“Ten more minutes until recess is over,” the bailiff announced, his voice echoing off the stone walls.

  Stick tried to steady his thoughts, his eyes drifting to the Combat Log in the window before him. After Reacher’s slap, there was nothing of importance, no other entry before Varyan dealing 10 [LP] Unarmed damage. Herzog’s findings made it clear—Stick had been active in the game since 6th June, from six in the morning, and now here he sat, fate wavering like a candle flame. General Solo’s earlier call for a break had left Stick, Shadis, and PP alone in the hall with the guards—and with Baron Bonatelli, who was nearly red with rage. He glared at Shadis, hatred and frustration twisting his features.

  “You blathering, brittle son of a bitch!” Bonatelli’s voice was a low hiss, barely contained. “Just wait until we get back to the Estate. I’ll give the Slaughterhouse its meaning back.”

  Shadis met the Baron’s threat with a steady stare. “You can certainly try. Many foes have tried to slay me.”

  Stick could feel the crackling air between them, though he was keenly aware that the guards’ watchful presence and the council’s temporary absence held Bonatelli in check. Becket shot the Baron a sharp look.

  Beside Bonatelli, the blue-haired boy named Nakamura muttered, “You’ve got yourself to blame, Lucio. What were you even thinking?”

  Bonatelli’s face contorted with fury, veins popping at his temples. “Shut the hell up, Nakamura! Or I’ll send you to the Front Lines—if it’s the last thing I do as a High Council member. Or maybe an underlevelled whelp like you would be better off on latrine duty.”

  Nakamura turned away, frowning. Is that really his brother?

  “Stick.” Shadis’s voice broke through the tension, drawing Stick’s attention. “Listen to me.”

  Stick excitedly looked up, one question in his mind. “Did you really mean it?”

  Shadis blinked, confused. “What do you mean?”

  “The Sir—Sir Arslan,” Stick explained. “Am I really an honorary knight?”

  Shadis shifted, a flash of discomfort in his eyes. “Well, I—I don’t really have the authority to decide that.”

  Stick’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

  “I may be Lord Alastair’s oldest retainer, but I’m no lord. I can’t knight someone.”

  “But you said I helped Lord Jacoby. Didn’t he say so?”

  “We don’t have time for this,” Shadis muttered.

  “But didn’t he say it?” Stick pressed.

  Shadis glanced nervously toward the door. “Stick, the High Council will be back any moment—”

  “You said it’s Sir Arslan. Didn’t Lord Jacoby say it’s Sir Arslan?”

  Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

  Shadis tensed. “No, he didn’t. And even if he had, he’s not his grandfather. He has no authority to knight someone.”

  Stick’s face fell as he grasped the truth. “So… you lied?”

  Shadis scratched his head, his discomfort evident. “I did what I had to do.”

  Stick’s shoulders drooped. “Why would you do that?”

  “It was helpful at the time, and now we need to focus—”

  “But why would you say that?” Stick’s voice quivered with frustration. “Why would you call me Sir Arslan?”

  Finally, Shadis’s composure cracked. “Because I tried to protect you!”

  Stick looked at him, bewildered. “Protect me? Why would you try to protect me? I don’t understand.”

  “Of course you don’t!” Shadis’s voice was rough, his expression weary. “You’re still a child.”

  “I’m not a child!” Stick’s voice rose defiantly. “I’m the Greatest Hero.”

  Shadis leaned in close, eyes sharp as steel. “The Greatest Hero? You cower at your first failure. You lack the strength to stand by your choices and live with your mistakes. All you do is cry when things get serious. You are not the Greatest Hero. Arslan didn’t die for you to tarnish his name.”

  Stick flinched, hurt flashing across his face, tears beginning to well. “Then why did you want to take all the blame?”

  “Because you’re a godsforsaken Adventurer,” Shadis said, voice low and raw. “It would’ve been easier if they’d pinned the blame on me. But you blew that chance.”

  Stick looked down, struggling to hold back the tears. “I just wanted you to see… that we’re on the same side. That we’re in this together.”

  “Well, we’re not.” Shadis’s voice hardened. “You’ll be tried like any other Adventurer, and I’ll be executed. The last thing I tried to do before meeting the God of Death was to prevent the former.”

  “So I’m just another Adventurer to you, then?” Stick whispered.

  “It would seem so,” Shadis replied coolly, his gaze turning to the bailiff.

  A heavy silence fell over them, broken only by the faint jingling of PP’s chains as he shifted in his shackles behind them. Then, a malicious cackle echoed from Bonatelli’s stand.

  “What? That’s it already? No more courtroom drama? I have to pay a lot for this front row seat, you know, and I expect entertainment!”

  It seemed like even though he himself was knee-deep in trouble he couldn’t help but enjoy the misery of others.

  Bonatelli leaned forward, sneering at Stick. “Hey, I’m talking to you, asshole.”

  Someone—anyone shut him up, please.

  “Lucio, please,” Nakamura muttered wearily.

  “Aren’t you tired of gathering people who despise you?” Bonatelli taunted, adding: “Sir Arslan?”

  Shadis’s eyes flashed. “Keep it up, and you’ll be tired of gathering your teeth off the courtroom floor.”

  Stick stifled a laugh as Bonatelli’s face twisted in anger.

  “What did he just say?” In a fit of rage, Bonatelli tried to clamber over Becket to reach Shadis. “You piece of trash! I’ll kill you!”

  “Didn’t I tell you before? You can certainly try,” Shadis said with a smirk.

  Stick couldn’t help it—he burst out laughing, a nervous, genuine release. Even PP’s chains jingled with what sounded like amusement.

  The bailiff stormed over, grabbing Shadis by the shackles and slamming his chin against the wood. “Know your place, Bot!”

  Stick’s laughter cut off as the bailiff raised his weapon, ready to strike Shadis again. But the side door opened, and the council filed back into the courtroom, halting the bailiff’s hand.

  “Thank you for your patience, everyone!” Herzog addressed the room. “Please take your seats!”

  As the council members settled into their seats, organising the stacks of paper in front of them, Stick looked over at Shadis, whose face had gone pale. For the first time, Stick saw the nervous tremor in him, the tightness in his jaw, and the way he struggled to keep his shoulders squared. In that moment, Stick understood something that unsettled him to his core. Though he had heard it over and over again, it was just now that he truly realised the true meaning of the words. When he saw the true panic in usually assertive and confident Sir Shadis Moore’s eyes, Stick noticed the rift that had opened between the two of them. He, a Player, had options. Shadis, however, was just an NPC, a piece in the council’s game, awaiting a fate already signed and sealed.

  https://www.patreon.com/IgLu_Books