(I'm back way earlier than expected, so have another one! It's a good size too)

Edge swallowed. The plan worked, in that they were still alive and not tombstones. He marched at the back of the chain gang. Bucket Head was in front of him, and then Belladonna, Daphne, and Sakura at the head. Daphne was crying. It had been quite a while since one of his decisions had made her cry. Belladonna shot him more than one displeased scowl. Apparently she’d rather have died in a blaze of glory-sheesh, everyone was a critic. Talking was prohibited, or she probably would have chewed him out, the was one advantage to being a prisoner. Although, the march back to Cobbletown had given him plenty of time to doubt this plan, and mull over their fates. Axe, or noose . . . maybe he should have just jumped after all.

A crowd gathered in the Northern District in front of the bleak grey prison, a boxy structure with no windows and a single gated entrance. It was particularly dreary as it was adjacent to the opulent Lord’s Keep, which was practically built completely of mosaic coloured glass twisted into spires atop gilded stone. Fruits and vegetables were being thrown at them as they walked passed. The crowd cheered when Sakura stumbled to the ground, bringing Daphne with her. Belladonna helped them to their feet, but the crowd continued to jeer.

“Bandit scum,” “hang’em high,” “three cheers for Raylor, bandit slayer,” the mob, yelled. “Hip-hip hurray.”

“Fair people of Cobbletown, these are but a small number of the bandits at large in our most peace loving and excellent shire. Although we have thwarted these ruffians today, I fear for the morrow. For our lordship, in his wisdom, has forbade me from rallying the guard to defeat the bandit threat once and for all.” A rally of boo’s followed Raylor’s speech. “His lordship fears that Cobbletown’s own gentle citizenry may become most uncouth if left without the supervision of the guard.” Another round of boo’s and catcalls cursing the Lord of Cobbletown. “Worry not, noble subjects. Even with my hands bound much as these bandits before you, I will never spurn my duties to protect you, and to deal blows to those bandit scum who steal food from your plates, and crystals from your pockets.”

The cheers could still be heard from inside the jail, as they were marched through a portcullis and courtyard manned with armed prison guards who bore long bladed halberds, each reminiscent of the executioner’s axe. The prison was a dank dungeon, and the cells stank of cheese. NPC inmates filled the row of cells, as the group traipsed onward down a long hallway. A narrow spiral staircase led them underground to a second lower level. A short hallway split the level in two, on either side were large empty jail cells. The girls were placed in the right cell, and Edge in the left. The prison warden removed their shackles through the bars, once his prisoners were secured in their cells, and climbed back up the stairs, a round ring of keys jingling against his hip.

Daphne’s tears subsided once she was smothered in cuddles from her friends.

“What now fearless leader?” asked Belladonna.

“How should I know,” he wallowed.

“There doesn’t seem to be an exit,” said Sakura.

Even Daphne raised her eyebrows at Sakura’s barefaced observation. Duh?

Bucket Head remained silent.

“We have all of our equipment,” mentioned Edge. “Not that it’ll do any good.”

“We could shoot the jailer,” said Belladonna Nightshade.

“And take his keys,” added Sakura.

Then somehow make a daring escape through the contingent of guards on our way out. Become wanted fugitives trying to find a way out of Cobbletown with its enormously high walls and only two exits.

“Let’s not,” said Edge.

“You have a better idea?” goaded Belladonna.

Edge wasn’t in the mood for in-fighting. This sort of a argument, almost never solved anything. Especially when he was almost certain to lose. This was his fault, and their fault for trusting him.

The cells were large rectangular rooms with an open barred wall facing the hallway. A stone partition at the end of each cell led to a tiny private washroom. A dank jail with a private bathroom . . . this was a game. Light from a series of hanging braziers in the hall, kept the cells from being either too bright or too dark.

His three companions schemed in the next cell. Belladonna offering up wild ideas, and slim chances, while Sakura solidified or rejected her proposals. Daphne mostly asked questions and clung at the hope of escape. Edge and Bucket Head each found corners in which to slump.

Time past slowly in the barren cells. Edge had half a mind to continue his private training, just so as not to waste the rest of the evening. But if they were really forced into a daring escape, he wanted to have his stamina full.

The chatter died down after their planning exhausted. Daphne handed out [Rat Fur Pelts] to be used as mattresses and blankets. Everyone settled in without fuss, but the quiet was no recipe for sleep. Edge saw the reflection of open Kiten eyes shining in the dim light. This could very well be their last night on . . . in Levia.

It began as a gentle hum, barely audible. The soothing tones of Daphne’s voice, put the weary listeners at ease. It wasn’t a special ability, nor anything created by the game. Daphne sung from her heart, a lullaby her mother used to sing. When she started on the lyrics, Edge was already hypnotized. Her music allayed his fears, and subdued his doubts. It was a song that was a bedtime story. It took him to another place, in another world, and replaced his cares with a pleasant fable, and a happy ending. It suited him rather well.

He woke to the clattering of metal bars, as his cell door jarred open. The warden and three guards stood just outside.

“On your feet, prisoner,” ordered the warden, [Lt. Wan].

“What for?” asked Edge. Not the brightest of questions, but he was asleep only a second ago.

“You’re the leader, are you not? I’ve got orders to bring you before the Lord of Cobbletown, for sentencing.”

“Don’t we get a trial?” barked Daphne.

“The Lord will decide your punishment, after he speaks with your leader.”

“He’s not my leader,” said Bucket Head.

“Fine. Anyone else have a problem with this white hair being the leader?”

None of them did, which Edge would have thought touching, if not for the tremendous pressure cooker it put him in.

“Take her too,” Lt. Wan said. “Take a moment to freshen up, if you like.”

“I’m fine,” said Edge, blandly.

“Suit yourself, but this might be your only chance to impress the Lord.”

Great, another NPC with AI so good it made him feel stupid. Edge just grunted, and complied, taking a moment in the washroom to tidy himself. He wished he’d listened to the girls fashion advice now, instead of keeping solely to the comfortable, and practical green outfit he always wore.

He and Bucket Head strode into a foyer of elegance, where gilded stonework met plaster, wood, and tapestry in such a way one had to admire both the exuberance of the art, and the reflection of Cobbletown as a whole.

Bucket Head had changed into a bright red dress, covered by a mantle of narrow white fabric with a golden sun stitched on the chest. The symbol on her tabard, meant absolutely nothing, as far as Edge knew, but it gave him some clue as to her class. Such tabards were generally part of the priest’s costume. However, there was no priest class in Levia. There was only the [Vicar], a battle cleric. Bucket Head was likely one of those. Edge, still in his basic greens, felt decidedly under dressed in comparison. If this turned out to be a costume contest, he was going to be the loser.

Lt. Wan removed their shackles, and a [Cobald] butler in traditional black and white, ushered the two prisoners into the Lord’s throne room. Cobald were dog people; this one had brown short fur and long droopy ears that hung down over his lapel, excessive flaps of skin that covered his eyes like a natural blindfold, and a long maw with a dark button nose. A half dozen armoured knights stood on either side of a long red carpet that led up to an ornately carved wooden throne.

Sitting on the throne was the Lord of Cobbletown, decked out in full regalia of white frills and gold lace. The Lord was a thin man, younger than Edge would have thought, who wore his long black hair tied up in a ponytail. The Lord’s eyes widened to twice their size as he saw both Edge, and the stunning buxom blonde at his side. Edge’s eyes responded in kind, as he recognized the man on the throne. It was the onsen pervert!

The lord pervert sat on the corner of his throne, staring deep into Edge, searching him for something. “How do you do it?” he asked, finally, after drawing out the silence.

What was Edge supposed to say? He knew what the lord pervert was asking, and he hadn’t really come up with an answer himself. Fortunately, Bucket Head didn’t understand that the lord of perverts presided over them, and so answered his question in another context.

“We are from another world, your majesty,” she said. “To us, this world is only a game, and the merchants and the bandits are not real.”

Edge felt a bit sorry for Bucket Head. This sort of approach tended to backfire. In order to beat the game, you had to play it, not try to change the rules.

“It’s true that some players accept quests from the bandits, but only because those quests are easier and more rewarding than others. No one gets hurt. No one real,” she explained.

The Lord hopped down from his throne and took Bucket Head’s hand in his own. “Would the most exquisite of ladies be so kind as to tell me her name.”

“My name in Levia is Claire Brightblade, but my real name is Julia Thompson, and this man is Eugene Smith, but they call him Edge.”

How did she know his real name?!

“A most beautiful name, for a most beautiful woman,” he replied. “Thank you for a most riveting tale. Guards!” He called. “Please escort this fine young lady back to her previous residence.”

“No, wait. You have to believe me. I’m telling the truth,” she declared, desperately. Claire was swiftly escorted out of the throne room.

The lord pervert waved her goodbye under an umbrella of placating flatteries. “Of course you are.” “I believe you, I do.” “So beautiful.”

This wasn’t going the way Edge thought it would. He’d half expected to be measured for his noose by now.

The Lord clapped his hands twice. “Leave us,” he said.

“But my lordship, this man is a bandit and criminal. We cannot leave you alone with him,” pleaded the butler.

“Away with you,” the Lord ordered again, and everyone in the throne room filed out, without further protest.

A curious thing happened then; a large [S] appeared over the lord’s head, a quest icon. An [S] rank quest icon.

The lord grabbed Edge by the front of his shirt, pulling him close. “How do you do it? Where do you find all these beauties?”

“Err . . .” replied Edge, flabbergasted. “They sort of find me.”

“Of course they do. You’re so lucky. You get to be the daring and handsome bandit. A splendid mixture of sexy rebel and free spirit, surrounded by cute girls. While I get stuck here in this place, listening to old men babble on about economics and the price of bread.”

The lord nuzzled his head into Edge’s shoulder in a gesture of false despair. “I’m sure you’ll find someone . . .” Edge consoled.

“Really? Can I have one of yours? Why does one man need four dazzling beauties, anyway? Surely you can spare one.”

“Uh, women aren’t objects-” he began, deciding to soften his tone for fear of beheading. “I mean, it’s not up to me. They aren’t mine. They’re just my friends.”

“It’s just like a bandit to not share his plunder.”

“They’re not- I’m not a bandit!” Edge barked.

“Of course you are. That’s why you’re here. You and your cuties slew a host of caravan guards, did you not?”

“We did, but it’s not what you think. I was saving Bucket Head- I mean, Claire. We weren’t raiding the merchants.”

“Is that so? And yet you chose to save a bandit, rather than protect loyal subjects on my highway.”

That was true. He couldn’t really argue with it. “Yes.”

“What happened to your excuses? Is that the best defense you can raise?”

“I won’t defend what I did. I did it to try and save lives,” he said.

“So heroic, so noble. Is this your secret?” the pervert whined. “If only I could wander about the countryside saving damsels in distress, and claim all those succulent kisses.” The Lord made a series of kissy noises, plunking back down into his throne.

“Why can’t you? You’re the lord here, right. You can do whatever you want.”

“Oh you’re so naive. The people hate me. The bandits hate me. The merchants hate me. It takes half of Raylor’s guardsman just to keep me alive. I wish my father was still with us, he’d know what to do.”

Raylor, huh. All of those bandit quests, and all of those encounters with Raylor had somehow led him here. Was it purely luck that he’d stumbled upon this plot and found an [S] rank quest? Or was the game pushing him? It didn’t matter. His friends lives were at stake. He had to find a way to bring up Raylor’s treachery, and convince the lord not to execute them.

“So which will it be, Edge, the noose or the axe?” The lord asked, obviously grieved.

“Neither, my lord. I’m more valuable to you alive.”

“How is that? Can you find me a girlfriend?” The pervert perked up.

“Umm, I’m not sure about that. But I don’t think it’s your fault that people hate you. They just don’t know the real you.” That sounded cheesier out loud than in his head. “And I think some of, at least one, of your advisors is plotting against you.”

“What? It’s that stuck up hound of a butler isn’t it. Did you know he lets the keep’s maids wear pants? Here I am with the perfect opportunity to peek at a host of cute girls in maids uniforms with short black skirts and little white aprons, and he has them in pants. It’s treason is what it is.”

Now that they had privacy, the lord was not even trying to hide his perversion. “No, my lord. I think the butler is okay. I mean, I don’t really know your butler.”

“Do you know any of the maids? Perhaps you could find one who’d wear a skirt for me?”

“No, none of them either.” He really needed to get this pervert back on track. “The traitor is Raylor.” Edge didn’t know how else to put it, so he just let it out.

“Raylor? That’s nonsense. Raylor is the bravest man in the shire, and the captain of my guard. The people love him.”

“I heard him speaking with a bandit named Cassandra, and taking crystals from her as a bribe. Also, I witnessed him extorting crystals from a local merchant in exchange for protection for cargo. And even yesterday when they marched us to the jail, he spoke to the crowd and was spreading ugly rumours about you.”

“It’s impossible. Why ever would he do these things you say?”

Edge had no clue as to the motivations of Raylor. “Maybe he wants something, like money, or power?”

“He’s quite well off, he’s the most well paid man in my service, and there’s no individual with as much influence as Raylor. Except for me, of course.”

Of course, thought Edge. Raylor wanted to be lord. But then, why not just disappear this pervert and be done with it? “If something were to happen to you, err. You know, like you died. Who would take your place?”

“Not Raylor, if that’s what you’re suggesting. My fourth cousin, the Emperor of the Eastern Provinces would scour the family tree, and find some buck toothed inbred to take my place.”

Okay. So that’s why the pervert’s still sitting on the throne. “Has there ever been a case where a lord was replaced by his Guard Captain?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. There are only two ways to become a lord, to inherit with the emperor's blessing, or to be raised into the nobility as a reward. But, usually that only happens after a war.”

A picture was beginning to take shape. Whether the outcome of this internal Cobbletown struggle left Raylor in power, or this pervert . . . Here was an opportunity to save his friends. “My lord, I believe there is a plot against you. Now, maybe Raylor is being manipulated by someone else.” Edge didn’t believe it for a second. “Or perhaps there is a big misunderstanding. I can’t say. But neither can you. If you spare the lives of me and my friends, I swear to you, we will solve this mystery, and perhaps save your life.” Edge wasn’t much for long winded explanations, and soft talk. He only hoped that his cheesy delivery didn’t sabotage his attempt to convince the lord.

[Cobbletown Accomplice], [Accept] or [Decline].

Edge quickly tapped the accept button before it disappeared.

“Very well. It appears that we are made accomplices one more time. You and your three friends are free to go. But you must report to me any evidence of foul play immediately. It has to be real evidence, no ‘you heards,’ or ‘you thinks.’ If I want the Emperor’s support, I can’t call on his aide without proper cause.”

So the lord did have a trump card. One that might even make Raylor hesitate. The Lord of Cobbletown could call on the Emperor for help . . . under the right circumstances.

“What about Bucket-Claire-what will happen to Claire?”

“She’s a bandit. Bandits get the noose or the axe.”

“She’s not a bandit. She’s my companion as well.”

“She didn’t accept you as her leader. She chose to represent herself.”

“There seems to be a misunderstanding.” Think Edge, think. “She didn’t accept me as her leader . . . because . . . we are co-leaders, of the same group.” He prayed he hadn’t just thrown their lives back into fire.

The lord processed this new information with a slight mischievous grin. “Very clever. You have opened an avenue for me to choose her fate,” even his voice seemed to change.

What did he mean? Wasn’t it always up to him; he was the lord after all.

“Of course, she is free to go as well, and with my heartfelt thanks, Edge.” The lord seemed truly sincere, which made it more difficult to dislike him.