Blood sprayed across the dirt. The fight was basically over.

From the tower, Richard exhaled. Not relief. Not exactly. The rush of battle still pounded in his veins. His fingers trembled, his heartbeat thundered.

The others were frozen, staring at Matt’s body.

Typical.

Even dead. They still looked to Matt. With eerie calm, Richard notched another arrow—and put it through the final raider’s eye.

A notification blinked across his vision. You have completed the first of three raids on your territory.

You have killed Charton Fighter (Level 9).

You have killed Human Fighter (Level 14).

Level up.

Level up.

Level up.

Richard stared at the words. He had just leveled up three times. Matt was dead. This should feel like a victory. The levels felt amazing. So why did his stomach churn? The silence held.

Richard lowered his bow. The weight of it pressed down. Richard's mind reeled. Had he just made a terrible mistake? Richard steeled himself. It didn't matter now.

The objectives that had belonged to Matt now belonged to him. Finally.

The stat surge from the levels was overwhelming. More than he’d ever gotten from a kill. The rush was intoxicating, shivers running up his spine.

Then—“Matt!”

Alex’s voice cracked as he stumbled toward the body. The shout drew Richard out of his thoughts.

Elise was already running, hands glowing. Jared just stood there, mouth slightly open, unable to process what just happened.

The rest of the group stood frozen at the entrance, silent, unmoving. Their faces blank. Processing.

Then Jared moved. As if waking from a trance, he rushed to Matt’s body and dropped to his knees. His hands trembled as he reached out. His breath uneven.

His face twisted. Not in rage. In something worse. Grief. That broke the spell. The others followed, stumbling forward in a daze.

Richard swallowed hard and quickly climbed down from the tower. NO. He had been caught away in the levels and notifications and neglected an essential part of his plan. He HAD to loot the body. Destroy the evidence.

They would be skeptical. That’s fine. He could just say it was for the best. No one should see Matt this way. He needed to get to Matt’s body first.

He didn’t.

By the time he reached them, Jared had already pulled off his shirt and covered the remains of Matt’s skull.

Damn it. Ok you're still fine. Just make yourself look useful. Play the part.

Elise was kneeling next to Matt, soft sobs shaking her body as she tried to use magic to heal Matt’s broken skull. It was no use.

People circled around. Many looking away–covering their faces.

Richard pulse was beating in his ears. Stay calm–It’s fine. So you weren’t able to loot Matt. You can still salvage this. He began quickly rehearsing his excuses in his mind.

Time was running out. Jared kneeled over the body. His shock was beginning to fade, clarity returning. He had moved on from just grieving. He was inspecting.

Richard’s stomach clenched.

The arrow. Jareds hand closed around the shaft. It’s ok. Stay calm. Richard began to sweat. He moved to step forward, but Jared was already rising. His face was pale. His grip tight.

And in his hands—an arrow.

“Richard…” Jared’s voice was controlled. “…Can you explain this to me?”

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Richard forced himself to breathe. He looked at the arrow, and coughed, clearing his throat. “Ugh, yeah well it looks like an arrow. What's with the look?”

Jared’s fingers curled around the shaft. His knuckles went white.

“I found this in Matt’s stomach.”

Richard played at confusion. “What do you mean? That’s impossible.”

Jared didn’t blink. Didn’t move. Just held the arrow between them.

“I thought it was so strange….” He let the words hang. “Why he didn’t even react when that raider’s club hit him,” he said quietly. Then looking back at Richard. “It’s because he was already dead… wasn’t he?”

The air thickened. Matt’s widow staggered forward.

Her eyes flicked to Jared. To the arrow. To Richard. She shook her head.

“No.”

Her voice was small. Fragile. Like saying it out loud might make it true.

Jared didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. And then—her knees buckled.

The sob tore from her throat, raw and broken.

Richard stiffened. This is getting out of control. Jared turned back to him. No anger. No shouting. Just quiet devastation.

“…Why?” His voice cracked. “Why did you do this?”

Richard took a slow step back. “Come on now,” he said lightly, “what are you even accusing me of?”

Jared exhaled through his nose. Like a man trying not to break. Shaking his head. “What were you thinking?”

To the side, Alex’s breathing hitched. Realization dawning. Tears streaked his dirt-covered face. With shaking hands he picked up his axe.

“You killed Matt?” His voice was barely a whisper. A plea.

Richard’s heart was in his throat. He was struggling to breath.The entire camp was watching now. Expressions shifting. Hardening.

He was losing them. Fast. Richard laughed. It was too forced.

“You’re joking, right?” His voice edged on hysteria. “This is what you’re all going with? That I killed Matt?”

Silence. His laugh faded. Richard saw the writing on the wall.

“You’d all be dead without me.” His voice dropped, bitter. “Not like any of you noticed.”

Still—no one spoke.

Richard inhaled sharply. “I don’t have to explain myself to any of you.”

Alex moved. Jared caught his arm. His gaze bearing into Richard.

“Richard. You are no longer welcome here.” The words landed like stone. “Leave. Now.”

Richard clenched his jaw. Every muscle in his body screamed to fight back. But when he scanned the camp, no one stepped forward for him.

Not one.

“You are all going to die without me. You know that right?”

No one so much as breathed. A slow, bitter smirk curled his lips. Fine.

He spat at Jared’s feet. One last act of defiance. Then he turned—And vanished into the trees.

-

THE END OF RICHARD

I barely have time to turn before Richard attacks in a frenzy. Steel flashes in the firelight—two daggers, aimed straight for my throat.

CLANG.

They slam against my Barrier. Sparks fly. His momentum shudders to a stop, his blades skidding harmlessly off the invisible shield.

Richard stumbles back, panting. His eyes are wide, wild, mouth frothing. Through his fevered sweat… are those tears?

I sigh. What a waste. “You would’ve killed me just for my experience points?”

Without looking, I glance toward Mischief. “Okay. This one you can have.”

Richard barely has time to process my words before Mischief moves.

A blur of fur and muscle. A snarl, deep and guttural.

Then—impact.

He thrashes, daggers flashing, slashing wildly at the beast tearing into him. Claws rip through fabric, through flesh. His legs drag across the dirt, his heels digging trenches as Mischief hauls him into the dark.

I force myself to watch him go. Desperate. But then in a brief moment –barely visible the terror– a glimmer of acceptance. He stops thrashing. A breath shudders from his lips. Then, his fingers loosen their grip on the blades.

He closes his eyes.

Then—CRUNCH. Silence.

The fire crackles. The night air settles. A man just died, and I was the one who let it happen.

I exhale, rubbing the bridge of my nose. Then I grab a fistful of my hair and pull.

Anger boils beneath my skin. Not at myself, or even at my choice. At Richard.

I had given him so many chances. I had tried—over and over—to let him walk away. But he wouldn’t stop. He never stopped. And in the end? He would’ve sacrificed me just to fuel his own growth.

I exhale hard, shaking my head. I want to believe it was his fault. That I had no choice.

But deep down? I knew better.

The cold truth settles in. I made a choice. It wasn't because of him. No matter how bad I wanted it be.

Richard was no threat. I could have stopped him without killing him. That was obvious.

But I still let Mischief take him. The realization doesn’t make me flinch. Instead, the weight in my chest lightens—just a little.

My father’s voice echoes in my mind.

"Did you do what you thought was right?"

I hear it clearly. The same question he had asked me a hundred times growing up.

And this time?

I let out a slow, uneven breath. I think it was right. And in the same situation? I’d do it again. I glance at the treeline. Mischief isn’t back yet.

I don’t think he will be for a while. Fine by me. I wanted to be alone.