“Follow me,” Sim ordered as he entered the hallway.

Raylas looked at Aymor who returned his glance with a nod. Both stood up and started out after gathering the few belongings they entered with. Raylas turned to see Terrok was still sweeping up the rubble from his carving spree.

“You coming?” he asked.

“A mason doesn’t leave their work half done,” the dwarf replied. “Cleanup is part of the job. Only short sighted races like human–” he coughed “Gnomes forget to do the courtesy of leaving the work area as clean as they left it.”

Raylas chucked at the dwarf’s slip, but nodded in agreement. One should never skirt their tasks to the best of their ability, unless it risked death. Then the task was far too pricey. An ironic belief for a mercenary, but he was the one to decide to bet his life for money so he’ll live with the decision.

Unfortunately, today was him being judged for politics. To fight a warrior on the field of battle was straight forward. They had a weapon and he had one. They fight and one leaves victorious, with the loser either having a critical injury or being killed. The cost might be his own health but in the end the tasks and costs were straightforward and easy to understand.

Politics, from his understanding, was the opposite. The way the Captain ranted to him about the times they had missions with some lesser noble or influential merchant it sounded like walking into a dark alley with purses tied to you for armor. You flaunt your wealth and status to do anything, yet the better you were at it the more likely someone would stick a dagger in your back.

So how was he going to get out of this trial? By flaunting his skills and status as best as he could. The strategy Aymor described seemed a little outlandish but he was the grandson of a knight. That old man earned his ranking into the noble class and had survived to see his grandson grow up. He, out of anyone, should know how to play this game of showmanship.

So the two of them left the cell wing of the jail and entered the main room of the barracks. Sitting in the lone table in the middle was an old woman who wore a dress made of furs along with a scarred man in a worn, but higher quality, leather armor and another man in expensive robes.

“My Lord,” the fancy man exclaimed, bowing politely to Aymor as they entered. “I did not realize that you were the once accused–”

A smack on the table from the old woman interrupted him. The fancy man jumped and quickly turned to her with a frown.

“Not the Knight’s welp,” the old woman waved her hand dismissing the glare. “The one we are here to judge is the one with white hair.”

“Younger than I expected from the rumors,” the scarred man pondered. “To live with a head full of white I expected someone dignified or aged like Sir Vodianus.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you all today,” Aymor spoke up. He strode in front of the table and spread his arms, then gestured to Raylas. “I am here to represent this man, Raylas Aasim of Eilire.”

“There is no need to risk your neck for a churchman,” the woman scoffed. “We know your grandfather has expressed interest in him, which is why we have held our hands until now, but we cannot forgive him for the dangers he has caused us now.”

“I have never heard of the town of Eilire,” the fancy man muttered as he glanced at Sim, who also shook his head.

“The beasts are invading again,” the scarred man growled ignoring the other man. “They have been under control until this man led the undead here. Now they have been displaced and are desperate for new hunting grounds.”

“He has even caused the closing of the road due to the dangers of the undead attacks,” the other man sighed dramatically. “We do understand he was not at fault for the initial ambush, tragic as they are, but he should not have led them to the town.”

“I had nothing to do with those attacks,” Raylas jumped in. He strode forward and slammed his hand on the desk making the fancy man flinch, but the other two narrowed their eyes. “They ambushed us in the night, we had nothing to do with–”

“He was attacked and most of his party was killed,” Aymore interrupted. “Are you so heartless to blame him for the unfortunate aspects of nature?”

“I am ill prepared to save the lives of our guards and craftsmen if they are attacked from his, or your, neglectful actions,” the old woman snapped. “What are you even doing here, brat? You are not needed in this trial.”

“I am here to represent–”

“Please, my Lord,” the fancy man sighed. “This is not the capital. The locals have a different way of doing things here.”

“The law is the same everywhere.”

“Which is why I am here to be sure justice is served properly.” He waved at Sim. “Please wait outside or at your home. We can handle things here.”

Aymor tried to protest but he quieted down when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Sim was giving him a sad, if smug, smile and guided him to the door.

“Guardsman Sim says you came just two days ago from a caravan that was harboring thieves,” the old lady started again. “Since you came back there have been nothing but troubles. The attacks as well as causing a ruckus in the local tavern and causing our blacksmith to go on a rampage.”

“Where is Terrok?” the fancy man asked.

“Cleaning up,” Raylas said.

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The three went quiet and the click of the door sounded. Raylas turned to see Sim finish losing the door leaving him alone in the room.

He forced himself to not sigh at the uncomfortable glares, the worst coming from the woman. The scarred man seemed to mainly examine him while the last man appeared to be disgusted with him like he was some sort of rabid animal. They came to ‘judge’ him alright, but a decision had already been made. This was a formality, probably to sate the Knight’s honor since they claimed he had an interest in him.

As expected, he was left behind to defend himself. Following the directions given by Aymor, he put on a smile and gestured inside the hall behind them.

“He found last night’s accommodations lack-luster, so he took the liberty to do some redecorating.”

The fancy man paled and started to rise, but a piercing glance of the woman froze him halfway out of his chair. He took a breath and slowly lowered himself back into his seat.

“Well, as the current representative of the town I’ll have to inspect the damage done today and charge it to the church later for repairs,” he sniffed.

Raylas looked between them and then glanced at the scarred man. He was watching him closely and their eyes locked. He gave Raylas a small smile and shrugged his shoulders.

Thinking to hunting intelligent monsters, these three fit a unique bill. The woman easily was the one in charge of the fancy man. The man was too timid and hesitant in his actions, seeming to put things off for later or denying responsibility to things while pushing them onto others. The woman was fiery and harsh, pushing for him to be blamed for everything. She was the one to set all of this up, if he had to guess. The scarred man is final, the brute force to accompany the mastermind to make sure things are done properly.

The verdict, as he expected, was preplanned.

“I don’t see why they would pay,” Raylas commented. It was time to take some actions to throw them off. Aymor said he should keep them on their toes, never fully confident in their seat. He had to go to the attack and throw off perceived perceptions.

“Are you not an inquisitor?” the scarred man asked.

“I have never associated with the church.” Raylas shrugged his shoulders and stood tall. Look confident, do not show any kind of anger or fear from them or they’ll latch onto it. Just like dealing with an aggressive animal. “The most I have done with them is twice donated due to customs. Once when I turned adult and once for my parent’s funerals.” He tried to sound sad at the end, but time heals most wounds and while he was sad for their deaths it wasn’t anything which he truly was broken over.

“Tragic,” the old woman deadpanned. Raylas mentally sighed knowing his poor acting failed to fool her. “I am sure whatever tragedy befell them you would never intentionally wish upon another, yet you pushed danger here instead of leading it away.”

“I would wish that, actually,” Raylas countered.

The table reacted differently. The scarred man lowered his hand to grab a weapon, which he luckily was not holding. The woman’s face seemed to darken as her gaze intensified at his comment. A yelp of fright seemed to pop out of the fancy man, though. Raylas looked at him and raised his eyebrow at the surprising reaction.

“You’d kill this village like your parents?” the woman growled. “Perhaps their deaths were not an accident?” she accused looking at the other men. Sim placed his hand on a short sword on his hip and started to draw it.

Raylas watched, unamused. He knew his acting was bad, but this was the worst reaction he ever got from an audience.

“They died of old age from a life of hard work,” Raylas finished after a brief pause. “I would wish such a fate to anyone who lives a good life.”

“Old age?” the scarred man scoffed. “By your looks they couldn’t be more than a few decades old at most.”

“A few more than a few,” Raylas agreed. “Both lived proudly into their sixties and passed the same year. The harvest was good that year, too, so they went knowing that my siblings and I were provided for.”

“How old are you, stranger,” the scarred man asked.

“We are getting off topic,” the woman snapped. “Your history is irrelevant to your actions here.”

“I am but a simple wandering warrior, Miss… what is your name?”

“How rude of us,” the fancy man exclaimed, jumping up and smiling at everyone at the table. Raylas smiled seeing the old woman glower at him for the subject change. “I have been granted the honor of being the town’s mayor, the man to my right is our Master Guardsman and hunter Leroch, and the wonderful miss to my left is our local healer–”

“Our names are also irrelevant,” the woman snapped.

“Manners are important, Mary,” Leroch smiled.

“We are here to convict this man of endangering our lives. Now let's get this on so we can get back to our lives.”

The fancy man sighed.

“I guess I am guilty no matter how much I defend my case?” Raylas asked. The looks from the three judges made him let out a defeated breath. Politics were stupid. “Then I’ll assume you will wish for compensation for the damage at the wall?” Raylas asked before the Mayor could speak.

He jumped at his words before quickly nodding.

“Indeed. You did lead the undead here, so you’ll either have to pay us at least a barrel height of copper for the damages or serve out the cost in–”

“Selling him into service won’t work,” Mary interrupted again. “But doing a dungeon dive would be more than acceptable.”

“Now Mary!” the Mayor cried out. “That is not only blasphemous, but a suicide mission.”

“He will either find something to pay for the damages or suffer the consequences of his actions.”

“Trying to survive from the undead in a walled town is a death sentence?” Raylas commented. “Not even in the Empire are the laws this strict.”

“I agree with the boy, Mary,” the Mayor said.

“This is the way of the town.” The hunter Leroch placed his hand on the Mayor’s shoulder and shook his head. “The ruins are our life blood. We gather our best trees from there due to the density of magic. The… ruins help feed the trees to make them healthy.”

“Ah, I see,” Raylas snickered. “These ‘ruins’ you mention, I have been there already.”

The three judges snapped shut and turned to him. The old woman was the first to speak.

“Explain.”

“A predator doesn’t like being hunted, so a predator might bite a threatening… hand,” Raylas sneered to her. “Remember, Mary, that there are many things in the ruins which shouldn’t be dealt with.”

“Sim,” the woman snapped. “Gag and bind him until we get to the ruins.”

“But the ruling…”

“Easy, Mayor,” Leroch said. “You knew this was going to be the conclusion already.”

“It isn’t justice,” he sighed.

A loud band erupted in the room as the door to the jail burst open with a mighty kick. A short dwarf waddled in with an armful of rubble and smiled at the gathering of people.

“Someone say justice?” he asked. “I’ve been itchin’ for a good fight to win my innocence. So who am I gonna whack with my hammer?”