James leaned against the tavern wall, rubbing his temples as he tried to clear the last remnants of his previous drunken disaster from his mind. His cursed sword sat at his hip, the only possession he still had after the thieves had looted him.
Lyra was standing beside him, arms crossed, impatience practically radiating off her. “So, are we doing this or what?”
James sighed. “We will, just… not right this second.”
Lyra raised an eyebrow. “You scared?”
James shot her a look. “No. I just need to handle something first.” He patted the pouch of coins at his belt, feeling the slight weight of his newfound wealth. “Now that I actually have some money, we need to track down the bastards who robbed me blind when I was blackout drunk.”
Lyra smirked. “Hah. That’s fair. So, what’s the plan? Walk around town and accuse random shady-looking people?”
James rolled his eyes. “No, we retrace my steps. I drank here, got completely wasted, and at some point, people took everything I had.” He looked up at the worn-out sign of The Rusty Tankard, the tavern where his humiliating downfall had occurred. “Maybe someone saw something.”
Lyra tapped her chin. “Alright. I’ll help. But if this turns into another death trap, I’m taking your shoes as payment.”
James glanced at his feet. “I don’t have shoes.”
“Exactly.”
Shaking his head, James pushed open the tavern doors, stepping inside. The place was just as dingy and foul-smelling as he remembered, the scent of cheap ale and unwashed bodies mixing in an unholy concoction that made his stomach churn. The barkeep, a burly man with a permanent scowl, was wiping down a mug with a rag that looked dirtier than the cup itself.
James approached the bar. “Hey, you remember me?”
The barkeep barely glanced at him. “No.”
James frowned. “I was the guy who got blackout drunk and—”
“Oh. You.” The barkeep sighed and set the mug down. “Yeah, I remember you. Puked all over my floor, passed out in the alley. Almost called the city guard to toss you in the gutter.”
James grimaced. “Right. About that. I, uh… got robbed. You see anyone messing with me?”
The barkeep grunted. “Kid, half the people in this city would loot a corpse if given the chance. You being blackout drunk just made it easier.”
James clenched his jaw. “Yeah, but someone had to be the first to take my stuff. You see anyone digging through my pockets?”
The barkeep leaned on the counter. “I don’t see much of anything after last call. But…” He scratched his beard. “There was a group hanging around outside when I threw you out. Didn’t get a good look, but they weren’t the usual drunks. Looked like they were waiting for something.”
James exchanged a glance with Lyra. That sounded way too deliberate.
Lyra folded her arms. “Any idea where they went?”
The barkeep shrugged. “Try Beggar’s Row. If they’re thieves, that’s where they’ll be.”
James nodded. “Thanks.”
The barkeep held out his hand. “For the information.”
James sighed and tossed him a few coins. The man grunted in approval and went back to cleaning his definitely-not-clean mug.
As James and Lyra stepped out of the tavern, Lyra let out a low whistle. “Beggar’s Row, huh? That place is a nightmare. You sure you wanna do this?”
Stolen novel; please report.
James exhaled. “I need my stuff back.”
Lyra grinned. “Then let’s go steal from the thieves.”
----------------------------------------
Beggar’s Row wasn’t just an alley—it was an entire district tucked into the worst part of the city. Filthy streets, makeshift tents, and crumbling buildings created a maze of shady dealings. The deeper James and Lyra went, the worse the stench got—rotting food, sewage, and unwashed bodies mixing together into something truly horrifying.
James kept his hand on the hilt of his cursed sword, half-expecting someone to jump him at any moment.
Lyra nudged him. “See anyone suspicious?”
James gave her a deadpan look. “Lyra, everyone here is suspicious.”
She chuckled. “Fair.”
As they navigated the narrow paths between shacks, James caught movement out of the corner of his eye. A few figures were lingering near a firepit, speaking in hushed tones. One of them—a wiry man with a scar across his cheek—was tossing a familiar coin pouch in the air.
James narrowed his eyes. That’s mine.
He turned to Lyra. “Found them.”
Lyra followed his gaze and grinned. “Oh, this is gonna be fun.”
James cracked his knuckles. “Let’s get my stuff back.”
James clenched his fists as he stared at the scarred thief flipping his coin pouch. He wasn’t the type for grand speeches—especially not after everything he’d been through—but right now, he wanted blood.
Lyra nudged him. “You got a plan?”
“Yeah,” James muttered. “Walk up and start swinging.”
Lyra grinned. “I like it.”
James strode forward, hand on his cursed sword. “Hey, asshole!”
The thieves turned, their conversation cutting off. There were four of them—Scarface, a bald guy with a thick beard, a wiry woman with dagger belts across her chest, and a lanky guy with shifty eyes. All of them radiated that familiar, scumbag confidence.
Scarface caught the coin pouch and smirked. “Well, look who it is. You were a lot quieter last time we saw you, mate. Snoring like a hog in the gutter.”
James unsheathed his sword. “Give me my stuff back.”
The thieves laughed.
Beard Guy cracked his knuckles. “Or what?”
James took a step forward, raising his sword—
And a dagger buried itself in his throat.
He barely had time to process the pain before his vision blurred, and he collapsed onto the filthy ground, gurgling. His body spasmed as blood gushed from his neck. The last thing he heard was Lyra sighing, “Well, that was stupid,” before—
YOU HAVE DIED. RESPAWNING…
----------------------------------------
James gasped as he came back to life in the nearby alley.
Lyra stood over him, arms crossed. “That went well.”
“Shut up,” James wheezed, rubbing his throat. “Did you see where that dagger came from?”
“The woman with the belt full of them. Kinda her thing.”
James groaned. “Okay. New plan.”
Lyra smirked. “A plan, you mean.”
----------------------------------------
Attempt #2
James rushed forward, zigzagging to avoid the dagger throw. It almost worked—except he ran straight into Beard Guy’s meaty fist.
His skull cracked like a dropped melon.
YOU HAVE DIED. RESPAWNING…
----------------------------------------
Attempt #4
This time, James parried the first dagger, ducked under Beard Guy’s punch, and—
Got tackled by Scarface, who jammed a rusted blade between his ribs.
YOU HAVE DIED. RESPAWNING…
----------------------------------------
Attempt #7
James managed to stab the lanky guy in the gut, only for the dagger woman to grab him from behind and slice open his stomach like a fish.
He died screaming.
YOU HAVE DIED. RESPAWNING…
----------------------------------------
James slammed his fist against the alley wall, frustration boiling over. “I hate this game.”
Lyra, sitting on a nearby crate, tossed a pebble in the air. “You almost had them that time. If you hadn’t tripped on your own foot.”
James glared at her. “You’re not even helping.”
“I’m providing moral support.”
James sighed, rubbing his temples. “Alright. We need to be smarter about this.”
----------------------------------------
Final Attempt
Instead of charging in, James and Lyra crept onto a rooftop above the thieves. They waited until Scarface wandered a little too far from the others—then Lyra kicked a loose brick off the ledge.
Scarface looked up. “What the—”
James dropped down on him like a sack of bricks, driving his sword straight through the bastard’s back.
“GAHH—”
The other thieves jumped to their feet—
But Lyra was already on them, daggers flashing.
James yanked his blade free and whirled just in time to block Beard Guy’s incoming punch. Instead of going for a direct fight, James feinted—then kicked the guy straight in the groin.
Beard Guy howled in pain, dropping to his knees.
James swung his cursed sword, severing his head.
The dagger woman snarled and lunged—
Lyra intercepted, twirling past her and jamming a knife under her ribs.
The last thief, the lanky guy, took one look at the carnage and bolted.
Lyra made a lazy throwing motion—
A dagger embedded itself in the back of his skull.
He faceplanted into the dirt.
Silence.
James stood in the middle of the carnage, chest heaving. “Holy shit. We won.”
Lyra smirked. “Took you long enough.”
James ignored her and looted the bodies. His coin pouch was still mostly full, though the thieves had spent a bit of it. He found his stolen belt knife, too, and—
“Oh, hell yeah.” James held up his iron chestplate, now dingier than before but still usable. “I’m never getting blackout drunk again.”
Lyra raised an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. Sure.”
James ignored her. He was too busy enjoying the fact that, for once, he had won.
Of course, this was his life.
That meant things were about to get worse.