Blackthorne lost track of the time while he lay sprawled out on the bed. There was little to do. He could train, but his thoughts were focused inwardly instead. The differences in the way the dream world worked, and life on Earth were forefront in his mind. On Earth insulting someone could be dangerous, but in his home country it was not illegal most of the time. Of course, if he were to insult a police officer, they might discover a crime that he may have committed. It was not the same thing, however.

The idea that some rich asshole could literally ruin another person’s life solely because they felt offended was not a novel idea. The fact that such things were legally enforced by law was a different story.

In some ways it made sense, but that did not mean that he had to like it. Such deference was made solely because the wealthy elite could hire people to make life miserable for an entire region otherwise. Governments were formed by those rich elites. The difference between Earth and the dream, was the level of power an individual might possess.

Blackthorne’s lips quirked downward into a frown. Democracy would quickly become a thing of the past on Earth. Most people would not be absolutely dedicated toward the acquisition of power. Those few who did would not be willing to submit to an authority that could never hold them in check.

These thoughts were not new to him. The first moment he awoke in the dream, he had thought of the same problem. Whether he liked it or not, might would make right. The rule of law would only extend as far as the end of a ruler’s reach.

The Argent militia showed that truth beautifully not too long ago. They could not have stopped him even if they had wanted to do so. His stats alone were ridiculous in comparison to anything they might possess.

“I’m what? Something like level sixty or so compared to them, if we’re only talking stats?” Certainly, their skill levels would be well above his own, but it took years for a local to reach a bit into the double-digit levels. If Sonja was to be believed, it could easily take a year of heavy adventuring and impactful life experiences to reach the double digits level-wise. Another few years to double that.

“Someone from Earth could casually do in half a year what the locals here would take five or six years to do at minimum… That’s regular dreamers, not me…” Blackthorne opened his eyes and looked up at the canopy of the bed. The dreamers received accelerated development in preparation for the change to Earth, after all.

He sat up then looked toward the door. The only thing that kept him in the room was his own sense of propriety. They could not stop him if he chose to leave. Doing so would make it a pain in the ass to try to do anything in Argent from that point on and could even make life harder for him in Kaasvalia. Even so, they could not hold him.

The truth of his situation also caused him to consider something else. Sonja. What level was her husband? He had to be strong if he wanted to fight and capture a valkyrie, even a child. At minimum, he would need to be as strong as the militia captain to take on and soundly defeat Sonja before she began to lose her ability due to her captivity.

“I have to think that he’s at least stronger than I am now… Still, there’s more to me than stats…” It was true that he had a great number of abilities. He could do things that most humans could not dream of doing, even with magic. Yet, whenever he thought of the man who captured Sonja, he could not help but think that he had to be stronger than the average human from the dream world.

The long night passed in contemplation as Blackthorne mused heavily on the nature of his existence and the future of Earth. Eventually, he took his clothes and washed them in the bathroom. Dawn came quickly, as he chose to get a good night’s sleep for once. He did not want to risk missing his court date.

He bathed for the occasion then put on his simple traveler’s garb, though his clothing was still slightly damp. Everything else had wandered off with Sonja anyway, so he had few options.

A knock at the door signaled the arrival of the militia captain. He brought in a fine breakfast of fresh fruits and a roasted chicken leg. There was wine, but Blackthorne refused to touch the stuff. He held an aversion to alcohol and only allowed himself to indulge on special occasions.

Twenty men of the militia, each dressed in their finest leathers, formed an honor guard. They marched him through the streets like he was a visiting dignitary instead of someone who was little more than a petty merchant.

“Who is that man, mommy?” asked a little boy.

“I do not know; but do stay out of the street dear.” She pulled the little boy closer and tried not to look at the procession.

It was a scene that repeated itself in various ways right up until they came across a small incident in the road. One of the hauling lizards that some people used to pull carts instead of horses, wandered around aimlessly while its owner tried to coax it back to the cart. Normally docile in nature, and some would say that they were quite stupid when compared to a horse. It seemed to be a little riled up and acted belligerently toward anyone who it came too close to at any given moment.

No one seemed to be in immediate danger, nor did they ask the militia for help. So, the procession continued onward. It was quite the common occurrence.

The lizard, however, suddenly stopped fidgeting. It twisted its head around and took one look at Blackthorne then immediately sat down and refused to move. It watched him while the procession continued onward. Once the dark haired man at the center of that fuss was out of sight, the lizard walked back over to the cart then nudged the hooks and straps with his beak. He was ready to go now. Though, to the cart owner’s annoyance, the lizard chose to go in the opposite direction of where he wanted to go regardless of his threats and prodding. The lizard went toward the city gates and away from Blackthorne.