In the shadows of the S Ranked Main character
Chapter 49: No way out(3)

Chapter 49: No way out(3)

June made his way deeper into the Prism, tracing the faint pulse of magic like a bloodhound chasing a scent. His golden eyes flicked carefully between the branching tunnels, always alert, always calculating.

He knew he was somewhere he shouldn’t be.

He knew he was walking into things Kai and Kathlyn had barely survived.

But June had never been the type to stay on the sidelines.

He moved fast through the narrow corridors, ducking under half-collapsed beams, weaving past patches of corrupted mana that curled like oil across the stone. After maybe ten minutes, he reached something unexpected:

An armory.

The space opened suddenly, a wide, vaulted chamber lined with old racks of weapons, stands of armor, and crates half-buried in dust. Most of it looked ancient — rusted swords, shattered shields, pieces of mail so brittle they crumbled when he brushed his fingers near them.

But one rack near the far wall still glowed faintly.

June’s eyes sharpened.

Magic.

Something preserved.

Something intact.

He crossed the chamber slowly, ignoring the brittle clutter, his steps silent and controlled. When he reached the rack, his fingers hovered just over the surface.

A faint, silver-lined dagger sat on a carved stand, pulsing softly with light. Its hilt shimmered with a faint purple sheen, its blade etched with thin, spiraling runes.

Without overthinking, June reached out.

The second his fingers brushed the dagger’s grip —

— the world snapped.

June’s breath punched out of his chest.

His vision collapsed inward.

And then:

Pain.

He hit the ground hard not the cold stone of the armory, but rough, packed dirt. His ears rang. His skin burned. His body ached everywhere, sharp, biting bruises blooming across his back and shoulders.

Someone’s boot slammed into his ribs.

He let out a sharp, choked sound more surprise than pain and twisted, trying to roll away, but rough hands yanked him upright by the hair.

"You think you’re clever, boy?" a harsh voice snarled in his ear.

June’s head snapped up, his golden eyes wide. His mind raced.

What the hell? Where was he? This wasn’t the Prism. This wasn’t even the academy.

He was kneeling in a dirt courtyard surrounded by high stone walls. Dozens of other ragged, thin-looking figures —all human were shackled nearby, most hunched, their heads down. Near the far end of the courtyard, several armored figures stood watching, arms crossed, their faces half-hidden by masks.

Slavers.

June’s pulse slammed hard in his chest.

He tried to speak, but no words came out — just a faint, broken rasp. His body felt wrong. He looked down at himself —

His arms were thin, his clothes rough and torn, a heavy iron collar dug into the skin around his throat. His wrists were raw and red from thick shackles, and the faintest shimmer of magic — twisted, suppressing — pulsed under his skin, cutting off his abilities.

Panic twisted in his chest for a split second — but then his mind clicked, sharpening, focusing.

No.

This wasn’t real.

This was a memory. A trial.

The Prism had thrown him into someone’s past — or maybe just a constructed illusion, meant to break him.

But the pain was real.

A heavy backhand caught his cheek. His head snapped sideways, blood blooming faintly in his mouth.

"You thought you were better than your station, didn’t you?" the masked man snarled, yanking him up by the collar. "Arrogant little rat. Always with those sharp eyes, those clever words. Always sneering behind your mouth."

June grit his teeth, trying to stay silent — but his body reacted instinctively, his sharp eyes flicking up, his mouth twisting into the faintest smirk.

The guard’s fist smashed into his gut. June crumpled, gasping.

Around him, the other slaves barely stirred. Some flinched faintly. Most stayed frozen.

The man dropped him, and June hit the dirt hard, coughing, his head spinning.

His thoughts churned fast.

This was a test. A trap.

He wasn’t himself here — or at least, the body wasn’t.

But his mind was his.

He pressed his palms to the dirt, forcing himself upright, spitting faintly to clear the blood from his mouth. His ribs screamed, his vision blurred at the edges, but his grin twitched faintly upward anyway.

The guard snarled. "You don’t learn, do you?"

June tilted his head, breathing hard, his grin sharpening despite everything.

"Yeah," he rasped faintly, "that’s... kind of the point."

The guard lunged, hand raised to strike again

But this time, June’s eyes glinted sharply, his body twisting just enough, his knee snapping upward even in this half-broken frame, his instincts kicked through.

The guard staggered slightly, his snarl turning to a shout.

Around the courtyard, the masked slavers surged forward

And June’s mind sharpened, his pulse thrumming, his thoughts slicing through the fog.

He didn’t know whose body he was in.

He didn’t know whose past this was.

But he sure as hell wasn’t going down quietly.

With a ragged breath, June planted his foot, his fists clenching, the faintest flicker of himself burning through the false weight.

"Alright, Prism," he muttered under his breath, his grin sharp, his eyes blazing.

"Let’s see how much of me you can handle."

And then, even as the guards surged forward even as his body ached, his vision blurred June lunged to meet them head-on.

June’s body slammed into the dirt.

Hard

His chest hit first then his shoulder and then, with a sick crack, his face bounced slightly before settling flat into the packed earth. His breath punched out of him in a sharp, gasping wheeze.

A heavy boot landed between his shoulder blades.

"Get up, rat," the masked guard snarled, pressing down just enough to make June’s arms tremble under the weight. "We’re not done."

June coughed spitting faintly into the dirt, tasting blood in the back of his throat.

His sharp golden eyes flicked sideways, fast, assessing.

Around the edge of the courtyard, the other slaves stood in rough lines thin, hollow-eyed, scarred, their heads bowed. A few watched him. Most didn’t.

But the ones who did?

They weren’t sympathetic.

They weren’t worried.

They were smirking.

"Arrogant little thing, aren’t you?" a hollow voice murmured near the edge.

"He thought he could dodge them. Look at him now."

"He’s not gonna last two days. Bet he breaks before sunset."

June’s fingers twitched faintly, his breath shallow and sharp. His whole body ached not just from the beating, but from the sick, heavy weight of exhaustion, dehydration, suppressed magic. His limbs felt wrong, heavy, thin. His wrists were scraped raw from the shackles. His clothes hung in tatters. His bare feet bled faintly across the rough stone.

The guard kicked him sharply once in the ribs.

June grunted but didn’t make a sound beyond that.

"Move."

He was yanked up roughly, painfully, his arms twisted behind him — and shoved forward.

Ahead, a crude work line stretched across the edge of the camp.

Stone blocks rough, jagged, half-formed sat stacked in uneven piles, while gaunt, ragged bodies crouched low, scraping at them with cracked fingernails, thin tools, even bare hands.

June’s breath hitched faintly.

They were... shaping the stone.

With no tools.

No magic.

Nothing but bleeding hands, nails, splinters, and sheer, grinding force.

His gut twisted sharply.

This wasn’t a test of skill.

This was a test of breaking.

"Here," the guard growled, shoving him toward a block nearly half his size. "You want to act like you’re above the line? Prove it. Let’s see how much arrogance you can scrape into shape."

June staggered slightly, catching himself on shaking feet. His fingers hovered over the rough stone bleeding, cracked.

For a flicker of a moment, his sharp mind surged.

Plan. Escape. Attack.

But

No magic

No weapons

No strength

He clenched his jaw faintly, his grin tight and sharp even through the pounding ache in his ribs.

"Fine," he muttered under his breath, almost to himself. "I’ve played worse games."

And then, slowly, painfully, he lowered himself to his knees.

He dug his nails into the rough edge.

Dragged them down.

Felt the sharp bite as thin slivers of fingernail cracked, bent, tore.

The pain lanced up his fingers, raw and immediate, but he forced his face still, his breath even, his sharp eyes steady.

Around him, the other slaves watched.

One snorted faintly, shaking his head.

Another chuckled softly under her breath.

A third muttered, "Won’t last a night."

June’s grin flickered faintly, his shoulders tight, his body shaking.

But his mind was already racing, already snapping into rhythm.

He might’ve been thrown into someone else’s past.

He might’ve been trapped in a body that wasn’t his.

But June knew one thing.

He didn’t break easy.

Even as his nails split, even as his fingers bled, even as the guards circled, laughing, mocking

he kept shaping the stone.

Again

And again

And again

Pain lanced through his arms, his back, his chest. Sweat burned his eyes. His breath came in ragged pulls.

But June stubborn, grinning, infuriating June kept working.

If this was the Prism’s game,

he would play it.

And when the moment came?

When the chance cracked open,

he’d take it.