34 – Aurelius (almost) kicked the bucket. Part II

  Quest: Lost in the Dark Alleys

  Status: Acquired

  Description: Get out of this predicament in any of the three ways: 1) pay off the bandits; 2) accept the fight; 3) run.

  Additional Information:

  Urban robber x 5

  Type: Human

  Threat Level: Easy

  Reward:

  – XP (Conditional)

  – Loot (Conditional)

  – Money lost (Conditional)

  Aurelius looked sullenly at the robbers. Escaping them was impossible, especially with his bad leg. He didn’t want to fight them either. Of course, he would’ve preferred to buy them off and go their separate ways.

  “Listen, guys,” he said, his voice hoarse out of nervousness. “I don’t want any trouble. How about I give you some money and we part our ways? How about 10 silvers?”

  The gang laughed loudly.

  “Of course, you’ll give us your money,” the one standing slightly ahead, obviously their leader, said. “But you’re not in a position to set the price for your safe passage. So, give us all you have,” he added with a smug grin.

  “You heard him, you moron, hurry up, turn out your pockets!” the other one standing to his right croaked in a raspy voice. Of all the five, he was the most repulsive in appearance. To support his threat, he drew a short, curved dagger from its sheath and pointed it at Aurelius.

  “Alright, alright,” Aurelius sighed, reaching into his cloak’s inside pocket.

  “No sudden movements!” the bandit snapped in a raspy tenor, the sword trembling slightly in his hand. “Gently and slowly.”

  Either Aurelius was imagining it, or even his accomplices were giving him cautious looks The bandit clearly looked off his rocker.

  “What’s wrong with this guy?” Aurelius thought. “Is he under the influence?”

  He realized his pocket was empty. Had he really left all his money in the inn room?

  “Why are you dawdling for so long?” the bandit screeched. Aurelius winced at his voice—like a nail on glass.

  “Easy, easy, buddy.” Even the gang leader tried to cool his anger, looking back and forth between his sword and Aurelius.

  “They must be in the other pocket,” Aurelius tried to explain, grabbing his walking stick with his left hand and leaning on it, so he could reach into his left inside pocket with his right hand. But then the unexpected happened. Something slippery or wet must have been under his feet, because the stick lost its fulcrum and slid sideways. Aurelius began to lose his balance. He instinctively swung his right hand to the side to keep from falling. From an outside perspective, it probably looked like he abruptly pulled something out of his pocket—a knife, a dagger?

  Apparently, the psychotic bandit had assumed just that, because with a shrill, an inhumanly high-pitched scream, he thrust forward in a stabbing motion. The tip of his dagger was aimed between Aurelius’s ribs. In other circumstances, this would be where the young mage’s journey would have ended, in this filthy alley of a godforsaken, seedy town.

  The outer layer of his robe, made of ordinary poplin, was naturally cut by the blade, but its inner layer was manufactured from Elkoas spider silk, arguably the strongest material ever for light armor-type vestments. For this Four-tier material, the blows from this bandit’s dagger were mere trifles.

  The dagger didn’t injure Aurelius, but the impact was strong enough for the young mage to lose his balance and fall backward. The back of his head struck a painful blow against wooden crates stacked against the wall. They scattered around the narrow alley. In addition, Aurelius felt a slight pain in his side where the dagger hit: he would surely discover a large bruise later.

  But the worst thing was that Aurelius hit his right leg. An unbearable pang of pain run through his entire body. It felt like thousands of tiny jaws were piercing his flesh, gnawing and gnawing, boring right through to the bone. The young mage forced himself to keep from crying out; he clenched his teeth tightly, grinding.

  And then it hit Aurelius. First, a bitter, icy feeling of resentment swept away his sanity like an avalanche: why did that asshole do this to him? He never wished harm on anyone! Next, a wildfire of rage swept through his mind. It melted the despondency of self-mourning and, at the same time, brought relief from suffering. Anger ignited his blood, dulling the hellish pain for a while. Aurelius gripped his cane, planted it firmly, and jerked up. He threw back his hood which obscured his view of his enemies. To hell with Geta and his secrecy!

  At first, the bandits looked stunned by their nervous comrade’s unpredictable behavior and thought he’d simply stabbed the old man to death. But the latter nimbly jumped to his feet. The fact that the old man wasn’t an old man at all, but a young lad glaring angrily at them didn’t cause the bandits to scatter and flee. On the contrary, it seemed to provoke them: the brat was playing tricks with all this masquerade! Fine. They, too, had a few aces in the hole—or rather, daggers in sheaths, which they immediately drew. And after all, he was alone against five of them. What was he even counting on?

  Aurelius snapped the fingers of his left hand—the bracelet summoned his orb, which immediately appeared floating above his palm, glowing with a cold bluish light. The young mage swung at the deranged bandit who had struck him. The orb rushed forward and struck the hand holding the dagger. Frost immediately ran up his arm to his shoulder. From palm to elbow, his hand froze. The bandit screamed in a disgustingly high-pitched voice.

  The young mage shifted his weight to his left leg, grabbed the cane by the middle, and slammed the knob against the frozen hand, causing it to shatter like an icicle. The scream turned into a bloodcurdling, unbearable squill. With a second swing of his cane, Aurelius struck the bandit in the face with all his might. The screams instantly stopped. The bandit lost consciousness and fell.

  It all happened so suddenly that the bandits were taken aback and moved two steps backward. But they quickly pulled themselves together. The gang leader was the first to attack. With a slashing motion, he aimed to sever the mage’s hand holding the orb.

  Aurelius’ reaction was instantaneous. Three successive finger combinations gave the orb a command, and it lunged at the leader, striking him in the groin like a cannon ball. The man immediately dropped his dagger, clutching his scrotum, his knees buckled. He sank down whimpering. The orb struck him in the stomach, then in the forehead, knocking him out too.

  Even in a moment of rage, Aurelius had no desire to tear his attackers apart, or maim them any further. Especially since the sight of the first bandit’s frozen, smashed elbow made him feel nauseous. He was already disgusted by the very presence of these assholes near him.

  Still less, Aurelius wanted to kill the bandits. That’s why he switched the orb from freezing mode into snowball projectile mode immediately after the first attack. He simply wanted to teach them a lesson, so they’d be more welcoming in the future while encountering strangers in a dark alley.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  It was time to put an end to this. Three combinations of his left hand’s gestures: a rotation, a zigzag pattern, and a complex, ornate figure. It was as if Aurelius were writing with an invisible pen. This is what his guiding for the orb looked like.

  The orb bounced off the walls, hitting the bandits in their stomachs, chests, hands. It moved so fast that it quickly kicked the crap out of the three bastards. Dropping the daggers, covering their heads with their hands, they ran away with a terrified bleat.

  Aurelius watched them silently until the last of them disappeared behind the corner where the alley turned. Approaching the first bandit, the asshole who stabbed him, he bent down with a groan. Touching the neck with his fingers, Aurelius confirmed that the man had a pulse. He did the same with the gang leader. Once they came to their senses, they would definitely think about their behavior, he hoped. With a snap of his fingers, Aurelius deactivated the orb. The glowing ball instantly vanished into thin air, and the bracelet stopped glowing. He glanced at the scattered daggers abandoned by the frightened bandits in their panicked flight.

  “Loot,” he grinned wryly. “That rusty junk isn’t worth a dime.” Even if the daggers were worth anything, he still had no intention of picking them up. He wasn’t poor, he wasn’t a warrior. He was just a scholar, and he wanted to go home.

  Quest: Lost in the Dark Alleys

  Status: Completed

  Description: You have chosen the second path after all.

  Reward:

  100 XP

  [System Notification]

  {Aurelius: Skill upgrade} Orb tactics: medium

  “To hell with this experience! To hell with these skills!” he grumbled and hurried to leave this vile alley.

  When Aurelius finally emerged from the labyrinth of the narrow, shadowy alleys onto the bright, crowded street, he pulled up his hood. Not so much because his prudence prevailed, but simply for him not to meet other people’s eyes. The townsfolk scurrying around now irritated him more than ever. He desperately wanted to be alone.

  To his own surprise, the young mage was able to find his way back to the tavern quite quickly. There he stood on the wide, busy road on the other side of which the inn was located: a large, wide, two-story building with a spacious stable adjacent to it. This road, in fact, was Oakland’s southern high road, along which Aurelius and Geta were making their way west.

  The young mage sighed: a sightseeing tour of the town ended up not quite as he planned. If he only knew, he would’ve never left the tavern to accompany the Mirdainian to the portal. Or better, he would’ve never left his room, or his carriage. Or even better, his university room. But here he was: in the middle of nowhere, survived a bandit attack, got humiliated, first of all, by his own infirmity.

  “At least, on the inside, don’t look as pathetic as you already do on the outside,” he mentally scolded himself for this torrent of whining and self-pity. He crossed the road, entered the tavern, and surveyed the hall. Neither Geta nor Corund were there. So, he decided to go up to rest in his room.

  Recently, Aurelius had realized that stairs had become, if not his main, at least very serious enemies. With some effort, he finally reached the second floor. Walking down the corridor to their rooms, he heard some commotion and conversation as he approached. It was Geta talking to someone.

  With a mixture of curiosity and wariness, Aurelius opened the door and found the following scene: Geta stood with his back to him, Corund next to him, both staring at something on the bed in front of them. The merchant and his construct turned to look at the opened door.

  “You finally made it upstairs. I was almost thinking of sending Corund to help you,” Geta smiled. In response to the silent question, he clarified. “Corund heard your footsteps on the stairs... quite a while ago.”

  “Ahh,” Aurelius drawled indifferently. “Where is Flavius-Falstaff?”

  “Look,” Geta stepped back so he could see for himself.

  Flavius, and also Falstaff, Aurelius’s thesis project, his pride, the envy of his friends and professors, and the cause of so much trouble. Two curious spirits who had chosen a skeleton as their vessel, miraculously cohabiting within a single body. A masterwork, one might say, the pinnacle of spirit magic. The perfection of spells that had brought two immortal beings, millennia old, into this world. And now this miracle sat on the edge of Aurelius’s bed with a metal bucket on its head.

  “It happened almost immediately after we returned. It’s all Corund’s fault; he overlooked.” Geta looked sternly at his construct, which seemed to shrink under its master’s gaze. Or at least, it did a good job of feigning the emotion. Even now, in his low spirits, Aurelius couldn’t help but admire the construct’s perfect execution, which seemed to encompass the full range of emotions inherent in living beings.

  “We tried to remove the bucket,” the merchant continued. “But I was afraid to pull too hard, or we’d accidentally rip their head off. Anyway, it’s good you came. Now it’s your problem; I have enough to worry about,” he laughed. “By the way, where were you?”

  “I escorted ?thelflorm to the portal,” was all Aurelius said. He didn’t want to talk about the brawl in the alley at all.

  “Did the meeting go well?” Geta inquired in a businesslike tone. “You conveyed what I asked for?”

  “Everything went perfectly, don’t worry.” Aurelius nodded wearily.

  “Good,” the merchant happily concluded. “Well, we’ll just make some final arrangements and I think we’ll be on our way before dinner. As for now, I’m off to lunch, hungry as a wolf! Are you with me?”

  “Thank you, I’m not hungry.”

  “As you say,” Geta patted Aurelius on the shoulder and left, followed by Corund quietly closing the door behind.

  Left alone with this miracle of magical art and the foolishness of curiosity, Aurelius sighed deeply and sat down on the bed. And again, a wave of self-pity washed over him.

  If only he had known that this magical experiment of his, which consisted in attracting two spirits of curiosity with his innovative method of linking worlds without severing the fabric of existence or disrupting harmony, would turn into such a nightmare for him. That behind the fa?ade of a brilliantly executed spell lay such a hideous detail: he, Aurelius, was left crippled. Stricken with an incurable affliction that was gradually devouring his body: already half of his right leg was nothing more than the dead limb of a corpse.

  His friends, experts from the department of healing magic, had exhausted their entire arsenal, but were powerless to reverse the curse or even stop it. Finally, they concluded that the magic of the living was powerless against it. And he needed a specialist in the magic of the dead. And so, Aurelius dragged himself across the Empire to see his great-great-great-grandfather Maxent. Perhaps his last hope.

  And all this for what? For two eccentric spirits who were always causing trouble for themselves and him. When he summoned the eternal spirits of curiosity, this wasn’t what he was counting on. He expected the wisdom of millennia, encapsulated in two pure minds. Not two eternally juvenile mischievous wisps.

  The young mage clenched his fists in silent rage, his knuckles turning white. Fury at himself, at his own arrogance. He turned sharply to glare at the skeleton, who had sat silent and motionless all this time. As if Flavius-Falstaff understood that it was best not to provoke Aurelius in any way now.

  Aurelius was about to flick the bucket, to make it ringing inside like a bell. So that those spirits would understand that they shouldn’t stick their millennia-old heads into a narrow tin bucket. But a wave of anger suddenly released him, as suddenly as it had washed over him. For a skeleton sitting timidly on the edge of a bed with a bucket on its head, Flavius-Falstaff looked adorably comical.

  Aurelius, to his surprise, laughed. Not loudly and boisterously, but quietly and wearily. But still, he laughed. It brought him some comfort, relieving the tension inside. Turning away from the skeleton, he allowed himself to relax for the first time today. Resting his chin on his left fist, he stared into space.

  After all, it wasn’t so hopeless. He was still alive. He would soon meet his great-great-great -grandfather, who, even if he couldn’t help, would certainly have some advice on where to turn. Besides, he would soon receive the proper prosthesis promised by ?thelflorm. And he would finally be able to walk without the cane he had come to loathe, a symbol of his weakness and failure. Perhaps ?thelflorm would properly remove the bucket from the skeleton’s head as well.

  A tap on his shoulder distracted him from his thoughts. Turning around, Aurelius saw the skeleton timidly extend its hand in a familiar gesture. Flavius-Falstaff ??was again inviting him to play his favorite game: rock-paper-scissors.

  “Okay, but just once. On the count of three, as usual,” Aurelius said. They both readied themselves. “One, two, three.”

  Aurelius grinned, swapped his scissors for a stone, and, sliding it under Flavius-Falstaff’s outstretched palm, lightly touched it. The skeleton wouldn’t have seen the catch anyway, he thought. And indeed, Flavius-Falstaff didn’t, so they clasped their hands in a triumphant gesture.

  “Yay!” a muffled, satisfied hiss from the bucket.