JailBreak!

Atlas, his gaze drifting away from the young man's captivating dual-colored eyes, spoke with a hint of contemplation, "I find myself at a loss for words... but it is an undeniable truth that every individual carries the burden of past regrets.

"As for myself, years ago, I made a solemn vow to avoid actions that would haunt me with remorse. You could say that it became a secondary driving force behind my relentless pursuit of strength."

Confined behind the unyielding prison bars, Atlas found his mind drifting back to a cherished memory, resurfacing like a gentle wave.

It was a memory of a once-precious one-year-old girl who had held the key to his heart—the catalyst that had transformed him from a bully into a beacon of joy. Though fate had torn her away from him, he remained steadfast in his commitment to...

"Including circumstances beyond my control. I swore to become stronger than anything so that nothing would ever be beyond my control," Atlas mumbled softly, his words slightly disjointed and difficult to decipher.

Observing the perplexed expression in Dante's eyes, it became evident that his younger companion struggled to fully comprehend the weight of Atlas' statement. But that was hardly surprising.

Shaking his head, Dante decided to set aside the philosophical musings for the time being and focus on finding a way to escape their current predicament.

Rising to his feet, he made his way towards the keyhole adorned with a Signature Rune, a powerful symbol that blocked their innate abilities. Deep down, he sensed that if they could restore their powers, Atlas would possess the means to set them free.

During their initial encounter at the academy trial, Dante's keen observation allowed him to uncover Atlas's deceit regarding his supposedly depleted mana while summoning the stone golem.

It became evident to Dante that Atlas could evade most, if not all, of the strategically placed traps throughout the trial.

Furthermore, Dante discerned that Atlas deliberately fell into the traps on multiple occasions, purposefully testing the limits of Dante's powers.

This behavior stemmed from their first meeting atop the tree, where Dante's usual aloof and detached demeanor had warned Atlas not to pry into his eyes and abilities. Thus, Atlas took it upon himself to satisfy his curiosity.

However, Dante came to a profound realization that Atlas possessed an innate understanding of when to refrain from breaching his limits, demonstrating a keen awareness of boundaries.

Moreover, Dante recognized that Atlas had never probed further or delved into the depths of his actions, like Dante's own glaring utilization of the different Abyssal Energy during challenging moments in the trial.

Dante, now armed with this knowledge, recognized Atlas's formidable strength, reminiscent of the luminous greenish metallic aura that had fortified Atlas's arms while unleashing an assault on the Mage Knight.

It bore a resemblance to the profound Sword Stances employed by Magnus during their training, with unmistakably distinct energy that differed significantly from ordinary mana.

Even with Dante's limited understanding, he could discern the disparities between the two.

(A/N: In the first chapter, I mentioned that Magnus divulged crucial information to Dante, implying it could alter their world significantly. However, this was merely intended for dramatic effect.

In reality, Dante, much like you and I, remains largely unaware of the true nature of things. The genuine knowledge lies with Magnus, wherever the Hell he may be.)

And then there was that time when Atlas had intervened, preventing Dante from meeting his demise at Arthur's icy grip.

It all added up to one conclusion: Atlas possessed remarkable strength, astute intelligence, and an aura veiled in mystery.

Dante, with his sharp intellect, comprehended these facets and discerned the clear boundaries that Atlas had established.

Hence, it was no surprise that at this very moment, Dante, utilizing his expertise in the art of Web Weaving, deftly manipulated a slender strand of Abyssal Energy.

He meticulously honed it into a precise shape, an embodiment of his current undertaking to jailbreak.

With a distinct awareness that prying inquiries were off-limits and the distant chatter of the guards providing a temporary respite, their current confinement felt more like a localized prison.

Though their crime typically warranted the harshest punishment, thanks to James's authority, it had been somewhat mitigated.

Nevertheless, this did not shield them from enduring a few rounds of brutal beatings whenever lower-ranking nobles sought to "interrogate" them.

Their ulterior motive was to curry favor with those higher up the noble hierarchy. Even with Dante's extraordinary tolerance for pain, honed through countless deaths in the Abyss Dimension, he desired no part in these "interrogations."

Regrettably, Dante's current state of feeble Abyssal Energy output, coupled with his barely recognizable proficiency in the Web Weaver skill, greatly diminished the likelihood of escaping such ordeals.

'Shit, my limited output using Cursed Ordnance is insufficient to override the mana powering this Signature Rune,' Dante cursed inwardly, frustration swirling in his mind.

Shifting the focus from Dante and Atlas's present predicament, our attention turns to the visibly inebriated guards donning uniforms marked with a single star—a distinctive insignia indicating their status as the lowest-ranked mages within Britannia, determined by bloodline, of course.

The guards, in their intoxicated state, stumbled as they patrolled the prison corridors.

Their slurred conversations and raucous laughter echoed through the dimly lit halls, blending with the occasional clinking of their half-empty ale mugs.

Their lax demeanor and lack of vigilance, though a reflection of their intoxication, presented a glimmer of opportunity amidst the bleakness of their confinement—if only they had a means of escape.

As the guards continued their stumbling patrol, their drunken voices filled the air, blending with the clinking of their mugs. Their conversation carried an air of revelry mixed with a hint of discontent.

"Did you hear about the recruits into the prestigious Oxford Institute that they brought in today?" slurred one of the guards, his words slightly slurred, a consequence of his intoxicated state.

"Yeah, a bunch of nobles' kids, I heard," replied another guard, also hindered by the effects of alcohol. "Must be nice, having that kind of privilege. They think they're better than us."

The third guard, engulfed in his drunken amusement, let out a boisterous laugh, his voice wavering with intoxication.

"Better than us? Ha! They don't even know what it's like to work hard for everything they've got. We're the ones doing the dirty work while they sit on their high horses."

The first guard nodded, a grimace forming on his face.

"True enough. But don't let anyone hear you talk like that. People around here have a soft spot for those noble brats. They would have our heads if they caught wind of it," he cautioned, signaling the third guard to tone down his words.

"But I've heard that the most talented of those brats will get full admission into the Institute if they pass the upcoming test next week.

"The rest of them end up here, making messes that we'll have to clean up later. This is Oxford City, after all," the third guard added, matter-of-factly sharing the town's gossip that he had picked up during his morning routine, aside from his guard duties.

"Well, enough about those brats. Have you heard about a new beautiful babe appearing in town?

"A wanted poster has been circulating for a while about a female assassin who gravely offended the Queen. The reward is enticing, but what I want more is to have a taste..." The second guard's lewd grin froze in place, abruptly interrupted as his head disconnected from his neck, falling to the ground.

Silence fell upon the corridor, broken only by the thud of the guard's lifeless body.

The remaining two guards stared in shock, their drunken stupor momentarily replaced by sobering fear. Their eyes darted around, searching for the source of the unexpected demise.

Regrettably, the guards were oblivious and powerless as the sword swiftly descended upon the first guard, and a bullet pierced the head of the third guard, their killers remaining unknown.

Their drunken stupor could not be blamed for their demise, for even at their peak, they would have been unable to protect their fragile lives.

If one had the opportunity to gaze upon the magnificent face adorning the wanted posters currently circulating throughout the great Kingdom of Britannia and its illustrious city, Oxford, one would recognize the visage behind this scene.

Standing before the aftermath was a captivating woman with flowing brown hair, her grip firm on both a pistol and a sword.

The sword bore distinct designs, set apart from Dante's own, with its pitch-black blade and intricate inscriptions hinting at its revered place among the Celestial Edges.

Moreover, the malevolent black energy that enveloped the blade revealed its true nature as shadow mana. This sword was the Shadow Edge, and its wielder stood there, embodying its power in the flesh.

Stepping into the prison, the woman approached cell number 0048, her gaze fixed upon the two captives who were now visibly fidgeting.

Atlas's restlessness stemmed from the recognition of this woman, knowing she was no different from his most feared teacher, Gene.

As for Dante, fear coursed through his veins, for the woman exuded an aura of formidable strength.

The blade in his hand resonated with an ominous hum, his Abyssal Energy coating automatically fully unleashed, a clear display of its supremacy.

Yet, the malicious intent radiating from the woman's presence served as a dire warning. Engaging her would undoubtedly lead to their demise.

And then, in a swift motion, she slashed. The emerald bars infused with mana disintegrated into nothingness, crumbling under the might of her assault.....