The High Council members shifted restlessly in their seats, their faces betraying exhaustion and anxiety. Stick and Shadis sat at the edge of their seats, rigid, hanging on to every silence, every movement. They glanced at each other nervously, each bracing for whatever verdict was about to be handed down.

  General Solo finally rose, her voice clear and composed. "First, let me preface this by saying that this is an unprecedented case we’ve been presented with today. I want to thank Count Mikhailov and Baroness Sallow for fulfilling their jury duty and offering their valuable input to the High Council.”

  Count Mikhailov, cloaked and brooding, shifted in his seat and shot a venomous glare at the red-haired Baroness Sallow. She only smirked in return, crossing her arms with an air of triumph.

  General Solo’s gaze sharpened as she ordered, “Rise up! Let’s usher in the verdict, beginning with the highest rank among you.”

  The defendants on both sides rose, standing in tense silence. Stick shot a glance at Baron Bonatelli, whose face had gone pale, mirroring Shadis’ as they awaited judgment.

  "Baron Bonatelli," General Solo began, her words ringing out like a hammer blow. "The council has decided that your actions in holding Stick Arslan on your estate do not count as an act of unlawful imprisonment."

  Stick felt the floor drop from beneath him. “What? How is that possible? I was a slave for six months!”

  “Do not speak out of line, Sir Arslan,” General Solo snapped. “I wasn’t finished.”

  At her words, the bailiff shifted, reaching for his weapon, but Stick felt his defiance waver at the mention of "Sir Arslan".

  General Solo continued: “Based on the location of Stick Arslan’s arrival, there was no safer place to live than inside the perimeter of the estate. During his time there, he was provided with food, clothing, and an offer to join the guild,”

  But that was six months too late!

  Stick’s frustration simmered, but he forced himself to remain silent.

  Baron Bonatelli let out a soft sigh of relief, his shoulders relaxing — until General Solo continued.

  “However,” she said, making Bonatelli stiffen once more. “On the count of forcing Sir Arslan into manual labour, his gross negligence in providing proper accommodation, and, most critically, his failure to communicate this extraordinary case to his superiors in a timely manner, Baron Lucio Bonatelli will pay a fine of four workforce NPCs, to be reassigned to Count Mikhailov’s possession in Prye.”

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  A smirk twisted Mikhailov’s lips as he leaned forward, his eyebrows raised with barely concealed satisfaction, eager to hear the final judgment.

  General Solo waved her hand, interacting with a virtual menu only she could see. “Furthermore, Baron Bonatelli’s status as a High Council member is revoked, without the possibility of reinstatement.”

  A collective gasp rippled through the hall. Bonatelli’s face drained of colour, and he sank back into his seat, head bowed, his fists clenched. Stick felt a surge of satisfaction at the sight. Serves him right, the bastard.

  "Moving on with Officer Antonio Becket,” General Solo continued, flicking her hand inside the menu again. “Upon his failure to communicate this case to his superiors in a reasonable amount of time, and on the count of assaulting Stick Arslan, he is hereby stripped of his rank as Officer and demoted to the rank of Soldier.”

  Becket buried his face in his hands momentarily before he looked up, meeting General Solo’s stern gaze.

  “Yes, Ma’am,” he replied with a resigned voice.

  General Solo nodded. “You are both expected to pay reparations to Sir Arslan.”

  The courtroom stilled as the weight of her words settled over them. Stick’s heart raced. Reparations? I’m not being punished?

  Duke Herzog, sitting nearby, lifted a paper with finality. “Antonio Becket, you are to pay an appropriate compensation of one hundred gold to Stick Arslan. Effective immediately.”

  Becket bit his lip, but he made no protest. Instead, he crossed the room to where Stick stood, retrieving a small pouch from his Inventory.

  “Here.” His hand trembled as he held it out.

  Stick stared at the pouch of [100 Gold], still trying to process what was happening. It felt surreal.

  “Sir Arslan, please confirm that this is indeed one hundred gold,” Herzog prompted.

  Stick checked his Inventory. A counter appeared at the bottom of the screen, when he moved the pouch to his Inventory, displaying a ten next to a golden symbol, and zero beside silver and bronze respectively.

  “Uh, yeah. One hundred gold.”

  “Good,” Herzog said, noting something on his paper.

  Becket returned to his stand, his head down, the fire drained from his gaze.

  Herzog’s voice cut through the silence once more. “Baron Lucio Bonatelli.”

  Bonatelli jolted up as if struck, his face a mask of disbelief. “Uncle, this is outrageous. Have I not suffered enough?”

  Herzog’s expression twisted with pain, as if the words cost him dearly. He hesitated, unable to meet Bonatelli’s pleading gaze. Uncle?

  “Baron Bonatelli,” General Solo interjected, “I don’t think you understand the gravity of the situation. By harming a neutral Player and lying to your superiors, you have betrayed the principles of Carnifex. Such behaviour is unacceptable in the Upper Echelon.”

  Bonatelli’s hands curled into fists, his face tight with barely controlled rage.

  “This is why,” Herzog continued, as if speaking to himself as much as anyone else, “it will be an educational punishment for you to forfeit what you call your… Prized Possession to Sir Arslan.”

  “What?” Bonatelli exploded.

  “What?” Shadis echoed.

  “What?” came a shocked murmur from behind them.

  What?!

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