The ghost of my first victory evaporated the instant the old woman spoke.
Her accusation was different. The blacksmith's pain was a ghost, a memory of a son already lost. Hers was a wound that was still bleeding. Starving grandchildren. A problem happening right now. An apology was a bandage for a past injury; it wouldn't fill an empty stomach.
The low murmur of the crowd shifted, the brief flicker of shock from my last performance consumed by a deeper, more desperate anger. Hunger was a more potent fuel for a rebellion than grief. I could feel the Audience Approval I'd just earned starting to leak away, the fragile goodwill I'd built beginning to crumble.
I needed to act, and fast.
'Activate Method Acting.'
The world swam again, but the transition was slightly smoother this time. Kaelen's memories rushed in, not with the chaotic tidal wave of before, but like a focused, targeted data stream.
Grain tithe. Castle wall.
The memories weren't of opulent parties or cruel decrees made on a whim. They were cold, pragmatic, and steeped in fear. I saw Kaelen, younger and more haggard than I imagined, poring over maps late into the night. I saw scouting reports detailing the movements of barbarian clans to the north, in the Frostfang mountains. They were uniting, their numbers swelling. An invasion wasn't a possibility; it was an inevitability.
The northern wall was crumbling. The kingdom's only defense was paper-thin.
I felt the phantom weight of Kaelen's sleepless nights, the agonizing calculus he'd been forced to make. Raise the grain tithe to fund a new wall and risk a hungry, angry populace. Or don't, and risk the entire kingdom being burned to the ground within a year. He had chosen what he saw as the lesser of two evils.
'A season of hunger is better than a generation of slaughter,' the king's cold logic whispered in my mind, a chillingly rational voice that had no place for a grandmother's tears.
My first instinct, my Evan Cross instinct, was to just repeat what worked. Look sad. Apologize profusely. It got me a critical success last time, right?
I took a deep breath, preparing to deliver another award-winning performance of a king who felt really, really bad about everything.
"Your suffering..." I began, pitching my voice into what I hoped was a suitably somber tone. "It pains me more than you can ever know."
Chime.
The System's response was instantaneous and brutal.
[Performance Review: Redundant Emotional Beat.]
[The audience has already seen this performance. Repeating the same emotional tactic shows a lack of range and creativity.]
[Audience Approval is decreasing.]
A dull ache pulsed behind my eyes, a clear warning shot from the System. 'Try that again and I'll give you a real reason to have a headache.'
Shit. This wasn't a video game where you could just find one overpowered move and spam it to win. The System, the 'audience', they expected a varied performance. They wanted a show.
Okay, new plan. If an apology wasn't enough, I had to give them something else.
Kaelen's cold pragmatism bubbled up again. 'Explain the situation,' the king's persona urged. 'Make them understand the necessity. They are subjects of the crown; they have a duty to sacrifice.'
My own mind recoiled in horror. 'Are you insane? You can't tell a starving crowd to suck it up for the greater good! We'll be dead before we finish the sentence!'
The internal argument was dizzying. I was fighting a ghost in my own head for the right to not get executed. This Method Acting skill was a lifesaver, but the side effects were a nightmare.
I needed a third option. Something that wasn't a cheap apology or a cold justification. An action. A Main Character, a protagonist, he doesn't just talk. He does things.
My eyes, still filtering the world through Kaelen's memories, scanned my surroundings. The torches, the angry faces, the stone columns. Then my gaze fell upon my own hands. On the middle finger of my right hand was a ring I hadn't noticed before. It wasn't part of my normal attire. It was Kaelen's.
It was a monstrous thing, a thick band of heavy gold with a ruby the size of a quail's egg set into it. The ruby was cut deep, and in the torchlight, it seemed to swirl with a dark, liquid fire. The Royal Signet. The symbol of the king's absolute authority, the very instrument used to stamp the wax seal on the grain tithe decree.
An idea sparked in my mind. A crazy, dramatic, incredibly risky idea. It was a pure improvisation, a gut feeling born from my own personality, but it was colored by the king's flair for the dramatic.
It was perfect.
I straightened my back, shedding the feigned weakness from my last performance. I let Kaelen's natural authority flow into my posture, but I tempered it with a new, somber gravity. I stepped forward again, my heavy cloak sweeping behind me.
I addressed the old woman first, my voice clear and carrying across the hall.
"You ask me what wall can protect a kingdom that starves from within," I began, my voice resonating with a power I didn't know I had. "And you are right to ask. It is a question I should have asked myself."
I turned my attention to the entire mob. Their angry shouts had died down, replaced by a tense, waiting silence. They were hanging on my every word. My Presence stat might be crap, but being the only guy on a throne in a fancy cape apparently gave you a captive audience.
"The royal coffers are not empty because of vanity," I declared, my voice hardening. I was using Kaelen's memories now, weaving a new narrative. "They are empty because the wolves are at our door! Barbarian hordes gather in the Frostfang mountains, preparing to sweep down and burn everything we hold dear! The wall is not for my protection. It is for yours! It is for your children, and for their children!"
A wave of fear and confusion rippled through the crowd. This was news to them. Kaelen, in his paranoia, had never told his people the real reason for his harsh measures.
"But I was a fool!" I boomed, my voice filled with sudden, sharp self-recrimination. "I was a king who saw his people as numbers on a ledger, as resources to be managed. I demanded you sacrifice for the good of the kingdom, without ever considering that the king should be the first to do so."
This was the moment. The climax of the scene.
With a grand, deliberate motion, I gripped the Royal Signet on my finger. It was tight, as if it hadn't been removed in years. I wrenched it free, my knuckle scraping against the gold. I held it aloft, the massive ruby catching the light from a hundred torches, painting the hall in a blood-red glow.
The crowd gasped as one. To them, this was like seeing a god cast aside their own divinity.
"This ring… paid for the first stone of that wall," I said, my voice dropping to a raw, emotional near-whisper. "Let it now be the first seed of our renewal."
I walked down the steps of the dais, the mob parting before me like water. I stopped in front of the old woman, who stared at me with wide, terrified eyes. I gently took her wrinkled, frail hand and pressed the heavy gold ring into her palm.
"Take this to the Captain of the City Guard," I commanded, my voice loud enough for all to hear. "Tell him it is by the King's decree. The Royal Granaries are to be opened. Every last sack of grain is to be distributed amongst the people, starting with the families of our soldiers and our elders. A wall is meaningless if there is no one left to protect behind it."
I closed her fingers around the ring. "Your king has demanded that you sacrifice for the kingdom. Today, the kingdom sacrifices for you."
I held my breath. My heart was a runaway train. This was it. The ultimate gamble. An act so out of character for the tyrant they knew that it could either be seen as a divine miracle or the ravings of a madman on the verge of execution.
The old woman stared at the ring in her hand, then up at me. A single tear traced a path through the dust on her cheek. Then, slowly, shakily, she dropped to one knee.
"God save the king," she whispered.
It was a spark in a tinderbox. The blacksmith, Gaelan, dropped to his knee. Then a soldier. Then a woman holding a baby. Within seconds, the entire mob, the entire seething mass of hatred that had wanted my blood moments ago, was kneeling.
Chime. Chime. Chime.
The System windows exploded in my vision, a fireworks display of positive reinforcement.
[Performance Review: Active!]
[Scene: The People's Court - Accusation 2]
[Grand Gesture: Sacrificing a symbol of power for the good of the people.]
[Action demonstrates a tangible change in character, fulfilling the core objective of 'Repentance'.]
[Audience Approval has reached a new peak!]
[Emotional Resonance: 24/100 (+13)]
[Charisma: 19/100 (+16)]
[+35 Acting EXP]
[Result: OVERWHELMING SUCCESS!]
A warmth spread through my chest, a tangible sensation of power. It felt like a level-up in an RPG, a jolt of pure energy that eased the mental fatigue from using the skill. I had done it. I had turned an entire rebellion with a single, improvised speech and a shiny prop.
Relief washed over me, so potent it almost made me dizzy. I felt like I could finally breathe.
But the performance wasn't over.
CLANG!
A sharp, metallic sound cut through the reverent silence.
A man in the gleaming black and gold armor of the Royal Guard Captain, who had been standing silently near the back, slammed the pommel of his greatsword against his breastplate. He was a mountain of a man, with a square jaw and a face that looked like it had been carved from granite. His eyes were cold, hard chips of steel.
"Blasphemy!" he bellowed, his voice a parade ground roar that shook the very stones. He strode forward, his armored boots echoing with grim purpose. The kneeling crowd scrambled to get out of his way.
He pointed his massive, gauntleted finger at me.
"The king gives away the Royal Seal? He empties our emergency stores on the whim of a peasant mob? This is not strength! This is not repentance! This is madness!"
He drew his sword, the sound of steel scraping against the scabbard setting my teeth on edge. The blade was enormous, a good four feet of sharpened, gleaming death.
"I am Captain Valerius," he roared, his gaze sweeping over the crowd and his own soldiers. "I swore an oath to a strong king, a king who protects this realm! The man before you is a weak, sniveling imposter who has lost his mind!"
He leveled the tip of his sword directly at my heart.
"Soldiers of the Royal Guard! Your king is compromised! I relieve you of your oath! Seize him!"
***