The drunkard walked towards us, knife in hand. He was a big man, almost as tall as Ajax. But, whereas Ajax was built like a wall of muscle, this man was obviously fond of his food and drink. While his massive frame no doubt packed a decent amount of muscle, you would have to look beneath a rather thick layer of blubber to find it. Still, the knife in his hand made me quite nervous. Almost two feet long, with a jagged, serrated edge, it glinted dully in the candlelight of the taproom. There still remained a few specks of dried blood on the handle and base of the blade, probably from the last time he found a disagreement with a city resident. The big man drew closer and closer, knife held in front. With a shout, he raised the knife and brought the blade plunging down to pierce my mother’s heart.

With a half-step to the side, my mother simply leaned away from the killing blow. The man stumbled forward, plowing into the table behind my mom. A couple of giggles arose from the audience. The man whipped around, eyes training on each person that laughed as if noting them down for later. The laughter quickly died down – this man and his group was obviously feared by the rest of the patrons. Shaking his head like a bull, he glared at my mom. Used to drunken bar fights, the man was unaccustomed to his opponent withstanding his devastating first strike.

But, he was obviously not a very bright man even on the best of days, and the alcohol impaired his mind even more. “I must have missed the first time,” he thought. Raising his knife again, he prepared to charge a second time.

Lunging forward, he stabbed once more towards my mom. Once again, a single half step brought my mother just out of the path of the vicious knife. Though there was no collision this time around, the man still stumbled forward, taking a few steps to regain his balance. His eyes narrowed, looking at my mother.

Abandoning his previous strategy of charging headlong at his opponent, the man instead slowly lumbered closer, hands outstretched to grab mother to stop her from dodging. “Your petty tricks won’t stop me now, bitch!” the man spat. “I’m going to bleed you like a fish!” The rest of the men all stood up from the table and began to congregate on my mom, a few of them also producing daggers from their ragged clothes.

My mother’s hands crept closer to her dagger as her body tensed, ready to fend off the assault. Just as the fight was about to flare up again, the door opened and my dad’s frame filled the doorway, huge smile on his face as his eyes trained on the bar. “What’s a man got to do to get a cup of ale in this…” He petered off in confusion at the silence that greeted him. “Hey, whys everyone so quiet?” he asked, finally looking around the room.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

His eyes snapped towards the dramatic scene in the room, narrowing in anger. In one fluid motion, he dashed towards the men, drawing his sword. Clang! Clang! Clang! In three deft strikes, he knocked the daggers out of the thug’s hands. Then, facing the group of bullies, he slammed the pommel of his sword into their heads one by one, sending them thudding to the ground. The man turned around, sizing up the new challenger. He raised his knife, but before he was able to start bringing it down towards dad’s heart, it was wrenched from his hands by a howling gust of wind.

His friends incapacitated and his knife on the other side of the bar, the man suddenly realized he was very, very alone. He turned to run away, only to stop as a sharp pain stabbed at his neck. Looking down cross-eyed, he stared at the sword resting against his neck.

My dad’s eyes were merciless. “Consider yourself lucky,” he said in a low, measured tone, “that you didn’t get the chance to lay a hand on my wife. If you had, you would not be walking out of here alive. Now, produce your wallet please.”

“My- My wallet?”

“Yes. Your wallet. The object with which you store your money. I presume you use money instead of mugging someone every time you visit? Though with your character, I wouldn’t bet against that, either.”

The man slowly reached into his pockets, careful not to move his neck. He awkwardly handed it to my father, who tossed it to me.

“Take all of the money in it,” he said to me. “I’ll accept that as payment for sparing his life.”

I grinned. Even if this felt a bit like robbery, that man would have hurt us pretty badly if given the chance. This was nothing more than an evil pig getting his just desserts. Opening the wallet, my eyes widened. Not only was there a surplus of silver and copper coins, but there was also three gold pieces in the wallet. What was a man like this doing with such wealth?

“Where did you get that money?” dad asked.

“I run-” the man coughed, the movement drawing a bit more blood from his neck. “Look, man, I’m cooperating, so won’t you bring that sword down a bit?” Father lowered his sword a tiny bit and gestured for the man to keep talking. “I run businesses here and there,” he explained vaguely. “You’ve got my money, haven’t you? Can I go now?”

My father jerked his thumb at the door. “Get out of my sight.”

The room was silent as the man stumbled out the door, then burst out into applause.