Rational Judgment.

The procession moved forward with the sound of heavy footsteps, carving the first tracks in the snow that had fallen the day before.

My position was in the middle of the procession. Thanks to the consideration of Galad, the man in charge, I’m not at the back or the front of the procession.

Of the ten mercenaries assembled, six, including Galad, were men he had brought with him. A small band of mercenaries, six in all. He’d introduced himself as a Moor, but I’d already forgotten that, as it didn’t seem like a story I’d take to heart.

“Priest Marnak.”

A man with bovine eyes and an innocent-looking face, but a bulk to match. The man, somewhere between a boy and a young man, was the youngest of the Gnomes’ mercenaries, the one Galad had assigned to me to run any errands for him.

I replied with a kindly smile.

“Yes.”

His name was Pierre, and he hailed from a village near Guise. He was the youngest member of your family, whom Galad, recognizing his natural prowess, persuaded to join your ranks at great expense.

How do I know this?

“You must have come from somewhere other than Guise, so can you tell me what the landscape is like there? The village I used to live in is just down the road from here, and I’m not sure how my mother and father are doing. Of course, thanks to Captain Galad’s generosity to my parents, they’ll be fine this winter, but I’m still a little worried about them.”

Pierre had a lot to say. He seemed to use my questions as an excuse to talk to me, blabbering on and on about things I didn’t want to know.

Could it be that he had assigned me this fourier, not out of consideration for me, but to take his chatty mouth away from himself for a moment? I had been taken advantage of.

“You know what, priest?”

Now he wasn’t even asking me questions, he was telling me his story. He looked solemn, and the way he spoke to me in a whisper was a little funny, as it didn’t match his innocent face at all.

“What are you talking about?”

Pierre glanced at Galad, and then spoke softly.

“Actually, the rumor is that it’s not people or monsters that are taking the farmers on this road, but ghosts.”

In this world, a ghost had a slightly different meaning than a monster, a mass of negative energy. Well, it wasn’t all that different from the image of a ghost in our world.

“You mean ghosts?”

“Yes. Ghosts.”

I just smirked quietly.

“I’d be very troubled if the killer was a ghost.”

Pierre looked at me with a twinkle in his eye.

“Why?”

I could tell he was hoping for some sort of rationalization. Unfortunately, that’s not what I meant.

“Well, if it’s a ghost, we’ll probably botch it, and then we won’t get paid for our success, will we?”

Then I was in trouble. If there is no success fee, the compensation is a piece of silver. That’s the same amount of money I was paid yesterday after the receptionist berated me. This meant that my pocketbook was not going to get any better with ninety ninety nickels.

I’m in trouble.

After hearing my story, Pierre looked at me in mild disappointment, as if he was expecting something spectacular.

“Apparently, if the killer is a ghost, it’s going to be hard to get paid.”

“And you, Mr. Gallard, think the killer is a ghost, too?”

At my question, Fourier paused, his massive frame scanning the area before he whispered in a low voice to me.

“Actually, I don’t think Captain Gallard thinks he’s going to catch the culprit either, and from what I overheard him talking to the others before he went to bed last night, I got the distinct impression that he just took the job because he didn’t have anything better to do, and we’re not even sure there’s anyone out there who’s really hurting passersby in the first place.”

So my pocketbook isn’t getting any better after all. I cringed a little. Whether or not Pierre realized what I was thinking, he just kept talking.

This is like walking with the radio on.

“Captain Galad’s always whining that the lack of work these days is because the great Lord Tredon is ruling Guise so well that there’s no problem, and because of that, our mercenaries have been out working for pay at the workhouse more than the mercenary guilds this month.”

A workhouse was an institution of the lord’s office, where lords could arrange for laborers to work for a modest fee. Similar to modern-day labor offices, they were originally a place for early-game hunting for obscure jobs.

After all, you’re supposed to be a gigolo, not a mercenary. For me, the mercenary side was much better. I’d be a mercenary, I’d be a god, I’d be a sister, I’d be a brother-in-law, I’d be a ditcher, I’d be a crayfisherman, and I’d get to pick up the bodies that inevitably come with killing.

“But isn’t that the kind of work that a naturally strong man like Pierre excels at?”

Pierre laughed awkwardly, as if he didn’t quite fit in.

“You’re the only one here who doesn’t talk back to me, Priest Marnak. I’m really comfortable with you speaking to me.”

“I’m comfortable with this.”

As long as the other person wasn’t ignoring me, being friendly was a pretty useful tool. Having a good public image was more advantageous in many ways than you might think. Especially when it came to finding the culprit on the bad side.

“I don’t have anything to say, unless you want me to.”

“Pierre!”

“I think I’ll have to go for a while, but I’ll be right back!”

Pierre, who was about to continue his tale of Moorah, heard Galad’s voice calling to him in the distance, and he bowed his head to me, then turned across the snowy road to Galad, who was in the lead.

Once he was gone, I could hear only my own slow breathing and the pounding of my heart.

“Murder!

“Mother, what do you keep telling me to kill them all for? If they are all dead, it will be to my detriment. I’ll have nothing to tell you when I get back to Guise, will I? Thirty silver pieces. No, I’ve received one up front, so the reward is twenty-nine silver pieces. Your son is in dire need of twenty-nine silver pieces. He needs it to keep his back warm in the dead of winter.”

“Murder—.

With a slight hitch in her voice, the Mother of Corruption relented and stepped aside. Our Mother of Corruption did not have the miraculous ability to produce coins.

I patted the hand in my arms.

“Perhaps I was a bit harsh,” I said, “and poverty has eaten away at my bright mind a bit. I hope you don’t feel too badly about what your clueless son said. In fact, I don’t mind being a little cold; my back will warm itself up when spring comes.”

“Murder!

The Mother of Corruption was a quick to anger.

It was beginning to get a little dark. In the distance, she could see Galad urging the group on, and it seemed that they still had some distance to go to their pre-planned campsite.

When Pierre returned from his trip to Galad, he was silent, his jaw clenched tight. I smirked and turned to Pierre.

“I assume you heard something?”

He glanced over at me and stammered.

“I heard the captain say something about not bothering the priest too much, and how much it would bother him if I stuck to his side from morning till nightfall.”

It was certainly a little annoying, but it was better to have a chattering radio than not.

“I’m really fine. Don’t worry.”

Pierre’s face brightened. It reminded me of a bear cub smiling.

“Really, priest?”

“Yes.”

A furtive nod. A tiny sound that cut through the air. Something caught my sensitive senses.

I reflexively shoved the puir, knocking it over.

Poof.

Two arrows pierced my stomach and shoulder. The killer of the passerby wasn’t a ghost. It was a man.

A bandit.

“What, priest?! What, are you okay? Woe, arrows!!!”

I calmly surveyed the situation. Galad, who had been walking in front of me, was already lying on the ground. With one arrow in his head.

Of the ten of us, there were less than five who hadn’t been hit by a single arrow.

Frighteningly sharp aim. Too methodical and sharp to be the work of a bandit.

“Kill!

The Mother of Corruption told me, meaning that I should fall to the ground and play dead as I took the arrows.

It was certainly the rational thing to do. Now that I wasn’t even sure how many enemies there were, it made sense to wait until they showed themselves before doing anything.

I glanced behind me. Pierre was shaking uncontrollably. Apparently, this was his first real fight.

If I pretended to be dead here, it would surely kill everyone but me.

“Murder!

“I know. I know what’s in it for me, Mother.”

This is a game. They’re just data-driven NPCs who are about to die, and I’m the player.

“But you know what, Mother?”

With two arrows in my body, I stomped away.

I grabbed my main sword from the waistband of the nearest corpse I’d previewed and jumped back out, shouting.

“This is what I do!”

He swung his sword. Blood spurted out. The head of a dark-robed, cloaked bandit fell to the ground.

It wasn’t just one enemy. I scanned my surroundings with eyes that pierced the darkness and sprinted toward the next foe.

Yes, this was how I played the game.

Following my heart and protecting what I wanted to protect.

Because games are supposed to be about doing what you want to do.

***

Belkir was a deserter from the Rangers. Unable to adapt to the rigid discipline of ranger life, he deserted.

He narrowly escaped his pursuers and hid in a mountain village. There, Belkir trained a few like-minded ruffians to form a band of rogues.

With a ranger’s knowledge, banditry is a natural disaster that no peasant can avoid.

Belkir methodically raided only the right groups of peasants and took their riches. A short and bold banditry would have gotten his head blown off.

But the raids went on long enough, and eventually the lord’s mercenaries began to hunt him down.

After one last big party, it was time to move on. Belkir chose the lord’s mercenaries for his last kill before leaving.

It was far more profitable to sell their armed goods than to rob the peasants.

If he could get a head start and surprise them, his seven men would not be defeated by a mere ten mercenaries, or so he reasoned.

Everything was going according to plan. As the sun slowly dipped into hiding, the mercenaries moved in a long, tense line.

He signaled his men to fire, ready to rip the throats out of their prey.

The ambush was a great success. Five of the ten men were hit by arrows. The presumed leader was killed by his own arrow, and the mercenaries still hadn’t figured out their location.

The problem came in the form of a priest and a beast.

The mad priest had been waiting with arrows in his stomach and shoulders, and as if he hadn’t been waiting, he pulled his sword from the corpse and lunged at one of his hiding men, decapitating him with a single blow.

Belkir cursed under his breath at the berserker’s behavior.

“Crazy!”