Freiherr Houdin’s study was a room that displayed its owner’s wealth.

The brick-built chimney alone was worth more than an entire farmer hut, let alone the soft armchairs in front of it. Thick carpets, expensive landscape paintings, and expensive glassware completed the first impression. Every single piece of furniture or decoration was sheer unattainable for the majority of Gladford’s residents.

But the man sitting behind the wooden desk became the focus of my attention. A short wave with his right hand to silence me before he continued his work, writing something on the paper in front of him.

Given that his servant called me in, this had to be a planned act. A show of power to display the disparity between both parties. But this was a conversation between a lord and a deserter, so not much I could do about it. Hence I stayed silent and used the time to observe him.

Houdin’s hair must have been a dark brown at some point, but white and gray strands had taken over most of his head. Combined with the exorbitant amount of wrinkles, he looked like an overworked, mid-fifty office worker. There was no air of power, no suffocating pressure, not even the black aura you would see in games or series. Even the stronger recruits would appear more intimidating if you took away his fancy clothes.

But this made me even more wary of him.

All the lord-characters in the game were characters who commanded both authority and power. Or at least the few I saw during the beginner quests of the game. Everything else was just stories I heard from my friends. But even if he was only the lord of a run-down frontier city, there should be more to him. Either personal strength he hid or a powerful backing.

To his left stood Master Bernier, but his clothes had changed. His clothes should have been just as dirty as mine, but he presented himself in new clothes and with washed hair. Most likely the reason for my long wait and another display of power. Although given his strength, there was nothing I could do.

A bit to the side sat Rhoslyn, occupying an armchair with no signs of tension. She only watched the scene before her with a slight smile on her lips. She was wearing linen clothes instead of her armor, and even the sword on her hips was missing. Noticing my gaze, she flashed a wide smile, raising one of her eyebrows in a silent question, before dedicating herself to the baked sweets in front of her.

An uninvolved observer not here to fight.

So far, the best sign for me.

Only intimidation instead of battle-readiness.

Freiherr Houdin let out a sigh, apparently finished with his paperwork, took a sip of tea, before turning his attention to me.

“So you are that Vinetar… that… uhm,” he addressed me.

“Aki, my Freiherr,” Houdin interjected.

“Whatever.” He turned back towards me. “Then tell me, what do you think of this city?”

“What?” His question caught me unprepared.

“This city. My city. Gladford. What do you think of it? These two.” He gestured towards the others in the room. “They told me you aren’t from here. So I was curious to hear your impression.”

What’s with that question? Should I praise the city and try to flatter him? Or better be blunt and introduce myself as an honest man? Or use some nonsensical non-answer to divert the topic? There was no message box with different options, no talent to show the success rates, nothing. How would I know what was the best choice?

“Given the plans Master Bernier told me about, it appears to be a bit… underwhelming.” I opted for the truth. No chance I could keep up all the flattering without angering him. “There isn’t much growth, and it feels rather stale.”

“Stale?” A bitter laugh escaped his throat after hearing my words. “This city isn’t stale. It’s outright rotten. An old cadaver, flea-bitten, that people still hold on to so that others won’t get it. And it’s not even my own.”

“My Freiherr,” Master Bernier tried to intervene, but Houdin waved him off and continued.

“They sent me here to fulfill their plans, but all I have are more problems than gold coins.” He pointed towards the small mountain of paperwork on his desk. “This city is poor enough to rely on farmers and recruits to fight a war they can’t win. An utter disgrace. But I’m still taking my work here seriously. Therefore, I would like to ask you one more thing.”

“Imagine you have a small pantry in your little house. It isn’t much, but you can earn enough to feed your family.” He began before his gaze turned serious. “And now imagine a thief breaks into your home and steals all your food. You would want to see him dead, wouldn’t you? You would go to your lord and beg for justice, wouldn’t you?”

“My Freiherr? I don’t understand.” I tried to gauge his goal.

“What I’m talking about is this.” Freiherr Houdin explained. “Let’s imagine you are the lord of a small city and your military might rests on the shoulders of voluntary recruits. And let’s imagine there are some promising recruits that got promoted and became Vinetars. But now one of these exemplars ignores his orders and runs away. He deserts in the face of the enemy and now the mine, the only thing that feeds your city, is left vulnerable. Let’s just imagine his behavior became known and the recruits’ morale dropped even further.”

He paused for a moment, looking directly in my eyes.

“So what I’m asking is this. If there was such deserter, someone who endangers what you have built over the years, wouldn’t you want justice? Shouldn’t the deserter right his wrongs with his death? To save this city, our home, from further peril?”

He stopped, smiled, and waited for my answer.

“But I didn’t bring further peril.” I tried to divert the discussion towards my accomplishments. “I beat the leprechauns and saved the southern villages. Wouldn’t people call such a Vinetar a hero? A savior for those that had been forsaken?”

“An interesting view,” Freiherr Houdin answered, his face still an unmoving mask. “Some may say the end justifies the means. But even then, problems will remain. What if other recruits follow in your footsteps and throw their life away? What if those recruits stop following orders because they have their own views? No. You are part of my army and discipline stands above everything. We don’t need deserters.”

“But I’m not a deserter,” I disagreed. No other chance but to deny. “Instead, I followed orders when I made my way toward the southern villages.”

“Orders?” He appeared rather displeased. “Then why does nobody know about these orders?”

“But there is one.” I nodded towards Rhoslyn. “After I received the orders to guard the mine, I spoke with Commander Rhoslyn in search of further guidance. And she told me that the right thing to do would be to protect the southern villages and their residents.”

I’m sorry, I tried to communicate with my eyes, but this was the only way out I could think out. Admitting to be a deserter was suicide. Maybe even in the literal sense. But Rhoslyn just sat there unperturbed. In fact, she even appeared to be amused.

“Oh, I remember now.” She said with a surprised look. One so fake, even I could make it out. “I really gave that advice. Hmm, so it was all just a misunderstanding. My bad.”

She laughed. A clear laughter, like a mischievous child. One that further darkened Freiherr Houdin’s mood.

“And since when is a mere mercenary allowed to command my troops?”

“Your troops? Hmm. But aren’t they my men? ‘We will fight alongside each other as I command you on the battlefield!’ Wasn’t something like this in the speech you gave me? Or would you use me to tell lies?”

For the first time she appeared agitated, her words oozing with with sarcasm, but their following quarrel didn’t register with me. Instead, Freiherr Houdin’s words still echoed in my mind.

A mere mercenary? Rhoslyn? Wasn’t she the sword maiden that rose from the rank of peasant? Why would she be a mercenary instead? This shouldn’t be. This made no sense. And it also was dangerous.

Would her future also be different? And wouldn’t that mean that this world’s future would also change? Nothing like the lore I knew from the game? Or was this world vastly different from the game, and the few times my knowledge paid off were simple coincidences? Would the next enemy use a different move-set? Or would my next gamble fail and take my life?

I looked at the girl with silver-blonde hair in front of me.

So strong. So beautiful. But was she still the same maiden I knew from the game? What would happen if only their appearance matched? What if-

“Anyway. We’ll talk about this later.” Freiherr Houdin’s word interrupted my chaotic thoughts. “Then there would still be one more thing we need to talk about.”

He turned his attention back to me.

“How would a weak recruit be able to throw himself into a horde of enemies and survive?”

LostLibrarian

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