The Baron halted his assault abruptly. Confusion flickered across his features, yet the sword lingered menacingly above the slave’s shoulder. After a tense pause, Baron Bonatelli sought clarification.
“What did you say?”
He must have hit a nerve with his answer. His heart thundered within his chest. With a quivering voice, he repeated what he had just said.
“So, everyone except the Blitz family is merely worthless to you?”
Bonatelli appeared slightly mollified.
“Explain yourself!” the Baron demanded.
Struggling to articulate his thoughts, he blurted out whatever sprang to mind.
“You’re calling us a bunch of ones and zeroes. Is that all we are to you? Everyone who is not noble is just a piece of trash?”
The Baron’s face lit up in amazement. Bonatelli cackled loudly. Taken aback, he fell silent.
“No, please, do continue,” the Baron urged, amusement clear in his tone.
He attempted to marshal his thoughts into a coherent argument.
“Would you really end a life over some missing gems? Are we of that little value to you? What’s wrong with you Adventurers?”
The Baron clapped his hands, laughing. He glanced at the other Adventurers, as though inviting them to share the joke’s humour, but no one laughed with him. His eyes fixated on Reacher.
“Well, Paladin? Isn’t that something? The slave willingly joined the NPCs. How’s that a PvP crime, then?” he asked incredulously. “A bit of RP never hurt nobody.”
NPCs? PvP? RP? What is he on about?
Reacher forced himself to suppress a grunt. Baron Bonatelli refocused on the slave sprawled on the ground.
“Alright then, Player,” he said with a wicked grin, “I’ll humor you.”
Bonatelli sheathed his sword and composed himself, adopting a more earnest demeanour.
“You’re right, slave, you’re all replaceable pieces of trash except the Blitz brothers. They’re the only ones with any speck of importance among you because their presence maintains order,” Baron Bonatelli explained menacingly, “and keeping them alive guarantees my peace of mind for the coming year.”
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He shifted uncomfortably from one knee to the other as they grew increasingly sore. The next year? What is he up to?
“Now,” the Baron declared, “I’ve been informed that your presence here has caused certain... disruptions I had to take care of.”
“I’m sorry, my Lord,” he said.
A sharp pain shot through his leg as the Baron kicked him in the knee with pointed boots, causing him to topple over in agony.
“I wasn’t done talking,” the Baron stated, pressing his face into the dirt with his boot.
Reacher grumbled and stamped, but Becket restrained him. The armoured knight with the battleaxe manoeuvred his horse between the Baron and the knights as a wordless warning.
“Firstly, you turned up at the mines without sufficient pickaxes. What did you plan to do, play cards?” the Baron asked sarcastically.
He struggled to respond: “I had no choice!”
“No need to worry, I’ve ensured there are enough slaves for the tools.” The Baron lifted his boot. “Secondly, instead of submitting your quota, you chose to steal from me and lie to my subordinates.”
He attempted to rise and explain: “I didn’t! They disappeared—,”
But the Baron’s boot pressed him back down.
“Your punishment will be 40 hours in the Slaughterhouse! If, that is, you survive the next part.”
What’s wrong with him? He’s not even listening!
“Finally, and most crucially: you target my prized possession, instigate rebellion, and damage my property by starting a brawl.”
Before he could respond, the Baron interrupted.
“If you desire it so much, then why not test it? You can settle your debt with a fight. It’ll be a trial by combat!”
What is he talking about?
The Baron snapped his fingers, and from the group of slaves, the largest one emerged, chains clinking in the silence. Bonatelli gestured to his right, and PP took a few steps before disappearing into the ground. A loud thud indicated PP had landed in a hidden pit.
“Get in there!” the Baron commanded.
The Baron permitted him to stand, but he hesitated to pass by. A sound behind confirmed his action.
It was the clopping of the armoured knight’s horse accompanied by a shout: “Move it!”
He approached the pit’s edge, glanced back, and saw Reacher tending to his horse while Becket watched with folded arms and disappointment. The Baron, nearly skipping with excitement, brandished a small flask.
“I almost forgot,” Bonatelli said, “drink this!”
He caught the flask and, despite misgivings, forced himself to swallow the warm, red liquid. Instantly, the pain in his knees vanished, and fatigue lifted. It’s that magic again!
“Don’t hold back,” the Baron said, “because it certainly won’t.”
He clenched his teeth each time the Baron referred to PP as ‘it’. Prized Possession, huh? What an asshole!
“What are you waiting for? It’s time for some late-night entertainment.” The Baron shooed him towards the pit.
The pit was deep enough for PP to be fully engulfed in it, about the size of the slave camp. It was mostly empty, save for a few trees that had fallen in. He jumped, landing on soft mud. He looked up as slaves positioned Bonatelli in his litter. The Baron settled in while knights encircled the pit on horseback. He turned to face the large man before him, so massive he blotted out the moon. I’m in deep shit!
image [https://c10.patreonusercontent.com/4/patreon-media/p/post/102381013/664341c75e8c4082810da8dde7602497/eyJ3Ijo4MjAsIndlYnAiOjB9/1.jpeg?token-time=1731628800&token-hash=yulsHBBONmqOTwWFgaM_B1MMujPQnHzxw2LgIFzBGJI%3D]
“Five minutes in the pit,” Bonatelli shouted, “a minute for each stolen gem. Now begin!”