The golden light of the "Purification" had ceased to be a glow, rather it pressed down on the rusted corrugated roofs of the camp. Outside the cistern, the silence was absolute—the heavy, breathless pause before a landslide.

  Elara knelt by a weapon crate. Her movements were methodical, terrifyingly calm, the precision of a woman who had already accepted her own obituary.

  Shick-shick-shick. She whetted her short sword with a rhythmic, steady hand. She didn’t look up as Kai approached. Her leather straps were pulled so tight they bit into her skin, a desperate attempt to hold her world together.

  "They won’t stop at you, Vane," she said, her voice a low, dangerous vibration—the sound of a bell just before it cracks. "Arthur’s 'Purification' is a broad brush. He’ll burn the district to ensure the 'glitch' is erased. We go out the front. We make them pay for every inch of mud."

  Kai felt a cold sweat prickling his neck. His heart—Vane’s heart—was hammering a frantic, uneven rhythm against his ribs. She’s going to get everyone killed, he thought. And she’s going to do it with a 'Heroic Vow' on her lips and blood in her hair.

  He turned and saw Mia, the little girl from the storage tent, watching him with wide, watery eyes.

  "Mia," Kai hissed, crouching low. "Did anyone here use a horn? A device to make a small voice sound like a god’s?"

  The girl blinked, lost in the shadow of his panic. "The Aether-Horn? It’s in the dry-goods box. But Baron, are you-"

  "Go get it. Now. I need you to help me change the channel."

  A minute later, Kai held the dented, brass-belled megaphone. Low-level resonance runes etched into the metal hummed against his palm.

  He tucked it under his arm and began the walk toward the camp’s main gate—a makeshift wall of junk, iron bars, and broken dreams.

  "Vane! Where are you going?" Elara barked, standing tall.

  Kai didn't look back. He just raised a hand, his fingers trembling—partly for the performance, partly from the sheer terror of facing a Level Infinity "Superman."

  "I’m going to do what I do best, Elara," Kai called back, his tone hitting that high, grating note of a man who had lost his mind or found a better one. "I’m going to negotiate my way into a better set of shoes."

  He stepped out of the gate and into the "No Man’s Land" of the Rust District’s main thoroughfare.

  The sight was enough to make his "Software" want to crash. Hundreds of Golden Sentinels stood in perfect formation on the ridges above, their spears glowing with a divine, indifferent light. In the center, Arthur sat atop his white charger. His cape was a cloud; his presence was a sun that had descended to Earth to burn the unworthy.

  But Kai had a weapon against a God: a memory that made him human.

  Kai raised both hands high. He made sure his knees knocked. He made sure the violet silk cravat was lopsided, ridiculous, a splash of vanity in a sea of mud.

  "Don't attack!" Kai shrieked, his voice cracking like dry parchment. "I’m coming out! I’m surrendering! Please, your light is very bright and I think I'm having a migraine!"

  He brought the Aether-Horn to his lips. The runes flared a sharp, electric blue.

  "Your Highness! Prince Arthur! Radiant Savior! It’s me! Baron Vane!"

  The sound blasted across the district, echoing off the canyon walls like a thunderclap. On the ridge, Arthur’s horse shifted. The Prince’s head tilted. The massive, golden "Legend Score" above his head—50,000—flickered. The audience was listening.

  "I’ve come to apologize!" Kai wailed into the horn, the sound distorting into a deafening roar. "I remember now! The Spring Gala! Three years ago!"

  A murmur rippled through the ranks of the Golden Sentinels. Many were younger sons of noble houses. They remembered the Gala. They remembered the most embarrassing night in the history of the court.

  "I didn't mean to step on your Ceremonial Cloak of the Dawn!" Kai shouted. "I know it took six virgins three years to weave! I’m so, so sorry I tripped and spilled that entire tureen of spicy seafood bisque down your back! I know the smell of shrimp followed you for weeks! It was a tragedy! A culinary massacre!"

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  In the camp behind him, Kai heard the rebels gasp. Then, he felt it. The sharp, hot spike of collective embarrassment and renewed, petty hatred.

  [ENERGY +15%]

  [CURRENT LEVEL: 86%]

  Kai dropped to his knees in the mud, groveling forward with a frantic, desperate energy. "Look at me, Oh great Prince! I’m a pathetic, bumbling mess! Surely a Great Warrior like you doesn't need to burn a whole city block just to squash a bug like me? Think of the optics! Think of the bisque!"

  On the ridge, Arthur’s face—usually a mask of divine, immovable calm—began to twitch.

  The "Righteous Cleanser" narrative was slipping into a farce. The civilians of Okelhaven, watching from their windows, weren't seeing a God purging a glitch; they were seeing a radiant Prince preparing to slaughter three thousand people because a man in a purple tie reminded him of a shrimp appetizer.

  Behind Kai, Elara stood at the gate, her fists shaking so hard her knuckles were white. "Why..." she whispered, her voice thick with a strange, frustrated rage. "Why does watching him grovel make me want to kill him more than the Prince does?"

  Arthur couldn't take it anymore. The "Joker" was dragging his holy moment into the dirt, staining his legend with the smell of seafood.

  "Silence, you foul-mouthed leech!" Arthur’s voice thundered, but the resonance was gone. It sounded... annoyed. It sounded human.

  The Prince leaped from his horse, his golden armor clanking as he hit the ground. He blurred—a streak of gold—and in the blink of an eye, he was standing ten feet from Kai. He drew a sword of pure, white light.

  The heat coming off it scorched Kai’s eyebrows.

  "Your cowardice offends the light itself, Vane," Arthur hissed, his eyes burning with a narcissistic fury. "You are a glitch. A stain. I will end you here and now, and the world will thank me for the silence."

  He raised the sword. Kai tensed every muscle, preparing to dump 100% of his storage into a desperate Physical Reinforcement. He knew he’d be a vegetable for six hours, but he had no choice.

  "BROTHER, WAIT."

  The voice was a cool breeze on a feverish forehead.

  From the sky, a massive snowy griffin descended, its wings kicking up a cloud of dust and mud.

  Perched on its back was a woman clad in flowing white robes, her hair a cascade of silver-gold. She held a staff topped with a crystal that hummed with a soft, diplomatic blue.

  Princess Seraphine. Arthur’s sister. The system’s moderator.

  "Arthur, stay your hand," she said, sliding off the griffin with practiced, icy elegance. She didn't look at the mud or the slums; she looked directly at her brother’s loss of composure. "The 'Purification' of a district containing three thousand registered taxpayers for the sake of one groveling Baron is a logistical and political nightmare. The Council of Lords is already questioning the cost of your 'Legend' adventures."

  "He is an anomaly, Seraphine!" Arthur roared, his sword trembling. "The ACA flagged him! He shouldn't be able to survive the hits he’s taken!"

  Seraphine turned her gaze to Kai. Her eyes were like glass—clear, cold, and seeing right through the performance. She didn't hate him, and she didn't pity him. She viewed him as a "Variable" that needed to be balanced.

  "The ACA manages the narrative, brother. I manage the kingdom," she said smoothly. She leaned in and whispered something into Arthur’s ear—a sequence of cold facts that snuffed out his fire.

  Arthur’s face went through a kaleidoscope of emotions—rage, frustration, and finally, a cold, calculating resolve. He lowered his sword. The white light flickered out.

  "Fine," Arthur spat, looking down at Kai with pure, unadulterated loathing. "Three days, Vane. The Summit of Lords convenes at the High Palace. You will be brought there in chains to answer for your family’s decades of illegal levies and 'clerical' crimes. We will dismantle the House of Vane legally, in front of the world."

  He stepped closer, his shadow swallowing Kai.

  "Run, and I end you. Fight, and I burn everyone you’ve touched. You have seventy-two hours to enjoy your 'silk,' Baron. Use them well."

  Arthur turned on his heel and strode back toward his army. Seraphine lingered for a moment, her gaze resting on Kai’s violet cravat.

  "A bold performance, Baron," she said softly. "But the stage is getting bigger. I suggest you find a better script before we reach the Palace. Numbers don't laugh."

  She mounted her griffin and took to the sky. The Golden Army followed, retreating like a receding tide.

  Kai stayed on his knees in the mud for a long time, the Aether-Horn still clutched in his hand. His energy was at 88%, his ribs were screaming, and he’d just avoided genocide by acting like a clown.

  "Seventy-two hours," Kai whispered, his voice finally returning to its normal Earth-tone.

  He looked back at the camp. The rebels were staring at him. There was no cheering. There was no "thank you." There was only a deep, unsettling silence. Elara stood at the gate, her sword sheathed, her eyes burning with a question he wasn't ready to answer. They didn't see a hero. They saw a man who had made them all feel small to keep them alive.

  [SYSTEM ALERT: THE SUMMIT OF LORDS INITIATED]

  [OBJECTIVE: SURVIVE THE LEGAL DELETION]

  Kai reached into his pouch and felt the carved wooden horse. "Well, Serene," he muttered. "I guess we’re going to the Palace. I wonder if they serve shrimp bisque."