The weight of the world pressed down on David's shoulders as he retraced his steps towards the Rusty Dragon. His mind, a chaotic marketplace of thoughts, was overrun by questions. The meticulously crafted world of the trash novel, "Trials of Valor," offered no solace. Its pages, once a comforting escape, now felt like a cruel deception. Why would a shadowy organization like the Fingers target a lowly noble? The David in the book was a notorious scoundrel, a thorn in the side of society, but he was merely a tavern brawler. The puzzle lacked pieces, a vexing enigma demanding resolution.A sudden interruption jolted him from his reverie. A butcher's stall, a riot of crimson and steel, caught his eye. The man behind the counter, a wiry figure with hands stained crimson, was a study in concentration. With practised ease, he wielded a cleaver, transforming flesh into edible art."You want something, kid?" The butcher's voice was rough, like sandpaper on stone.