It has been five days since I was locked in this dungeon cell, and in those five days, I finally understood something.
This world… the world of the novel I used to read for fun… is cruel in a way I never expected.
During that time, I haven't eaten, I haven't drunk water, and I haven't spoken to anyone.
When I gave one of the guards a hungry stare, he said something along the lines of, "They don't serve dead people food."
Death.
That was my fate.
It was at that moment I realized everything. I began to grasp my situation, although belatedly, I was transmigrated as a character fated to die in the first volume.
Ha.
How utterly useless this feels now.
Fate?
Fate wanted Arthur dead, and I walked right into it with my eyes closed.
Thinking I had a choice.
Thinking I was clever.
What a joke.
I wasn't steering my life.
I was playing into their hands the whole time.
Every step.
Every thought.
Every moment I thought I was making a decision… it was just the story nudging me toward the edge.
And now I'm here.
In the dark.
In a cell that smells like mold and rust.
Waiting for a death I didn't even earn.
This Punishment?
It wasn't meant for me.
It was for Arthur.
But I was now him, but nonetheless I still have to be the blame for some of it.
CREAK
That's when the dungeon floor trapdoor opened. Three guards entered, dragging a man who was fiercely resisting detainment.
"I'm innocent, I swear! I didn't steal anything!" the man protested.
With his black suit, white shirt, and black bowtie, he was a butler like me, No, not like me, but like Arthur. I'm no butler.
I don't belong in this world, but I won't leave it either. I must find what brought me here. I must find love.
"Don't worry, Arthur," one of the guards said. "You now have company. Enjoy your time with him before your trial tomorrow."
Then,
CREAK.... BANG
The cell door slammed shut, as they tossed the new prisoner inside like he was trash.
He hit the floor hard, rolled, and groaned, but the guards didn't care.
No one ever does down here.
He scrambled to his feet fast, like fear dragged him up by the collar.
Then he ran to the bars, gripping them so tight his fingers turned white.
"I'm innocent! Don't leave me here to rot!"
I couldn't help but ponder.
Why was he still pleading?
Why was he still fighting?
This world was his.
He grew up here.
He should know how useless yelling is.
How little innocence matters.
I figured that out on day one of being locked in here.
But him?
He acted like someone who just found out life wasn't fair.
Like someone pulled straight out of another world.
Almost like…
He was the one who transmigrated.
Then he laughed,
"Hahahahaha!"
Madness.
That was the only thing that fit.
Who laughs in a dungeon?
Who laughs facing death?
He did.
"Well, I tried," he said, lifting both hands as if surrendering to the joke of it all.
Then he turned toward me with a grin that didn't belong on someone in chains.
"Hey buddy. I heard what you did."
"..."
I stayed silent.
Still trying to read him.
Trying to understand what… this thing was.
Then he dusted off his vest like he wasn't sitting on a filthy floor.
"Arthur, right? Queen's personal butler?"
I didn't answer.
"Silent type," he said, leaning back against the wall like it was a couch. "Good. Makes this place less boring."
His eyes sparkled. There was a spark in them, but not fear. Something else.
Something that shouldn't exist in someone awaiting execution.
"…Who are you?" I finally asked.
"Allen," he replied without hesitation. "Former personal butler of His Majesty the King. Emphasis on the former."
He stretched his legs out. The man looked far too comfortable for someone locked away like.
"What did you do?" I asked.
He snorted, "Stole all the royal jewelry." He then watched my reaction with amusement, "Not some of it, not a necklace or two. Everything, cleaned the treasury out like it was nothing."
That caught me off guard, "You… what?"
"You heard me." He tapped his temple. "The king trusted me. Too much, honestly. Left me alone with more diamonds."
"Why?" I asked.
Allen grinned as if the question itself was entertaining,
"Because the nobles hoard all the wealth, and the people in the slums can't even buy bread. So I took the jewels, gave them to the poor, told them to sell them fast and pretend they found them in them in the gutter."
Allen was insane.
There was no doubt about it.
Why would anyone risk everything for everyone?
"You're insane."
"Oh, absolutely," he said cheerfully. "But here's the thing. If someone doesn't break the rules in a rotten house, the rot spreads."
He didn't sound scared one bit.
"You're not scared of dying?" I asked.
"Scared? No." He shrugged. "Annoyed? Very. The king hands out death sentences like they're nothing. Tax evasion? Death. Disrespect? Death. Breathing too loudly during his nap? Well… probably death."
I stared at him. "You're talking like this is normal."
"It is normal," he said. "For a kingdom run by a madman. Did you hear the latest law he signed?"
"Probably not."
"He reinstated slavery, just like that. One signature. No debate. Anyone in debt? Shackled. Anyone without a noble sponsor? Shackled. Anyone he doesn't like? Shackled."
Slavery?
That didn't exist in the novel's early chapters.
Not yet, at least.
"And the nobles?" Allen continued. "They applauded him. They love the idea of owning people again. They love authority they never earned. That's why I stole from them, that's why I don't regret a thing."
He tilted his head at me.
"And you? You regret anything, Arthur?"
"…Regret is pointless," I said. "The story already decided my ending."
He blinked. "Story?"
"Forget it," I said.
Allen studied me for a moment, his smile fading into something oddly sharp.
"You talk like a man who's already dead."
Maybe I was.
At least, the Arthur of this world was.
He nudged my knee with his foot. "Don't sink too fast, you'll miss the fun part."
"There's a fun part?"
"Yes," he said. "The part where the world expects you to accept your fate… and you spit in its face."
He continued,
"Arthur, Let me tell you a secret about this kingdom. Everyone here thinks they're trapped, everyone thinks the king decides the end of their story. But that's the thing about mad kings, their rules are so broken that slipping through the cracks is easier than you'd think."
Raising his finger, he said something that sounded like his last words, "In the face of death, never lose yourself, if you know what you did wasn't wrong, then stand by it."