demon’s horn during battle. A thick scar stretched from the left side of his forehead, crossed over the ruined eye, ran across the bridge of his nose, and ended at the right corner of his mouth. His remaining eye sat deeply sunken beneath a protruding brow ridge, while his sharp jawbones jutted outward like a bird’s beak. His gaunt, darkened face and vicious gaze seemed to constantly warn others of how dangerous he was.
He wore an imitation Imperial military uniform.
The Empire’s soldiers rarely wore armor, since even the strongest plate was meaningless against the brute strength and mysterious abilities of vampires. Curiously enough, this wasn’t too different from 19th-century Earth.
The uniform’s cheap fabric immediately gave away its counterfeit nature. Its quality was even worse than the guards’ uniforms. His men looked no better, dressed in the same shoddy attire. Most were hunched over, grotesquely overweight, or painfully skinny. The few with normal physiques were little more than drunken wastrels.
In short, this so-called army was utterly useless to the prison.
Its only function was to exist.
A deterrent, at least on paper.
If anything actually happened, they would behave exactly as they had the previous night: shirking responsibility and minding their own business while collecting their fixed salaries.
Even if they were mobilized, Raphael doubted they could accomplish anything. Frankly, if they weren’t captured by the prisoners themselves, he’d already consider that impressive.
The prison’s survival up until now was entirely due to its institutional structure and people’s preconceived notions about what a prison ought to be.
“A paper tiger… sigh.”
“Hm?”
“Nothing. Let’s go meet our esteemed Lieutenant.”
Click.
As the door opened, Lanser sat lounging in a luxurious chair with both feet propped atop a marble desk edged in brass. Behind him stood a hardwood display cabinet filled with strange curiosities. Along the walls sat long wooden tables decorated with fresh flowers and a silver-sheathed longsword, its hilt engraved with pale golden patterns.
“The Warden himself?” Lanser shifted his legs and changed position. “My apologies. Official duties have kept me so busy that I haven’t had the chance to pay you a visit.”
“Surely you won’t hold it against me?”
“Heh.” Raphael smiled without warmth. “Not at all. The Lieutenant certainly seems to be enjoying himself.”
Lanser.
Lieutenant Lanser.
The moment Raphael got a clear look at his face, he finally remembered why the name sounded familiar.
In the game, players would encounter a robbery near Angres, triggering a side quest involving the rescue of half-bloods. The final boss of that quest was none other than the one-eyed man before him: Lanser.
The quest took place in the year 1199 of the Holy Calendar, shortly after players left the starting village. It was now 1200.
That meant that as recently as 1199, these “mercenaries” had still been ordinary bandits.
And by 1200, they had somehow become prison contractors.
Even more suspiciously, Raphael had found no records whatsoever regarding their activities prior to joining Tulip Prison. Not even their employment contract was properly documented.
In other words, they were illegal mercenaries.
At their core, they were still bandits.
And prisons, as instruments of Imperial authority, had every right to suppress banditry.
“Heh… heheheh. Lieutenant Lanser, you’re like someone carrying a lantern into an outhouse.”
Lanser frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“Looking for shit. Lilia, seize him.”
Since the military unit was employed by the prison, they were technically prison staff.
An inexplicable terror immediately spread throughout the room, converging precisely upon Lanser.
“I’ve used it enough times to get the hang of it.”
Lanser froze in place.
The instant Raphael issued the command, Lilia shot forward.
Her figure blurred.
Midair.
As though time itself had paused.
Her skirt fluttered like a flower bud on the verge of blooming.
Her leg tore through the air.
A sonic crack erupted.
BOOM!
The spinning kick struck Lanser squarely across the right side of his face.
Lilia had held back, at least somewhat. Otherwise, his head would have exploded.
Whether he was dead or alive… if nobody could tell, that was close enough to dead.
“A starter-zone elite monster encounters a max-level Imperial Capital NPC. All stats maxed out. Fights with everything it has and still can’t win.”
Raphael couldn’t help giving a thumbs-up.
“That was genuinely cool.”
“Mmph… hehe…” Lilia looked away, her cheeks reddening slightly.
A moment later, she shook her head and restored her professional smile.
“Young Master, would you like me to dispose of the body?”
Then she muttered quietly:
“Just being near him risks contamination. Disgusting.”
“No. I think he’s still alive.”
Lanser’s status panel remained visible:
[Name: Lanser]
[Position: Squad Leader]
[Loyalty: -9 (He looks at you meaningfully)]
As expected, Raphael walked over and checked for breathing.
“Still alive.”
“Hah. May he live a long life.”
(No mercy.)
Looking at Lilia, Raphael smiled helplessly.
Without the loyalty system, he never would have understood how she truly felt about him.
At that moment, an interesting experiment occurred to him.
“If outsiders can be converted into employees… then can employees be converted into prisoners?”
If so, these murderous, thieving bandits would make excellent consumable resources.
“But how would the conversion work?”
Lilia had become part of the prison the moment she made a verbal agreement with him.
“Could it be a contract? No… more specifically, employment?”
Labor relationships could be established in writing, but verbal agreements were also legally valid.
Following that logic, Lilia made a promise, both parties expressed consent, a contract was formed, and the system activated.
Admittedly, that didn’t align with Imperial law.
Then suddenly a forgotten word resurfaced from the depths of Raphael’s memory:
Program.
“If… hypothetically… signing a confession is enough, would someone become a prisoner?”
Theory established.
Time for experimentation.
“Hmm. A confession…”
I, Lanser, hereby fully confess and admit to all crimes committed by myself…
My sins are grave and unforgivable.
The law stands clear and just.
I willingly submit to punishment and repay my debts with my life…
Several hundred words later:
Confessor: Lanser
Holy Calendar Year 1200, May 24
A thumbprint was pressed into ink.
The prison seal was stamped.
[Information Updated]
[Name: Lanser]
[Sinfulness: 84]
[Execution Reward: 1 Triple-Cylinder Horizontal Compound Condensing Steam Engine]