Jack weighed the price of the dagger in his mind. 50 silver seemed fair. If he had the coin, he’d pay without haggling. He smiled at the ‘including the history of the weapon’ clause. She could spin any yarn. Perhaps claiming the blade was once owned by a legendary hero. A tall tale to tickle the imagination of any young man hungry for adventure.

  How gullible does she think I am? Shaking his head to stifle a laugh at the ridiculousness of it all, he countered the price with feigned confidence, “With the handle in that state and damaged runes, it’s not worth more than 35 silver.”

  The merchant rolled her eyes and sheathed the blade before placing it in front of him again. “Ungrateful little brat. Every time, the same trollshit price,” she muttered.

  What? Every time the same, how could she… Jack’s memories felt hazy for a moment. What did she say? He recalled the insult, but the rest was difficult to recall. He shook his head and frowned at the merchant’s negotiation style; insulting the customer wasn’t how most merchants chased a sale.

  He longed to hold the blade again, but instead picked up a higher-quality dagger and tested its balance. It was a fine weapon inscribed with multiple runes for durability, sharpness, and a rune to hold a mage’s spell; it didn’t feel right. This one must have been worth at least 5 gold, well beyond his current means.

  “Now, this is a good weapon for an assassin. Excellent weight,” Jack stated, mimicking a thrust into an imaginary opponent’s gut. The memory of Viscount Greaves’s lethal strike surged, filling him with cold dread. “How-how much?”

  The merchant’s expression soured. “I wouldn’t sell it for less than 10 gold, but that’s the wrong weapon for you, boy.” With a grin that revealed her dagger-like canines, she picked up the damaged dagger once more.

  Jack felt anxious that she was touching his dagger.

  Noticing Jack’s anxiety as she handled the weapon, the merchant continued, “This is your weapon.” She pointed the sheathed dagger at him. “I can feel it calling to you.” She chuckled as if privy to a secret. “45 silver. Even if you live a thousand lifetimes, you won’t regret it.” A smirk played on one side of her face; a demented, snaggle-toothed grin spread as one of her sharp canines rested on her bottom lip.

  Startled, Jack took an instinctive step back. “What a strange woman.”

  The merchant laughed and unsheathed the dagger, revealing its tarnished blade, which now took on a disturbing red sheen under the dim light of the stall’s awnings.

  Jack’s haggling plan wasn’t working as expected. No merchant haggled quite like this, yet the price was dropping. In his past life, his scarred appearance helped with negotiations; he looked like a man who’d slit your throat if you looked at him the wrong way.

  Gathering his resolve, though unnerved by her intensity, he declared, “Still too much!” He could fake false bravado with the best of them. “The damage to the handle gives a poor feel in my hand,” he complained, feigning reconsideration.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Drawing on his years of haggling in his past life, even if it was taking all his willpower not to fall to his knees and beg for the blade, he added, “It would cost at least 20 silver just to repair the handle and another 10 silver for a basic durability rune. 35 silver is a fair price.”

  Then, picking up an awful dagger, one that would make a decent paperweight or letter opener, Jack asked, “What’s the price for this fine blade?”

  The merchant’s smile, though present, did not reach her eyes. “That’s different. 11 silver.” In his estimation, that was a fair price for junk. Without missing a beat, she placed the unsheathed, damaged dagger back before him.

  Jack returned her smile as he couldn’t help but gaze at the dagger he needed. “11 silver is tempting, but I don’t think I like the colour of the handle.” Indeed, the handle was garish pink. Why would anyone want a dagger with a pink handle? Is that a rune to make it shine?

  With no intention of buying the trashy, pink dagger, he returned it with more care than it deserved and picked up a bow instead. He’d trained with a similar bow for a few months before choosing a dagger as his weapon for assassinating Greaves.

  Drawing back the bow, he was surprised to discover it caused no pain to his previously damaged arm; he almost dropped it. I could’ve assassinated Greaves from a distance. Fighting back tears, he asked, “H-how much?”

  The merchant’s frown deepened, her disappointment and annoyance plain to see. “Always to the bow.” She shook her head. “3 gold, but that’s the weapon of a coward. Are you a coward, boy?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Revenge should be delivered up close and personal. You will buy the dagger.” She studied Jack, then smirked. “This is your dagger.” Picking up the damaged dagger, she placed it into its sheath. “39 silver and 10 coppers. No more dumb haggling, boy. It’s yours.” She slammed the dagger down in front of him, her eyes flashing red again.

  Jack staggered back on his heels, startled by the aggressive tone. For a moment, his mind felt like it was resisting something; he shook the feeling away. He needed that dagger. 39 silver and 10 coppers, that was all the coin he had.

  “This had better be the last time I have to do this.” The merchant pointed at him. “And don’t forget your promises, and don’t get killed in a privy again. You insolent little brat.”

  What? I didn’t die in a… Jack’s memories became hazy again. What did she say? Shaking the feeling away, he emptied his pouch of coins before claiming the sheathed dagger. “It’s mine,” he whispered, feeling as though he was greeting a long-lost friend.

  The merchant rolled her eyes and made no move to count the coins. Instead, she left them on the counter as she began explaining the weapon’s history in a bored, monotone cadence. “You will not regret this purchase. The dagger has tasted the blood of thousands and has been owned by countless assassins.” She smiled, revealing her sharp canines. “But its final owner was the most important one of all.” Leaning over the stall to get closer to Jack, she whispered, “Your weapon was owned by a Master Assassin out for vengeance.”

  Where she had once spoken with disinterest, now she revelled in her performance. “The assassin was famed for eliminating over one hundred blood cult members during your Kingdom’s greatest challenge. This blade has tasted the blood of many Experts and Masters, fuelling its owner’s drive for revenge and imbuing the blade with a strong affinity for blood magic.” She offered a broad smile and licked her sharp canines. “It is said that this dagger is a weapon of vengeance, growing with its true owner, their combined power rivalling that of the Gods.” She ended with a soft chuckle.

  Jack hadn’t registered most of her words, offering vacant half-nods to appease her as he secured the dagger to his side. As the blade pressed against his hip, he gave a deep sigh and felt safe again.