86 Equivalent Exchange

Taree shrank in fear. They had been surrounded and were greatly outnumbered, 2 to 8.

Pale looked up with a dumbfounded expression like he couldn't believe what was happening.

The men began to laugh.

"Hey, hey, stop it Marceau. You've scared the boy." "Haha. Look how big the girl's eyes are!! She looks like she's 'bout to piss herself." "Oyyyy, quit it, lads. Come on, little boy, how about you hand me that spear and you come on with us? We'll take you two someplace fun."

"M-m-messieurs! Please!" the bakery girl ran up, latching onto Marceau's arm. "They're just children!"

Pale's eyes gained clarity and focus. He placed his hand on Taree's to stop her from shaking him.

"I get it!" He said with a wide grin, his eyes slightly closing.

The thugs looked to each other and back to Pale.

Marceau shook off the baker girl's arm, "What do you get, little boy?"

"You guys are kidnappers!" Pale turned to Taree to explain, "I've been kidnapped before. It was a little embarrassing."

One of the men guffawed, "Gahaha, then you know the deal, kid!"

"Yep!" Pale thrust his spearblade through the man's chest as easily as a fork through a slice of pie.

Pulling the spear back twice as fast, he slashed through another man's throat.

And he stabbed again into another man's heart.

He slashed a man's belly open, spilling out his guts.

...Within several seconds, Pale had used his Lifedrinker spear to kill all 8 men with lethal slashes and stabs.

"Oh, was that it?" Taree complained. She was covered in blood and a little bit of viscera. She pushed her plate of soggy bread away... "I'm not hungry anymore."

Pale smiled weakly, "Y-yeah. Me neither. Wanna ask for a bag of bread to take back to the inn?"

"Oh, we can do that?" Taree's face lit up.

The baker girl stood and gawked. Blood splatter had stained the bottom of her apron.

"Excuse me, um... Mademoiselle?" Pale waved.

The woman promptly fainted, falling dramatically to the floor away (thankfully, away from the pooling blood.)

Taree tilted her head, "Does that mean we don't have to pay?"

Pale shook his head, "No. We still have to pay. It's the law of equivalent exchange."

...

Pale left enough silver coins to cover their bill on the nearby table. As he turned to leave, he spotted Boss Tycon, who was leisurely approaching.

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Tycon narrowed his eyes at the scene of carnage in the little bakery.

"Empty night!" He cursed. "I leave for half-a-bell and you've killed half-a-dozen men and left them to rot!?"

"Um, am I in trouble?" Pale asked.

Taree hurried in front of Pale and bowed deeply at the waist, "I'm sorry! This is all my fault, Boss Tycon!"

Tycon raised an eyebrow. He was beginning to find this Taree far more tolerable than the brat from only half a week prior.

"Stand at ease, Kimura." Tycon sighed, "Pale, Son of Quay."

Pale saluted, "Yes, sir!"

"Report."

"8 kidnappers, sir!"

"And I see 8 corpses. Good, so far. Their affiliation?"

Pale rubbed the back of his head, "Um, I didn't have time to ask, Sir."

Tycon shrugged, "I'm assuming you struck as soon as you recognized the threat in order to protect yourself and your charge. You were outnumbered, so you couldn't afford to prolong the situation. Kimura Taree."

Taree saluted sharply, "Yes, sir!"

Tycon hesitated. The crispness of her salute spoke to his soul, "Y-yes. Can you verify everything that young master Pale has said?"

"Yessir!" She smiled. "Everyone was super weak and Pale wrecked their faaaaaces!"

There it was. That's what he was used to. That smile. That stupid smile. Tycon's fever dream of getting a polite, proper Taree was dashed with the girl saying the word 'faces' as low in pitch as her vocal cords allowed.

It was fine, though. Tycon could continue discounting the girl as mediocre garbage in his heart, just as he was used to.

Tycon clicked his tongue, "Let's wake up that baker girl. We need to collect some information."

"Shall I wake her up now, Sir?" Pale offered.

"Not yet," Tycon pointed to an empty burlap sack underneath a table. "Pale, grab that. Taree."

"Y-yes, Boss?" Taree tilted her head with her forefinger touching her chin.

A sharpened hacking-blade appeared in Tycon's hand, out of his spatial ring. He spun the blade and offered Taree the hilt, which she took gingerly, "Have you ever cut off a man's head?"

...

"We shouldn't be doing this," Lone mumbled under his breath. His companions wouldn't listen to his gripes and worries. He had joined Guild Invictus a few moons prior but still had yet to earn enough respect necessary to have literally anyone listen to his reasoning.

Against his better judgment, words of complaint again drifted from his lips, "I mean this place looks dangerous! What if we get mugged? And besides--"

Before he could finish, Lone was shoved. He banged his elbow awkwardly against a wall, "Ow! Hey!"

Dragan laughed, "Hey, man! You worry too much!"

Tamaki looked over, "You okay, Chosen One?"

"Yeah, I'm good."

Dragan patted Lone on the back, "Didn't mean to push you so hard, man. My bad."

"No, I'm fine. I should have been paying attention," Lone tried to return the favor, shoving Dragan with one arm. The action had zero push-effect on the 8-fulm-tall man. Instead, Lone appeared to awkwardly place his hand on Dragan's oblique muscles for several seconds.

"Aaaaaanyroad," Dragan continued, "Thugs don't screw with other thugs. You've got two swords and a bunch of other weapons, dude. No one's gonna mess with you! Just don't look like an easy mark and you'll get left alone."

"Yeap. As long as you look like a bad sonuvabitch, ain't no one'll mess wit'cha," Tamaki added confidently.

Dragan snickered, "Yeah, you're comin' with me, blondie."

"Oh! You got it, Mister Dragan."

Dragan and Tamaki entered the building while Lone scoped the surroundings. He had started his adventuring career long ago, in a big city like Merylsward. He had worked hard, completing low-rank missions for the adventurer's guild, and finally found employment with a real guild, the Shadowdark Wolves.

A week later, they were all dead, and he was conscripted into a new guild as an indentured servant.

He had hoped to live a better life being indebted to a noble. The training was tough. He was pretty sure he'd died at least twice. He had soiled himself many times but was only discovered twice. He thought his boss might actually be a snake, but wasn't quite sure if it was just a really, weird dream. Hanging out with Mister Wroe, he had a lot of weird, inexplicable dreams.

He gained a little brother in Pale. And he gained... friends-- people he'd never have imagined he would associate with. A giant. An angel. A dra-- err... a lizardborn. A noble. Two martialists from a hidden sect.

Lone Shadowdark, birth name Barza Keith, was living a pretty good life.

He turned to enter the building after his friends but in his carelessness, he shoulder-checked an adventurer who was leaving, "Oh, I'm sorry. I wasn't paying attention."

"What the-- SEVEN HELLS, you sodden trash heap! Watch where you're going. Don't you know who the BLAZES I am?!" the leather-armored man began to yell. "Do you know who I WORK for?!?!"