In one corner of the room there was an area that seemed strangely empty. Looking more closely, I noticed a sword hanging from the ceiling by a thin thread.

  “Could that be the Sword of Damocles?” I asked suspiciously.

  “Yes, indeed,” the old man smiled. “You’ve heard of it, but you certainly don’t know its true story. No, it is not the one about our shifting fate hanging by a single hair. The reality was quite different.”

  “Then what is its history?” I asked curiously.

  Until then, I had thought the Sword of Damocles was nothing more than a metaphor, something that had never truly existed. But now, seeing it with my own eyes, my convictions began to waver.

  “The sword was used for executions,” the old collector explained. “It was suspended by a thin thread above the condemned man. As long as he feared the sword, it remained hanging above him without falling. But the very moment he calmed down, even for an instant, the thread would snap, and the sword would pierce him. The king of that time considered this an extremely amusing way to execute people.”

  Disgusted, I looked away. My idea of what was amusing was very different from that of ancient tyrants.

  “Don’t you see the moral of the story?” Chareleos asked with a smile. “Expect to die at any moment and perhaps you will truly live. And remember that death will strike when you least expect it. You see? Every weapon has a story from which a bit of wisdom can be drawn.”

  I was beginning to grow bored in the vast chamber that served as a museum. Chareleos, however, seemed tireless, proudly presenting more and more weapons from his impressive collection. I was about to tell him that we should get down to business when I noticed the object that truly interested me. It was a short dagger made from a single piece of obsidian. It glimmered faintly in the dim light of the room, without drawing much attention to itself. I pointed to it with a gesture of my hand.

  “The Dagger of Chaos,” Chareleos informed me. “An artifact that appears insignificant, yet is very precious and unique in its own way. It was brought from a continent on the other side of the ocean.”

  “What powers does it have?” I asked, pretending ignorance.

  “A single cut from this dagger permanently erases the power of any mage, regardless of their level. The mage becomes nothing more than an ordinary human. In the land where the Dagger of Chaos was forged, mages captured in battle were first stripped of their powers and then sacrificed to the gods.”

  Thanida immediately joined the conversation:

  “A good reason for a warrior never to be captured in battle. Victory or death!”

  Chareleos’s grin spread across his face. He clearly took special pleasure in contradicting Thanida whenever he had the chance.

  “It shows how young you are, Thanida. There are many warriors who do not see things so categorically. Perhaps you will think the same way when you find yourself in a matter of life and death.”

  Elesya gazed at the obsidian dagger with cool curiosity, then turned toward Chareleos. Her heavily made-up eyes sparkled with sharp irony.

  “Thanida often confuses stubbornness with honor,” Elesya said, her voice tinged with carefully measured sarcasm. “She does not understand that this dagger is the most honest object in this room. It does not promise the glory of the sword or the destruction of the bow, only the truth: without magic, we remain nothing but ordinary people, of flesh and blood. It is an instrument of ultimate humiliation, isn’t it?”

  Thanida flinched at Elesya’s words. From her gaze, I could tell her patience was being severely tested by the other girl.

  “In a way,” Elesya continued, “the mage died twice—once as a mage, and then as a man. It turned him into a common mortal, forcing him to face death without the shield of his magical powers.”

  Chareleos studied her for a few moments, surprised by the depth of her observation.

  “You have a rare understanding of power, young lady. Much deeper than that of soldiers who see only the edge of the blade. Indeed, humiliation is a harsh lesson for mages. And since we are speaking of sacrifice and harsh truths, I wish to show you one more artifact. After that, we shall get down to business.”

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  He walked slowly toward a nearby wooden panel. At its upper end was a golden disc the size of a palm. A red stone, like a ruby, glittered at the center of the disc. Strange spiral-shaped inscriptions curved across its surface, all leading toward the central gem. I immediately noticed that these markings created an optical illusion: whoever looked at them had the sensation of being drawn into the stone at the center.

  The setting of the central gem had been shaped to resemble the mouth of a monstrous animal. The artist who had created this jewel had undoubtedly combined a rich imagination with flawless craftsmanship.

  “This is the Stone of Sacrifice. It is one of the most precious exhibits I own. You do not want to know what it can do.”

  I shrugged indifferently. Without a doubt, during the last half hour I had greatly enriched my general knowledge, but I had made no progress at all with our plan. I was not here on a research visit.

  With better lighting and proper display panels, the weapons collection could easily be turned into a public museum. I was certain people would crowd in to see with their own eyes all those mythological weapons and to hear the stories behind them. Unfortunately, Chareleos did not seem to realize the enormous economic potential hidden in the basement of his palace.

  “Now let us move on to serious business,” Chareleos said. “I intend to buy your magical sword. Have you decided how much you want for it?”

  Pretending to think deeply, I remained silent for a few minutes, letting my gaze wander over the weapons in the room. Then I said firmly:

  “Yes, we have decided. We want the Dagger of Chaos in exchange for our magic sword, plus another 30,000 sesterces. I think that is a generous offer on our part.”

  “Are you joking?” Chareleos burst out laughing. “The Dagger of Chaos for your fake sword? Not a chance. I would never part with the dagger for anything in the world. It is a unique artifact, and I am proud to be the only one who owns it. It contains Chaos Magic, a form of magic no longer found today. Of course, it is not as valuable as my Lycian sword, but I still will not give it up. I will give you only money: 50,000 sesterces should be enough for your sword.”

  “I think you are the one joking, Chareleos. Only 50,000 for a magical artifact that could be worth ten times as much? I would wager that in this very city I could immediately find a dozen buyers willing to offer me 300,000 sesterces on the spot—perhaps even more if I negotiate well.”

  Any trace of respect between us vanished completely. We had reached the stage where negotiations were carried out with weapons on the table—quite literally. Chareleos remained silent for a few moments, swallowing several times as he searched for a new offer.

  “I will give you 70,000 sesterces for your cursed sword. That is already far too much for a fake.”

  “A fake, you say? You insult us, old man, and I do not like that. Believe me, no one but me will be able to tell the difference between the two swords. After I sell mine, people may well start saying that you are the one who owns the fake—and it will be rather hard for you to prove otherwise. You have seen with your own eyes that the two swords work the same way. Add to that the fact that my sword is much cheaper than yours.”

  “You are greedy, and the gods do not like greedy men. You are trying to rob me!”

  “Old man, where I come from, a sale is made only when supply and demand meet. And here, they do not. Give us the Dagger of Chaos and perhaps I will even reduce the remaining price by another 10,000 sesterces, so you cannot say I did not negotiate. Otherwise, no deal.”

  The old man’s eyes flashed wildly and his hands began to tremble with rage.

  “I will give you 100,000 sesterces for the sword. This is my final offer. The dagger stays in my collection. Otherwise, I swear by the gods you will not leave this room alive!”

  I started toward the door, followed by the two girls.

  “It seems that old age has taken away the last remnants of your reason instead of bringing you wisdom. You cannot force us to give up our sword for nothing. But do not worry—we will easily find other buyers far more serious than you. Good night, old man.”

  Chareleos shifted his gaze from his weapons to us, thinking about what to do. Without a doubt, he had never encountered anyone who refused his offers.

  “I do not even know why I am still negotiating with you. You made a great mistake coming here,” the old man said. “There will be no witnesses if I kill you right now. Apart from me, no one will hear your screams of terror when you die.”

  In a fit of rage, he wrenched free his own Lycian sword and hurled it at us. The two girls pressed close to me in fear. Neither of them knew how to defend themselves against the weapon Chareleos was using. I quickly activated defensive spell No. 46, forming a translucent protective shield around us.

  Twisting through the air, the sword flew toward us, ready to sever our heads, but it stopped abruptly a few steps away, as if it had struck an invisible wall. Without my shield of magical energy, the sword would have killed all three of us.

  I stretched out my hand and sent a burst of flames to within inches of the old collector’s face. I had no intention of killing him, but I had to make him understand that threats were no way to negotiate with us.

  “Stop, you foolish old man, or you risk being killed. We do not accept your terms. If you change your mind, you know where to find us.”

  But Chareleos did not give up so easily. He rushed to the wooden panel where the Stone of Sacrifice was hanging and tore it down with a swift motion. Then, holding the golden disc in his palm, he aimed it at us. At once, the stone at its center began to emit a red light that grew stronger with every passing moment.

  “No!” the old man shouted. “I cannot let you sell your sword to anyone else. You will suffer the most dreadful death you can imagine!”

  I strengthened the magical shield around us to its maximum. The last thing I saw was the glow pouring out of the red stone. It grew brighter and brighter until it blinded me completely. I shut my eyes, but the red light began to shine through my tightly closed eyelids.