Chapter 57: Unwritten Rule
The man closed the distance with lazy, predatory steps, the smirk on his face spreading like a stain.
He wore the same creased leather jerkin and scuffed boots as before, but now there was a short sword at his hip.
Wade exhaled, wondering if he should just burst into a run and act as if he hadn’t seen the man at all.
Unfortunately, it would make him look weak. Which he was, but that was just a matter of time.
But more importantly, it was too late for that.
"You!" he said when he was within distance for normal conversation, voice rough as gravel.
"Who do you think you are? Showing up like that and meddling where you shouldn’t. You’re making my work difficult, kid. That’s not polite."
Wade kept his pace, hands tucked casually into his pockets.
"Tom’s shop?" he said, as if stating the obvious. "That’s my favorite shop in the whole city. You had to pick on it?"
The man’s smile grew strained. "You didn’t have to interfere. You know how it is on these streets."
"Actually, I don’t." Wade shrugged.
The man stared at him with a frown. "Are you new?"
"Not really." Wade said nonchalantly. "I just haven’t been as interested in things that are not dungeons lately."
Fortunately, the man didn’t call his bluff.
"Well, the rules are simple," the man said instead. "Once you see a fellow adventurer doing his thing, you don’t interfere."
Wade thought about it. That was the kind of rule someone like Rowan would definitely break, so it was obvious what was happening here.
It was an unwritten rule among the adventurers with... sketchy morals.
Which meant he didn’t have to follow it.
"Apologies, but I won’t be able to abide by your rule," Wade said, voice light.
"Tom can make a decent breastplate and he’s good for conversation. I can’t let his shop disappear like that."
The man’s posture changed. He leaned in, voice dropping.
"You think you’re untouchable because you’re also an adventurer? Don’t worry. I’ll find out who you are."
"I’ll talk to some people. People who owe me favors will come knocking. You think Hiving’s big enough to hide?"
Wade watched the man carefully.
He could see it clearly. I’m the way the man’s left eye twitched. The way his fingers drifted toward the sword.
He was bluffing.
Wade laughed softly. "You’ll do that? Find out who I am?"
He spread his hands like he was offering the city on a silver platter. "Go right ahead. Ask around. Tell them Wade Barrett interfered with your little scheme."
The threat didn’t rattle him. If anything, it amused him.
"Good luck with that," Wade added. "You’ve got a wide mouth and a dull plan. You’ll need more than anger to make life miserable for me."
The adventurer’s jaw worked and color flushed his face.
He took a step closer, low and dangerous. "You’ve got a lot of nerve, talking to me like that. You’ll regret—"
"Regret what?" Wade cut in, voice casual. "Being the kind of person who picks on tradesmen?"
For a moment the man seemed to consider making good on his threats. Instead, he spat at Wade’s boots. "This isn’t over."
Wade watched as the man turned and stalked off, his boots kicking up dust.
The smirk was gone. He moved more carefully now, the swagger replaced by an ugly, brittle walk.
When the man had melted into the bustle, Wade exhaled and let his shoulders drop.
He adjusted the strap of his sword, and continued down the street towards the market.
Now that the... adventurer was gone, he turned his attention to something more practical. Stocking his new apartment.
His stomach gave a faint rumble, reminding him he couldn’t keep relying on tavern meals forever.
He made his way into the more rowdy part of the market district, where stalls were still busy with customers bartering over goods.
Wade wandered from stand to stand, picking out what was familiar and he could afford.
A sack of potatoes went into his inventory first, followed by a bundle of carrots and onions.
He added a loaf of dense brown bread, a small jar of cooking oil, and a handful of dried herbs the vendor promised would last weeks if kept dry.
For meat, he settled on a cut of salted pork. Expensive, but it would keep longer than fresh cuts.
A few eggs, wrapped carefully in straw, finished his collection.
As he counted out the coins, he felt the satisfaction of finally filling the empty shelves he’d stared at the night before.
Nothing fancy, but enough to make a few decent meals.
Once his errands were done, he left the market behind, weaving back through the streets towards his apartment.
He climbed the stairs to his door, the familiar creak greeting him as he stepped inside.
He set the groceries out on the table, glancing around at the simple space. It still felt new, but a little less empty now.
He stashed what he didn’t need in the cupboards, set the bread on the counter, and the pork in a cool corner of the kitchen.
"Not bad," he muttered with a small smile.
He turned to the potatoes he’d left out, sliced them up with his knife, and tossed them into a pan with some oil.
The smell of frying potatoes filled the small apartment, making him grin.
He added a bit of pork, cut thin, and let it sizzle until the edges crisped.
A pinch of salt and dried herbs went in for flavor, and soon he had a simple but hearty meal ready.
He carried the plate to the table, eating slowly, savoring the fact that it was his own food in his own space.
No tavern noise and no guild cafeteria chatter. It was just him and the quiet space of his apartment.
When he was done, he leaned back with a satisfied sigh, stretching his legs out.
For a while, he just sat there, letting time pass.
He drifted between daydreams of profit and dungeons, the ticking of his thoughts as unpredictable as the movements of the flames of a fire.
But night eventually crept in through the window, shadows stretching long across the floor.
Wade pushed himself up, rinsed his plate, and set it aside.
It was time to return to Viscount Fairchild.