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  Emilian Dorocian’s hand reached out and grabbed my chin, jerking my head to the side. Beneath the veil, I knew that her eyes were murky. Whatever she used to check the acid-burns on my neck, it wouldn’t be relying on [Sight]. So I peered away from her to the others, judging their reactions.

  Zenom looked steely, almost statuesque. Cecilia sat, calm as ever with that pleasant smile on her face. Borealis looked tense to say the least. The elderly priest gave nothing away.

  The weighty moment settled in as Emilian tilted my head this way and that.

  Then the weight of all their attention was gone, just like that, as she pushed my head away with a frustrated sigh. “Nothing.” She said, “I can’t sense anything with those Manacle scars.”

  I rubbed my neck. If I hadn’t been an adventurer, she could have easily snapped my neck. “Those are from my time as a Slave.”

  “I know that.” She snapped and walked behind the table, joining the others and settled in with her arms crossed.

  Zenom nodded, bringing order into the tent. “Lock Slaveborn is the last person who could possibly have done this. The other suspects have been cleared of suspicion as well.”

  “It’s too early to tell, Zenom.” Emilian shot back, “The Bishop wants us to get to the bottom of this.”

  “You said the assailant used a Blessing native to Orcs. The only orc in this expedition is in Arione’s party and he has already been questioned.”

  “It could just as well be a blessing from a Core.” The Priest muttered, stroking his beard. “We must find out if there are others in the camp who could use such a Core ability.”

  “According to Emilian’s report, there are a limited number of people who could have pulled off the distraction.” Cecilia shook her pretty head, the purple-black rings of hair falling perfectly around her shoulders. “According to Build, Combat Prowess and Eye-witness accounts, Lock here was the last one. Since he’s passed…”]

  “Like I said, it could be a Core ability.” The Priest had gray-blue eyes beneath heavy gray brows. He turned them to me, “Would you be willing to tell us which Cores you have, Lock Slaveborn?”

  I stiffened. “As a general rule, Adventurers don’t share those things. Even within your own party.”

  Of course, my party was the exception. Especially because I handpicked everyone’s Core for them. But they didn’t need to know that.

  “Even if it is a sure way to clear yourself of suspicion?”

  “I thought I was already clear of suspicion.” I shot back at the priest.

  The priest stared at me for a second, then nodded. “Yes, but the current circumstances-”

  “I’m not sharing anything about my Core abilities.” I narrowed my eyes. The priest was being especially pushy. “Was this what you asked the others to do?”

  He didn’t answer.

  Zenom and Borealis shared a look. Then the Holy Knight spoke, “Priest Biwall. There is no need for Lock to share his Core abilities with us. Emilian’s account is enough to clear him of suspicion.”

  “He’s the right height and right build.” Emilian said again.

  “But you said he has no acid burns.” Borealis chimed in.

  Emilian’s veil betrayed nothing. “...Yes. Unless he got them healed.”

  Emilian was like a predator. Pacing, studying and learning. Trying to piece together clues to home in on the target. She distinctly gave me the sense of a spider, spreading webs everywhere to figure out who, what and where her prey was.

  “If he did get them healed… then it makes sense. He fits the build and I have heard tales of his skills.” Emilian continued. “Though it brings us to a different issue altogether.”

  “That is?”

  “There are only three people that can heal the wound I inflicted.” Emilian whispered, “One is the Bishop, whom I serve. The other two are in this very room.”

  Priest Biwall froze, body going motionless.

  Cecilia turned her head slowly. “Your point being?”

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “If Lock Slaveborn is indeed the perpetrator,” Emilian half-rose from her seat, facing the others. “All of you are under suspicion of conspiracy and-”

  Everyone began talking at once.

  “You dare-” Priest Biwall began.

  “Emilian!” Zenom snapped.

  “Ha! Hahahaha!” Cecilia began to laugh.

  Borealis growled and began yelling at Emilian. “I’ve had enough of your attempts at dividing us! What have you done for this expedition?! Slaveborn has-”

  “You all are keeping secrets from-” Emilian started.

  I remained silent, more than happy to let them fight amongst each other. I didn’t even need to say anything in defense of myself, all I had to do was just sit here. They’d rip each other to pieces.

  “Enough!” Zenom finally said.

  He pointed at Emilian. “One more baseless accusation out of you, Emilian Kojisan, and you will not participate in further questioning.”

  “Empty threat,” Emilian said, “He’s the last suspect. No one else fits the description. It has to be him."

  "I will not condemn an innocent man." Zenom muttered.

  The two stared at each other, Emilian ready to jump towards Zenom. Now that she was more comfortable, she was showing who she truly was. Without her owner, the Bishop, she was just a rabid dog.

  There was an opportunity here. Something I could do. Something that only Lock Slaveborn, the adventurer who’s been solving problems since day 1 of this expedition could do. I could smell it the way I could sense when my sword would strike the decisive blow.

  “I have a question.” Then I asked, “While you are all bickering and trying to pin the blame on someone, what’re you all planning to do with the ships?”

  No one answered for a moment.

  “That’s besides the point,” Priest Biwall spoke. “We must find out who did this. If we truly do have a traitor amongst us-”

  I interrupted him. “But I’m the last suspect. If,” I said, emphasizing the word, “and only if it truly was a scout-force from the Bada Horde or a rogue Orc Force… shouldn’t we be prioritizing getting off this island?”

  Borealis nodded. “That’s what I have been suggesting.”

  “That would mean the traitor remains at large.” Priest Biwall said calmly.

  “If the ultimatum is having one traitor amongst our midst versus an all-out-war against an unknown force which could possibly be from the Bada Horde, I think that’s a risk we have to take.” I offered. “You all sit here, bickering. Arguing. Trying to pin the blame on someone.” I looked at each of them, “Trying to find someone you could point the finger at. I know that everyone outside is angry. I know that everyone outside is nervous.”

  “And they rightfully are.” Cecilia agreed, cutting in. “The way home was just burned down.” She stood up, sauntering over to me.

  “We need to find the one responsible for this.” She lowered her voice. “How long do you think before chaos breaks out? How long do you think until people start deserting? Trying to find a way off this island? Trying to monopolize the fruits? Food? Manpower?” She gestured at the people behind her. “What we need here is order. And time to protect that order. We need time to feed the fires, before those fires turn on ourselves.”

  “And I’m telling you, that’s the wrong method.” I shook my head.

  “Why are you listening to his drivel? He knows nothing of what it means to be a leader.” Emilian spat.

  “Quiet.” Zenom’s eyes were burning brightly, searching my own. “You have an idea, Slaveborn?”

  “I know more than this.” I shook my head. “Yes, you’re feeding the flames. Afraid that it’ll burn all of us. Let them turn on the traitor, buying time for you to find a way off this method. But that’s not the way. That’s not how you lead.”

  “And how are you supposed to lead?” Priest Biwall said, his voice mocking. “You know this because you lead a party of what? Five?”

  I stared right at him. “You’re right. I don’t know anything about leading a group of hundreds of people.”

  “But I know this. If something went wrong during an expedition, my first reaction wouldn’t be to look for someone to blame. It’d be working together with everyone to find a solution.” I shook my head. "You treat them like children, meant to be swayed at the first distraction. They are not."

  “What kind of party leader blames their own party members first? What kind of leader accuses his own members of betrayal?” I pointed with my chin towards Emilian, “Maybe I don’t know anything about what it means to be a leader. But I can say this, no one in my party has ever blamed each other for making mistakes. Every single time, we work together to fix it. To find a way out. And every single time, I tell them; that I’ll take responsibility. Because I’m the party leader, their mistakes are my fault. No one else’s.”

  “If this is your attitude, maybe there’s a reason why the Church failed in its expedition every time until now.” I felt myself grow slightly angry. “You guys call yourselves the leaders of this expedition. Yet, you sit there, high and mighty. Enjoying the benefits of your station and trying to think of the easy way out.”

  “If you’re a leader, if you really are a leader, roll up your sleeves. Get out there and help them pick up the wrecks. Help them think of a way to get off this island. Help them gather food, do something.” I growled, “Anything other than just sitting here and… and doing this.” I closed my eyes. “A leader doesn’t just make decisions. They’re responsible for the outcomes of it.” I glared at all of them, “This isn’t anyone else’s fault but the people sitting in front of me."

  Lock Slaveborn. A name that came from the sound of the lock being turned behind me as my Orc Captor pushed me into the Dokkaebi tunnels. A name that came from me being isekai’d into MSS with the Slave Origin Scenario. That’s who I was, a Slave who was lucky enough to survive the Samak Horde’s Downfall and became an adventurer.

  It’s a common enough story. A lowborn. Someone of unknown origin. That’s who I was to them. Just another adventurer going on in this world.

  So how well would they receive my advice?

  I meant every word of it too. I don’t know anything about being a leader. Hell, when I first arrived in this world, the only thing I did was push everyone away. I didn’t want allies. I didn’t want friends. I just wanted to survive, even if it meant I looked at everyone else as NPCs to be used for my own purpose.

  But I changed. I’m not just Lock Slaveborn, slave-turned-adventurer who’s trying to survive anymore.

  I was Lock Slaveborn, Party Leader. Yeah, it’s not a fancy title but I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Because for me, being the party leader for Aurora, Kyrian, Skaris and Stole meant more to me than anything else this world could have given me.

  I’ve had time to think. I have people under my charge, people whose lives I’m responsible for. I never received a guidebook on ‘How to be a Party Leader for Dummies in MSS’, nor did I receive a crash course on the matter.

  I think I take more pride in my humble title than all these guys did.

  After I finished my small speech, I felt a blush creep up to my cheeks. I’m not the best public speaker. I’d been a loner most of my life and talking so heatedly like that… talking about something that was real and meaningful made me feel embarrassed.

  What can I say? I’m an introvert.

  “...ight.” Borealis muttered, “A true Knight.” Then he got up from his seat, shaking his head. “I’m leaving.”

  Emilian’s head darted to him, but she didn’t voice her question. She didn’t need to.

  “My party is out there, helping the wounded and searching for things of use in the boats.” Borealis strode away, taking big great steps. “Even if they only find ash, I’m going to be next to them when they do.” Then he left.

  Priest Biwall followed suit, murmuring one excuse or another. Emilia stormed off without another word.

  Only Zenom and Cecilia remained.

  “Cecilia, I’d like to talk to Slaveborn alone.” Zenom told her.

  Cecilia shot the Holy Knight a look. Something between gentleness and… something else. I don’t know what. But she left.

  Zenom took a deep and long breath, somehow inflating then deflating. He looked at me, looking a little older than he had moments ago.

  “So,” He said, “I’m assuming you have a plan?”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Because while you are an idealist,” Zenom said, “You are a capable one. And you are not one to spout off pretty poetry about hope without a plan in place. And most of all…” He studied me. “If you truly believed that this situation was grave, you would have been the first to leave. For the safety of your party. Am I wrong?”

  He wasn’t.

  The situation that Cecilia proposed was very real. Unless we could find a way off this island, the adventurers would defect –looking for a way out on their own. And if that particular resource was limited… blood would follow. If that was going to happen, I’d have taken my party and been the first to leave; just as Zenom predicted.

  “So, what do you propose?” Zenom asked.

  ‘Propose’, not ‘plan’. He was letting me know he still had the final say.

  That was fine with me. It’s not like he had much choice in this matter at this point anyways.

  I cleared my throat.

  “How do you feel about Dwarves?”

  Thank you all for reading, as always.