CONSEQUENCES

Grey emerged from the shadowed alley, his garments tidy and his expression composed. Not a single wrinkle betrayed the violence that had just occurred. The signs of struggle were absent,no blood, no scuff marks, not even a crease on his collar. He blended seamlessly into the flow of the capital's morning traffic, a solitary figure moving through the pulse of stone roads and merchant voices.

As his boots struck the cobblestones with measured rhythm, his thoughts turned inward.

"Four dead. Four trained men sent to eliminate me."

The Church's involvement was all but certain. Though their official stance was to eradicate followers of heretical gods, such operations could not be carried out without assistance from local powers. And the four assassins disciplined, silent, and efficient had the bearing of men molded for obedience from a young age. They were tools of someone accustomed to operating behind curtains. Perhaps the Count. Perhaps both Church and Count.

"I've crossed a line," he thought. "And there's no returning now."

Had the alley not been so near the main road, he might have risked capturing one alive, prying loose some thread of information. But a scream had escaped. A single sharp cry that could have drawn eyes and ears. The risk was too great, and mercy held no place in that moment. Killing them had not been vengeance it had been necessity.

Now, their master would be aware. Killing trained subordinates was not a small matter. The act would be interpreted one of two ways: either he was backed by a paladin, or he was one himself. Either belief would lead to the same conclusion.

"They'll attempt to erase me. Not investigate eradicate. This isn't my old world. There is no due process here."

As he approached his lodging, a strange unease took shape. A crowd had gathered dense, agitated. Dozens of city guards stood at intervals, managing the throng with practiced discipline. Steel glinted in the sunlight. Order layered atop tension.

Grey paused, eyes narrowing.

Something was wrong.

He scanned the crowd and picked out a middle-aged man stepping aside from the commotion. Grey dipped his head slightly and walked toward him, voice calm.

"Hello, gentleman.

What happened here? Why is there such a huge amount of crowd and so many city guards?"

The man let out a slow breath, the kind drawn from someone already numbed to grim news.

"Don't you know? Some robbers killed the people living in that house. Two families died.

I heard even a 12-year-old girl was also killed along with her mother and a young man who rented their house above.

The robbers robbed them and even killed them, so now the city guards are investigating the case."

Grey stood still.

It felt as though the sound around him dulled,the chatter, the clink of armor, the distant bells. Everything receded, leaving only the words.

Seeing Grey's silent shock, the man placed a hand briefly on his shoulder.

"Sigh, what can we do nowadays... these robbers are too much.

May God of Light bless these innocent souls."

With that, he disappeared back into the crowd, swallowed by motion and noise.

Grey turned away.

He walked until he reached an alley, stepped into its gloom, and sat down, resting against the cold wall. The realization settled in him with quiet finality.

"They killed Aunt May. Her daughter. To maintain their narrative, they needed my death. So that they could show the world how I died, and now no one would think I died by their hands. All to protect their reputation, But me being a paladin became a variable, They would soon know that I am still alive."

There was no error in execution. It was clean. Deliberate.

He stared ahead, expression unreadable. Emotion did not rise-not grief, not rage. Only thought.

Even if he tried to expose them, it would amount to nothing. The machinery of faith and nobility would grind him to dust before a word escaped his mouth.

Aunt May's husband had already passed. Now her household was extinguished, collateral in a game they never knew they were part of. He had no deep emotional bond with them but he understood the cost.

"I must become stronger."

It wasn't born of vengeance. It was necessity. He did not dream of justice or righteousness. He did not seek to cleanse the wicked.

He simply wanted to survive.

He was no hero.

Just a pitiful man trying to exist in a world that would rather see him gone.

With that thought, Grey stood, steps steady, purpose clear.

And he walked once more into the city's veins silent, unseen, but no longer uncertain.