The clang of reinforced beak against metal was almost entirely lost amid the explosion of sound that resulted from Charlemagne’s strike. The almost perfectly shaped piece of metal on top of the anvil burst into superheated fragments that screamed through the smithy like shrapnel from a grenade. Charlemagne realized too late that he had put too much power into the strike. His beak continued downward, slamming into the super durable, mana-reinforced metal that formed the anvil. There was an even louder clang as a nigh-immovable object met an overwhelming force. The entire room shook as the anvil absorbed and transferred the tremendous shock through its supports and into the floor below. But even that wasn’t enough.

  The anvil cracked.

  It was merely a hairline fracture running through the barest hint of an imperfection that had arisen during the casting process, but it was a crack nonetheless.

  Charlemagne also cracked. Pain lanced through his face as his bones deformed under the incredible backlash. The lower portion of his beak received the worst of it. His quadrate joint dislocated entirely, causing his mouth to hang wide open. Blood streamed from his nostrils before quickly evaporating into a cloud of vapor due to the incredible heat that emanated from Charlemagne’s flaming body.

  Despite his injuries, the rooster was proud of his accomplishment. He turned around to see what the others thought, his face already healing due to his abnormal physiology. Inferno’s Embrace sucked in the ambient heat, treating the temperature differential as an additional source of nutrition for his Special Ability, Food for the Stomach and the Stomach for Food. In mere seconds, the pain was already a dim memory.

  “Bawk!” the rooster announced proudly, before wondering why Phatagin and Josephine were both staring at the floor. Then he noticed that Balthazan was occupying that particular spot on the floor.

  “Bawk?”

  “He…he’s dead,” Josephine said, her voice filled with shock. “One of the pieces of metal went straight through his head.”

  The rooster squawked with interest and strolled over to examine his handiwork. The bird-like creature was missing essential parts of its body, specifically most of its head.

  “Bawk?” Charlemagne asked Josephine.

  “You want to what?!” the Attendant practically screamed. “How are you even a Knight, Ser Charlemagne? That is the most disgusting, heartless, callous thing that I have heard in the entirety of my long existence. No, you may not eat the instructor.”

  “Besides, it seems that he has already begun to break apart. I doubt there’s anything to gain from attempting consumption,” Phatagin added clinically.

  The rooster had nothing to lose by trying, so he clacked his beak open and shut a few times experimentally to ensure that it was back in working condition. Then he stretched his neck forward for a big bite. His beak closed on nothing as the smith’s flesh dissolved into wisps of mana at the slightest touch.

  “Bawk,” he moaned in disappointment.

  “It is indeed a shame,” the pangolin agreed. “His race seemed very similar to yours. It’s likely that eating him would have given you at least some benefit.”

  “I cannot believe the two of you are having this conversation!” Josephine exclaimed. “And just what exactly did you do to that piece of metal? You almost killed all of us!”

  “Not quite correct. I had anticipated that particular result and taken steps to prevent any of the metal from reaching me with my Momentum Core. I…er…regret that my abilities were insufficient to protect our smithing tutor. He will be missed. That is, until such time as we are able to summon him again. Might we get on with it? We still have the majority of our time remaining.”

  There was a long pause as Phatagin looked over expectantly at Charlemagne, hoping that he would pick up the hint. Finally, he sighed.

  “Charlemagne, could you please attempt to summon the smithing instructor again? I would like to continue with our lesson.”

  The rooster was currently checking his messages from the Squiggles. After his latest feat, there were several new ones.

  Charlemagne squawked in outrage at his unfair treatment by the Squiggles. He hadn’t actually meant to hurt anyone in this particular instance. He had attempted to murder his previous handler a dozen times with no penalty worse than a time out, why was this situation so different? The Squiggles, detecting his outrage, responded.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  “Bawk!” the rooster yelled, ignoring Phatagin’s question entirely to demand an explanation from both him and Josephine.

  “The System is penalizing you for that accident, is it now? What was the punishment?”

  “Bawk bawwk bawak,” the rooster explained.

  Josephine listened closely, nodding as she considered the penalties.

  “Wow, that’s a pretty steep Shop Point penalty. My recommendation is that you go for the arbitration, unless you actually were intending to hurt poor Balthazan. Accidents happen, and really it’s not entirely your fault that there aren’t more safeguards in here. I guess the System set them appropriately for level 49 but didn’t account for your…er…special circumstances, Ser Charlemagne.”

  “Why are we so low-leveled for the Elite Systemic Games” Phatagin wondered. “We capped out our levels and weren’t allowed to hit level 50 before the second round…”

  The rooster ignored his Squire and instead demanded that the Squiggles hear his complaint. They complied.

  The rooster suddenly found himself in a very familiar office, still damaged from his previous vandalism.

  “I can’t believe it! What great luck!” his former handler exclaimed as its lidless eyes somehow bulged with surprise.

  “Bawk!” the rooster cried.

  “Well, I’m glad to see you regardless, because it means I’m getting paid,” the other creature chuckled, clearly pleased by the turn of events. “Let’s get this arbitration started. Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to review your experience of the event, and then I’m going to review it from the other party’s perspective, and then I’m going to issue a ruling. If you don’t like it, too bad. There is no appeal if I rule against you. And remember that, now that you’re in the Elite Systemic Games, the System is no longer going to baby you. Any additional damage to my office will be added to any costs that I assess. Got it?”

  “Bawk…” the rooster equivocated.

  “Great! Now, let’s just get the other party in here.”

  The handler turned arbitrator held up one of its long, thin appendages and somehow used it to make a snapping sound, albeit one with a considerable amount of squelch intermixed. A flash of light filled the room, accompanied by the smell of ozone and a blur of motion in the rooster’s peripheral vision.

  “Owww, that really hurt for the three seconds it took me to die,” complained a familiar voice.

  Charlemagne turned and took a good look at Balthazan, who appeared to be no worse for wear after his untimely “demise”.

  “Bawk,” he said.

  “Oh, don’t give me that load of manure!” the human-bird hybrid complained. “You were hoping that something crazy would happen. Otherwise, why would you go all out like that?”

  “Please, spare me the bickering,” the arbitrator interjected, waving a few appendages in an attempt to command silence. “Just let me do my job and then we’ll get you out of here. In fact, let’s just take this in reverse, shall we. I’ll review your recollection of the events first. This will just take a moment…don’t move.”

  A beam of light illuminated the grouchy smith for a few seconds before abruptly cutting out.

  “There…now to see what you saw…all right. You may be dismissed; there’s nothing more that we need from you.”

  “Don’t bother trying to sum…” the feathered creature managed to get out before he disappeared again.

  The arbitrator spent a few long moments staring at its glowing rectangle, occasionally pressing certain spots on it or tapping rapidly near the bottom. When it was finished, it turned its attention back to Charlemagne.

  “Well, I’ve reviewed the smith’s memory and it does seem that you were being somewhat negligent of safety protocols. But then we have to factor in that this was your first time in a smithy at all. Well, no matter. The memories will show me what I need to know. But, before I do that, humor me. I want to know what you think about contributory negligence. It’s such an interesting topic, isn’t it?”

  “Bawk?”

  “Contributory negligence. It’s a...an idea, or a viewpoint. Maybe it’s best to label it as an opinion. No, I prefer viewpoint. Now, how do I explain this in terms that you can understand…let’s say that you and I are both walking straight ahead. We’re not paying any attention to what’s around us. We walk right into each other and we are both hurt. Who is responsible?”

  “Bawk?” Charlemagne guessed.

  “Both, exactly! But now, let’s say we are both hurt, but I’m hurt worse than you are. And let’s say that we each have more than enough healing potions to fix the damage. So should you give me any healing potions?”

  “Bawk!” the rooster squawked indignantly.

  “All right, what if you were hurt worse than me. Should I give you some?”

  “Bawk,” Charlemagne answered confidently this time.

  “But that’s inconsistent, don’t you see? The rules should work the same no matter who is injured worse.”

  “Bawk,” the rooster denied.

  “But if you were stronger in this case, you wouldn’t be hurt worse than I was,” the arbitrator pressed.

  Charlemagne thought about the argument for a moment before discarding it as irrelevant. If he was the more injured one, he’d just get stronger until he could claim the other party’s healing potions. Or eat them. Or steal the potions and run off.

  “Well, thank you for indulging me there. When I’m arbitrating, I get in a whimsical mood. I’ve always found contributory negligence to be a fun topic of discussion, particularly with newly integrated beings. All right, I’ve now spent sufficient time chatting with you to earn my fee. Let’s review your memories before I’m penalized for wasting time.”

  A circle of light appeared around the rooster, causing his head to itch fiercely. Both the circle and the sensation disappeared as quickly as they appeared.

  The arbitrator turned away briefly to review what it was that he had taken from Charlemagne’s brain, muttering to itself as it tapped away. Finally, the creature’s eyes swiveled back to the rooster.

  “All right, well it’s clear that you didn’t actually try to harm the other party, even though it’s clear that you didn’t stop to consider what effect your actions might have had on anyone else present. That’s…well…it’s somewhat negligent, but there are mitigating circumstances, which, for the record, I will now list. First, you were never given a safety briefing. Second, your Attendant did not adequately explain that you would be monetarily responsible for damages done to creatures other than your Squire. Finally, your mental state must be taken into account, and I find that you were not fully cognizant of the danger that you presented to the other party. In light of this, I am amending your penalties. You will be liable for the amount of 1000 Shop Points, as well as the 100 Shop Point arbitration fee. Half of the damages will go to the System for destruction of property, while the remainder will go to the damaged party. My decision is final. Goodbye, for the second time! I hope we meet again soon,” the arbitrator spoke without pause until the very end, before finally wrapping up and waving a trio of appendages at the rooster.

  Charlemagne opened his mouth to complain, but it was to no avail. He was already being teleported away.