Eastern Coast of Pritt, outskirts of Tivian.
In the sparse forest surrounding Cold Cliff Prison, which was built atop the coastal stone cliffs, a secluded path wound through the trees. Along that path, a carriage was slowly making its way toward the distant Cold Cliff Prison, accompanied by several men dressed as prison guards. The carriage carried a large cargo covered with canvas.
Although the carriage appeared to be headed to the prison, it came to a halt before reaching its destination. The lead “guard” glanced toward the fortress ahead and then turned to speak to those behind him.
“This is the spot. Hurry up and set everything in place—they’ll be out soon.”
Upon hearing his words, the other “guards” sprang into action. They unhitched the horses from the carriage and forcibly turned the vehicle sideways to block the road. One of them even began removing the wheels.
While his subordinates worked, the lead “guard” quietly watched the enormous prison fortress in the distance—clearly waiting for something.
…
Meanwhile, within Cold Cliff Prison, in one of the underground cells, Northbone—thin, shackled in thick iron chains, and dressed in prison garb—stared in shock at what was happening. In front of him stood the smiling young Hunter who had accompanied his interrogator. Before him now lay the unconscious body of his once overbearing enemy.
“You… you’re from the organization… You’re a Spider of the Web too! The Queen of the Deep Web hasn’t abandoned me… The Nest hasn’t abandoned me!”
“To the Nest, your value hasn’t run out. For the Queen of the Deep Web, use your life well from now on.”
“I will! I will! Just get me out! I’ll give everything I have to the Nest—to the Queen of the Deep Web! Hurry, open these damned things!”
Impatiently, Northbone pleaded while Gregor moved behind him, touching his body and using the keys to unlock the unbearably heavy shackles. After over half a year in captivity, Northbone was finally free again.
“Phew… finally… finally rid of these cursed things.”
Slowly standing up in the cramped cell, Northbone clutched his blood-marked wrists and muttered. Then, his gaze shifted to the unconscious Misha lying on the ground nearby. A flash of malice passed through his eyes. Forming his hand into a blade, he suddenly struck toward her, intending to kill her on the spot.Official source is .ɴet
“Wait!”
At that moment, Gregor acted—grabbing Northbone’s arm and stopping him. Northbone turned in confusion and looked at him.
“Now isn’t the time to kill her. She’s a Wind Summoner—she has decent Stone defenses. You won’t be able to kill her in one strike, and might just wake her instead. Even if you seriously injure her, if she makes any noise, it’ll alert the guards. None of us would escape. That kind of unnecessary risk—there’s no need for it.”
Gregor explained directly. After hearing this, Northbone thought it over and nodded in agreement, lowering his hand.
“You’re right… I was being stupid. Too long in captivity has muddled my head. Thanks for the warning. I guess this damned woman will live a little longer…”
As Northbone muttered, Gregor released his arm and continued.
“No time to waste. Let’s move quickly. Take off her clothes and put them on—you’ll leave here looking like her. Just follow me out. Remember: don’t say a word on the way. Just act with authority. I’ll handle everything else.”
“Got it.”
With that short exchange, the two set their plan in motion. Gregor removed Misha’s Hunter uniform and boots and dressed Northbone in them. Then, using his Shadow Mimic ability, Northbone altered his appearance and body shape to match Misha’s. Together, they locked the unconscious Misha back inside the cell and walked out.
Once outside, Gregor led the way while communicating with the guards. Disguised as Misha, Northbone followed with a stern expression. Since Gregor handled all procedures and no one dared speak to “Misha” directly, they passed without issue.
In this way, the two left the massive fortress prison and reached the checkpoint at the front. There, they mounted their horses to depart. Gregor subtly warned Northbone that Misha’s horse was hard to handle and offered his own, which was easier to ride.
After switching horses, the two gradually rode away from the towering prison, taking a narrow forest trail off the main road. As they moved further beyond the guards’ line of sight, a smug smile slowly crept across Northbone’s lips.
“Finally… I’m free…”
…
Just as Northbone was about to let his expression twist into something even more smug, something unusual appeared ahead on the path.
On the road ahead of the two, a cargo carriage had somehow appeared at an unknown time. The cart seemed to have suffered an accident during transit and now lay turned sideways across the path, blocking it entirely. The whole vehicle was severely tilted—as if a wheel had broken off. The horses that had pulled it were unhitched and tied off to the side, and two or three figures stood around the cart, apparently discussing the situation. Judging by their attire, they appeared to be Cold Cliff Prison guards.
Seeing this scene, Gregor frowned slightly. He glanced at Northbone beside him and gestured for him to stop. Then he rode forward alone to inquire. After passing the cart and reaching a spot farther beyond it, he approached what appeared to be the lead guard.
“What’s going on here?”
“Ah… apologies, sir. We were delivering food to the prison, but the wheel broke down right here. We can’t move it for now. You can just go around it from the side.”
Standing in front of Gregor, the guard answered. As he spoke, his eyes subtly flicked toward Northbone not far behind, a trace of significance hidden deep in his gaze.
“A broken wheel, huh? That’s unlucky.”
Gregor replied, then turned and called to Northbone behind him.
“It’s just a broken cart, ma’am. Let’s go around this side. Come on over.”
At Gregor’s words, Northbone silently urged his horse forward. But just as he approached the broken cart, something unexpected happened.
Suddenly, one of the guards near the cart shouted in alarm, as if he’d discovered something horrifying. Without explanation, he turned and bolted into the nearby woods. His companions, seemingly panicked by the same thing, quickly followed.
This caused Northbone—who was still approaching—to frown in confusion.
“Wait! Why are you running? What happened? Are you really Cold Cliff personnel? Stop right there!”
Gregor shouted after the fleeing “guards,” then spurred his horse forward into the woods as if in pursuit.
Seeing this unfold, Northbone grew even more suspicious.
“Did I expose something? Were they onto me? Is Gregor chasing them now to cover it up?”
Just as he was trying to make sense of the situation, he suddenly caught a whiff of something burning in the air. In an instant, he identified the source—and his eyes snapped wide open as he looked toward the canvas-covered cargo in the nearby cart. His heart leapt into his throat, nearly stopping altogether.
“This is bad!”
Before he could fully react—just as he turned his horse to flee—the cart’s covered cargo suddenly exploded, flames and a massive shockwave shredding the vehicle and sweeping directly toward him. In an instant, he was engulfed, and a thunderous explosion shook the earth.
BOOM!!
…
While Gregor and Northbone were leaving Cold Cliff Prison, on the other side of the fortress, unrest was beginning to stir in the general inmate block.
This general block was used to detain non-powered prisoners—those without mystical abilities. While Cold Cliff Prison was a facility for mystic-related crimes, not every mystical criminal was a Beyonder. In most cult organizations, the majority of members were ordinary people chasing after the extraordinary. True Beyonders—even apprentices—were rare. This reality was reflected in the prison.
Among the inmates, the highest rank and fewest in number were the Black Earth-rank prisoners—fewer than ten. Apprentice-rank inmates numbered no more than sixty. These Beyonders were held in specialized, fortified cells designed for their abilities. Detaining them was Cold Cliff’s primary function.
However, over a thousand ordinary mystical offenders were crowded into the general block.
Following the large-scale purge earlier that year, many societies in Tivian were swept up, resulting in a surge of arrests—particularly ordinary members from small groups. Throughout the first half of the year, these prisoners were poured into Cold Cliff Prison, overwhelming the facility and making it severely overcrowded.
Inside the general block, large iron-barred cells crammed over a dozen prisoners each. Amidst the stench and filth, the inmates idled—some gambling with makeshift tools, others bullying the weak, or simply collapsing into sleep. The entire space was loud and chaotic.
But in one such cell, among all the noise, a tattooed, bald, and muscular inmate with a scarred face sat alone on the floor, his expression stern and focused on the corridor beyond the bars—as if waiting for something. Other inmates kept their distance; none dared get close.
Ignoring the boasting, gambling, and bullying around him, this tattooed prisoner remained still, eyes locked outside the cell—waiting for the right moment. And soon, that moment came.
BOOM!!
A violent explosion suddenly rang out from outside, the ground trembling slightly. The deafening noise startled all the inmates into silence. One by one, they stood and stared toward the source of the blast, murmuring in confusion.
The tattooed inmate stood slowly. While no one was watching, he approached the bars, fixed his gaze on the wall beside them, and clenched his fist.
Then, another explosion rocked the facility.
As the prisoners turned toward the new noise, a shocking sight met their eyes: a massive hole had been blown open in the once-thick prison wall. Bricks and stone lay scattered, and the tattooed prisoner stood calmly at the edge of the breach. Loosening his clenched fist, he looked at the stunned crowd and said:
“It’s time… to chase after freedom. Don’t miss your chance, gentlemen.”
His voice barely faded when the inmates, stunned for a second or two, erupted into cheers and surged toward the breach. Their longing for freedom outweighed any curiosity about why someone in their block had such terrifying strength.
Watching the rush of fleeing prisoners, the tattooed man allowed himself a faint smile—then raised his fist again, ready to free even more.
He was an Eight-Spired Nest member who had infiltrated the prison. The explosion had been the signal, and now chaos had begun within. His task was to sow disorder to assist the Nest’s overall operation.
They needed to create confusion… and they needed to distract Cold Cliff Prison’s official Beyonder forces. And in a place like this, nothing diverted attention like a riot.
…
While the Nest’s agents triggered turmoil in the general block, deep in the prison below—in the isolated cell that once held Northbone—Misha, now dressed only in thin undergarments, sat silently on the cold floor. Her eyes were fixed on the heavy cell door, now slowly opening.
A man dressed as a guard appeared.
“They’ve started moving. It’s time for us to go as well. Lady Misha, here—put this on. Take advantage of the chaos… and run toward freedom.”
The man tossed a prison guard’s coat to Misha. As she caught it, she murmured softly.
“Heh… freedom, huh…”