I remember one night in a small town that had seen better days. A band of thieves had raided the local inn, taking what they could. I was passing through, on a bumpy trail, and heard the clatter. The townsfolk set up a crude barricade and the thieves marched straight into a mess of barrels and shattered glass, tripping over their own greed. It was a clear fight for justice, but the chaos made everyone look foolish. I stepped in, kept my sword low, and said, “Enough of this.” The thieves stopped, spat on the ground, and the townsfolk started arguing over who deserved the loot. I had to pull them apart, hand them a fair share, and make sure no one crossed the line again. I left with a scar and a reminder that a good fight is only good if it stays on the right side of the line. It’s the honest intent, not the glory, that matters.