Chapter 97: Who Has The Bigger Wallet

The axe swung far too close to Kael’s smiling face and stopped immediately when it entered the perimeter of the shop.

The air itself seemed to change at that invisible line, like the moment the blade crossed into the neon-lit safety, it hit something that wasn’t quite a wall and wasn’t quite nothing. The swing didn’t halt so much as it was denied, the weapon freezing mid-arc with a nasty shudder through the handle, the leader’s arms tensing as if he’d tried to cut stone and found out the stone cut back.

Kael’s grin didn’t even have time to fade. One blink, he was outside, one blink, he was inside, and the next, he was standing with his back half-pressed to the shop’s inner racks as if it could swallow him deeper if he asked nicely.

“Am I supposed to consider this a breach of the rules of this shop?” The words were low, cold, and very dangerous; they came from the shop owner, the Imp Baltak.

The voice wasn’t loud, and that made it worse. It carried anyway, crisp and clipped, as every syllable came with a warning label. Baltak wasn’t yelling to be heard; he was speaking because the air had to be informed.

Outside, the mob’s noise hit the glass like a wave.

“Fuck he got inside!” one of the people said.

“Drag him out! Kill that motherfucker!” another said.

Their bodies surged forward on instinct. A couple of them actually stepped toward the threshold like they were about to test it with their own skin.

“SHUT UP!” the leader said, “Shopkeeper, we’re not here to cause trouble; that guy killed one of our own. How about you hand him over to us?”

His tone shifted into that oily, negotiator voice, half demand, half plea, like he was doing Baltak a favor by offering “compromise.” He kept his axe raised, but the blade hovered awkwardly at the barrier, unable to complete what it had started. He looked irritated by that alone, like the universe had committed a personal insult.

“Are you telling me what to do? Climber?” The last word sounded like a slur instead of a title.

That single word, Climber, hit the room like a slap. Not because it was offensive, but because of the way Baltak said it. Like he was tasting something cheap. Like it was something that had crawled onto his counter and he was deciding whether to squash it or flick it away.

“Ah, no, but he’s a red player.”

The leader latched onto it, desperate. He pointed like the system itself was his witness. Like the Tower would nod solemnly and say, yes, yes, carry on with your lynching.

“He no longer is,” the imp said as it locked gaze with the leader.

Kael felt it more than saw it. The red player stigma, already thinning, already fading, was simply gone. Like a smear wiped off a window. Like the Tower had been counting down in the background and didn’t give a damn that Kael’s neck was inches away from being the timer’s punchline.

“You wasted your time threatening and talking when he had only a few seconds to become a normal climber; he is allowed in, while you attacked my shop… what should I do with you?”

It wasn’t a rhetorical question. Baltak asked it the way a man asks where he should put the body.

“I’m sure we can resolve this!” The Leader said.

The leader’s grin returned, strained and stiff, teeth showing too much. His eyes flicked to the people behind him, silently ordering them to shut their mouths, stop flexing weapons, stop acting like animals in front of something that could swat them like flies.

The Imp turned to Kael and said, “You bring nothing but trouble…”

Kael didn’t flinch from the accusation. He didn’t even argue. He was too tired to pretend he was innocent, and too smart to pretend Baltak cared about innocence in the first place.

“Sorry about that, Baltak,” Kael said.

The apology came out smooth, almost polite, but his eyes stayed sharp. He watched Baltak the same way he watched monsters: for tells, for patterns, for the exact moment neutrality turned into appetite.

“The fuck? He knows its name? you can’t even inspect that Imp, how does he know his name?” another one said.

Outside, voices rose and fell like barking dogs.

“Useless, are you here to buy something or keep talking? My patience is finite.” Baltak said.

The sentence felt like a rule, not a threat. And for a heartbeat, Kael could swear the neon above the door flickered in agreement.

“I’ll buy, I’ll buy!” the leader said.

And walked inside the shop.

The moment he crossed the threshold, the swagger returned in his shoulders, because now he was protected, and that protection tasted good. He gave Kael a glance that spoke bloody murder, but he couldn’t even act on it.

That was the best part, honestly. The rage in his eyes has nowhere to go. A dog behind a fence, frothing at the mouth.

“What are you getting?”

Baltak’s tone didn’t change. Not for the leader. Not for the mob. If anything, he sounded bored. Like customers were termites, and he was counting how many he could tolerate before burning down the house.

“I need a repair kit. And some healing potions. Three!” he said that with confidence.

He said it the way someone orders at a bar they think they own. Loud, sure, like the shop should be grateful he was spending money instead of spilling blood.

“That’ll be eight cores,” Baltak said.

No bargaining. No “special price.” Just the number, clean and final.

“I bet you never saw this many cores in your life, kid.” The leader said as he dropped eight cores from his hand onto the table.

He didn’t place them; he dropped them, like he wanted the sound to ring, like he wanted Kael to hear every clink and understand who had the bigger wallet. The moment the cores touched the table, they disappeared.

A small box appeared on the table, and three potions next to it.

The exchange was instant, transactional, merciless. The shop didn’t care about bravado. Pay, receive, shut up.

“What about you? I don’t do business with people who are only here to loiter.”

Baltak’s gaze swung back to Kael, and even though the question was simple, it carried weight. Kael felt it settle on his shoulders: buy something or get removed. No exceptions. No, “but they’re hunting me.” This place was safe, not kind.

“Hurry up, buy your shit, and go out so I can fuck you up real nice!” the leader said as he grabbed his stuff.

He said it like it was already done. Like Kael’s death was scheduled, and all that was left was for the system to stop being inconvenient.

Kael didn’t respond, but he still had to purchase something, or Baltak would simply kick him out. Baltak wasn’t his ally; Baltak was part of the tower. And in the best case scenario, he could be considered neutral, any less and he is as vicious as everyone else here.

Kael’s fingers slid into his inventory with a deliberate slowness, and he pulled out something that changed the air immediately.

“How much is this?” Kael asked as he pulled out a core the size of his own fist.

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