The courtroom was thick with tension, every word resonating like a hammer in the vast hall. Duke Herzog regarded Stick with an unyielding gaze, his eyes sharp and calculating as he sifted through the web of lies and half-truths surrounding the young man.

  “So,” Herzog began slowly, “after realising your error, you brought him to Baron Bonatelli, where he was offered a place among the Players. Is that correct?”

  Stick swallowed, glancing around the room. On the opposing stand, the Baron gave a slight nudge to Becket under the table, prompting him to respond.

  Becket cleared his throat. “Yes, Sir. He instigated a fight with the NPCs first, but that’s correct.”

  General Solo, her demeanour icy and exacting, jotted something down.

  Herzog shifted his attention to Stick, eyebrows raised. “And you didn’t accept the offer immediately. A few days later, perhaps, if memory serves?”

  Bonatelli cut in before Stick could answer. “That’s right! He stayed with the NPCs for a few nights to plan their rebellion, before he pretended to accept. He just wanted time to—”

  “He spoke to Sir Arslan,” General Solo interrupted.

  Bonatelli clamped his mouth shut, shooting Stick a resentful look. Stick felt his stomach churn.

  “Sir Arslan,” Herzog asked, leaning forward, “is it true that you accepted the offer only to stall for time?”

  Stick hesitated, feeling the weight of the room pressing down on him.

  “Well, I…” He paused, struggling to find words that would neither betray his allies nor condemn himself.

  He looked down. There was no point; no words could get him out of this. He was tired, exhausted from the constant fight to let Carnifex see reason. That he was justified in his actions. There’s a lot more to it, but on the whole, that’s what happened.

  Suddenly, a voice broke his reverie.

  “He liked my escape plan,” Shadis called out, grinning defiantly, his eyes flashing beneath his scruffy beard.

  The bailiff crossed the room in two swift strides and struck Shadis hard across the face. “Silence, Bot!”

  Stick snapped out of his daze, a rush of anger flooding through him. What did he just say?

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  Herzog’s voice was calm, but a slight frown creased his brow. “Is it true, Sir Arslan? Did you stall because of this… escape plan?”

  Caught off guard, Stick nodded, his mind whirling.

  “Yes,” he murmured, feeling more confused with each passing second.

  “And why would you try to escape after such an offer?”

  “There was no risk to his person in the plan and he’d be free alongside the lords,” Shadis said.

  “Typical for an Adventurer,” PP scoffed.

  The bailiff struck Shadis again. “I said: Silence!”

  Becket leaned forward, his tone quick and officious. “As far as we know, Sir, he was only supposed to use his Inventory as a means to store supplies for the Blitz twins’ escape.”

  “That’s a lie!” Stick shot back, but his words were nearly drowned out by the sound of another blow landing on Shadis.

  The bailiff was relentless, hitting him again and again, blood spattering on the floor. Stick’s fists clenched, but a heavy hand landed on his shoulder, holding him back. PP looked at him, his gaze a silent warning: Don’t interfere.

  “Why would you attempt to escape, when you had such a promising offer from Baron Bonatelli?” Herzog paid the commotion no mind, his gaze still fixed intently on Stick.

  “If you think about it,” the Jester chimed in, “It makes sense that he acted the way he acted against the people holding slaves with his limited knowledge of the world. NPC or not.”

  The Duke waved him off.

  “Why would you try to escape after such an offer?” he asked again, a final note of impatience creeping into his voice.

  Stick felt his pulse pound as he looked around, seeing the web of deceit close in around him. PP, Becket, the Baron—they were all lying, all pushing the blame onto the NPC. They’d found their scapegoat, and that was all they needed. They understood how easy it was to blame their failure on Shadis. Shadis’s bloodied, defiant grin met Stick’s gaze across the stand, and in that moment, Stick realised it had been Shadis’s plan all along. Every word, every taunt had been intentional from the start, when he first interrupted General Solo. Shadis had given himself up to protect all of them, even those that didn’t deserve it, to save him. All Stick had to do was lie about his involvement. However, he didn’t want that. He could never do such a thing that would make him no different from the Carnifex Players, that exploited the people who had lived here first for their own gain. The ones that took families. The ones that ripped out tongues. The ones that desecrated corpses. It’d be easy to feign ignorance. To admit that he just joined the NPCs to escape. To claim that he defied Carnifex, because he didn’t know any better. To play dumb and submit. He’d just need to plead for his missing memories and ask for forgiveness, then the council would rule in his favour. No, I don’t want that.

  “Because,” he spat, meeting Herzog’s gaze, “I’d rather die than become a Player like you!”

  A silence fell over the room, thick and absolute, as his words echoed, unchallenged. The bailiff froze, fist mid-swing, and the entire hall seemed to pause, caught off-guard by the raw defiance in his voice.

  Shadis’ grin fell. “No…”

  Across the hall, Sofia narrowed her eyes, appraising him with a new intensity. “So, you would not consider becoming a Carnifex Player?”

  Stick clenched his fists, feeling the burning frustration rise within him, swallowing the fear. “Never.”

  “Very well.” General Sofia finished writing down a note. “Now that we’ve clarified that you acted knowingly, voluntarily and intelligently, let’s see what laws your insurrection broke.”

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