Stick scrolled through his combat log on the ethereal interface, his fingers hovering just above the screen as he spotted a peculiar entry from 8th June:

  [08.06.2018/23:52:03]: 55 [LP] [Physical] damage from [Unarmed] [Sir Cadmun Frost].

  His jaw tensed as he remembered Cadmun’s blow that night—the last memory he had of Montgomery before he vanished. Stick was brought back by Herzog’s voice.

  "It seems Sir Arslan had a… disagreement with an NPC," Herzog said, glancing around the room. "Received [Unarmed] damage from Cadmun Frost."

  Shadis cleared his throat. ”Sir.”

  Herzog’s stare cut to Shadis. ”What is it?”

  ”No, it’s Sir Cadmun Frost,” Shadis clarified.

  What is he doing?

  ”Yes. Sir.” Herzog echoed dryly, ”[Unarmed] damage. From Sir Cadmun Frost.”

  General Solo tapped the table.

  ”That name again. If this NPC is so eager to attack Players, you should consider terminating it,” she said, directing a hard gaze at Bonatelli.

  ”A sound idea, General,” Herzog replied smoothly, shooting an icy look at Shadis, whose subtle smirk betrayed his satisfaction.

  The man was testing limits, as if assessing how much more he could push them in light of the news of this case without reprimand.

  The red-haired woman broke in, "And what about the slap from Officer Becket?"

  ”Right,” Herzog said, turning to Stick. ”Moving on.”

  Stick scrolled backward, skimming over the logs that chronicled his [Hunger] during his time in the Slaughterhouse on the 7th and 8th of June—days he’d rather not relive. He scrolled to the start of the day where a new kind of entry stopped him cold:

  [07.06.2018/10:44:55]: Player received [TRUE] damage from [Environment]!

  His hand reflexively reached for the scar on his chin.

  ”[TRUE] damage,” he murmured.

  No Life Points? Is that when the God of Life’s Protection wears off?

  ”Continue,” Herzog ordered.

  Stick’s heart hammered as he scrolled further back. Another spike of dread when he saw:

  [07.06.2018/10:41:20]: 2450 [LP] [Mixed] damage from [Lucio Bonatelli]’s [Backstab] with [Admiral’s Best Mate].

  He could almost feel the blade digging into his chest, the ruthless attack clear as day on the log before him. His Life Points never stood a chance against that hit. That’s more than what Life Points I have. How is that possible?

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  Herzog leaned closer, his fingers tracing the text of another entry.

  [07.06.2018/02:02:39]: 230 [LP] [Physical] damage from [Prized Possession]’s [Paralyzing Blow] with [Log].

  [07.06.2018/02:03:21]: Player received [TRUE] damage from [Prized Possession]!

  ”Not very popular with the NPCs, were you?” Herzog’s chuckle was forced, but Stick caught the tremor in the man’s grip.

  Did he just skip over the most important one?

  When Stick tried to speak up, he felt Herzog’s grip on his shoulder tighten. He turned around to meet his gaze. Herzog’s eyes were not those of a man with power and authority over Stick. They pleaded, glassy with desperation, silently asking Stick for mercy. Mercy… for Bonatelli? Is that it? He wants me to not tell on the Baron? To overlook the log entries that incriminate him? To keep this injustice for myself? What did that man do to deserve my forgiveness?

  Stick’s thoughts reeled, but he felt a light pressure on his foot. Shadis caught his eye, a firm gaze beneath his beard.

  ”Don’t,” he mouthed, lips barely moving.

  Don’t? Don’t what? Don’t expose Bonatelli? How does Shadis even know about that? Only Timmy was there on that day. Or maybe it was a "don’t help that man"? Did Shadis see the look on the Duke’s face and figure something out? Damn it! What does ‘don’t’ mean in this situation?

  Stick hesitated, weighing the power of a favour from a High Council member against the satisfaction of bringing Bonatelli down. His eyes flicked over to where Bonatelli sat, shifting nervously, breathing hard. The man that had caused him and so many others so much hurt. The boy that tyrannised the everyday life of his friends. The disgusting pig that had stabbed him. His life as Bonatelli knew it was now in Stick’s hands. He looks so pathetic when he panics.

  Stick’s fingers curled around the edge of his interface.

  ”Yeah,” he muttered, a weak smile creeping onto his face. ”We had a few quarrels, as you’ll see.”

  He scrolled past the damning [Backstab] entry, leaving it in the dust for now, buying time to feel out the council’s reaction. He didn’t want to defend the despicable Bonatelli, but it was Becket’s anxious expression across the room that convinced him to play along in these high-level politics. Stick had ammunition ready if Herzog betrayed him, and that was enough.

  ”Here, for example,” Stick continued, pointing to a log entry showing his fight with Goblin Hunters. ”That was on my first day.”

  ”Oh, my.” Herzog glanced at the text and let out a forced laugh, his grip loosening. "Three different NPCs? What did you do?"

  ”I don’t know. I had just arrived that morning and for some reason everybody was out for blood.” Stick said, emphasising the ‘everybody’ a bit too much.

  Herzog chuckled weakly. ”Well, I can definitely tell that you received your scars during your time in the game. I believe that the [Environmental] damage from your labour made you vulnerable to injury.”

  Stick recalled the burst blister on his foot. Wait, no. He couldn’t have known that. Did he just leave out the fight with PP? Would that incriminate Bonatelli even further?

  ”Yeah, I guess so.” Stick said.

  ”Here for example,” Herzog said pointing at the exact moment, Stick received [TRUE] damage from [Anthony Becket]. ”The 6th of July at 11:13 o’clock. That [TRUE] damage must have been the slap.”

  ”[TRUE] damage?” the red-haired woman asked.

  ”Ma’am, I-”

  The council murmured, faces shifting to Becket, who fumbled nervously.

  The Jester was the first to explode, ”Unacceptable!”

  Becket flushed, mumbling a defence, but Herzog intervened. ”Calm down, Claudius. This was before Officer Becket checked Sir Arslan’s Status.”

  General Solo nodded. ”Duke Herzog is right. Let’s not forget the hearing.”

  Becket let out a barely hidden sigh of relief. That’s right, breathe easily.

  Stick leaned back, satisfaction swelling inside him. He felt validated in his decision to not mention the incident in the Slaughterhouse. No, he did not want to help Bonatelli or Herzog for that matter. It was quite the opposite: He had one of the High Council members defending the case of the lowest-ranked soldier and the pieces of trash in the room. I got him by the balls.

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