Roland lay in bed, motionless.
Freya's course on the edge of the law had long been over, but he couldn't muster the energy to move, lying there like a statue.
It's natural to be so downcast after such a heavy blow.
This is beyond the level of a mental blow; it's not a game, but a crime worthy of punishment. Even if he were paraded through the streets in a prison cart, pelted with rotten eggs and fruits, and led to the gallows, no one would object. Some might even applaud and write articles praising Charlemagne's spirit of rule of law.
However, this is just common sense; expecting nobles and corporate executives to be subject to the same legal constraints as ordinary people is a bit too sweet.
"Oh my, is this what a man's like?"
"I'll poke it, oh, I've touched a man!"
"I, I want to touch too, um...soft and very bouncy..."
"I'm next too! It's my turn!"
"Huh? Look, it seems to be getting bigger!"
"Also, it seems to be getting harder?"
