Race for the sword. Fabrizio’s help. Stormdock. Names for the brigands. A lie. A fight. Hostile negotiations. Three percent. One last catastrophe.

Sal didn’t pause, not a second. He left Shivaun and the diner in a flash, sprinting down the street. The sun was low in the sky, but he still had plenty of light left, due to the long summer.

He’d lost fifty points when one of Otto Ovum’s mages used the Killword scroll. What would happen if those brigands used that short sword he’d given them?

Losing another fifty points would kill him.

Sal prayed he would find those brigands on Confusion Street, but no, they weren’t there, nor had they been in a while. They probably had gotten smart and stayed in the Butter King’s area of town, which was to the southwest of the tower, on the Middle Sea, across town from Otto’s chicken farm. The Butter King shared a border with the Pork Poet, and that had been a problem it sounded like.

Sal found Fabrizio cooking for that night’s Mind & Body Tables. He had plenty of help, thankfully, and Sal dragged him outside to talk. He quickly told the surprised priest about losing half of his Karma points to the Killword scroll.

Fabrizio frowned. “Oh boy, Sal. You’re taking this better than I would’ve. It wasn’t your fault. Where does the responsibility stop? If someone eats your food and does something bad, are you responsible?”

Sal didn’t know, but he simply wanted the sword back. “My friend, you have far more of an understanding of personal responsibility than I do. I was offered the scroll, and I turned it down, though I had a good idea that it could be used for nefarious purposes. And here we are. I simply want to retrieve the sword, so I do not use any more Karma points.”

Fabrizio squinted at him. “I think I know where you can find the sword. But oh boy, it’s not going to be easy. The Butter King likes to spend weekend evenings at Snoot’s Stormrest, on the beach. That’s where you’ll find him. But he won’t like talking business on a Saturday night.”

Sal also knew that there was a good chance that this Butter King might be intoxicated. Or at least his men would be. There was some good news. “I most likely will not have to engage the Butter King directly. I merely need to find his lackeys.”

“Be careful,” Fabrizio said. “Word is spreading about your diner in Champion Plaza, and the Butter King might be mad about it. I mean, Hamletti was from what you told me.”

Sal couldn’t talk about the Pork Poet. He was too angry. “If word is spreading why is no one coming?”

The priest winced. “They’re afraid of the Braggadorios. They’re afraid of ghosts. But, oh boy, your café is just new. New stuff really scares people. They just want to eat at their old favorites.”

“Like at the Shorn Unicorn’s Horn,” Sal said with some distaste.

He went to leave, but Fabrizio called to him. “Sal, I’m serious. Be careful, okay? You’re going to be dealing with some bad people.”

“No,” Sal shot back. “This Butter King and his minions will be the one dealing with a bad person.”

Then he was stomping away, going south, making his way through unknown streets, as the sun set lower in the sky. A few ruffians appraised him.

He almost wished someone would try and trifle with him.

Sal couldn’t shake the rage he was feeling. He’d found the little Karmic game he’d been playing rather interesting, if challenging, but this new wrinkle had thrown him. He wasn’t worried about dying, no, he was really worried about losing his diner and failing his friends. And he was frustrated that he’d lost fifty Karma points so fast. It had taken him weeks to gather the good deeds, and now, they were gone like dust in the wind.

Should it work like that?

He thought of Elvis Saadiq’s widow and orphaned children. They would probably think so.

Somehow, that only made him more furious.

If he could get the sword back, then at least he wouldn’t have to worry about it being used to hurt anyone, because if too many people were hurt, it just might kill him.

Ironic, that most of his sins had been from the deeds of others. Hearthhome was an example of that. Now, his fate hinged on the actions of others. Perhaps there was some justice in that.

He hurried through a cluster of houses, stacked on top of one another, and someone was having a loud house party, including at least one drummer. He hurried by men standing outside, drinking, and they didn’t give him a second look.

The houses grew nicer as he went, until he came to a row of shops with houses above them. This had been Stormdock section of town, which back in his day, had been little more than a collection of rundown houses mostly owned by poor fisherman. That had changed.

The rolling green hills were shadowy mounds to his right. That was where the Butter King had his cows, and his palace, which explained the lights twinkling out there beyond the crumbling old western wall.

New ramparts had been built farther up near the rising mountains there, though the granite mountain peaks were wall enough to stop any invading army from traipsing into the city.

Sal found the big tavern—Snoot’s Stormrest—on the beach front, where torches burned near the gentle waves lapping at the sand. There was a new boardwalk that took him right to the broad patio of the place, which was loud from a band playing inside. A large patio to the left held a crowd of people, wealthy people, of all races. This was a place for the elites, and Stormdock is where they lived.

Sal wasn’t sure who Snoot was, or why everything in the southwest part of town was storm this and storm that, but in the end, it didn’t matter. He’d grown up with a grandfather who wasn’t the best at naming things. Names changed anyway. Only blood was forever.

As luck would have it, the four brigands were in the entryway, and the biggest but least ugly of the men had the short sword, though he’d gone all out and had bought a fancy bejeweled sheath for it.

Sal found he didn’t have a plan, not really, only in the back of his head, he did.

Inside, the tavern was packed, and Sal didn’t know what the Butter King looked like, but there was no one in sight that seemed to be a likely candidate for the Braggadorio. There were some Torta merchants, dressed in silks, with their shells painted. A few human women in revealing dresses stood near them, talking, and then there were the workers, carrying plates of food out to the patio. The clinking and eating was muted by minstrels, pounding drums, strumming lutes, and singing in a chorus.

For whatever reason, the brigands stood at the back of the crowd.

It was loud and chaotic, perfect for Sal’s unwise plan.

He tapped the smallest one on the shoulder.

“Greetings, gentleman. I have another deal to make with you.”

The little one, the ugliest one, squinted at him. “What kind of squeal? Squeal what now?”

Sal shouted, “A deal. I would like to make another deal with you!”

Mr. Ugly wiped his nose. “I don’t know you from the Dark Lord Mood. Leave us alone.”

Sal knew what he was doing wasn’t smart, and yet, he was close to a solution to his unfortunate circumstances. He pushed past him and went to the big one, the one who had the sword. “Excuse me, I do not know if you remember me or not, but we met on Confusion Street a few weeks back. I donated that sword to you.”

But then Sal was dragged back, not by the small guy, but by the other two. One had a face covered in pimples. The second one was wearing a great deal of cologne, enough to make Sal’s eyes water. It was covering an even more unfortunate stink.

Sal was hauled outside, with the four following him, until he was thrown against the railing.

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He threw up his hands. “Look, I did not come here seeking trouble. I wanted this to be a business arrangement.”

Mr. Big didn’t respond. He simply drove a fist into Sal’s stomach.

Sal found himself not able to breathe. He staggered back, until one of the men tripped him, and he went down.

He expected one of the other men to kick him, but instead, the little guy stepped on his hand.

Sal knew if he stayed on the ground, he might very well be beaten to death.

He jerked his hand out from under the little guy’s boot, and a second later, he jumped to his feet.

Mr. Big grunted laughter. “Oh, I know you. You were the daft bugger who gave me my sword.”

Sal was trying not to show how much pain he was in. “Yes, yes, that is what I have said before. I came into money, only a little, and I would like to purchase the sword from you.”

He expected a warning message about him lying, but he could honestly say, the fortunes from the Riverglitter Manor were small compared to his finances, even smaller when compared to the vast riches he’d once enjoyed. And he wanted bonus points for not trying to beat the men to death after they roughed him up. That was a very unlikely scenario.

The big one chuckled. “Hear that Snickers. He wants to buy the sword from me. Oh, I bet you do. Did you even know it was magical?”

Sal’s heart fell. He hadn’t. He didn’t have that kind of magic anymore. He couldn’t let on that he hadn’t know, or the price would skyrocket. “Yes, yes, I did. Which is why I am offering a pretty penny to get it back.”

<<<>>>

Warning! Karmic Gauge reduced by 1%. Lying is not going to help you. Honesty is the best policy.

Current Karmic Gauge: 48% (Yellow)

<<<>>>

Sal still had plenty of points left to play with. The little transgressions weren’t as critical as getting that sword back. “So, make me an offer, and I shall purchase the sword back from you.”

He didn’t have the money for this, especially since he still had to buy the bacon from the Pork Poet. She was unlikely to give him anything on credit.

The ugly pipsqueak giggled. “Oh, Jaxen, he don’t know nothing. Like we’re gonna sell an actual magic sword back to him. Not going to happen.”

The big one, Jaxen, nodded. “A thousand gold pieces.”

“I don’t have that,” Sal said. “And besides, that would be for something extraordinary. Yes, my sword is magical, but it doesn’t have that much magic to it. Besides, I know you haven’t used it to hurt anyone.”

Jaxen smiled showing straight white teeth. “That’s the magic of it. It scares people. You want a taste? Yeah, I bet you do. As a little reminder.”

The big man grabbed the hilt and raised it, just to show the blade, which darkened right before Sal’s eyes, turning from a gray iron to dark obsidian.

Fear filled him, only it didn’t make him want to run away.

In fact, it fueled him forward because in the end, he knew he wasn’t going to be able to buy the sword back. He was going to have to steal it, which would cost him, dearly, and in the end, might even kill him.

But what choice did he have?

Jaxen was surprised to find Sal right in his face, trying to grab that sword, which seemed like this awful, terrible thing, something Sal didn’t want to touch, but he had to. He had to.

If he’d been anyone else, he would’ve run screaming.

But he wasn’t just anyone else. Snickers—the little, ugly one—stepped back, but Mr. Cologne went to grab Sal, and he ducked the ruffian, using his Youngin Reflexes.

Pimples went to punch Sal.

Sal knew he could’ve ducked it, but he was tired of playing with these common brigands. He was tired of living this humble life, of being servile and scraping. His restaurant might not take off, and there wasn’t much he could do to ensure its success.

He could get that sword back, though, by any means necessary.

Sal had lost all of magical combat skills, and yet, he’d lived over two thousand years, and he knew how to throw a punch. Some things never left you.

He punched Pimples right in his nose, a perfect blow, which sent the man staggering back. Back when Sal had conquered a good portion of the world, he’d had a BodyWork Modifier of 285%. That basically tripled the damage he inflicted on his enemies.

Now? He had a mere 10%, and while it was a good punch, it didn’t break bone, which all in all, was a good thing. And the Bodywork Modifier wasn’t just for attacking either, but it solidified his body and thickened his bones. Plus, the ability to instinctively dodge attacks was also taken into account. Rarely did he get hit, and when he did, his skin was simply tougher to pierce. He’d nearly been a god!

Now, he was just a guy in a bar fight. That fact didn’t make his Mysterious Benefactor very happy.

<<<>>>

What is this? Violence? Unabashed violence? Karmic Gauge reduced by 20%. We don’t hit!

Current Karmic Gauge: 28% (Sour Orange)

<<<>>>

“Hey! He hit Hugh!” Snickers shouted. “Drew! Get him!”

So, Mr. Cologne was Drew and Pimples was Hugh. Hugh and Drew? That tracked. They did seem like a matched pair.

Sal dodged Drew and his cologne, and instead of hitting him, kicked the fragrant man right between the legs.

<<<>>>

Ouch! Karmic Gauge reduced by 10%. Kicking a guy in the nards is a low blow. Literally low. What are you doing?

Current Karmic Gauge: 18% (A Self-Destructive Orangish Red)

<<<>>>

Sal couldn’t argue about the ethics of self-defense with his mysterious benefactor. He could only fight, and that’s what he did.

Snickers came at him with his cane, which was really more of a cudgel.

Sal had the reflexes to not only dodge his attacks, but to pluck the cudgel away from him. By that time, Pimply Hugh was coming at him again.

Sal went to smack him in the face, but at the last minute, pulled the blow, which the guy was expecting. Instead, the former Dark Lord stomped down on his foot, and then kneed him in the thigh, which sent Hugh down to join Drew on the floor.

<<<>>>

Warning! Karmic Gauge reduced by 5%. There’s a good chance you broke that guy’s foot. And a charley-horse to the thigh never feels good. Wait, something strange is going on.

Current Karmic Gauge: 13% (Back into the red)

<<<>>>

Sal was in the territory where he just might die from fighting too well.

Snickers, in his heart was a coward, because he wasn’t attacking. He stood back and wailed, “Jaxen! Get him!”

Mr. Big, otherwise known as Jaxen, was clearly surprised his sword wasn’t working like he thought it would, but that was the nature of magical fear. There was a fight, flight, or freeze response, and Sal was responding with desperate violence.

He realized he wasn’t in his right mind.

Jaxen drew the sword fully, and all that awful fear hit Sal, making him even crazier.

Again, he had some magic in his Youngin Reflexes, because he dodged the sword, and he thought to cudgel Jaxen in the head, though that might’ve killed him, but instead, he slammed the cudgel down on the big man’s sword hand.

The sword clattered to the ground.

<<<>>>

Warning! Karmic Gauge reduced by 5%. First feet, and now hands. Are you trying to break that guy’s hand? Yeah, I think you are. But you’re not in your right mind because of the fear magic in the air. So I’m not taking a ton of points from you, but you still have to stop. You know that every time you throw a punch there’s a chance you could kill someone.

Current Karmic Gauge: 8% (A Dangerous Shade of Red)

<<<>>>

Sal yanked the blade up, and then, he whirled, stepping backwards, and keeping it out in front of him. He was already so tired from this little fight. With a better BodyWork Modifier, he could’ve fought for hours. Luckily, he’d had enough energy for this little scuffle, which seemed to be almost over.

Snickers let out a scream of terror and went under the railing, onto the beach, where he dashed away, sprinting toward the water.

Jaxen froze, his eyes wide, even as he cradled his hand to his chest.

Both Drew and Hugh hid their eyes.

Sal cursed himself for not asking Shivaun about the weapons in his basement. Thank goodness he hadn’t sold them or given them away. At least not to known criminals working for a Braggadorio.

He was going to be careful, very careful, from here on out.

“Now,” Sal said. “I would like to buy this sword back from you. While I see now, a thousand gold might have been a very good price, I do question the ethics of our original arrangement. I gave it to you, so you would not hurt me. It seems to me, in our original encounter, you would have been satisfied with a few silver pieces. I will give you fifty gold pieces. No, a hundred. I have platinum. Have any of you ever seen a platinum piece?”

Jaxen swallowed hard. “No. No, sir.” He stood there, blinking, his eyes on the obsidian blade in Sal’s hands. He hadn’t used the sword in combat, and he hadn’t used it to intimidate anyone, and that was why he hadn’t been to activate the weapon’s sorcery.

It also explained why Jaxen hadn’t had to use it.

Was that luck or destiny?

Sal flipped Jaxen a single coin. “And you’re going to throw in the sheath for that kind of money.”

The big man hesitated for a moment before tossing him the sheath.

Sal wasn’t about to sheath the sword, no, because he wasn’t sure what the brigands would do to him. No one had come out of the inn, and it seemed no one had seen the fight at all.

The band continued to play inside the tavern.

Sal wasn’t surprised at the next message.

<<<>>>

Warning! Karmic Gauge reduced by 5%. Negotiating while using sorcery just isn’t right. You got that sword back for a song. But we both know that while it was cheap as far as money goes, it just might be the most expensive purchase you’ve ever made.

Current Karmic Gauge: 3% (Red and flashing!)

<<<>>>

He’d come for what he wanted, and he was leaving with his Karmic Gauge in the red.

Only three percentage points from death.

And he just might’ve created a vicious enemy in the Butter King, and he was fairly certain that his gnocchi would need dairy products, probably a lot of dairy.

“He left the brigands with a last warning. “Do not come seeking revenge. If you trifle with me, you will not like the results.”

He then hurried away from the tavern. He felt safer with the short sword in his hand, now sheathed, because it turned out to be a powerful weapon. Too bad, in the end, it was one he couldn’t use. He couldn’t kill anyone, and he couldn’t use it to scare anyone. That would be intimidation, and his Benefactor would surely hate that.

The night wasn’t over.

He had another surprise coming.

When he reached the intersection of Champion Street and Tower Road, he saw that his street had been blocked with bright yellow ribbons, with the words CONSTRUCTION ZONE tacked to either side of the avenue.

He ducked under the yellow ribbon and walked to Champion Plaza itself. There, he saw that the cobblestones had all been torn up, and there were piles of rocks and dirt surrounding the fountain. The biggest stacks of rock were directly in front of his diner, with some of the bigger boulders pushing against the two tables and the chairs there.

One of the umbrellas had been broken, and it wasn’t the scorched one.

It was his good one! His best umbrella!

All the construction would most likely doom his poor diner, doom it to the Abyssmuck forever!