Carl shunned player killing in Ethereal Empire.

Pvp was unpredictable, it was not his domain at all. Only in pve did he feel at home. He wasn't merely a nervous wimp – he really couldn't stand harming people for no good reason and antagonizing them.

Sure, fair play pvp in a competitive format was a ton of fun. It always filled him with excessive adrenaline and made his movements erratic. He was simply bad at it, so he never pursued it for anything but the occasional stress relief. However, pvp and PK, that is player killing, were two different things. Especially in RCE games that allowed attacking and robbing non-hostile players, PK was an exciting feature, which quickly turned into a plague when abused.

PKers were like hyenas, and no matter how many Carl killed off with his uber avatar, they just kept coming at him while he was out on the prowl minding his own business. All the whales were harassed this way – the PKers would usually gang up on them with cheap, inferior gear, hoping for a big payday. Carl had no choice but to get good at exterminating such pests, and it became habitual.

Actively assaulting others, on the other hand … was an entirely different story. He rarely did it, and only to those who took the initiative to be his enemies. And he didn't like it at all. It inevitably filled him with distaste and discomfort, his subconscious squirming at the infraction.

Now, these feeling returned with full force, culminating the moment the head got severed by Ripping Claw …

… but Carl squashed them with extreme prejudice. His instincts were deplorable, acting out their cowardice even when he was deep down convinced of doing the right thing, and he hated them for it.

It was time for a reckoning.

It was time to embrace his pathetic, timid nature in the spiritual vices of his fiery soul, and refine it into one worthy of a warrior!

Last Hurrah!

Vicious Hook!

The neglected right, that already got used to absorbing punishment, was finally let loose. Carl first perceived the tremendous acceleration in his legs, as his strength almost doubled and propelled him forward like a catapult. Then came the masterwork combat knife, which consumed 50 mana to burst forth like a rocket, lifting the hapless recipient off his feet from the sheer momentum transfer after disappearing in his belly.

Ripping Claw!

… And the blade freed itself from the scale mail effortlessly as the heavy victim fell backwards absent life, his chest cavity opened up.

Ripping Claw!

The Black Fang flew in an arch, spraying blood from a cleaved throat …

“What is up with these amateurs? Aren't all Blood Brothers veteran combatants from other games?”

Carl was flabbergasted with the ineptitude of his adversaries. Weren't they all pvp experts? Why were they letting him slaughter them like lambs? What were those silly moves they so desperately and clumsily tried to defend themselves with?

What he didn't yet realize, was the mind-jarring shock he had caused, and not just to Blood Brothers, but to everybody present, including the guards. They all just stood and watched, with gaping mouths and goggling eyes.

Whispering Leaf went through a roller coaster of emotions ever since she started playing the game at her friend's house over the weekend. From being able to enjoy the Immortal Frontier, which she had no means to due to her low living conditions, to being in danger of permanently losing this fortuitous access, to unexpectedly finding fortune which could solve this problem, to falling short of the required sum and becoming a target of common thieves, to eventually being saved by the most fearsome monstrosity she had ever seen. The man before her, who without blinking dispatched a group of intimidating hardcore gamers like they were a bunch noobs on their first day, was a mighty celebrity whose name was on everyone's lips, and a powerhouse who didn't even put China and India in his eyes. Could it get any better than this?

Amaranthine Bushido was torn. Carl's display of skill was beautiful. It was a replay of his fight with Radiant Bulwark, only on a larger scale, and with zero chances for the opposition. Fluent motions, no unnecessary movements, just simple, fast and effective, every strike and combo carrying enough power to instakill. How was one supposed to resist this speeding train? He was fully convinced Carl would be a nightmare to players if he chose this path. He could possibly single-handedly bully small guilds with guerrilla tactics in the open world. He could also assassinate practically anyone he wished, sowing panic among the upper echelon of mega- and super-guilds. Alas … Carl had just murdered other players in cold blood within city limits, right on the temple plaza. Thousands, tens of thousands of Gold Crowns, gone, just like that. And yet … Bushido could only express awe in the heat of the moment.

After he was done executing the five offenders, Carl was changed. Maybe it was merely his subconscious writhing in pain, or maybe it actually came from his soul … maybe both at once – either way, something tugged at his core. He stopped and focused on this mysterious, intangible thread.

He had to solidify this breakthrough …

He had to grab it …

… and reel it in!

So what if he risked his newfound career? So what if millions of dollars were on the line? So what if the NPCs weren't on his side?

Even if the whole world turned against him …

… so be it!

“The whole Truth and nothing but the Truth!!!”

He turned to the guards, who still didn't budge from their initial spot. His wrathful visage made them instantly look down at their feet. He then calmly addressed the stunned girl.

“What troubles you?”

“… A– … huh?” She could only stammer as much.

But Carl didn't rush her, as if he had all the time in the world.

“I– … need … 10 grand for a VR helmet … my friend, she promised … I mean … she wants me to return hers already … she'll be 18 in a month, but … she said I can have it for 100 gold … I mean … her older brother said …” she stumbled.

“Bushido,” Carl beckoned at the swordsman unequivocally. “Don't forget to record their clear statement. People who break promises are not to be trusted,” he advised the girl, and then … he scaled the steps of the temple, as if nothing happened!

In the dreadful stillness, apart from Carl, only two categories of characters moved – those who were in his way, and the NPC patrol squads scrambling to the scene from all around.

There was no doubt in anyone's mind that Carl was done for. Even if he had some sway over individual NPCs, he couldn't defy the system. PK was recognized by the behavioral software and distinguished from consensual pvp far better than any human expert could do it, for it had insight into each player's history, subconscious reactions, covert actions, and motives. This inescapably ended with permanent stigma of appropriate severity, which had to be washed away through heavy penance if one wanted to restore their neutral status and avoid becoming an outlaw, yet its shadow would forever remain to amplify the penalties for recidivism.

With Carl's merit as a double title holder, his sky-high reputation for helping the local adventurers, and the threats voiced publicly by the fallen Blood Brothers, his jail time wouldn't be anywhere near the full-month sentence for first-degree murder. But that didn't matter – it would end him regardless, by undoing all he had accomplished and had going for him.

All the gawkers were astounded. Why did he do it? Was his temper really this short? Did he possess no self-control whatsoever? Millions of dollars were on the line! Was he so rich in real life, that he didn't care? Did he let fame get to his head? Countless questions gnawed them.

“You two! Why do you stand there like salt pillars?! What happened?! Was that Lord Lionheart?” some infuriated officer demanded after charging in with his men.

“Y-yes captain, he … executed a bunch of troublemakers …” one of the two unfortunate law enforcers admitted meekly.

“In front of the temple?! Just what gives him the right?!” his superior exploded with outrage.

“They … openly extorted another immortal with threats of violence and death,” the subordinate claimed.

“Is that so?” the guard captain challenged sternly.

“It's true!” Whispering Leaf exclaimed with a start. “I've discovered a piece of crystalline manatite, and they pressured me to sell it to them for a quarter of its worth! Threatened to kill me and rob me every time I found something valuable if I didn't!”

“Did they? And who can corroborate this? Step forward!”

Suddenly, the whole crowd moved awkwardly in the cramped space …

“Oh? And who says it was otherwise? Raise your hands!”

The guard captain scanned the mob of players, none of whom denied the allegations.

“… Carry on.”

“Whaaat?!”

Everybody reeled back as one. They literally let him get away with murder?! That was even possible?! Just how much reputation did it take?! The consternation was palpable, written on each and every face.

“Wait!” Whispering Leaf shouted, drawing the officer's attention once more.

“What are you doing?!” Amaranthine Bushido jumped with a fright. The crisis was resolved, so why did she insist on tempting fate?!

“What is it, madam?”

“Aren't you going to arrest them for a crime they committed in front of the temple? Just what kind of justice do you serve?”

The guard captain balked at the accusation, his mouth agape. All the players who heard the appeal were likewise lost for words. What cheekiness! What courage!

“I'm sorry madam, but we can't do that. Besides, they already suffered for it. Aren't you satisfied yet?”

The mutilated bodies still lied in their pools of blood, because the waiting period was the same as for logging off, 5 minutes. Within that time frame they could still be resuscitated with potent magic and medicines, provided that the damage wasn't too extensive, and this would lessen their death penalties, depending on how fast and how skillfully it was done. Otherwise they'd disappear together with all bound items, leaving behind their spoils and traces of blood carried away by the perpetrators. Naturally, they could already be looted for all they had – even the bound gear could be maliciously taken and stashed, or wielded so that it would perish into the ether, either forcing the owner to recall it at a fee, or pay a lesser ransom to have it returned.

“Should I call Sir Lionheart?” Whispering Leaf warned coldly.

“You … !” The officer reddened with anger, but bit his tongue. “You two! Go into the temple and await their revival!” he ordered, then stormed off indignantly.

“Whaaat???!!!”

…

Carl never looked back. Hyperacusis allowed him to hear the first part of the impromptu proceedings, so he could be at ease. Well, he was already at ease, but now it was a weight off his shoulders. He wouldn't need to resort to extreme measures like invoking Judge Demerius.

Going past the throngs of players who were yet oblivious to what transpired outside, he approached an NPC head priest responsible for overseeing the ceaseless operation of mundane healing services in the front of the temple near the entrance, like blood transfusion, bone mending, curing light illness, dispelling temporary curses, purification baths, etc., all of them semi-affordable and performed by a myriad of professional healers, unlike the premium, miracle-based services at the back, towards the altar, which were fully automated and cost an arm and a leg.

“Lord Ghost Buster, what a blessing!” the busy priest greeted genially. “I see you've been working hard, as usual. How may I help you today?”

“It's … a delicate matter. May we have a word in private?”

“Hmm? Are you sure you don't want to ask a high priest in this case?”

Carl faltered.

“Can I?”

“If it's important.”

“It is.”

“Just like that? Huh …”

Under the envious gazes of the thousands of players, Carl was led to a sacristy by the head priest. This had never happened before!

“The Honorable Lord Charles Lionheart, blessed by the heavens! To what do I owe this grace?” the eminent man welcomed cordially, standing up from behind his desk, ignorant of Carl's gory appearance.

“Thank you for your hospitality. I have but a small request, if I may. From now on, I'll be frequenting the sacramental font. I only wish for the utmost discretion. Is it possible?”

The high priest's eyes widened in amazement.

“It shall trouble you no longer! You will now be allowed to pass through here in order to reach the aisle with the font. Please, follow me.”

And so Carl did, holding back a smirk. Forget bonus attributes and hidden effects – reputation was king!

Soon, he arrived at his favorite spot in the game, away from the scrutiny of spies and prying peeks of involuntary witnesses.

“Awarding 10% discount on all temple services to the holder of Ghost Buster title. Deducting 45 Gold Crowns.”

Carl grinned from ear to ear. If there were bonus effects – he would gladly take them!