“So, you admit to the incitement of insurrection?” General Solo asked, pen poised above her paper.

  “Yes,” Shadis replied.

  The General made a mark on the sheet before her. Stick watched uneasily. There was no use denying their role, but something didn’t sit right with him. It was my idea to break out!

  He wanted to speak, but a firm pressure on his foot held him back. Hidden behind the wooden stand, Shadis pressed down—a silent order to stay quiet. Wait, really? Does he want to take all the blame for himself?

  Stick’s heart pounded. He didn’t want that. He tried to object, but Shadis pressed down harder. Behind them, PP shifted his weight, making his shackles jingle, his silence speaking volumes. He must have noticed too. But even the big man loyal to Carnifex didn’t say anything. Stick hesitated, then bit back his words.

  “That’s one thing addressed,” General Solo said coolly, looking over her list. “But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Let’s review the order of events first. Duke Herzog, if you would.”

  The Duke rose, straightening a stack of papers. “Certainly, Ma’am. After receiving a detailed recapitulation by Baron Bonatelli on our travel, which I enclosed to you earlier this morning, I’ve established the timeline of events to be as follows. First, Stick Arslan arrived at the Blitz Estate on a typical weekday, dressed in slave rags and claiming Retrograde Amnesia. Is that correct, Sir Arslan?”

  Stick felt a nudge from Shadis.

  He squared his shoulders. “Yes, Sir. I don’t remember anything before getting there.”

  Duke Herzog raised an eyebrow. “Now that immediately sparks my first question. What do you mean by ‘getting there’? How did you get into the estate unseen?”

  “That’s what I don’t know. The first thing I remember was a big, dark space with a huge gate that led straight to the hill under the mansion.”

  “Now that’s ridiculous!” Bonatelli scoffed. “What kind of secret tunnelling dream did you cook up? Did the mines mess with your brain?”

  The Jester also spoke up. “I agree with Baron Bonatelli. It sounds more like a fever dream.”

  “But it’s true!” Shadis insisted. “Sir Arslan complained of memory loss since day one.”

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  “And you believe him?” The lord with the cloak sneered. “That’s typical for an NPC.”

  “But then how do you explain his lack of Origin in his Status?” The lady with the red hair spoke for the first time. “I’ve never seen anything like that before. It would only make sense if the Player himself has no knowledge of his own origin.”

  “Order!” General Solo’s voice rang out, silencing the murmurs. “This is a hearing, not a debate.”

  Herzog nodded his thanks. “Moving on. At this point, Stick Arslan was labelled a ‘recruit’ by the NPCs and assumed to be new mining workforce by the guards. Correct, Officer Becket?”

  Becket? Is he also on trial?

  “Yes, Sir,” Becket answered.

  “Then tell me, Officer Becket, why did it take you nearly a full day to recognise Stick Arslan as a Player?”

  “Well…” Becket shot a glance at the Baron before clearing his throat. “We don’t inspect NPCs’ Statuses unless they’re ill, and there was no reason to think a new slave was any different. He didn’t stand out.”

  That’s not true! You slapped me on day one!

  Stick opened his mouth, but Becket’s hard gaze stopped him short, sending the same silent message as Shadis. Something about it told him that he shouldn’t.

  “So without reason to use the HUD, he appeared like any other NPC.” Becket concluded.

  “I see…” Herzog still looked sceptical. “This brings me to another question I had. Sir Arslan, would you please step forward?”

  What? Me?

  Stick froze. He didn’t expect that he had to move at all during all of this.

  “Step forward to the centre,” Herzog repeated, flipping through the papers.

  Stick rose reluctantly, approaching the bailiff in the middle of the room. What now?

  “Remove your clothes, please,” Herzog said.

  Stick blinked, taken aback. “Excuse me, Sir?”

  “Remove your clothes!” Herzog ordered again. “Just lifting the top will suffice. The council wants to see your stomach.”

  Stick’s mind finally clicked. “Yes, Sir.”

  He lifted his shirt, revealing the odd smoothness of his abdomen where a belly button should be. A wave of murmurs spread through the room; amazement and confusion were painted on every face.

  “How is that even possible?” the cloaked lord asked, eyes narrowing.

  “How very interesting!” the Jester marvelled, leaning forward.

  “Oh my, what a specimen,” the red-haired woman commented, her voice a mix of fascination and intrigue.

  Stick shifted uneasily under their scrutiny. “Would that be all, Sir?”

  Herzog gave a curt nod. “Yes, you may return to your place.”

  Relieved, Stick quickly lowered his shirt to hide his shame and returned to his stand beside Shadis and PP. The room buzzed with speculation. What’s wrong with them?

  Finally, Baron Bonatelli spoke up. “See? I told you—he’s an NPC, plain and simple!”

  “It would be easy to just dismiss him as an NPC and be done with it.” Herzog tried to respectfully disagree with Bonatelli. “But the whole reason we have gathered here today was that his Status says otherwise. We can’t just hang him. It’s against everything Carnifex stands for.”

  Hang him?

  “Yeah, we can’t do that, Lucio. His Status says he’s human,” Nakamura pointed out, his tone sceptical but intrigued.

  Stick’s eyes widened, pulse racing. Human?

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