Free Web NovelChapter 41: Firal’s morning routine
Life finally dealt Jimmy a good hand. He was given a task to kill a human, a single target, in other words, assassinate the target.
This was what his evolutionary path was all about. Assassination for its own sake. Strategy mixed with killing intent.
He wasn’t outnumbered thirty to one, he wasn’t being eaten alive. He just hid on the rooftops, observing, calculating, and waiting for his moment.
"The crows said that it’s hard to sneak up on this fucker," He said, "I have to avoid his line of sight, or else he’ll turn me into a delicious chicken wing. I don’t know if I’m delicious, my meat is probably a cancerogen at this point, but still. I don’t want to be deep fried."
It was early morning. The mage was in the merchant’s district, buying various meats from the vendors who manned the stalls. When he wasn’t browsing the stalls, he stopped and had long, hearty conversations with the people he ran across.
The mage was well-liked by the community. Jimmy knew that much, but he grew frustrated over time, as the mage lingered in crowded areas at all times. It was almost as if he was expecting an attack.
"Fucking coward," Jimmy blurted, "This is gonna be harder than I thought."
Jimmy stalked the mage for two hours straight, only to see the mage follow the relatively same routine. It was easy to get restless.
"I couldn’t have fucking guessed that a strategic approach would mostly leave me waiting... and waiting... and waiting..." He said, and his vision began to blur.
If he had teeth, he would be grinding them right now. Instead, his beak tightened in frustration.
To make matters worse, his stomach gurgled so often that one would think it was starting an orchestra! He woke up hungry, felt hungry after eating three rats, and was even hungrier now. It was as if the rats had triggered his stomach acid, and had it overperform. He was constantly being bugged by the fact that he was hungry.
With that said, he started eating bugs. There weren’t any rats around for him to feast on, but there were plenty of bugs.
Jimmy recognized some of the species as bugs from the meadow, outside of the city. With more than a hundred less feathery predators to hunt them, the bugs had become more confident, and moved freely both in the city and the meadows.
He sat patiently, and snapped at bugs that clumsily flew across his line of sight. From flies, to dragonflies, all the way to bully beetles, he ate them all.
If he had chased them around, he’d burn more energy in the process than what he would’ve gained from eating them.
After swallowing about fifty bugs, his stomach stopped whistling like a snake charmer’s flute. His hunger-stricken blurry vision went away too.
"Surprisingly filling," He said, after a burp, "Maybe bugs have proteins too? I haven’t felt this bloated in a while."
[+64 points from the bugs]
[Total system points: 127]
Anyway, with the bottomless pit that was his stomach, filled to the brim, he could focus more.
The mage continued with his routine. His routine remained perfectly predictable.
"Maybe I should stop waiting for him to walk in an empty alleyway?" He said, "He’s too careful, damn it... wait... I wonder if I can use his carefulness against him? At this point, he has to be an over-paranoid cunt, right?"
Throwing coal in his train of thought, he pondered, "Paranoid, attentive, and a sharp shooter... horribly dangerous to attack head on, but I’d bet a hundred bucks that it’s also easy to piss him off. Maybe I should break his routine, and see where that gets me?"
Jimmy always thought two steps ahead. His head was wired that way thanks to one of his purchases in the recent past. At last, this purchase came in handy, and supported a plan that didn’t result into an instant, dead-end.
...
Even early in the morning, the city was as busy as ever. Vendors had put up their stalls, and tried their best to sell their wares.
Mages, workers, prominent families, and nearly everyone else were out of their homes, making the best of their day.
A tall, bulky gentleman, dressed with expensive garments, including a white robe with green outlines, and various enchanted jewelry, browsed the stalls, and subtly haggled with vendors. He had plenty of silver coins to spend, two satchels worth of coins, even, but he refused to be hussled. He refused to overpay.
Standing in front of an amateur alchemist’s stall, he explained, "If you dry Gray Thistle stalks for ten days, grind them up into dust, not fragments, but actual dust, much like flour, you’ll have yourself a base ingredient that supports most poisons. If you add fresh thistle leaves to the mix, and old yeast also, you’ll get a poison that can kill slowly. It would take thirty days to kill a human."
Furthermore, he added, "I’m telling you the recipe, so you can sell the Pale Grip poison yourself. I have no use for it nowadays."
"Thank you, Firal," The alchemist bowed deeply, "Gosh, if I only knew this earlier. I usually chop Gray Thistle down because it gets in my way... it looks like I wasted so many ingredients without even knowing it."
"Don’t worry about it," Firal smiled, "You’ll become a master alchemist one day. I can see it in your eyes... they shine with hunger. Anyway, I should leave you to it, then, I’ll just buy some Silver Dandelion Roots off of you, and then head on home. I could buy my ingredients from Tormus’ shop, you know, but that fool is too smug for my liking. He’s been acting like a king ever since he opened his shop. I’d rather support young, talented men such as yourself."
The alchemist almost tripped over himself as he filled a small, linen bag to the brim with Silver Dandelion Roots. Every third word of his came out as a stutter.
"Here you go, Firal," The alchemist said, "Keep your coins, the roots are on me... Shall we meet at the tavern later? There’s a lot I haven’t learned about thistles, and maybe you can tell me more over some mead? I’ll pay for a case."
"Of course, I’d be happy too." Firal nodded.
Grabbing the bag afterwards, he walked away from the stall with a smirk. He took pride in his haggling skills, and rightfully so. Out of the five bags he carried with him, he had only paid for two of them, at a discounted price, even.
Firal was finally ready to go home. The parts of his hairy chest that his robe could not cover were nearly boiling red. He had been out in the sun for too long, and in the summer, even the morning sun was unforgiving.
On his way home, however, he felt a sudden, heavy, and yet short pressure on the top of his head.
Quick as a whip, he used his free hand to wipe his head, and touched a wet, spongy substance.
"Bird poop?" He grit his teeth.
Looking up, he saw a massive crow flying tens of meters above the city buildings.
In an instant, every drop of his cool composure was drained away from him!
He yelled out, "This’ll be your last drop, you filthy, disease-riddled feathery bastard!"
