Chapter 123: Ambush

*Date: 33,480 Third Quarter — Kingdom of Satar, Capital City Parthanon*

The return walk to the house took a heavy tone after Marven's comment. The way shadows moved, the trickles of sound from the neighborhood, all of it now felt odd. Something in the air had changed, and Demir could feel it now. Whether it was a general ominous feeling or just the weight of six hundred gold, he couldn't decide.

Marco glanced around nervously. "What do you mean, bad feeling? What did you see?"

Marven kept her voice low. "Nothing. Let's just..." She gestured for silence and suggested walking faster.

Demir tried to ease the tension. "Yeah, we have six hundred gold. She's just being cautious. This kind of—"

Marven hit his arm and hissed, "Shh!" to block his talking. She looked around, her eyes darting to rooftops and alleyways. Then her face went pale.

"Run!" she yelled, and started pulling Demir as she sprinted.

"Marco, run!"

Demir was half-running, half-jogging, the empty cart rattling behind him. "What's going on?"

"Leave that and run!"

*CRACK*

The cart behind Demir split into hundreds of pieces, wood fragments exploding outward. Demir winced as splinters bit into his back.

Marco's head was on a swivel. "Are we under attack?" He looked around the empty neighborhood, seeing nothing but shuttered windows and deserted streets.

Marven shouted again, "Run!"

This time the trio took it seriously and started running the way she was going. The neighborhood was on the outskirts because of the Coliseum district. Fewer people lived here, and because player and human numbers had dwindled, fewer and fewer people were around at all. The streets felt like a ghost town.

They took a corner and came face to face with three ragtag looters. Each was a different race: a scarred human with a cudgel, a lean elf with twin daggers, and a stocky dwarf with a hand axe. All three were holding their weapons and smiling with the confidence of predators.

The trio turned to run a different route, but three more looters had closed the road behind them. A halfling with a sling, a burly orc with wrapped fists, and another human with a crossbow already loaded.

The only way out now was fighting. But other than Demir's sword and Marco's dagger, they had no armor. Marven didn't even have her bow, just a small dagger at her belt.

Marco's voice was tight with fear. "We're getting mugged. But how..."

Demir's mind raced. "Quarnion or Frolin probably tipped them. How else would they know we have money?"

Marven cursed under her breath. "Ugh, I wish I had my bow and arrows with me."

Demir made a decision. "I'll dash at this trio. You two run to different sides and find Lysara and Alef."

Marven grabbed his arm. "What? No! We won't leave you alone!"

Demir's eyes burned with intensity. "Marv... please. Do as I say."

Marco nodded silently, understanding.

Demir pulled his sword and held up the six bags of coin. "Come to Papa."

He lurched at the thieves blocking the trio, using his huge body to create an opening. Marven and Marco slipped past him behind.

Demir pulled back and jumped behind the trio, blocking the exit route so Marven and Marco could run. But now he was facing six thugs, and these weren't goblin fodder that would fall down with a single swing. They moved like trained fighters, spreading out to surround him.

He took a deep breath and readied himself for defense against all six.

Then crushing pain exploded from the back of his head.

Blood ran down his face. He was shocked, and in an instant, his vision darkened. He fell but didn't pass out, consciousness clinging by a thread.

A rope lasso went around his body in an instant before he could make any move. They roped him like a newly caught deer, binding his arms to his sides. Then they lifted him up onto their shoulders.

"Bring him to Sarmosa Inn," said a huge human who had hit him from behind. The man was a mountain of muscle with a shaved head and a scar running from his ear to his chin. "We'll interrogate him while drinking."

"Yeah, look at this sword," another thief said, hefting Demir's blade. "He might have more goodies than what we were promised."

They muffled Demir's mouth with a rag and carried him on their shoulders to a dirty outskirts inn. The establishment smelled of piss and vomit, the floor sticky with substances Demir didn't want to identify. It was obviously a thieves' and lowlanders' bar. Rough men sat at tables, eyeing the newcomers without much interest, as if seeing someone bound and carried in was a common occurrence.

"How many times have I told you not to bring your work here?" the man at the counter shouted. He was clearly the innkeeper, a grizzled old human with more scars than teeth.

"This is the last one, old man," the huge leader said. "We hit the gold, right, my friend?" He turned to Demir and gave him a gentle slap on the face, smiling. "Hit the gold."

His men sang in response, "Hit the gold!"

---

They took Demir to a corner of the inn and sat at a table. Five of them clustered around while the other two went to the counter to get booze. They placed Demir on the floor like a sack of grain and plucked away his muffler.

"Did Quarnion hire you?" Demir blurted out first thing.

The ones bringing booze handed a tankard to their leader. "Turbo, here!"

Turbo took it, gulped half in one go, and turned to Demir. "Does it matter? Now sing. Where's the rest of your money? You must have a big pile of cash from other customers." He pointed at his underlings. "Search him thoroughly. And give me that sword. It looks exquisite."

"I don't have any money," Demir said, desperation creeping into his voice. "Let me go. I have high-level player friends. They'll take revenge if you do anything to me."

Everyone at the table laughed.

"Hehe, he says he has high-level friends," said the one who'd fetched the booze.

Turbo leaned close, his breath reeking of alcohol and something worse. "They can't touch us. If any player touches a local, they're finished. Tables have turned, my friend."

"Let me go, please. I have no other money. Quarnion made a deal. He took all our products and didn't even pay the full amount."

Turbo growled. "That old bastard."

The one searching Demir's every crevice pulled his hand back with something small. "Turbo, look!"

Turbo squinted. "What is it?"

It was a small rectangle stone. Demir saw it for a flash of a second and remembered the elven man he'd saved from the goblin camp. The favor coin he'd been given.

Turbo's expression changed completely. "UGGH. Kirious's coin. We owe that fucker." He looked at Demir while showing the coin, his voice turning dangerous. "Where did you get this?"

"The elven man gave it to me when we saved him from a goblin slave camp."

Turbo cursed. "Shit. Shit..." He tossed the coin to his underling. "Kuza, find the old fucker. Show him the coin and make sure he comes here." He looked at his gang. "Any of you idiots know where he is?"

"I heard he was in the sewers these days," said a lengthy elven gang member, "on a hunt for some big mound of gold."

The dwarf one laughed. "In the sewers? Aye, that sounds about right fer the likes of him."

Turbo slammed his fist on the table. "Shut the banter! Go with him and find him. If the bastard really owes this fucker..."

"No, Turbo, no!" another gang member protested. "It's our only profitable job this month!"

Demir started to make sense of it. His good deed months ago might save his life.

Turbo looked at Demir's sword, still in his hand. "I like this sword. Maybe if we become friends, he'll make us one." He turned to his underlings again. "Run now! And Qarm, bring knives. Cut the ties and order soup for the fellow." He paused, something almost like respect in his eyes. "We might have to apologize to the fucker."