A Gamer's Guide To Beating The Tutorial

While I’m still reeling, Logghammer continues, each word he says being carefully written down by one of the many people in attendance. “To preface this simple trial, we are not following the laws of any specific country, or of any specific server. Each server has its own rules and corresponding penalties, some of which overlap, others that don’t. Since the Server Alliance has yet to fully detail a collective law book for the use of all challengers, this trial will act as part of the foundation upon which any future trials may stand. At the moment, it is pertinent to assume that any act the majority of the challengers and the population of Purgatory deem as criminal will be considered and therefore punished as such. The punishments will be decided with time, but for now, we may assume that any penalty, big and small, is on the table.” He looks over at the person closest to my left, sitting opposite Moleman. “Venedict, will you begin by presenting the prosecution’s case?”

Nodding, the prosecution stands up, adjusting the collar of his shirt as he does. “Thank you, John.” Going by how short his hair is, I can assume he hasn’t been here for more than a few attempts. Doesn’t look like much of a fighter, but he’s got a good glint in his eye. “During the past three weeks, I became a slough.”

I blink at him. Well, that’s an opening statement, I suppose.

He clears his throat. “Being in the Europe Server, there was no lack of people who had an opinion on PrissyKittyPrincess—whom I will henceforth refer to merely as Kitty—be they good or bad. Mainly bad. A few older members spoke of his brush with death upon the execution block. Others, who had their efforts rewarded with only scorn in Purgatory, spoke angrily of the man who had single-handedly ruined the reputation of all humans.

“But when it comes to proof, crimes and evidence, one needs only look at the brand permanently seared onto his chest.” A few eyes dart down to look at my bare chest. Ah, that’s embarrassing. Couldn’t you have a little more grace and tact about this? Not hearing my silent pleas, he continues. “I consulted a few well-known mages amongst humans, ones who had spent time in Purgatory. This brand, now widely known as the ‘Brand of Penance,’ is already in use in several places across the northern continent. Mainly on humans. From what I’ve heard, some die from the pain alone, others from the spiritual pain, choosing to die rather than keeping it. In the end, though, the pain of the brand is caused by the weight of the sins carried by the brandee. Nevertheless, the brand can only scar those guilty of the sin it was forged for.”

He turns to me. There is no great flourish, no pointing of fingers and no throwing of papers. Just his soft voice, saying, “I don’t have to wonder the weights of the sins needed for that brand. Murder of a king, yes, but… The rest is just as heavy, if not more so.”

Is this the moment when I’m supposed to stand up and shout ‘Objection your honor, it was self-defense and also totally not me I was nowhere near the scene of the crime!’ or something? Because, well, I’m not doing that. I feel calm. He’s right. The brand hurt like a dagger to the heart and my hands bear the blood of more than a mere king. It’s almost eerie how calm I feel.

A number of eyes turn to me and I shrug. “Yup,” I say. “G—” a thought rushes into my skull and my eyes flash towards Moleman. But he doesn’t look angry. He doesn’t even look as though he disapproves of anything about this. Isn’t he supposed to be my defense attorney? Well… this is still my trial, so… “—Yeah. Guilty. I did that.”

‘Sue me,’ I almost say, but stop because that’s exactly what they’re doing. Literally speaking.

“You plead guilty to the murder of the king of Acheron?” Logghammer asks, not sounding surprised in the least.

I toss a look at Moleman. “Yeah. You know I did it, and you know I plead guilty to it last time, too. Mass murder, arson, cannibalism… I did it.” I hope the glare I give Venedict is as icy cold as it feels. I mean, why waste time laying forth an argument for what we all know I did? To show my irritation, I cross both my arms and legs. “You even know I killed Emperor what’s-his-name and a bunch of his guards. None of it was in the clear requirement, so it isn’t in accordance to the rules and laws whatsoever.” I almost feel like sneering, but Moleman’s calm, unfazed expression keeps me from it. “So?” I say instead. “What’s the verdict, your dishonor?”

Logghammer waves a little. “No need for that ‘your honor’ stuff, I’m technically nothing but a former attorney. John is fine.”

“Okay, your John,” I snark.

He chuckles with mirth. My attempt to rightfully upset a few people has failed and I have instead lighted the mood for some old short-hair newbie. I must repent by jumping off a cliff. “To reach a verdict, the jury and judge would have to be in agreement, which we are.”

As I knew they would be.

“However, although we know much about the events in and before the Split-Horizon murder, there are some details we would like fully explained and described. Would you mind writing a full confession of all crimes you can recall committing during your time in the tutorial? It’s fine if you can’t remember all of them, but a simple, summarizing account of your criminal history would suffice very well. After all, we can only judge you properly if we know exactly what you did.”

I stare at him. He smiles at me. I glance at Moleman. He seems just as nonchalant about this as he has been by literally everything else that’s happened so far. Leaning forward, I fold my fingers across the table. “Sure. Why not?”

To summarize, they give me: a stack of parchment papers, three quills of disgustingly high quality, two ink wells, an inkblot that I have no idea how to use, a list containing the full rule books of each server, and then also a small room to do my bloody business in. Oh, and they also gave me Moleman. He came along. You know. As moral support, I think.

Once the door is closed behind us, as soon as we both sit down, I say, “Thanks for telling them I don’t like guards. And being chained up.”

He smiles at me, the picture of well-meaning honesty. “Glad to hear it, Kitty. They were hesitant, but I explained that even if you did something, I could easily have you apprehended within minutes.”

Oh, really? “Are you sure about that?”

He smirks. “Save it for the tournament.” A grin. “Assuming you make it that far.”

Alright, that did it. I chuckle at him, and let the sourness leave my mind. And then, work work work. It wasn’t exactly easy remembering it all, but having Moleman at hand to refresh my memory and inform me about the nuances in the rules was very helpful. Where the lines went and all that. In the end, I found with some pause that the pieces of parchment that had felt so numerous before were exactly the right amount to write down each individual incident. I had to be detailed. Premeditating, assaulting, killing, dismembering, eating and wearing their skin were all separate crimes, designated as one incident.

Moleman actually helped a lot. With my ever-dwindling focus, I doubt I’d have gotten even a single page done if he hadn’t encouraged me to keep going.

Midway through page twenty-one. I put the dot on the sentence, ‘Afterwards I butchered her body (defiling of dead body; AmS [2:12], AS [1:32], AfS [2:11], ES [3:1], [P]), consumed parts including thighs and neck (cannibalism; AfS[2:12], (P)), placed remaining parts in inventory (unsafe keeping of food items/handling of criminal evidence;, AS [1:12], AfS [7:2] / AfS [2:11]) and set loose a sprint-drake (Stealing of live animal; AmS [4:3], [P]) to make it seem as though she had eloped in the night (Framing; AfS [5:2], ES [6:5]).’ and turn to Moleman. He’s carefully inspecting a piece of paper I recognize as page eighteen, which I’m pretty sure details my killing of the prince. Ah, the prince of the Empire, that is.

My throat feels a little dry, but I still speak. “Hey, Moleman?”

“Mm?” he hums in response, keeping his gaze on the paper, eyes narrowing a little.

I watch him reread a passage before speaking again.

“What’s your plan with all this?”

“My plan?” Moleman repeats innocently.

I won’t let myself be fooled. “You knew I was going to confess from the start. Like I did last time. Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why didn’t you stop me?”

Only now does he glance up at me. His eyes remain narrow, and I find on his face an expression I see all too often on goblins whenever they catch my with my hand in someone’s guts. Somehow, it feels like they see me more clearly than most humans do. Nose furled, he speaks openly, “Over a year ago, we both agreed that you would follow the rules. You haven’t. Therefore, it is only right that you be punished by the law.”

Hard words. Cold as stone. But I expected them, so they didn’t hurt so much. “Would you…” I hesitate saying it, but only for a moment. “Would you have preferred it if I was executed on floor fifteen?”

“No.” Not a single pause. No conflict. Eyes back on the paper, he writes something in the margins that I can’t read. “You need to be judged fairly,” he says. “Not by a biased judge and jury who use such medieval punishments as branding and the death penalty. That would be revenge at best, far from real justice.”

Strangely enough, those words do actually put me at ease. If Moleman hadn’t cared at all, or if he had decided to gloss over it, I’m not sure if I’d like him as much anymore. It wouldn’t be righteous of him. This is. Being able to point out the wrongdoings of those you love is an invaluable trait to find in a friend, and I appreciate him for it. So, I feel calm. I continue writing, knowing that Moleman is still Moleman, and I’m still me. “What do you think they’ll do to me?”

For once, Moleman frowns. “I don’t know,” he admits. “I genuinely don’t know. But I refuse to let them choose the option of barbarism.”

“How virtuous,” I say, and though it may sound like sarcasm, it is fully serious.

“Thank you,” Moleman says, equally honest.

We smile at each other.

After an hour or so, the full list is complete, and Moleman’s eyes look just a twinge deceased. But when I asked him whether he was okay or not, he told me he was fine, so I’m sure that’s the case. Also, I was expecting a pretty instant sentencing and verdict and punishment, but not so.

“It will take us some time to review the list. We’ll resume the trial tomorrow,” Logghammer said, and everyone accepted it. Not a hint in anyone’s mind that I would try to escape. Not that I would, of course, but what if I really was as crazy as people thought I was?

Nonetheless, just like that, the first day of my third-ever trial ended.

As we exited the courthouse, Moleman turned to me and asked, “Want to go grab some lunch?”

There’s no refusing that one.