I eyed Cannara. “Fancy explaining yourself?”

“Not particularly, no.”

In a flash, Hana was behind her, sword drawn. “Her crimes are legion—sabotage, burglary, murder.”

Cannara scoffed. “Sabotage? All I did was lame a few little horses, it’s not my fault that idiot Lord didn’t have a backup plan.”

My eyes shot wide. “You did what to innocent horses?”

“You’re missing the point, sire,” said Hana. “This woman you’ve allowed into your palace is no more than a common cutthroat, and—”

Flushing, Cannara growled, spinning and ducking so she faced Hana. “Did you just call me common?”

I rubbed my brow. This was only going one place…

With a sidestep, Cannara whipped a dagger from her cloak and slung it at Hana. The Arbiter weaved aside, and when I blinked, she’d closed the distance. She thrusted. Her sword met thin air as Cannara disappeared. Sweating, she reappeared behind Hana, stabbing at her neck.

What the actual fuck?!

Twisting, Hana avoided it and lunged. Cannara dodged, but the swordswoman evidently saw it coming. Mid-stab, she switched her weight. She slashed across Cannara with a grunt.

To her credit, her surprise only appeared to last a moment. She escaped beheading by a hair’s breadth, contorting beneath the blade like something out of The Matrix. Panting, Hana glanced at me.

“Sire,” she said, “she is a killer. I do not know your reasons, but I do know that bringing her here is unbelievably dangerous. I beg of you, allow me to summon the Guard to deal with this…” — she wrinkled her nose — “undesirable.”

I sucked my teeth, my jaw clenching as heat spread up my arms. I wanted to stop them, but how could I get in the middle of that clash of monsters? It was Godzilla vs Mothra, and I had a front-row seat.

“You bitch!” Cannara struck forth, whipping out more knives than any human could possibly carry.

Maybe she was a killer, and a criminal, but I knew first-hand that law and morality weren’t always the same thing, especially in what seemed to be a feudal monarchy. I’d been gung-ho about killing monsters when I’d arrived. The thought still excited me.

How could I judge her if she’d done the same? As seemed to be becoming normal, I lacked information.

The pair clashed in the centre of the room, emitting a shockwave that almost took me from my feet. I trembled.

“Stop!” I yelled. To my surprise, they both halted in place, turning to me with wide eyes. Well. I cleared my throat, searching for something to say—I probably should have expected this. I was King now. I had that kind of clout.

“Cannara,” I said, “is it true?”

Clicking her tongue, she looked away. “What does it matter? You’ve already made your judgement, haven’t you? Sire.”

“No,” I said, exhaling slowly. “But you heard what I said before, right? If you’re evil, then I have to weed you out.”

She made a noise halfway between a laugh and a huff. “Evil? Tell me, do you really believe life is so simple?”

I mean, she had a point. To some, nuance was a nuisance, but every world turned on it.

“I—”

“When a child spends her life being trained to kill,” said Cannara, quivering, “is it any surprise when she does? If a slave follows her master’s orders, terrified of being beaten or starved, would you blame the slave, or the master who moulded her?”

Though I tried to speak, the words refused to form. What was I supposed to say?

She continued, “And should that slave escape, determined to atone for her sins, would you blame her for killing those beyond redemption? For taking from those who do nothing but take?”

I could only gape. Though her words were laced in hypotheticals, it was easy to tell.

This was her story.

It didn’t seem like a lie—her red cheeks, hunched shoulders, and clenched jaw told me all I needed to know. Then again, someone of her Class was probably well-versed in the art of deception.

I had to make a decision.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

I chose to believe her.

“Cannara,” I said, “who is Aleister?”

Gulping, she pressed her lips together and said nothing.

“It can’t be,” said Hana, her arms slackening. “Duke Ribera?”

Cannara’s shudder said it all.

“Who’s he when he’s at home?” I said.

“The… same person he is elsewhere?” said Hana.

I slapped my forehead. “And who’s that?”

“Ruler of the Ribera duchy,” said Hana, “the area from which this kingdom receives most of its crops. He has claimed poor harvest for the past several years, but—”

“You think he’s lying.”

“The previous king was rather… lax in his policing of the Dukes. It is one of the reasons for our current situation.”

I could imagine the fat bastard—whose visage I only knew from his gaudy-ass statue outside—lounging on the throne, eating grapes while his kingdom went to the dogs. A fire took root in my belly.

“He’s definitely lying,” said Cannara. “All he ever does is lie.”

Wonderful. So as well as the rest of the laundry list of issues I had to deal with, there was a backstabbing Duke actively starving out my new citizens. My head hurt.

“My offer’s still on the table,” I said, regarding Cannara. At this point, I’d take any help I could get.

Hana baulked. “Sire—”

“Look,” I said, “we don’t really know each other. Honestly, you scare the shit out of me.” With a deep breath, I caught her gaze. “But I never really had a life. No family, no real friends, just a meaningless existence where nothing ever changed. I begged the universe for something. Anything. And you know what? I got it.

“I was about to go splat on the pavement when you two summoned me—when you gave me a second chance to live, all so I could give this kingdom its own second chance.” I nodded to Cannara. “Don’t you think she deserves the same?”

Sheathing her weapon, Hana did the impossible. She smiled at me. An actual smile, rather than a muscle twitch.

“I believe,” she said, “that we made the correct decision.”

“Then… I can stay?” Cannara holstered her own weapons, looking at me expectantly. From paranoid and confrontational to this, I didn’t quite get the progression. What else was she hiding behind that mask?

I had no idea the depth of her crimes, hell, I didn’t even know if she was a decent person. Most weren’t. But she’d communicated something that went far beyond both law and morality.

She wanted atonement? I’d give it to her.

“You can stay,” I said.

Ding!

Subordinate recruited!

Updating quest progress: Recruit 3 Specialists! (1/3)

+1 MST

+10 XP

Level up!

Congratulations! You have reached level 2!

+5 SP

New skill obtained: [Persuasive]!

[Persuasive] - (Passive) You understand innately how to best convince someone that they should follow you.

Jackpot! A level up, quest progress, and a new Skill to boot! Well, it didn’t seem like it would do much, but the SP would be a godsend. I’d have to check my available Skills later.

I scanned the room again, noting the absence of one of my summoners. “Where’s Shia?”

“Looking for you, sire,” said Hana.

My mouth made an ‘o’. “Well… shouldn’t we bring her back?”

“She will return on her own, though likely not without some form of misadventure first.”

“That doesn’t sound encouraging.”

“Shia can look after herself, sire.”

“If you say so.” Idly, I remembered something important. “And stop calling me that—my name’s Oliver.”

“Of course, sire.” She smirked, and Cannara chuckled.

Red-faced, I glared at her. Maybe she wasn’t as robotic as I’d first assumed.

***

A mountain.

That was the only way to describe the stacks of paper towering over me. These covered a mahogany desk the size of a single bed, which was the centrepiece of a large study with decorations similar to the throne room. The walls were painted red, and several heavy chairs were strewn about the desk.

I sat down, cradling my face. Obviously, paperwork was a hugely important part of maintaining a smooth running. But how had King Gorilla managed to ignore this volume? Fuck the kingdom, and fuck the people—I wanted out. Give me any—and I mean any—other scenario to deal with.

Earth integrated into a blood-soaked Multiverse? Fine. Forced to play some sick Squid Game for the amusement of a bunch of rich elites? I could deal with it.

But this was too far.

The stacks ran through everything. Every source of income, every outgoing, every requisition and every status report. An entire forest’s worth of trees must have died to provide me with this hell.

Sighing, I picked one up to begin. Hana, who’d led me there, started creeping out.

“Where do you think you’re going?” I added enough gravel to my tone to pave a driveway, giving her a hard stare.

She stopped, like a deer in headlights. “I have duties to attend to, so—”

“Your duty is right here.” Pulling out a chair, I gathered another quill and set it in front of her place. Yes, feather quills. There’s no such thing as ballpoint pens in fantasy land.

With a sigh, she joined me. We worked through the night, each sheet, each word merging into the next to create a flowing river of jargon and complaints that eventually became meaningless. Time soon followed. I don’t know when I fell asleep, but I awoke in the morning to a crash!

In the open doorway, Shia lay on her front, one of the chairs upturned next to her.

Groggy, I regarded her and said, “What is it?”

“You’re here,” she said, standing and favouring her right leg. “I accentuated everywhere looking for you!”

Was someone going to tell her she was using that word wrong? Because it wasn’t going to be me.

“He returned not long after leaving,” said Hana, her head welded to the desk.

She groaned. “Are you serious? All I had to do was wait for you to matriculate back here?”

“Enough of the word salad,” I said. “What do you have against my chairs?”

“Right!” she said, her voice quaking. “You see, my fa—that is, Duke Kalvin has arrived in the capital. He desires an audience.”