Out of the six servants, only one was wearing a black uniform, and he was closely supervising the movements of the four women and Timothy. Two of the servants were solely responsible for pouring and maintaining a steady supply of cool water in the respective glasses. Two others went around the table and filled their plates with a selection of meats, nuts, and fruits from the spread before serving them.

“Timmy, how about some goose?” the Baron asked.

Timothy went over to Bonatelli, who instead of handing him a knife, produced a cleaver out of his inventory. Stick’s heart started pumping. The servant awkwardly cut the legs off of the goose.

image [https://i.imgur.com/GdWEcBo.jpeg]

“Brings back memories, doesn’t it?” Bonatelli said without losing sight of Timothy trying not to break the plate with the butcher’s instrument.

Stick’s stomach turned as he saw the cut goose leg fall on the blood-ridden floor of the Slaughterhouse.

"I must say it is most impressive how you’ve held up so far."

Stick’s eyes remained fixated on the goose leg bathing in meat juices on the plate he’d been served.

Bonatelli turned to Stick. “Come on, dig in! Buon appetito!”

Stick’s hand was shaking when he tried to grab the fork. The Baron would not take his eyes off him until he had taken the first bite.

“Delicious, isn’t it?” Bonatelli asked slyly.

Stick nodded. It really was delicious, but whatever hunger or appetite he had left, left him.

The Baron clapped once. “Wonderful.”

The same couldn’t be said about the way the Baron ate. He’d stuff his face with a little bit of everything he had on his plate, going for the maximum amount of different flavors in his mouth as he possibly could, while juices and saliva dripped on the expensive linen placed over his thighs. Bonatelli gobbled his food with no regard for manners, smacking his lips and gulping water whenever he had trouble swallowing everything. That boy is not a lord.

When the Baron was finished, one servant took the dirty plate away, while another prepared the next round. Bonatelli used that break to start a conversation.

“Now that you are nearly a fully-fledged Player, Stick,” Bonatelli began, “I have a proposition for you.”

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“What is it?” Stick asked, nearly forgetting to add, “Milord?”

“I want you to join Carnifex under my command.”

"Join you?" Stick echoed, his voice uncertain.

“Yes,” Bonatelli said. “You’d skip right past the Citizen, Vassal, and Soldier rank. As an Officer of mine, you’ll be part of the Middle Echelon of the guild.”

“I don’t understand,” Stick admitted. What do you want from me?

The Baron smiled. "I’m offering you Becket’s position. Horse, armor, the works. Of course, we’ll make sure to raise you to the appropriate LVL. But you won’t be just a mere Soldier like him. You’ll be an Officer of the guild right below the Gentry, people like me. You, Sir Stick Arslan, will have authority over others. Take Reacher or Gallagher as an example. You could treat them however you see fit.”

Stick’s heart sank. Authority over Reacher?

“Your duties would remain the same as Becket’s.” Bonatelli took a sip from his glass. “The only difference being that the daily quota will rise to eight gems per miner."

He gulped. Eight gems was an impossible target for many of the miners. But the offer was tempting. Power, comfort, security. He could finally escape the endless suffering. And if as an Officer his word was over Reacher’s, he could improve the situation of the miners. Where’s the catch?

“Why me?”

“It’s an easy choice.” Bonatelli stuffed his face with the second serving before continuing. ”You’ve spent the most time directly working with the NPCs here. You understand them better than anyone else. You know them, they know you. If anyone can keep them obedient, then that would be you.”

“What will happen to Becket?” Stick asked, fearing the worst.

“What a nice guy you are, always thinking about the others,” the Baron’s lips smacked. “Don’t worry about Becket. He’ll move on to bigger duties and return once he’s finished. I’m sure he will. If he survives.”

What does that mean?

Bonatelli refused to elaborate further and instead waited for Stick to speak.

"If I accept," Stick said slowly, "I’ll be able to treat the others how I see fit? And Reacher has to follow my lead?"

The Baron nodded. "Yes. You’ll have that power. But remember, the quota must be met."

Stick felt a surge of conflicting emotions. Joining the Players would definitely make him a traitor in the eyes of the other miners, but it would also give him the leverage to protect them, to make their lives a little less hellish. He needed to consider all angles. Should I still go through with my plan? The next holiday is coming up, and I don’t know when we’ll have the chance to escape again. Or is this the best way to bridge the time until Cassandra returns? To buy time and make our lives more comfortable until the next birthday of the twins?

"I need some time," Stick finally said. "To think it over."

The Baron’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he nodded. "Very well. But don’t take too long. This opportunity won’t last forever.”

With one swift motion, the Baron produced a letter with an intricate seal on it. Upon adding it to his [Inventory], Stick revealed it to be a [Letter of Initiation].

“I want an answer by the end of the week,” Bonatelli said. “Goodbye."

With that, the Baron turned his focus completely on the meal in front of him. The servant in black asked Stick to leave, although it was less of a request and more of an order. A quick look to the disinterested Baron confirmed that he wasn’t welcome anymore. He left the huge hall with the lavishly laid table having eaten only one bite.