Never Die Twice

When you were a business owner, two methods worked best to deal with competition.

The first method was to bury the business by cutting down prices, corrupting their suppliers, or intimidating their workers.

The second, and most popular method, was to bury the competitors themselves. It was only murder when you were caught, after all.

“I will kill them,” Tye muttered under his breath, upon reading the shop’s entry sign: ‘Runewell’s Beautiful Potions.’ They had used a different color for each letter, which while making the sign eye-catching, showed a complete lack of taste. “I will kill them all.”

“With pleasure,” Laufey said, delighting in his fury.

These people had dared open their shop barely one street away from his own, right in the middle of Lyonesse’s merchant district. They had bought the Restful Stay inn, which had fallen under hard times after being overtaken by its Dragonsong competitor, and repurposed it into a larger ‘market’ shop.

“Come and see the best potions,” a dashing-looking merchant harangued a crowd of watchers. “With its elite alchemists, Runewell has supplied the Academy and the adventurer guilds since their foundation! Looking for a cure against the so-called ‘Deathcloud’ in the dungeon? You will find it… at Runewell’s Beautiful Potions!”

A week and a half after the gas incident, and maggots already capitalized on the opportunity.

It wasn’t the first time the necromancer had met the Runewell guild. This league of merchants had cornered most of the magic item market in the Avalon kingdom, although they focused on the largest cities because the city dwellers paid better. They specialized in mass-producing cheap products everyone could afford, and while adventurers weren’t their core market, they had made efforts to branch out there. The shop owner had considered supplying himself at Runewell, before realizing they favored quantity over quality.

Tye had to admit their marketing was top notch though. A look at the window, where they had put rows of potions and magic items on displays, alongside frighteningly low prices, would entice most adventurers.

And worse, the flashy strategy worked like a charm. While the necromancer hadn’t seen Annie or her friends enter that cursed place… he did notice the uniforms of academy members among the new clients.

“Ah, our distinguished competitor!” The merchant noticed Tye and his ‘trainee,’ approaching them with a bright, fake smile plastered all over his face. “Such a pleasure to meet a fellow small business owner.”

Said the representative of a kingdom-wide conglomerate. Runewell’s boasts worked because they had a grain of truth. They did provide most of the Academy’s alchemical supplies, but only those that its members didn’t have time to manufacture themselves.

“The pleasure is all mine,” Tye replied. “I came to congratulate you on finding a cure.”

“Runewell may be a business, but the safety of our clients will always trump the search for profits.” The merchant sounded like a [Flesh Golem] reciting a script. “Royals and commoners alike.”

“Walter is all about saving lives too,” Laufey said innocently.

The merchant glanced at her, but at the chest rather than the face, before quickly catching himself and focusing back on the necromancer. “Indeed! Runewell might need people like you.”

Here came the sales pitch...

“We are ready to make you a generous buyout offer. You may even continue to purchase your wares under the respected flag of our company.”

First method apologists. Niiiiiice. “How much?” Tye asked out of curiosity.

“Five hundred gold coins should be enough.”

Laufey had to put a hand on her face to hide her laughter. “That’s more money than I ever saw in my entire life!” Tye deadpanned, who probably had a thousand times that amount in assets.

“Indeed,” the merchant replied, his fake smile turning condescending. “I swear that you will never see a better proposal.”

“I will think over it,” the alchemist replied with the exact same expression. “I will pray. Pray that your venture prospers in these dark times.”

“So will I.”

Tye could swear he took [Poison] damage by simply exchanging words with this… this human-shaped, cold dead thing. He excused himself and left, Laufey in tow.

“These people have to go,” the necromancer said, as they made their way to the temple district to deliver Yseult’s medicine.

“Do you truly need to take action though?” Laufey asked although she didn’t sound convinced. “Is keeping the shop afloat so important, especially if you’ll leave in months?”

She had a point, and the shop didn’t bring much income compared to the mining operations. Ghostring had also informed him that the famous Jarl Gales had arrived in the city, alongside his personal retinue and mercenaries. The necromancer anticipated a new raid, more worrisome than the last, and he should focus on that instead of his fake persona.

However, Walter Tye was a mask the necromancer had consciously worked on for years. He enjoyed the life he had created, and he refused to let anyone or anything disturb his peaceful life. “They have to go.”

“As you wish,” the elf said. “Can I take care of that man?”

“No,” the necromancer replied. “I cannot be connected to this in any way. You focus on the adventurers. If they truly have an antidote for the gas then we can expect a raid soon. Keep your athame for the warriors.”

“A shame,” the dark elf lamented. “What do you intend to do? Send the Dullahan to burn the shop at night?”

“I have… other nighttime friends.”

Under the moon, Tye the Ankou stopped his coach upon approaching his usual meeting place with Patrick. Much like last time, the black marketeer didn’t come alone.

The necromancer sensed at least twenty rogues hidden in the woods around them, ready to slice his throat at any moment. Patrick himself was surrounded by a group of hooded assassins equipped with magical weapons.

A roguish woman seemed to be their leader. With long dark hair, sharp face, and cold silver eyes, she reminded Tye of a stalking lynx, thin, nimble, and vicious. She dressed very conservatively, but her brown doublet, gloves, and boots barely hid the daggers she carried; not to mention the [Lightning Blade] around her belt. She appraised the Ankou in silence, one urban predator sizing up another.

Fortunately, if he could trust the half a dozen crates next to Patrick, they had brought what he sought.

“Patrick, what did I tell you about discreet meetings?” Tye asked. “Unless you want me to dispose of the witnesses. If you wish someone dead, you can simply ask.”

“It’s… complicated,” the black marketeer said, clearly anxious at the scene. “I’m just here for the introductions and the transition. I’m retiring.”

“You retire?”

“Yeah, after last time, I figured that my line of work can only end in a one-way ticket to coffintown. So I’m cashing in my savings and leaving these messes behind. Bought a farm and everything.”

“Oh. Congratulations then.” What a loss. Patrick had a knack for finding artifacts and forbidden items. “I suppose this charming lady will replace you then?”

The woman smiled in response. “Sort of. You have always dealt with me.”

“She’s my boss,” the black marketeer said. “And Narbon’s. You know… before you killed him.”

“Serves him right for trying to cheat us both,” the woman said. “You may call me Mockingbird.”

The crime lord of eastern Avalon? Truly? She looked in her mid-twenties at best. “I am the Ankou,” Tye replied, mentally preparing himself to kill everyone in sight if needed, as he climbed down from the coach. “I hope for you that you do not try to renegotiate the agreed price. These woods are dangerous at night.”

The woman smiled, and her teeth reminded the necromancer of a cunning wolf. “I apologize for my employee’s… less than stellar customer service. To make up for it, I added a bonus to your delivery.”

She snapped her fingers, Patrick moved to open the crates, helped by other rogues. Tye watched them present him with their contents.

Bones of giants and monsters.

The femur of a frost giant; the hand of a fire one; the maw and fangs of a giant wolf; the spine of a large serpent, which his magic confirmed as that of a Midgard Serpent’s spawn. This delivery would drain his finances severely but, in the end, would pay dividends.

“Do you intend to raise them?” Mockingbird asked.

“No.” In truth, Tye intended to use them as material to craft powerful magical items for his men; maybe an [Axe of the Damned] for Hagen, [Malicious Claws] for Spook, and so on. The stronger the creature and the better preserved the corpses, the better.

However, he noticed the ‘raise as undead’ part. Clearly, that woman had put the two and two together.

As for the ‘supplement’... Tye couldn’t believe his eyes when the rogues laid it before him. He had to cast [Super Magic Scan], twice, to believe it.

A dragon’s skull.

A small one, but a true dragon’s skull all the same. That thing was worth a king’s ransom and would allow Tye to craft a mighty artifact for himself, or a powerful guardian. How many favors did she have to call upon, to secure it?

The necromancer knew a bribe when he saw one.

“So you do know my tastes, and I thank you for your gift,” Tye said. “But I assume a crime lord of your caliber didn’t come in person only for a mere delivery? Even one as important as this one.”

“Patrick told me that you used a spell called [Death X] to kill my subordinates. According to my spellcasters, that is a sixth tier spell. A necromancy spell.”

She did her research. Smart. “You intend to claim the princess’ bounty on my head?”

“The royals are no friends of mine,” Mockingbird replied. “On the contrary, I wondered if you would consider deepening our organizations’ partnership.”

This made Tye pause for a moment. “Organizations?”

“Beyond the dungeon’s forces, I know you control the Tye’s Boiling Cauldron shop, and probably other businesses. You cover your tracks well, lethally so, but most of your purchases only make sense if used by a high-level [Alchemist]. I crossed your purchase history with that of the shop, and it clicked.”

The short silence that followed became oppressive.

“You keep sales records from criminal ventures,” Tye said, with a tone that promised destruction. “That’s a dangerous thing to do.”

“A trump card to protect ourselves against treason,” Mockingbird replied. “I have no intention to disrupt your activities or sell out your human agents. Neither do I intend to blackmail you. But if you cross me in any way...”

The necromancer pondered whether he should kill her immediately, before guessing that she had probably set a deadman switch before coming here. “I see. A mutually assured destruction lockdown.”

“The best setup for trade,” the crook replied. “I want to continue doing business… and even go further. Most ‘forbidden’ spellcasters get caught before they even reach tier three, and you are probably the only sixth tier user who isn’t on the kingdom’s or the Five Calamities’ payroll.”

“You wish to purchase my magical expertise.”

“Yes, mostly for magical items. I will pay well for quality.”

“I have little use for gold,” Tye replied. “But I do need a favor.”

“An exchange of services then?” Mockingbird nodded. “What favor?”

“I want Runewell’s activities in Lyonesse to cease, and for Tye’s Boiling Cauldron to remain the favored institution of adventurers.”

“So you can keep an eye on those trying to raid your dungeon? Smart. I suggest taking over the main inn and the brothels too if I were you.”

Tye shrugged. “Can it be done? Quietly?”

“Yes. For a price. To give you details, robberies, capers, and thefts in general, are one of my five main sources of revenues. However, most of our high-income targets have wised up and now massively invest in magical locks and alarms.”

“I can fashion [Skeleton Keys] from fairy fingers,” Tye replied. “They should break most magical locks and protections, short of an archmages.”

“Make twenty of them, and we have a deal.” The woman glanced at his vehicle next. “Is it true that you keep the souls of your victims in your coach?”

“Not those of my victims.”

“Then whose?”

“Why, but my fellow necromancers of course! Do you wish to meet them?”

Of course, Mockingbird didn’t take the bait, but it amused her all the same. She offered her hand, her iron fingers covered with a velvet glove. “I look forward to us working together.”

“As do I,” the necromancer said, shaking her hand. “As do I.”