The next morning found me standing in line at the bakery again. It was the same place I had been going to for the past several days, and the [Farmer] who ran it had already given me a small nod when I walked in. At this point I was starting to think that counted as a regular customer relationship.

  I was currently behind three [Warrior]s around level 20 who were clustered together near the counter. None of them had even bothered to glance back at me. They seemed to be in unusually good spirits, the kind of mood people got when they were about to go do something stupid and exciting.

  After finishing my song the night before and hearing the single whispered “okay” that I was about ninety percent certain had come from Mouthy, the [Magic Mouth] dagger strapped to my hip, I had spent a while trying to get him to repeat it.

  If I asked him questions, he mostly just existed there like a dagger with lips. If I told him to say something, he would repeat it in my voice like some kind of creepy enchanted parrot. When I asked him to say “yes,” he said “yes,” but it sounded exactly like me saying it. Just obedient repetition.

  Still, I was in good spirits.

  I had survived another murder attempt, discovered my dagger might be alive, and had somehow made it through the night without Garen waking up and deciding I needed another punch to the face. Honestly, that felt like progress.

  The three [Warrior]s ahead of me were talking loudly enough that I couldn’t help overhearing them.

  “Tell you what,” one of them said, his voice full of excitement. “I heard that dungeon popped up just outside the North Road last night.”

  “Yeah, I heard the same bro,” another replied. “Low-level dungeon too. Perfect for a warm-up run for the day.”

  The third laughed. “That’s what I’m talking about. Free experience and maybe we can level if we’re lucky.”

  “I heard the monsters are bird things, only around level fifteen,” the first one continued. “I mean, it’s birds. That experience practically earns itself.”

  “Easy farming,” the second said with satisfaction. “No smart monsters that stab you probably. Just waves of stupid birds.”

  “Exactly,” the third added. “Couple runs through there and we might walk out with a level or two.”

  One of them glanced toward the counter where the [Farmer] was finishing up with another customer.

  He leaned closer to the other two and whispered loudly, “Hey, shh. Don’t give it away.”

  They all nodded seriously.

  Not a single one of them thought to turn around and look behind them.

  Which meant they were happily discussing a brand-new dungeon within easy walking distance… directly in front of the only other person in the bakery who might be interested in hearing about it.

  I didn’t want to make assumptions about [Warrior]s being meatheads, but these guys were doing an incredible job of defending the stereotype.

  The [Farmer] finished up with her customer, and the three [Warrior]s immediately stepped forward like a unit. They started pointing at trays and calling things out while the poor woman tried to keep up.

  “I’ll take those.”

  “And those.”

  “Oh, and those too.”

  Within about thirty seconds they had bought every baked good that would fit into their packs. They slapped a pile of coins down on the counter like they had just conquered a small nation and stomped out the door laughing and talking about how awesome they were.

  I watched them go with a long sigh.

  Then I stepped up to the counter.

  The [Farmer] looked at me, reached under the counter without saying a word, and pulled out a small prepared bag of bagels. She slid it across the counter toward me.

  I nodded once.

  I set the coin down.

  Then I picked up the bag and walked out.

  Not going to lie, that whole interaction was kind of cool. We had managed the entire exchange without saying a single word. It felt weirdly badass in a quiet, early-morning bakery sort of way.

  I left with a small smile.

  The walk back toward Garen’s place was peaceful, and I spent most of it thinking about how I was going to open the conversation. I wasn’t sure where to begin.

  Pretty sure he was going to insult me at least.

  As I rounded the corner toward the street leading to his property, I spotted the three [Warrior]s again in the distance.

  They had apparently decided to start throwing bagels at each other in the middle of the street.

  Actual full-strength throws.

  To the loud irritation of several people trying to walk past them, the three of them were giggling like frat boys while launching baked goods at each other’s heads.

  I let out a small laugh despite myself.

  Hey, at least they could find some little happiness in this world, I guess. Even if it involved weaponizing baked goods.

  I continued on and stepped into Garen’s shop a few minutes later.

  Old Garen was already behind the counter when I walked in, arms folded and leaning slightly against the wood like he had been standing there for a while. His eyes flicked down to the bag of bagels in my hands and then back up to my face.

  The moment I set the bag on the counter he grunted.

  “I wasn’t sure you’d be coming in this morning,” he said.

  “Oh?” I replied. “Why’s that?”

  He gave a small shrug, the kind that said he had already thought this through and didn’t particularly care about explaining it.

  “Because,” he said slowly, “people who accidentally create cursed knives, drag corpses into my barn, and start poking around ancient magic usually come to one of two conclusions by morning.”

  He raised a finger.

  “First option, they decide they’re in way over their head and run as far away from the problem as their legs can carry them.”

  Another finger went up.

  “Second option, they decide they’re curious enough to get themselves killed.”

  He eyed me for a moment.

  “You didn’t strike me as the running type.”

  I frowned slightly. “Why would I run?”

  He snorted.

  “Boy, if I had a copper for every fool who discovered something dangerous and then panicked about it overnight, I’d have retired twenty years ago.”

  He waved a hand dismissively.

  “As good a time as any to disappear. Nobody would blame you for it.”

  Then he reached into the bag, pulled out a bagel, and tore a chunk off with his teeth like it had personally offended him.

  He chewed slowly while studying me over the rim of the counter.

  Despite the grumbling, there was something else in the look he gave me. It was the same look he’d had the night before when he’d lit the lantern and waited for me to come back. The look of someone who pretended not to care but had still stayed up late just in case.

  After swallowing, he wiped his fingers on a rag and jabbed a thumb toward the bag.

  “Don’t get the wrong idea,” he muttered. “You bring bagels and interesting problems. That makes you useful.”

  Then he leaned forward slightly.

  “So,” he said, crumbs still clinging to his beard, “what did you find out last night with your experiments?”

  “Um,” I said.

  “Experiments,” he repeated, looking slightly irritated that I had made him say it twice. “What did you find out about that overcharged dagger of yours?”

  “Oh. It said something,” I replied.

  Garen paused mid-chew.

  “It said ‘okay.’”

  He froze.

  The bagel stopped halfway to his mouth.

  “Okay,” he repeated slowly.

  “Yes.”

  “Just… ‘okay’?”

  “Yes.”

  I saw the confusion hit his face a split second before the next thing I knew I was on the ground staring up at the ceiling while grabbing my jaw.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  Old Garen was lowering his fist.

  “Fucking [Bard]s,” he grumbled. “Goddamn idiots. If it doesn’t involve getting their dicks wet they don’t give a rat’s ass about doing things properly.”

  I groaned and rolled onto my side.

  “Get up,” he snapped.

  I pushed myself back to my feet while rubbing my face.

  “You need to run proper goddamn experiments,” he continued, pointing toward my hip. “Pull that damn thing out. The dagger, I mean. Keep everything else in your pants.”

  I briefly considered arguing and making a comment about what exactly was in my pants. Then I remembered that Garen was level 73 the guy was probably three times stronger than me.

  So I kept my mouth shut.

  I pulled Mouthy from the sheath. The lips along the blade twitched slightly as the dagger came free, like it was stretching after a nap.

  “Not there,” Garen said, pointing to the floor in front of the counter. “Set it down.”

  I crouched and placed the dagger carefully on the wooden floor where he indicated.

  The moment it touched the boards, the blade shifted slightly, the mouths along the sides flexing open and closed in a slow, lazy motion.

  Garen leaned over the counter and squinted down at it.

  “Alright,” he muttered.

  “Let’s find out what kind of stupid thing you made.”

  He looked at me.

  “Tell it to stand up.”

  I blinked once, then looked down at the dagger lying on the floor.

  “Mouthy,” I said carefully, “please stand up.”

  For a second nothing happened.

  Then both mouths along the blade opened and a pair of long, slick tongues slid out from the sides. They stretched downward and touched the floor experimentally, like someone feeling out a surface in the dark.

  The tongues pressed against the boards.

  Slowly, awkwardly, they pushed.

  The blade lifted.

  Each tongue bent at an angle near the floor, forming little L-shaped supports as they extended upward. Inch by inch the dagger raised itself until it was standing almost a foot off the ground, balanced entirely on the two tongues.

  The handle pointed upward at a slight angle, bobbing faintly like the tail of some strange creature.

  Garen watched with open fascination, a bagel still clutched in one hand and completely forgotten.

  “Huh,” he muttered after a moment.

  Then he glanced at me.

  “Tell it to walk.”

  I cleared my throat.

  “Mouthy,” I said, pointing at the floor in front of him, “walk around a little.”

  The dagger hesitated for a second.

  Then the tongues shifted.

  One lifted and slapped back down on the floor a few inches forward. The other followed a moment later, and the blade lurched slightly as it adjusted its balance.

  Slowly, the dagger began walking in a rough clockwise circle.

  The handle bobbed with each step while the tongues slapped wetly against the wood, making a faint slop-slap sound as they moved.

  Garen and I watched it shuffle around the floor for nearly a full minute.

  The motion was awkward. The dagger seemed unsure about where to place each step, pausing slightly before every movement like it was thinking things through.

  There was something oddly feline about the way the blade began moving, like it had suddenly realized it was perfectly capable of doing this and was now leaning into it.

  Garen grunted.

  “It’s getting better,” he said. “Look at it.”

  He was right.

  The earlier uncertainty was gone now. Mouthy was moving with a weird sort of confidence, strutting around the floor on those two tongues like it had always walked this way.

  After another minute Garen spoke again.

  “Alright,” he said. “Tell it to run to the end of the shop and back.”

  I pointed toward the far wall.

  “Mouthy,” I said, “go to that wall and then come back.”

  The dagger paused. For a moment it genuinely looked like it was thinking. Then it took off.

  The tongues started slapping rapidly against the floor as the blade darted across the shop.

  Now I have to ask you something.

  Have you ever seen a baby duckling run?

  The little feet slapping against the ground, the body slightly hunched forward, moving with absolute determination while still looking deeply uncoordinated?

  That was exactly the vibe my little eldritch abomination weapon was giving off.

  It was almost adorable.

  It reached the far wall, spun around awkwardly, and came racing back across the shop with the same frantic duckling energy.

  Garen let out a small sound that might have been a giggle.

  I shot him a look.

  He immediately went back to chewing his bagel like a man who had absolutely not made any such noise.

  “Don’t start,” he muttered around the bite.

  For the next fifteen minutes we ran what Garen insisted were “proper experiments,” which mostly meant him barking orders while I translated them into requests for Mouthy.

  “Tell it to jump,” Garen said.

  “Mouthy, jump,” I repeated.

  The dagger crouched slightly, the tongues compressing against the floor like coiled springs. Then both tongues pushed down hard and the blade popped a few inches into the air before landing with a wet slap.

  Garen nodded approvingly.

  “Again.”

  The second jump went higher.

  The third jump went sideways.

  “Interesting,” he muttered.

  Next came reaction tests.

  Garen tossed a crumb from his bagel toward the dagger. Mouthy’s tongues flicked out and the blade pivoted toward it instantly, stabbing downward with surprising speed.

  “Fast,” Garen said thoughtfully. “Intresting.”

  Then came movement tests.

  “Have it zigzag,” he said.

  I pointed across the shop. “Mouthy, run over there and dodge left and right.”

  The dagger took off, tongues slapping rapidly against the wooden floor as it sprinted toward the wall.

  Then it tried to turn.

  It did not go well.

  The blade slid sideways across the floor, one tongue skidding out while the other tried desperately to correct the angle. Mouthy spun halfway around like a confused ice skater before regaining balance.

  Garen squinted.

  “Again.”

  The second attempt looked even worse.

  The dagger tried to cut a corner and immediately lost traction. Both tongues slipped and the blade skidded straight across the floorboards before scrambling awkwardly to recover.

  Garen rubbed his beard.

  “Huh.”

  “Mouthy,” I said, pointing again. “Turn around that table.”

  The dagger ran toward the leg of the table and attempted a sharp corner.

  It failed spectacularly.

  The tongues slipped on the wood and the blade skidded straight past the turn before scrambling awkwardly to recover.

  Garen nodded slowly.

  “Well,” he said. “That makes sense.”

  I looked down at the dagger, which had now resumed its proud little strut.

  “Why?” I asked.

  He gestured toward it.

  “It’s running on tongues,” he said. “Those things are covered in taste buds, not traction.”

  Then he paused and glanced toward the wall beside the counter.

  “Tell it to climb.”

  I blinked.

  “What?”

  “Tell. It. To. Climb.”

  I shrugged and pointed to the side of the counter.

  “Mouthy,” I said, “climb up that.”

  The dagger paused for a moment like it was considering the request.

  Then the tongues shot out.

  They slapped against the wooden side of the counter and stuck there like wet suction cups. The blade pulled itself upward, one tongue reaching higher while the other held the weight.

  Then it did it again.

  And again.

  The dagger scuttled straight up the side of the counter with disturbing speed.

  It reached the top, paused for a moment, and then climbed another few feet up the wall like gravity had personally offended it.

  I stared.

  Garen slowly leaned back.

  “Well,” he said.

  “What?” I asked.

  “That thing can’t corner for shit,” he said calmly. “But it climbs like a vicious little spider monkey.”

  You’ve got yourself a vicious little weapon there, that thing may be one of the most dangerous blades I’ve seen,” Garen said, watching the dagger cling happily to the wall.

  “Really?” I asked. “Because I kind of expected one of your experiments would involve it stabbing something to confirm that.”

  “Not in my shop,” he snapped immediately.

  He shot me a sharp glare.

  “I’ve spent forty years collecting half the junk in this place. I’d like to keep it unstabbed if that’s alright with you.”

  I raised both hands.

  “Okay, okay.”

  Behind us, Mouthy finished climbing the wall and skittered back down again like a tiny, unsettling insect before settling into his proud little stance on the floor.

  Garen grunted and grabbed another bite of bagel.

  “So,” he said after chewing for a moment, “you going back to the tavern tonight?”

  I hesitated.

  “Yeah,” I said slowly. “I was thinking I would. Any reason I shouldn’t?”

  He shrugged one shoulder.

  “Well,” he said, “somebody tried to kill you there last night.”

  “Technically outside,” I said.

  He waved a hand.

  “Don’t get clever with me. Dead is dead whether it happens on the porch or in the kitchen.”

  He leaned on the counter, eyeing me like he was deciding whether I was stupid or just enthusiastic.

  “You ever think maybe that food delivery was the point?” he continued. “You order food with a little note asking that you bring it personally. Slip a few coins to the right person so it lands in your hands.”

  He jabbed a thumb toward the door.

  “Next thing you know you’re standing alone outside a temple with a knife in your ribs.”

  I rubbed the back of my neck.

  “I guess.”

  “Yeah, well,” he grunted. “You might want to start thinking about that sort of thing.”

  “Why?”

  He snorted.

  “Because people are starting to talk.”

  That made me wince.

  “That’s never good.”

  “Well,” he said, chewing again, “you haven’t exactly made your way through every warm body that’s come to hear you play.”

  I blinked.

  “What?”

  He gestured vaguely toward the street.

  “It’s weird for a [Bard] not to have a percentage of the town as a body count at this point.”

  “Oh no.”

  “Oh yes.”

  He wiped crumbs out of his beard.

  “Word going around is you’re head over heels for Prudence. Too scared to chase anyone else because you think it’ll scare her off.”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose.

  “Of course they’re saying that.”

  “People like simple stories,” he muttered. “And right now you’re a simple story.”

  “Jesus Christ.”

  Garen raised an eyebrow.

  “Jesus?” he said flatly.

  “Never mind.”

  He shrugged and dusted his hands off.

  “Point is,” he said, “you’re getting predictable. And predictable invites people to take opportunities.”

  “The stab-you-in-a-dark-alley kind?”

  “Exactly that kind.”

  I sighed.

  “I’ll think about it.”

  The shop door creaked open just then. A man with tiny clouds chasing him stepped inside. Above his head floated the familiar display.

  Mage {Level 68}

  The thin clouds drifted lazily around his shoulders like he had brought his own weather system with him.

  The air in the shop shifted slightly.

  Garen straightened behind the counter in a way that suggested this conversation had suddenly become more complicated. I remember this was the guy before that had argued about edible trees.

  And I had absolutely zero desire to stand between whatever that energy was.

  “Alright,” I said quickly, scooping Mouthy off the floor and sliding him back into his sheath. “I’ll get out of your hair.”

  Garen grunted something that might have been a goodbye, though it sounded suspiciously like “don’t get stabbed.”

  I took the hint.

  I slipped out the door and headed down the street before either of them decided I needed to be part of whatever that conversation was going to become.

  I walked down the street toward the tavern, the morning still settling into that slow stretch before lunch. It was a little early for the usual crowd, but it wasn’t like I had anywhere else pressing to be. The town wasn’t exactly overflowing with places to window shop anyway.

  There weren’t many businesses here. Old Garen’s place was the only real general shop in town. Everything else was specialized. There were weapon sellers, arrow fletchers, a blacksmith, and a few food places scattered around. For some reason there were two different cheese shops, which still struck me as a strange economic choice for a town this size.

  There was also a clothing shop I had eyed a few days ago, but I had already gotten fresh clothes recently and didn’t feel like upgrading again so soon.

  As I walked, I kept thinking about what Garen had said.

  Leaving town probably wasn’t the worst idea.

  I had some coin now. I wasn’t in need of anything. If I wanted to disappear and try my luck somewhere bigger, I probably could.

  The only real thing keeping me here was Garen.

  And while the old man had been surprisingly helpful, he was also a level 73 [Enchanter] who punched people for scientific reasons. He could probably take care of himself just fine.

  Still.

  I pushed the thought aside and stepped up to the tavern door.

  Inside, the place was quiet. A few chairs were still upside down on tables while the staff worked their way through the morning setup.

  Behind the bar, the [Bladesinger] stood wiping down the counter.

  He glanced up as I walked in.

  Then he paused.

  Just for a second.

  A very small pause.

  But it was there.

  Then he continued, smiling easily.

  “Hey Lloyd,” he said. “Good to see you. Come to play for lunch as usual?”

  “Yep,” I said casually, suddenly realizing that I had somehow never learned this guy’s name.

  “I thought I’d come in a little early,” I continued. “Just strum for whoever wanders in.”

  He shrugged.

  “Hey, I don’t mind. We won’t mind the music while we’re setting up. Cooks are still in the back prepping anyway.”

  “Oh,” I said, trying to keep my voice neutral. “Is Prudence in yet?”

  He paused again.

  This time the smile he gave me had a slightly different edge to it. A knowing one.

  “Not yet,” he said. “But I’ll let her know you’re here when she comes in.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  He nodded, already going back to wiping down the counter.

  I turned and walked toward the small stage in the corner.

  Inside my head, alarms were going off.

  He paused.

  He had definitely paused.

  He hadn’t expected to see me.

  Not just surprised. The kind of surprise that suggested the outcome he had expected was that I was dead somewhere in a ditch right now.

  Which meant he had been involved in something.

  Something where the end result was supposed to be me not walking back into this tavern.

  I needed to get out of here.

  But not yet.

  If I bolted immediately, that would confirm everything.

  So I needed to play it casual.

  I’d play for a little while. Maybe a couple hours. Let things feel normal. Then I’d wander out like nothing was wrong.

  Yep.

  That was the plan.

  I sat down on the small stage, rested the guitar against my knee, and began to play. I picked one of my dad's old favorite songs.

  Please allow me to introduce myself…