I was scared.

That's why I said it. I genuinely thought that the man in front of me was going to be murdered by Siridan. No one was ever under the illusion that he wasn't a violent guy. He prided himself on it, in fact.

Resolving things with violence was his self-proclaimed specialty, and he made a living out of it. Even before he began keeping his sword on his hip at all times, his first solution to almost any disagreement with another person boiled down to intimidating them or slamming his fist into their jaw.

Suffice it to say, not many strangers ever expressed negative thoughts about him to his face.

"You're kiddin' me, woman." The half-giant turned to face me – his brows furrowed with anger. "This guy? Kill me? Poor sod can't even admit to murderin' the fools who trusted him. D'you really think he can—"

S l i c e.

With a clean swing, the hand that tightly clutched Siridan's shirt got cut off as if made of butter and thumped against the floor. I reflexively averted my gaze as a shudder went through my body.

No. No, no, no!

Another person was going to be murdered right in front of me. I was going to die. I was powerless to stop it. I never wanted to experience anything like this in this life. I didn't want to see anything – to believe this was happening!

The familiar, angry stride of the white-haired swordsman loudly echoed in my ears, muffled only by my panicked heartbeat and the unnatural volume of my breaths.

"I've had enough," Siridan began speaking in a hushed, infuriated huff, "of all of you…"

He was close. The pungent smell of alcohol and a hint of masculine sweat made that apparent. I didn't dare open my eyes, but as his voice came from above, I could only assume he hunched over me as he spoke.

I heard his blade stab the stone-made floor beside me and shrunk into myself in a vain effort to become invisible to him again. I never used to react with fear to tense or life-threatening situations. Not usually. He was the reason this changed.

"If I have to hear one more person pretend I'm a murderer, I think I'll snap."

Clack, clack, clack.

He tapped his curved sword against the ground, and its clinking and rattling filled the noiseless inn with its maddened rhythm. From where I had curled up into a ball, and likely to the paralyzed, silent few patrons still present, it sounded like he lost his cool already.

"How about I save myself and everyone else the trouble of making up shit by killing the two of you? I might even go for a hundred or a thousand more so no one will have any doubts. What do you think, girlie?"

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I quietly gulped. Ever since I reincarnated, I never once heard Siridan speak my name. The person he was looking at was an insignificant barmaid. I was a nameless nobody to him. Someone he couldn't care less about. He wouldn't have needed to think twice before killing me.

It wasn't the first time I'd seen him react violently to being called a killer, but it was never like this. He'd thrown a few retaliatory punches at others who accused him, but his voice was always deadpan and dismissive.

This time was different. The anger and exhaustion in Siridan's tone was palpable. He was driven off the edge by his emotions, and the scariest part was that in the brief moment of his anger that I got to witness before shutting my eyes, he didn't seem drunk at all anymore.

I couldn't move. My instincts begged me to get up and run. The adrenaline and dread made my mind race as countless thoughts screamed into the silence.

Wait. Silence? No, that doesn't make sense!

The rational part of my mind prodded at me. Something was not as it seemed. The man Siridian was arguing with – the man whose arm was severed – was not screaming in agony or making any noise at all.

Urged by my confusion and curiosity, I warily opened my eyes and looked up at the swordsman that loomed over me, his expression enraged, just in time to see him pull back his sword and seriously contemplate following through his words with one impulsive, vengeful swing.

My eyes went wide – but not because I thought I was going to get killed. No, the blade in Siridan's hand had stopped. It was because of the sudden, arcane hum that vibrated into life behind him and the sight of the half-giant reattaching his own hand to the wax-like, amputated wrist.

"Siridan Lathann. The investigation of our suspect examination construct has concluded that your violent behavior and the threats you have directed against it and Alysia Rookthin are sufficient evidence of your guilt."

He – no, it – spoke in a loud, clear voice void of its previous inflections, local accent, and brutish, cocky mannerisms; a magically conjured 'Sect.' An artificial being designed to mimic the living and keep watch on the population from within.

"All proof points to you being responsible for the deaths of Paa'il Everdaun and Jin Duren. You will face punishment."

Upon hearing those words, Siridan stirred from his surprise and turned to face the construct with a careful yet sharp turn. His eyes were as wide as my own, though they looked even more furious than before. His grip around his blade's handle tightened, and his slackened posture readjusted slightly.

He playfully shook his sword in an attempt to salvage the situation. "Oi, oi, is this thing serious? Did they make you out of earwax or something, big guy? I said I don't have anything to do wi—" He began offering his retort, only to be interrupted by the continuation of the Sect's unfeeling announcement.

"As a former member of the Blade Guild and Grade Nine Adventurer, The Silverstring Council judges you as a sufficient threat to the nation of Almir-den. It will hereby escort you to your execution."