I collapsed into my bedroll just as the sun was rising. I was exhausted, as should be expected given the kind of day that I had had. Sadly, as often happens in these situations, I found that I was too tired to get up, but still unable to sleep. The feeble slats that composed the walls of the shack provided little protection from light, or, for that matter, anything else.

As a result, I spent most of the day following the raid tossing and turning in my bed, trying not to think about the events of the night before. I didn't feel guilty, exactly, about the men I had killed, or the innocent people that I had not been in time to save. I knew that I had done my best. I knew that if you break into a town and start killing and looting, you had to accept the possibility that someone might reduce your head to the consistency of chunky salsa. What I was feeling wasn't really guilt. I just felt...dirty.

In a physical sense, this was merely an accurate observation. Flies were beginning to buzz around the drying blood and bits of gore that coated my clothes. But I would still be dirty after I bathed and washed my clothes. I felt like I had lost my innocence, and I hadn't even been aware yesterday that I had any innocence to lose. I was beginning to think that using the game system to turn myself into a killing machine had been a mistake. It wasn't wrong, of course. My strength had likely saved many lives. But if I had made myself some sort of healer instead, that would have saved lives too. And it wouldn't have left me feeling like I wouldn't recognize myself when I next looked in the mirror.

This game was really beginning to get me down. Killing enemies was so much less impactful when they were on the other side of a screen. Hell, I doubt killing someone with a gun has the same emotional impact as killing with a mace. Those men hadn't died because they deserved it. I had no idea what sort of lives they had, or what they had believed about themselves and what they were doing. I was in no real position to judge them. I had just acted on instinct and adrenaline, trying to save lives. Maybe what I had done was technically heroic, but even if so, it didn't make me feel good. And now I was allied to a group of supernatural creatures that I knew little about, whose motives seemed ambiguous at best. I was committed to travel with them and protect them. The worst of it was, I knew for a fact that they cared nothing about me. They had nothing in their hearts that mattered to humanity, no love or compassion. If circumstances had been a little different, I might just as easily have shackled myself to the Seelie instead.

The urge came again to just walk away from it all. To head for the edge of the map, and not stop until everyone who knew me or had heard of me was far away. That had been the joy I had felt in the tutorial cave. Knowing that the past had fallen off of me like a heavy load, and I was free to create the future however I chose. Well, the future was here, and I still felt trapped by circumstance, weighed down by mistakes I could never take back. No matter where I went, I would still be the same flawed person. Only I would be a coward for abandoning people who had counted on me.

I sank into a funk as the hours passed. I gave up even trying to sleep. I felt empty inside, like everything in me had been scooped with a spoon.

A light knock on the door interrupted me, for which I was grateful. Hoping for a distraction, I slid the door open.

“I'm sorry to disturb you, Mr. Raymond.”

A tall man with graying hair and a pregnant woman with a large goiter were standing outside. Both of them looked like they had endured a serious beating. The man's left eye was nearly shut due to a purple swelling just above it, and the woman's face was peppered with bruises. They looked like how I felt.

“My name is Sigmund. This is my wife, Gertrude. We came to thank you.”

Gertrude handed me a small plate covered in some kind of cake. It smelled of spice and raisins. I stared at the couple. The man was human, but his wife was a goblin. I wondered if he knew, and how he might react if he found out. I finally found my tongue.

“Th...thanks.” I said, feeling like I was sleepwalking.

“I was knocked cold early in the battle last night. My wife was one of the prisoners that the raiders dragged outside the wall. I heard that it was you who lead the charge that rescued her. Thank you so much.” he said. There were tears in his eyes. I realized that I was tearing up as well. Gertrude was unmoved, of course, but that may have just been shock.

“I brought you this. It's the best one. I noticed that you weren't there when the spoils were divided, and I made sure to set it aside for you, since you were our best fighter.” Sigmund handed me an iron-rimmed round shield, sturdily constructed from solid oak planks. It was decorated with the symbol of two lengths of broken chain, although it was so faded and marred with slash-marks that the markings were barely visible.

“That's very kind. Thank you.” My voice nearly cracked. I was properly weeping now.

“I don't want to think of what would have happened if you hadn't been there. If you need anything, please let us know.” said Gertrude. Her voice was too clear and even for the occasion. Her acting was not as good as Digby's. I nodded acknowledgment.

The couple left me with my new treasures. I'm not sorry to say that the cake was gone within twenty minutes. It was sweet and warm and felt good in my stomach. I lay back on my bed and felt at peace. That simple gesture had been enough to make everything I had been doing feel suddenly meaningful. My conscience was at ease, and I drifted off to sleep.

The next day, normality had begun to creep back into the world, as it always does after a tragedy. The breach in the fence had not yet been repaired, and many Dogberry Lane citizens were going about their daily work nursing broken arms or heavily bandaged wounds, and several people whose homes had been damaged were forced to seek shelter from friends until repairs could be made. A gray pallor had descended on the street. No one laughed, few smiled, and occasionally I would spot someone tearing up as they thought of a son or sister or cousin whose grave I had helped to dig. Nonetheless, there was always work to be done, and the sorrow is eventually chewed up by the daily grind. I joined in the melancholy task of sorting through the wreckage of the destroyed shacks. Most of them were composed of wood so old and rotten that they would have collapsed on their own if given time to do so. Anything that couldn't be used to rebuild the shacks was broken up into firewood, which was always in short supply. It can be difficult to distinguish between valuable possessions and trash in Dogberry Lane, since so much of what the average citizen needed to live on had been picked out of the trash of the wealthier citizens. After working with Digby, however, I felt I was starting to get the hang of it.

While I was trying to straighten some of the bent nails I had accumulated, I noticed a contingent of a dozen town guards slowly approaching. Glancing around, I noted that my fellow denizens were very pointedly directing their attention to absolutely anything else, despite a large presence of guards in this part of town being a clear break with tradition. Everyone here knew that the local constabulary had effectively hung them out to dry during the raid, with the exception of Gerald, who was so well liked and respected that people tended to forget that he was a guard.

The leader of this intrusive force was a balding man who seemed to be in his forties. He seemed to be questioning people randomly as he slowly approached, which made me increasingly certain that my own turn couldn't be far off. I could easily have slipped away down any of a dozen alleyways to avoid them, but I had taken on a protective attitude toward this neighborhood in the last couple weeks, and I reasoned that if they were going to hassle anyone, it ought to be me. I kept trying to straighten nails between my fingers as they approached.

“You there!” the captain finally called to me.

I glanced up from my work theatrically. “Good Morning.” I said with a nod, attempting to demonstrate what a polite greeting looked like.

“Where you involved in the disturbance here two nights ago?” he rattled off. That sentence had obviously seen a lot of use today.

“Yah, I was here.” I said, seeing little point in lying.

“We want to know what happened to any weapons or armor that the attackers left behind. Do you know?” he asked.

“Couldn't tell you. I was busy digging graves after the fight. I'd guess most of it had been sold off by now.” Of course, I knew exactly where one choice piece of equipment had ended up, but I wasn't about to share that.

“That a fact?” said the captain. It was presented as a question, but I chose to treat it as the end of the discussion. I returned to straightening nails.

“I asked you a question!” he shouted at me. I glance up, adopting a look of mild irritation.

“Yes, since you ask, that is a fact.”

“What about that mace there? Is that yours?” he asked. I didn't care for the confidence in his voice.

“Yes. Had it for a while. Ask anyone.” I replied.

“And that mail you're wearing under your shirt? That's yours as well I suppose?” he was grinning. I had forgotten all the new holes in my clothing.

“What can I say? It's a dangerous neighborhood.” This was a lie, of course. Crime in Dogberry Lane was near non-existent. Any thief worthy of the name would steal from people who had things that were worth stealing. Plus, sooner or later you would end up stealing from a goblin, which would not go well.

Several spears intruded on my personal space. “In the name of the sacred statutes of the Empire of Ganth, I am placing you under arrest.” recited the captain.

I sighed and raised my hands above my head. This earned me a quizzical look from the surrounding guards, so I let them slowly drop. Apparently that wasn't the custom in these parts.

Of course, trying to fight the guards was an option, but even on the off chance I could take on a dozen armed men on my own, I would be effectively declaring war on the entire town. Dogberry Lane was in no position to deal with another war, not yet anyway.

My mace and dagger were taken from me. They searched my pockets and discovered the remainder of my money, including the thick silver coin I had brought with me from the tutorial dungeon. There was a tense moment when I felt certain that the captain was thinking of pocketing the strange coin, although that may have been my imagination. They even took my Serpent's Egg, although they clearly had no notion of what it was. I was dragged through the streets to the guardhouse on the opposite side of town. All the way there they beat me with the shafts of their spears, shouting at me to stop struggling. I wasn't struggling, of course, but tradition must be observed.

I didn't really feel much anxiety about being arrested. After the raid, my respect for these men was so low that I felt like I was being arrested by a troop of children pretending to be police. Oh sure, if they killed me, I would still be just as dead, but I couldn't feel any shame at being accused of a crime. What was I being accused of, anyway?

After arriving at the guardhouse, my mail shirt was forcibly removed (it would have been quicker and less painful if they had just asked me to remove it) and I was cast into a small cell to await trial. I took the opportunity to do some push-ups and sit-ups while I waited. The jailer had the same flabby construction as most of the guards in town. To amuse myself, I stared at him and attempted to determine what role in life he would be most suited for. I eventually discovered that he would, given adequate training and preparation, make a terrific physical education teacher. I decided that this would serve him right.

I was informed that my hearing would be on the docket soon. I was not informed what “soon” might mean in this context.

The cells across from mine were empty, which made me curious as to what could be occupying the magistrate. I settled into a routine. Meals that were only slightly worse than my usual fare were delivered twice a day. It was both refreshing and distressing to suddenly have so many hours to myself. I found my mind wandering over the last few weeks, and my life in general. So much of the past had become painful to think about. My life had felt depressing and directionless in my previous existence, and I felt my new life in this twisted game world settling in to the same pattern. The only thing of real value I had accomplished so far had been helping to drive off those raiders. “Driving them off” having consisted of brutally killing about a dozen of them. I didn't even remember how many there were, or what they had looked like. The whole ordeal had been over so quickly, and yet it lingered in my mind even as I tried not to think about it.

With nothing else to occupy my time, I decided to give meditation a try. This was frustrating at first, but with so little to distract me, I eventually ran out of ways to distract myself. Soon I could sit crosslegged on the floor of my cell for hours at a time, just letting my mind be utterly free. I found it easier to consider my situation and my own motivations when I could step outside of myself for a moment. I had always, on some level, maintained a safe distance between myself of others. Being disgusted by society and using that as an excuse to isolate myself had become second nature. But here, I was forming a connection to a community for the first time. A community based, not on any sort of common belief or shared origin, but on the simple necessity of survival. I had been willing to rush to put myself in danger when I saw that community threatened, and that had surprised me. Maybe it had even frightened me. Being connected to others meant being vulnerable. Even worse, it meant being dependent on the goodwill and decency of others. As much as I liked the few friends I had made in this town, I was still a stranger to them, one with mysterious origins, strange powers, and otherworldly connections. Would I ever really be one of them, and was it worth it to try?

“What are you doing?” asked the jailer, interrupting a state of inner peace I had been working toward for hours.

“Your Mom.” I replied. He just scowled and returned to his post.

Days passed in this manner. I was actually starting to enjoy my confinement. I had no worries and no distractions; I could just focus on exercising my body and trying to get a grip on my mind. I found that the silver coin that had been taken from me appeared more and more often in my thoughts as I tried to clear my mind. What was the significance of that thing? It was no more valuable that the other silver coins I had, as far as I could tell. It was certainly less practical than most of my other gear. It had no magical properties that I had noticed, although it did seem to draw people who saw it into dangerous situations. It had done so to me in the cave, and to Reuben when he had gone into the forest after it.

These thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of six guards, who escorted me to the courthouse for sentencing. If anything, I was disappointed that they hadn't waited longer. The courthouse turned out to be the local church, which made sense as it had adequate seating and the right ambiance for the occasion. There was no one else in the room except the guards and a few assorted clerks and dignitaries. Most of the seats were empty.

I was forced to sit down by my guards. A clerk faced the assembly.

“Please rise for the honorable magistrate, Lord Harker the Just.”

I was then forced to stand as the magistrate entered the room, then forced to sit down again. It reminded me far too much of going to church as a child, but at least I was spared the singing.

The magistrate was short and had a double chin. He wore black robes and an elaborate gold chain to symbolize his office. He stood at the podium I had used to upgrade myself less than two weeks previous. He spoke in a voice that I recognized immediately. It had the ring of power and authority to it, but it was also quite husky, and it suggested that the speaker had a mustache that he did not, in fact, possess.

“Gentlemen, we have gathered here in accordance with the ancient laws of justice and peace, to pass judgment upon the person of...” his brow furrowed. the confidence seemed to drain from him. “What is the prisoner's name?”

“Raymond Garrison.” I replied testily.

“Raymond Garrison,” he continued. “For the crimes of disturbing the peace of the realm, for possession of stolen property, for lying to public officials, for resisting arrest, for brawling in a public house, and for occupying public land without writ of permission, we, as the official responsible for administering justice within this town and the surrounding province under the laws of the Empire of Ganth, do hereby sentence you to death by beheading, the same to be carried out three days hence. Does the condemned wish to make any statement before the sentence is carried out?”

Well, at least things were finally moving along. In this legal system, the guarantee of a speedy trial was in full force. No witnesses, no lawyers, no opening arguments. The whole process had been milled down to include only the essential elements. I stood. I knew I had no chance to change anyone's mind, whatever I said. So, once again, I defaulted to simple honesty.

“I would like to thank you all for not wasting any more of my time than necessary on this trial. I will be brief. I won't beg for mercy, or try to prove my innocence of the crimes I have been accused of. You know as well as I do that the charges are only there because some excuse had to be given for murdering me. None of this matters. So go on, chop off my head. See if that holds your crumbling edifice together for a few more days. The truth is, you're all worthless. You abandoned your fellow citizens when they were in need. You ignored them when they starved. You ignored them when they were cold. You even ignored them when they were murdered and enslaved. What right have you to claim the moral high ground now? You are all an embarrassment. If I had my way, you'd be dragged out into the street and hanged as traitors. I've seen what your 'honor' and your 'justice' are worth.. I was there the night you gave this town away to the Seelie in exchange for a little bottle of miracles. Even now, you're nearly out of that stuff, and I doubt it will last you much longer. I wonder what they will demand for the next bottle.”

I sat. For his part, the magistrate showed no sign of recognition when I called him out for allying with the Seelie. If my career ended like this, then I accepted that. At least I would go out with some dignity.