"After that, Alberto Alfredo became the first Director of the Order Bureau, and he also became the first prisoner of the Black Prison."
The Prison Warden hesitated slightly before continuing.
"Actually, calling him a prisoner is not entirely accurate; you understand the nature of the light’s curse. We are not so much imprisoning him as isolating him to prevent the spread of its power.
Aside from his resurrection ability, he’s just an ordinary person, completely unable to withstand the burning of the light’s curse. His flesh turns to salt pillar while he resurrects again and again in an endless cycle.
Like a curse, the light’s curse matched his resurrection, and he struggled in pain and death for years before finally overcoming it, completely severing this dreadful power."
The Prison Warden’s voice was devoid of any emotion.
"After the light’s curse disappeared, he stayed in a slumber for years due to his numerous deaths before waking up; more than a decade had passed since he was imprisoned."
"What was his reaction upon waking?" Nesanel asked curiously.
"Depression, guilt, severe self-destructive tendencies. I thought the torment from the light’s curse broke his spirit, but during a conversation, I learned that something else was truly torturing him."
The Prison Warden paused, signaling for Nesanel to follow him, as they left the steep narrow path and came to a gigantic cliff.
The torch rising in darkness illuminated the scene before them, casting flickering light on the metal-cast door adorned with reliefs of demons and gods. They looked fierce and ready to break out, their shadows shifting with the firelight, and for a moment, they seemed to come alive.
Nesanel could already envision the scene—the demons wailing in the burning iron, trying to escape, only to be driven back by sharp spears, solidifying into grotesque forms; golden seals closed the door gap, etched with holy words vowing to banish these evils from the world forever.
The Prison Warden slowly raised his hand, rocks trembling and ground shaking, as the golden seal adopted a strange liquid quality, causing the massive door, as tall as the cliff, to slowly open a crack, allowing him and Nesanel to enter.
Behind the door lay a deep well, vast and spiraling downward, lined with burning candles. Corresponding to these candles were iron-cast cell doors embedded into the well walls, a continuous shine extending toward the darkness.
The imprisoned evils seemed to sense the presence of living beings, causing the deep well to erupt into chaos—beastly roars, ethereal wails, women’s cries—all composing Hell’s elegy.
"He felt responsible for the deaths of so many, but when I asked why he felt that way, he couldn’t explain," the Prison Warden continued down the spiral path, "just like the forgotten transaction, he can’t explain why he feels this way; he just repeatedly says he should be accountable for the tragedy."
The cell door beside them shook violently. Nesanel turned his head, golden sparks blazing in his eyes; a mere glance caused the door to cease its agitation and fall silent.
"We all know King Solomon initiated the light’s curse, sulfur and flames consumed the battlefield, turning everyone, including himself, into salt pillars... This tragedy is unrelated to him." Nesanel murmured, the golden sparks in his eyes extinguished.
"You didn’t need to act; they can’t escape." The Prison Warden let out a raspy chuckle.
"I just felt a bit frustrated and wanted to vent," Nesanel shrugged, then asked, "And then?"
"He believed he was linked to the tragedy. Though he couldn’t articulate it, likely out of guilt, he cooperated fully, whether in extreme testing or interrogation."
The Prison Warden continued.
"We suspected it was related to the transaction’s contents, possibly a condition of fulfillment that misled him to think he was connected to the tragedy. It’s plausible—everyone died, leaving behind gray-white salt pillars on a scarlet battlefield, and eventually only you remain alive... He wasn’t aware of King Solomon or the light’s curse; he might have thought all of it was his doing."
No one explained this to him at that time; that information was taboo even for the Condensers, let alone a debtor.
Nesanel remained silent, and after some time, he slowly spoke.
"Suppose he truly is linked to the tragedy?"
The Prison Warden halted his steps, and Nesanel sensed the gaze from beneath the gray cloak, the raspy voice echoing again.
"Do you think that’s possible, Deputy Director Nesanel?"
The voice carried unprecedented seriousness and even a hint of fear.
"You and I both know the cause of the Fall of the Holy City; it’s just that everyone chooses to remain silent."
"Indeed, without the Fall of the Holy City, perhaps even after hundreds of years, we wouldn’t confront the threat of the Devil." Nesanel jestingly remarked.
"So, the investigation on him ended like that?"
"Yes, it ended like that. He cooperated fully, but apart from his identity as a debtor, we could not find anything useful, and then he was simply forgotten," the Prison Warden reminisced on past memories.
"I kept observing him for years following that; the man was constantly steeped in sorrow, still seeing himself as the prime culprit of the tragedy. He wished to die but couldn’t, even starving to a husk would only result in his robust resurrection."