Chapter 45: Verdict - 12/15/2018
"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 June 6th, 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 underleveled 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?"
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.
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"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, organizing 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. Not from pain. No, from fear.
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 realized 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.
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 labor, 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."
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 color, 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 Anthony 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. "Anthony 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 behavior 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?!
The council chamber fell silent as Herzog's voice echoed through the room. "Effective immediately, the NPC known as the Prized Possession is now owned by Stick Arslan."