Thanks to the information Dahlia had shared previously, Hirrus knew where Barin lived. He made his way there without incident. It helped that the streets were almost void of all adventurers. There was no one around to recognize him.

Barin’s home was twice the size of Dahlia’s and Hirrus' homes in Yenon put together. It grew out of the ground like a mountain, all stone and angles. Hirrus was unimpressed. After spending the day in Inoha, surrounded by enormous estates, it seemed modest by comparison.

A part of Hirrus had anticipated Barin to have gone into hiding after their previous confrontation. But the man had apparently elected to go in the other direction.

The estate was lit up to the point of being near-daylight, and it was swarmed with guards. At first Hirrus presumed this was normal, but the guards seemed unsure of what to do. They were there for Barin’s protection, sure, but this wasn’t routine.

Concern crossed Hirrus’ mind. Was it possible that the man had possibly never intended to provide Hirrus with the information he needed? Was this dramatic show of force to keep him out when he inevitably realized he was double crossed?

Barin didn’t seem to be free of his decision tree. And yet perhaps he was also not bound to it as tightly.

There were at least six guards patrolling the area around the house, with four posted at the windows looking out, and two perched on the roof. Hirrus could not see a single possible angle of approach that could evade the network of security guards posted around the building.

But these guards were like him. Like Barin. They weren’t adventurers.

And Hirrus was no thief or assassin; no peasant to be turned away for daring to breathe the same air as the Inohan elite.

Nor was he an adventurer, poking around somewhere they didn’t belong.

He was a town guard.

Hirrus walked right past the extra security detail with no more than a polite nod. No one stopped him, or questioned him being there. A few looked at him for an extra moment or so, but any suspicion was quickly overtaken by their decision trees.

The front door was locked. It was made of fine, thick wood. Decorated swoops were carved into it, making the functional thing more of an art installation piece than a barrier.

It also made it weaker.

Armed as he was with an axe and an overabundance of BUR, Hirrus hacked his way through it in just a few seconds.

“That seemed unnecessary,” one of the guards said in a casual tone as they walked by. “It probably would have been easier to go in the window.”

“Hm,” Hirrus grunted, but otherwise ignored the comment.

The interior of the building was a well-lit, lavish living space. There were signs of wealth everywhere. The floor was covered in many layered rugs, with thin strips of stained-dark wood poking out in the gaps between the rugs and the decoratively carved baseboards. Every surface was glistening, clean, and clear of debris. The whole building made a statement, which confirmed for Hirrus everything Dahlia had said about the man. Knowledge was a very profitable business in Inoha, and Barin was at the top of his field.

Barin’s bedroom was on the third floor, and was easy to find as one of the only rooms that had a guard positioned outside the interior door. The man was about twice the size of Hirrus with an enormous spike-headed mace.

Like the rest, he just stood impassively at his post beside the door. He took no action to stop Hirrus from entering. Dark eyes watched him as he approached but there was no shift in stance or even a change of grip on the weapon.

This was interesting, indeed. Whatever his resurrection had made of him, no non-adventurer seemed able to respond appropriately to his presence.

Barin was asleep in his bed when Hirrus opened the door. The man’s soft snores wafted out, barely muffled by the thousand feet of cloth that comprise the ridiculous number of pillows and blankets that coated the mattress.

Hirrus considered his approach for a moment. He wanted Barin to be caught by surprise. But this was almost too easy.

With a shrug, Hirrus gripped the door and whipped it closed against the frame, slamming it. A glass-shaking thump resonated through the room. Barin snorted and woke immediately, flailing around in surprise at the sudden noise.

“What? What happened?” Barin demanded, his imperious tone undercut by his compromising position. “Is he here?”

“Yes,” Hirrus said, stalking towards the bed with his icy greataxe in hand. “He is.”

“You!” Barin yelped, all pretense of authority gone. “How? Why? What?”

Barin flailed his way out of the bed, giving a strangled cry as he hit the floor. He was wearing nothing but a pair of shiny satin undershorts that seemed about a size too small for his frame. Despite this, Barin flopped across the floor towards the far wall of the room, where there was a rack of decorative weaponry.

Hirrus feared for a moment that the man would try to wield one of those weapons against him. His fear wasn’t, however, for his own safety, but for Barin’s. If the man tried to swing an obviously decorative weapon around, the beautiful - but brittle - metal might shatter in his hands, badly injuring him.

Before he could get to it, Hirrus lunged forward. He grabbed the underside of Barin’s giant bedframe and flipped the large piece of furniture over.

The bed came down on top of Barin with a deafening ‘whumph’ sound. The mattress and blankets stopped the man from being harmed, but the weight of the large mattress and thick wooden frame pinned him to the floor with extraordinary efficiency. Barin wiggled for a moment, still overcome by terror, but made no progress towards freedom.

Hirrus walked around the bed slowly, letting every step thump against the layered rugs across the floor.

“Guards!” Barin yelled. “Guards, help!”

The burly man with the mace burst in the door, looking around for a moment, but when he only saw Hirrus, he shrugged and returned to his post outside.

“What are you doing?” Barin demanded. “Get back in here! Help me!”

“Help you with what?” Hirrus asked. “You’re not in danger.”

“What?” Barin stammered. “What do you mean?”

“Why would you be in danger?” Hirrus asked in an almost sweet tone, crouching down next to Barin. “Why do you think I would hurt you?”

“You attacked me!” Barin spat up at him. “And now you’re here for revenge!”

“Revenge?” Hirrus asked. A dark thought wormed its way through his mind.

Barin seemed to not notice Hirrus’ falling expression. “Last of the Strong came after you, right?”

“What did you do?”

Barin winced at the harsh tone and looked away. “You didn’t know?”

Hirrus retrieved his icy greataxe and rested the head of the weapon close to Barin’s flesh. “What did you do?” he repeated, the words snarled.

“Last of the Strong are one of my customers,” Barin said in a shaky voice that sped up as he continued to talk. “I w-was obligated to report to them when you asked about them!”

“Hm,” Hirrus grunted, glaring down at the man. He said nothing further.

“I wish I hadn’t,” Barin said bitterly. “You may as well kill me. If you don’t, then they probably will.”

“What did you tell them?”

“I told them you attacked me looking for them,” Barin said, looking away, “and then I told them everything I knew about you.” One of his arms wiggled slightly like he was trying to make a gesture. “Don’t tell me that it wasn’t much. After you attacked me, I did my job. I found where you were and who you were with. I told them which room you were in in the Violet Plate, and about your accomplice.”

Accomplice.

He meant Alric.

Hirrus wanted to ask why Barin would seek out and then volunteer such information, but before the words could get out of his mouth, he already knew the answer. Barin’s decision tree likely forced him into this course of action.

It made him responsible. And yet freed him from responsibility at the same time.

“T-they were going to kill me,” Barin said. “To keep themselves safe from you. They were going to kill dozens - maybe hundreds of people to protect themselves. The only reason I’m still alive is because Clive convinced everyone to kill just you instead of all of us.”

“Clive.” Hirrus repeated the name, rolling it around on his tongue. “He’s the one who has my friend, then?”

“I- I guess? What did they do?”

“They attacked me,” Hirrus said, “unsurprisingly. And unsuccessfully.” He tapped at the leather lamellar armor he was wearing. “When I returned to the Violet Plate, they’d taken my friend and left a gloating message behind. I’m not even sure why.”

“They didn’t-” Barin’s eyes grew wide as he sputtered. “I didn’t tell them-”

“You just said you told them about my accomplice.”

“I told them about the adventurer,” Barin said quickly, the word ‘adventurer’ almost spat from his mouth like it was sour. “I didn’t tell them about the pregnant woman. I wouldn’t. I couldn’t.”

Hirrus calmed him with a shake of his head. “They didn’t take her. They took the adventurer.” He paused a moment, tilting his head. “You didn’t tell them about Dahlia? I thought you were obligated. Bound by your decision tree?”

“I… I couldn’t.” Barin turned away. “The words turned to lead in my throat. The adventurer is just another adventurer, and you attacked me and meant to be in conflict with Last of the Strong. But I find it hard to imagine that she deserves to be a part of this in any capacity.”

“Hm.” This was important somehow. Like Hirrus, Barin had resisted the demands of his decision tree in response to moral imperative. But what did that mean? How was this important? It felt like when he was having dinner with Julissa, talking about the weirdness of that day. Was some obvious conclusion to these clues about to burst through the door and take something precious from him again?

Instead of following up on that, Hirrus asked: “Where’s Clive?”

“I can’t tell you,” Barin said through gritted teeth. “It’s impossible.”

“Nothing is impossible.” Hirrus lifted his axe and held the blade of it above Barin’s ear. He didn’t want to threaten the man, but it seemed that his decision tree worked best when he was under threat of physical harm. “You proved that already by keeping Dahlia safe.”

Barin tried to wiggle away from the glowing blue blade, but the bed atop him was too heavy.

“Speak,” Hirrus demanded, lowering the axe inch by inch towards the side of the man’s head. “Tell me where to find Clive and rescue my friend, or die. If it’s truly impossible, then your life is forfeit. But perhaps you feel as strongly about maintaining your own life as you do about protecting an innocent woman.”

“Outside the east gate!” Barin blurted. “His manor is outside of town. A little villa on a hilltop just a few hundred yards from the outer wall of the city. You can see it from the road. Green building, brown roof. Lots of trellis and grapevines. Can’t miss it.”

Hirrus pulled his axe back, and Barin let out a huge sigh of relief. Sweat shone on his forehead as if the act of speaking represented an enormous effort.

“Thank you,” Hirrus said. “I’ll be back in a few hours to keep our meeting. You had better be prepared to tell me where to find the Last of the Strong by then. Because I’ll be bringing this axe right back to you.”

Barin swallowed hard, eyeing the blade with visible fear.

Satisfied, Hirrus stood and turned to leave.

“Wait,” Barin said. “You’re not going to leave me here, are you?”

Hirrus shrugged with one shoulder. “Of course. Why not? You’re well-defended with all your guards, aren’t you?”

“Yes, but I’m trapped,” Barin pointed out. There was a rattling sound of either his hands or feet knocking against the floor beneath him. “I can’t move.”

“Of course you are,” Hirrus said, before turning back to the door. “This way, you can’t warn them I’m coming. Again.”