Chương 41: Show Offs

The dinky tavern felt even more cramped when getting rushed by armed hoodlums. Joel kicked the fat one in the belly, knocking the man back into the three behind him. Slipping another's swing of a club, he countered with an uppercut and snapped the assailant's head back. To make sure that the thug stayed down, he finished the combo with a punctuating one-two — his personal favorite. It was more than enough to make the man slump onto the floor. Nothing better than the basics after all.

Nose bloodied and eyes rolling, the unconscious man was enough to give the other thugs momentary pause. They shared worried glances with one another. For a brief moment, there was a flickering hope that they'd all back down. Common sense might prevail. Alis peeked her head out from behind Joel.

"That's it? You aware this one's a porter? That's who has you all pissing and shaking like babes." Joel didn't even have time to sigh as the outraged roars filled the raggedy tavern. Surely she knew he was unarmed, right? The fat one, promptly back to his feet and screaming something nonsensical, charged him again, rusty dagger in hand. Joel grabbed at the pudgy arm, spun the heavy thug over his shoulder and straight into the floor.

Before the man could gasp, he threw three downward punches, badly blooding the thug's face with a trio of sickening crunches. The man's pathetic whines nearly made him feel guilty until he remembered Thadd's swollen face and Gorum's bruised brow. He snapped another sharp strike, smashing into the man's jaw to silence him. This seemed to only incense the other four further. Joel ducked another knife swing, stepping further into the musky tavern while dodging a thrown chair that shattered into a wall.

Stepping into the center of the room was a mistake, as they circled him, but Alis had been right; the thugs were manageable for him. They were slow, predictable, and, compared to the sagani, really nothing.

"Hurry up," Alis said, already comfortably seated in the tavern's corner. All of this would undoubtedly go faster if she helped, but Joel bit back the words because he'd been wanting to test himself. Since he was surrounded, this time he took the initiative and rushed forward at a scrawnier ruffian. The startled young man fanned his club at Joel, trying to keep him at bay. Timing the swing, Joel shot a swift punch into the throat and followed it with a tidy knee into the gut. He didn't continue raining down blows.

Instead, he turned and went after the next attacker. This man's stab was slow and unsteady, exposing a weak grip, so Joel disarmed him with a casual kick and the knife rattled over the bar counter. Before the man could even be startled, Joel spun a back kick across his chin, sending the thug careening after his knife.

"Show off!" Alis shouted from the corner.

"Bleh, you idiots," shouted the burly man laying on the bar counter. One hand holding his bloody gut, he pointed a dirty finger toward Joel.

"Get him before the boss hears! Gah." He rolled onto his side in pain. The last two thugs shared uncertain looks. One of them, clearly skittish, raised his hands and dropped his club.

"W-we don't want anymore trouble," he said, fearful eyes darting to and fro.

"Just let us go." Joel's hands dropped momentarily.

"Can't do that," Alis said, dramatically cupping her hands as if she was shouting across a great distance.

"They'll go and get the others!" It was an unfortunate truth. A truth that one of the thugs realized quicker than Joel. With a brave yell, the brawny man threw his full weight into a punch at the jaw. Joel staggered, recoiling a half step, and held his mouth. The bastard had made him bite his own tongue, so he spat out some blood. His eyes darkened towards the hoodlum. [Damage taken. HP: 98%] Without a second thought, he clobbered his surprise attacker with a left hook, and then he followed that with a right straight to the one surrendering. Both slumped unconscious, their crumpled forms kicking dust from the worn floorboards. No kills, no EXP. That was fine. Joel didn't want to kill people, even bastards like these kidnapping goons. He massaged his swelling knuckles. After all, there'd be plenty of EXP to earn once he became a Freewalker.

"Up, you useless bastards," shouted the man on the countertop, still leaking blood through his fingers.

"Get up! Foreman'll have our fingers if you don't!" The lumpy man tried to roll over to his feet, only to fall off the counter, smash into a bar stool, and collapse on the ground. He groaned, holding his gory stomach with both hands. Alis sighed dramatically, skipping over an unconscious body as she approached.

"Just tell us where Hottor is." She pressed the toe of her boot into the side of the bloodied gut and ignored his pained cries.

"We might even be able to get you some help before you keel over."

"Who the fuck is Hottor?!" he screamed. Joel winced.

"An older dwarf your people took. Owed you all some coin?" He tapped his coin pouch.

"We'll repay any outstanding debt." The bleeding thug blinked at Joel, looked at the comatose bodies strewn in the cramped tavern, and then turned back to Alis. The incredulous gawk upon his face disappeared when Alis raised her boot above his belly.

"Wait, wait!" He raised his arms desperately.

"If we've taken him, he'll be in the stables or in one of the warehouses out back. I don't know more than that. I swear!" The thug grimaced, clenching at his wound again. Alis looked at Joel, conjuring a small flame between her outstretched forefinger and pinky.

"Thoughts? Think this one's telling the truth?" Joel shrugged, much to the stabbed man's dismay.

"I guess…?" He nearly jumped in shock as Alis, ignoring the shrieks, held her flame against the thug's wound. The smell of sizzling flesh overwhelmed the musty room. After the most noisy and uncomfortable seconds, the screams suddenly cut away. Eyes rolling back, the thug passed out from the pain. Alis lifted her flame away and clapped her hands.

"Well, should we check the stables?" she said before catching how Joel was looking at her.

"What? I sealed his wound. He won't die. I think. It's not like Siv's here to heal him." She started moving towards the kitchen door.

"It's more than he deserved anyway." Joel found it hard to disagree. Through the mess that one would have to stretch to call a kitchen, Joel followed Alis through its door to the back. The surprisingly extensive stables were tucked in the back corner, hidden from the street, and only really visible between the aforementioned warehouses. A nifty potential hiding spot for dwarves, or anyone else that this lot would kidnap.

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. The smell of horses was strong but, after pulling the doors open, they found the stable empty. Not a single horse was housed here, though several fresh wheel tracks marked the muddy, hay-scattered floor. A couple carts were piled in the back, a stained tarp over them. Alis tip-toed to peek into one of the vacant stalls.

"Maybe the knave lied to us after all."

"Maybe not," Joel replied, motioning to the rusty brown streak on the tarp.

"That looks like old blood." He tugged the canvas and it slid off onto the ground. The carts were ordinary, no different than the ones lugged by caravans — that wasn't what made Joel grimace. It was the chains, threaded through metal loops bolted to the cart's bottom, that garnered his reaction. You wouldn't transport animal livestock like that.

"Slavers." Alis' tone was calm, but Joel could hear the anger lurking below.

"I should've helped you burn those base bastards." She shook her head at herself.

"It was careless of me to waste time." The angry mage marched to the stable's exit. Before Joel turned to follow her out, he paused to look at the cart sitting further back. Similarly rusted chains sat in there, but that was where the similarities ended. These chains were massive; easily three or four times the size of regular chains. Not only that, two pairs of iron manacles, big enough to cuff an elephant and covered in old blood, sat in the middle of it.

He noticed large half-filled buckets, condensation dripping on their metal side, sitting wayside. How strange.

"Joel!" He hurried back out of the stables to rejoin Alis, catching her intensely gazing at the two nearby warehouses. Each building had their own walled yard, a gate — wide enough for a wagon — serving as the only visible entrance. The windows were nailed shut with mismatched wooden planks from both inside and out. Thankfully, there seemed to be a distinct lack of guards, most of them likely having joined that earlier mob — a possibly returning mob. Alis clearly had the same thoughts.

"There might not be enough time to clear each one together." She looked to Joel's side, frowning.

"You really should start carrying your sword around."

"Walking around with it seemed to make the townsfolk uncomfortable." She wrinkled her nose at him.

"When you become a Freewalker, you'll have to come to terms with that feeling. It's not worth getting caught out unarmed." That felt a little harsh, considering the strewn out bodies within the Ale's Worth tavern.

"Alright, I'll make sure to bring it along next time." Joel looked at the warehouses once more.

"We can just split up. It's not like we are looking for fights. Go in, see if Hottor or anyone is there, get them out." He watched Alis consider the idea before she finally sighed.

"If there's a whiff of any trouble you think you can't handle, retreat," she said sternly.

"Lead whoever you find back to Thadd's. We'll meet up there." Joel nodded and turned to hurry off before she grabbed his arm.

"Any trouble, and you leave. Promise."

"I promise I'll run if I think I can't handle it," Joel said, trying to give a reassuring smile to her. He propped up the collar of his cloak.

"Getting away shouldn't be too difficult with my brand new magic cloak." His smile widened as Alis ignored him, muttering something about how the next magic item would be hers, before she marched off to the east warehouse. The half-elf mage leapt, waved her black wand, and disappeared in a puff of smoke. Joel rolled his eyes. Of course, she had to show him that she didn't need a cloak to [Shunt]. He carefully approached the western warehouse's gate, listening for any potential guards within the yard. Nothing.

It was as quiet as a mouse. He took advantage of the silence to climb the cobble-stoned wall next to the gate. Stopping at the wall's peak, he took a brief moment to survey the inner yard. Other than more empty carts, some barrels, and stools, there was nothing else within. No horses, no prisoners, and no thugs. Joel pulled himself over the wall, leaping eight feet down onto muddy ground. Landing in the muck was louder than he'd anticipated, and he rolled behind a nearby barrel before pausing.

Perhaps it was time to start investing in the Rogue's [Stealth Proficiency], but the noise hadn't beckoned anyone to him. Once he felt certain that no one would sneak up on him, he stood back up and scanned around, patting away at mud caught on his cloak. The gate was locked from the inside, so there still had to be someone here, while the front door remained unguarded. Approaching the warehouse's entrance door, he leaned an ear against the dense wood, listening for anything or anyone. Zilch.

He hoped that Hottor was somewhere here, considering how empty the place appeared. Praying to whomever that the door would be unlocked, he tugged at the door's looped handle. Relief spread as the heavy door gave way, only to be replaced by anxiety as the hinges creaked loudly. He stopped right when there was enough space for him to slip through and in.

It was unsurprisingly dark once within the warehouse proper, the only significant light sources peeking through the cracks of the boarded window and the opened door behind him, which he quickly shut. Now it was even dimmer, so he waited for his eyes to become accustomed to the dark. It didn't take long, after all, this was nothing compared to under the mines. Tightly stacked crates and barrels served as walls for the interior corridors, which quickly became a maze of its own.

Wincing as he went, Joel tried to step lightly, but the worn floorboard groaned with his every stride as if desperate to give him away. He froze as he heard similar sounds ahead. A set of creaks echoed back at him from around the corner of barrel walls. They weren't fast approaching, and sounded unsteady like an off-rhythm drummer, but it panicked him all the same. A brightening lantern light seemed to fill the hall. Screw it. Joel rushed the corner, winding up the heavy haymaker.

Pivoting his full weight into the punch, he threw it out immediately as the figure appeared. His fist collided into the old man's wrinkled face, already a drunken red, which was apparent from the wine bottle that flew out of his hand and shattered very loudly across the crate wall. To make things worse, Joel failed to catch the elderly figure's knocked out form before he, also very loudly, crashed into some crates and slumped onto the ground.

Lastly, the lantern rolled further down, lighting the corridor's intersection. Joel stood there like a kid who had dropped his mother's favorite china and was waiting to be scolded, only this time it would be by armed thugs. Yet no surge of hoodlums came, and Joel let himself breathe. Dropping to a knee, he promptly searched the old man for anything useful. He heard a jingle as he went through the pockets, discovering a ring of assorted keys.

Figuring that it would have to be useful, he stuffed them into his own cloak's inner pocket, a useful discovery he'd made in the morning. He got to his feet, turning to get the fallen lantern that had decided into another crate-walled passageway. He froze as a massive shadow loomed towards him. Whatever it was, it seemed the size of a bear. His mind shot back to the enormous cuffs he had seen at the stables. What sort of monstrosity could they have had roaming this warehouse?

Joel really wished he'd brought his cutlass as the shadow continued to grow. Fists pulled back, he dropped into a boxing stance while trying to steady his breathing. And then a little hamster waddled into sight, the source of his terror. Joel blinked. His mind shot back to Gorum's cellar. He didn't recall this one. Nearly four strawberries tall, the cinnamon hamster stood on its hind legs and was dressed in a dark dueling tunic that was tight on its chubby form.

A tiny buckler served as its temporary pauldron, and two miniature blades — a longsword and a dirk — flanked its doughy hips. A squeak erupted from the rodent, though it wasn't a fearful sound. No, it was a challenge, which was elucidated by the adorable hamster drawing its sword and pointing it at Joel's direction. The roaring hamster charged, spinning its blade with both paws in the most majestic display of martial prowess.

However, because of its itty bitty form, it did seem like it was going to take quite a while to reach Joel. This clearly became evident to the hamster itself, as the armed rodent stopped about midway to catch its breath in large inhales that made them look pudgier. Then the hamster started its sword dance again, seemingly undaunted. It reminded Joel of the katas he would do in his Taekwondo classes. That's how he knew the hamster had started from way too far back.

Now three-quarters of the way there, the ridiculous rodent stopped once again, squinting its beady eyes, as if the light had made it difficult to see. Joel stood there, unsure what to do, but still holding his fighting stance. It felt slightly silly. With a dramatic and slightly stilted flourish, the brave hamster sheathed its longsword, eyes still locked forward and whiskers twitching. Joel realized that the cute creature was staring at the unconscious elderly drunk man before it looked up to meet his gaze.

The hamster gave a bow of its head, with what appeared to be gratitude, and waved him to follow. Slightly flabbergasted, Joel watched the tubby hamster shuffle back the way it'd come, with the utmost confidence that it would be followed. So Joel picked up the fallen lantern and accompanied the dashing rodent.