Chương 44: Chapter 028 Trapped In Ron’s Diner (Part 1)

Jack stepped out of the Adventurers Guild's training area, fatigue tugging at his limbs, but in good spirits. No one had made disparaging remarks about how grotesque his face looked or how it was spoiling their meal! He was having a good day. Smiling, he planned the rest of his day. Head home, have a bath, get something to eat. His stomach rumbled at the thought. Then s pend a few hours crafting scrolls. He needed more coin to buy armour.

As he passed beneath the Guild's stone archway, he spotted a towering swordsman bearing a greatsword, sheathed on his back at a slight angle. The seven-foot-long weapon protruded a couple of feet above his head. The swordsman was heading for the Adventurers Guild.

"Fuck," Jack muttered, his steps faltering. He felt [Shadow Veil] drawing him towards the safety of the shadows. This was the leader of the adventurer party who had searched for him through the forest only yesterday. Beside the swordsman walked their healer, Linda, deep in conversation.

"We need a job," the swordsman rumbled.

"A few goblins a week ain't even enough for ale." Jack had frozen like a rabbit in lamplight. Memories of being chased through the forest, the arrow in his side, his dagger twisting in the rogue's neck. Linda nodded.

"When that idiot Kyle turns up, we should do another dungeon raid. Do you think we're ready for the second floor?" A couple of paces behind them, another young woman followed with a slight limp. It was Sam, the woman who was injured by the goblin that Jack killed. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Jack thought as they approached. [Shadow Veil] was still pulling him towards the shadows, not five feet away. He lowered his head so his hood would cover his features better while gripping his dagger handle beneath the cloak.

He began to consider his options. Run, fight or scream for help. A moment later, the large swordsman and healer swept past him without a glance, their discussion focused on work prospects. Jack breathed a sigh of relief. Thank the Gods they didn't notice me. Sam cast him a fleeting glance as she limped by… and a second look, and a… smile. Jack stiffened and stared ahead, determined not to meet her gaze. He concentrated on a nearby brass fountain over a small pond. A handful of ducks floated on its surface.

A young boy with his mom was throwing bread to the ducks. An old couple sat hand in hand on a bench nearby. A delivery drone, about the size of a cat, flitted by, leaving a thin stream of spent aether-steam in its wake. Jack and Sam passed. He picked up the pace. That was too fucking close. He felt [Assassin's Intuition] ping; someone was watching him. Shit.

"Hey, you two," Sam called. There was no response. Jack quickened his footsteps.

"Stop, you idiots," she called again.

"Ain't that the kid Kyle chased?" Damn. Jack kept walking, scanning the area for the best place to start running. Should I run now?

"What?" the swordsman barked. The taste of metallic saliva coated Jack's tongue as adrenaline coursed through his body. Should I run?

"Him there." There was a short pause before Sam added, "Yeah, him. See the white bow?" More pings from [Assassin's Intuition]. Fuck. The bow. Jack headed towards an alleyway where he'd be out of sight and could run.

"Hey! You!" the swordsman roared. Jack kept walking. A few more seconds. Shit.

"You… with the white bow. Come here," the swordsman called, his voice drawing nearer. Jack swung into the narrow alleyway and bolted like a rabbit. A dozen paces and a quick left turn, two dozen more paces, and he skidded to a halt. Fuck, it's a dead end. Before him loomed a twelve-foot-plus sandstone wall, smooth and unscalable, its summit crowned with broken glass. At its base sat a row of industrial-sized bins.

To his left, a tall sandstone building with barred windows; to his right, another building with shuttered windows and a solitary door. Could I scale the wall? I could use the bins… Jack clenched his fists. No way past the glass shards. He dashed to the door as the swordsman rounded the corner.

"It is you!" the swordsman said, drawing his enormous blade. Jack gave him a single glance and tried the door.

"Please be unlocked," he muttered under his breath.

"There's no escape, kid," the swordsman growled.

"Where's Ky…" Jack yanked the door open and darted into a short, well-lit hallway.

"Thank the Gods," he murmured, slamming the door shut while scanning for a lock.

"Shit… rune-encoded." Without the key, he couldn't secure it. He searched the passageway for something to bar the door with. Fuck. There was nothing usable in the ten-foot-long corridor; it was almost empty. On the walls were a few notice boards and an aether-powered employee timepunch device, used for clocking in and out of work. At the end of the short corridor was a single door. The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

Jack rifled through his pack, panic rising like an unstoppable tide.

"Fuck! Where is it? Where is it? … Got it." He squinted at the heading on one of the notice boards.

'Ron's Diner Work Schedule.' He tried the other door.

"Fuck!" It was locked. He gave it a hard yank, hoping it would open, but it didn't budge. The door he'd entered through swung open and [Assassin's Intuition] triggered. He glanced at the employee time punch device to the side of the door. He considered using one of the workers' punch cards to unlock the door, but knew he'd need one of their passcodes. The swordsman's shadow spilt over the doorway.

"Gotcha," he snarled, holding the door open with his free hand.

"Where the hell's Kyle?" Jack let his pack drop, maintaining a hand on his dagger and said, "Who the hell's Kyle, and what the fuck do you think you're doing entering my diner?" His pulse thundered in his temples.

"Do I need to call the guards?" The swordsman frowned while looking into the hallway. He didn't enter.

"Well?" Jack repeated, taking a half-step forward.

"Who are you and what are you doing in my diner? Get out!" He squared his shoulders, attempting to look confident, like he owned the place. Shit. Shit. Shit. He was trapped. He looked at the greatsword the swordsman was holding. It was taller than the door!

"Do you take me for a fool, kid?" The swordsman grinned.

"This is Ron's. And you ain't no Ron." He chuckled. One of the women called something from the alleyway. Jack's chest tightened. Damn it. The swordsman looked back up the alleyway.

"I got him trapped," he called. Looking back at Jack, he shouted again, "Where the fuck's Kyle?!" He took a step into the doorway, blocking Jack's exit. His only escape.

"Last chance, boy." He raised the blade to the ceiling. Gripping the damaged handle of his dagger.

"Never again," Jack whispered. For my family.

"[Fireball]!" Jack yelled. A crackling sphere of flame shot from his left palm; the used spell scroll disintegrated after use. The [Fireball] struck the swordsman in the chest, igniting his leather armour and flesh in a roaring inferno. Jack lunged forward, dagger drawn, sliding against the hallway wall to avoid the collapsing steel blade. Vital points. Aim for vital points. He pictured multiple vital points. Neck, eyes, groin, armpits, heart, lungs… His new assassin skills currently forgotten.

The swordsman's guttural screams of agony filled the corridor as his leather armour, skin and hair charred and melted under the searing heat. Jack flinched at the flames, the smell of burning flesh, and the screaming swordsman. For a heartbeat, he was back home, slamming his shoulder against the flaming, locked door where his mother, sister, and brother burned. Their screams for help urged him to knock down the door and save them.

"I have to save them!" he cried. The flames surged, and Jack was forced to crawl out of his burning home… without his family. He wanted to die, but his body refused to obey… Jack smashed into the smouldering swordsman, the heat still present. Still disorientated from the flashback, he slammed the dagger deep into the swordsman's gut and tore it free.

"I fucking hate you!" he screamed as he saw Greaves before him, his smug, grinning face, his wispy blond hair under the stupid top hat. The palm of Jack's right hand itched. They tumbled into the narrow alleyway. The swordsman's form slumped against the sandstone wall with Jack kneeling on him. The swordsman's torso was a ruin of scraps of smoking leather and blackened flesh, his head a grotesque mass of red, hairless skin, his ears gone, his eyes melted shut.

The swordsman's hands flailed, catching Jack hard in the face. Stars danced before his eyes as blood dripped from his nose. He thrust the dagger at the swordsman's neck, but missed, instead burying it deep in his shoulder as it scraped against a metal plate within smouldering leather armour. Jack's palm itched more as he ripped the weapon free and slid the blade under the man's jaw and deep into his brain. He twisted, causing bone to crunch, ensuring the swordsman's end.

As he withdrew the dagger, a surge of power coursed through his veins. The ache in his muscles from archery training melted away beneath the fierce rush of energy. A memory crashed into his mind that wasn't his own. A scarred woman's hand. A dagger moving so quickly it became a silver blur. The blade slashed across an orcneas' wrist, severing tendons before the creature even realised it had been struck. Its sword slipped from its fingers and clattered onto the stone.

Then the vision was gone, but the assassin's technique remained, etched into Jack's memory as though he had practised it for years. Still kneeling, Jack glanced towards the alley's corner. Linda and Sam stood there, wide-eyed and motionless, too shocked to act. Jack offered the two young women a crooked, wide-eyed grin and yelled, "Run, while you still can, girls!" He chuckled while taking his time to wipe the blade on the corpse's remains.

The women exchanged a panicked look before sprinting back towards the Guild, shrieking for help! Jack breathed a sigh of relief.

"Fuck! I can't believe that worked." His shoulders slumped from exhaustion. He looked at the bloody remains of the swordsman, feeling no guilt, only sadness at having to kill again. The outcome of the fight had been decided the moment the [Fireball] hit true. He grimaced at the mess the [Fireball] had done to the man's face.

"Shouldn't have taken my goblin ear," Jack whispered. The swordsman had stolen the goblin ear and rusty shortsword from him; he cut the coin pouch from his still-smouldering corpse.

"Now we're even." He considered taking the greatsword; it would be worth over a gold, but thought better of it. Jack stumbled back into Ron's Diner, grabbed his pack and ran into the alleyway. He again looked at the greatsword. That could be worth 2 gold. He hesitated.

"Fuck! I can't carry that thing through the city." It was taller than he was. He ran to the top of the alleyway as he heard the back door to Ron's Diner opening. There was no one at the entrance of the alley; the two women were long gone.

"Call the guards," a male voice called. Jack didn't wait to hear the rest. Sheathing his dagger and pulling his hood back over his face, he got the hell out of there while watching for anyone following him. He was wary that the rest of the adventurers' party would attack him. With his hand on the hilt of his dagger, he walked through the city while trying not to draw attention to himself. Of course, he was splattered in blood… again! Turning a corner towards home, he saw a contingent of city guards heading his way.

Six Anubian guards marched along the cobbled street.

"Fuck!" Turning on his heels, he headed in the opposite direction. Once back around the corner, he ran before ducking into a shadowy alleyway where [Shadow Veil] drew him towards the darker shadows while he prayed it wasn't another dead end. After running for a minute, he paused to listen. No sounds of guards' heavy footsteps or shouts, and [Assassin's Intuition] was silent.

"Shit. That was close." He leaned against a wall, deep within the shadows, trembling as [Shadow Veil] made him harder to spot. Had they noticed his blood-splattered clothing, they'd have questioned him, and he'd have struggled to offer a believable explanation. In principle, he could've told them the truth, but it would've been his word against the two women, and he wasn't prepared to take the risk. It would also raise suspicions about him regarding the missing rat-faced rogue, Kyle.

Using [Perfect Recall] to access memorised maps, he threaded a maze of back alleys, keeping to the shadows, until at last he recognised the familiar sight of his family's home. I should carry a [C leansing] spell scroll from now on, he resolved. Better than explaining why I'm always covered in blood. The [Cleansing] spell scroll, though frivolous considering the cost, would mean he wouldn't be returning home covered in blood and other filth when things went wrong.