He couldn't stand still any longer in front of the obsidian blades that winked at him, whispering, "Take me." Meyer couldn't ignore the excitement flooding his veins. His whole body trembled. He felt like he was about to explode, down to his very cells. His feet screamed, "Move!" His arms yelled, "Swing me!" And the longer Meyer stood still, the more insignificant his decision felt. It was a terrifying force that moved him.
"The display case has a durability of ninety percent," said the Devil Chip.
That sentence didn't just increase Meyer's thrill—it sent his fist soaring into the air.
His eyes, which made it clear from every angle that he didn't want a polite agreement, sparkled with a strange light.
The Devil Chip was right, he thought. The good part of him was dying. A hidden part of him, so deeply buried that he couldn't even mourn its funeral.
"I need a plan first," he said to himself, recalling the first line from the book Things Even the Devil Wouldn't Think Of: "Start from where people say no, where opportunities are denied. That's what makes you faster."
The more he repeated the sentence internally, the more grounded his feet felt. His muscles itched.
He started walking toward the display cases, driven by a force unique to those who only wanted to take and never give.
Soon, he saw a man moving back and forth in the shop—clearly the owner. It was obvious from his gaze alone. He was carrying a smoothing drill, probably to shape blades, stones, or triangular sword tips, Meyer guessed. His finger itched to pierce the glass, to go through it. But it didn't seem like a smart idea—unless he was massive, it wouldn't help in overpowering his opponent.
With confident steps, Meyer walked through the narrow shop door. The shopkeeper turned his head, a warm smile in his eyes as he bowed slightly. "Welcome."
Meyer noticed the disconnect between the man's rough exterior and the warmth in his eyes.
Taking a deep breath, Meyer said, "I want an obsidian blade."
The plan continued ticking away in his head.
"Let me show you right away," said the shopkeeper, pointing at a variety of tools with countless names arranged on the shelves. Like a student who had studied extremely well for an exam, he listed all the prices too. But Meyer wasn't interested in hooks, axes, or special slicers—only the blades behind the obsidian stones caught his eye.
Hands clasped behind his back, the shopkeeper asked curiously, "Did anything catch your eye?"
Meyer realized he had stepped into a role far too well. "Well, I'm undecided," he said. But he knew exactly what he wanted.
The Devil Chip spoke up. "That's a lie, isn't it, Meyer? People need a thousand lies more than a single truth in their lives. They're taught to be meek, to adapt, to share. But the human nature is selfish and incompatible. You're returning to your true nature, Steve Meyer."
Steve tensed as he felt the chip trying to rewrite his thoughts.
There was a very simple way to steal the obsidian blade.
A single shopkeeper, standing all alone, Meyer thought.
What began as a simple urge to steal now transformed into something else entirely. It felt like a green portal pulling him into another dimension. Time slowed down, his surroundings bronzed. His vision darkened. His body trembled with rapid breaths. Meanwhile, the shopkeeper sank into a silence, likely calculating how much money he could earn.
Breaking the silence, the Devil Chip made an offer. "Do you need more adrenaline? Then give me the shopkeeper's head."
Meyer considered the idea too trivial to even decline politely.
He knew shopkeepers never bargained.
The Devil Chip spoke again. "Don't you want more excitement?"
Meyer looked into the gleaming eyes of the shopkeeper. Around fifty, probably a father of three. Perhaps the son of a swordsmith. Likely hoping to bring home flour, bread, and water. Closing out bills by the end of the month—surely his main goal. All of this painted a bleak portrait of life's harsher truths.
Suddenly, Meyer recalled his mother's gentle voice. The memory of drawing horses as a child overwhelmed his mind. His fingers and toes shook. Clenching his hand into a fist, he hurled it as if to silence that weak voice.
The moment he swung, the shopkeeper froze.
"It's happening again," Meyer said. Even the blood droplets seemed suspended in air. "Why does it only freeze time under certain conditions? I wish I understood." Quickly and calmly, he moved to the cabinet where the shopkeeper kept his keys. Of course, it was password protected. Frustrated, he heard that provocative voice again. To get the code, he'd have to take the shopkeeper hostage—threaten him.
He stepped behind the man, toward the drill left in the open. He touched the man's neck. The shopkeeper groaned in pain, blood hitting the floor.
The poor man's nose was burning with pain. "Who are you?" he asked, terrified—but there was something noble in his furrowed brows.
"Tell me the safe code," Meyer growled through clenched teeth.
The man looked down the empty road in fear. Realizing no one was coming to help him, a weight pressed against his chest. His ears rang. He imagined his wife and children's innocent faces waiting for him. He didn't want to leave them in grief. But then his son's face flashed in his mind, sharp eyes saying, "Never surrender, Dad."
He clenched his teeth. "You're a vile bastard! May God damn you!"
"When you're desperate, you turn to God. But when you proudly refused to negotiate, you didn't," Meyer said, grinning crookedly. "Give me the code or I'll slit your throat. You know I'm not bluffing."
The sound of the drill starting up made the shopkeeper squeeze his eyes shut.
"Fine. The code is Truve14."
Meyer stopped the drill and dragged the man to the safe. As he entered the code, he asked, "Truve? That must be your last name."
"Yes," the man answered with a trembling voice.
Meyer felt tension building.
The name sounded too familiar. "Are you related to Magnus Truve?" he barked.
The shopkeeper didn't know how to respond.
"I asked you," Meyer snapped, the Devil Chip's pressure on his mind intensifying.
"My son," said the shopkeeper. "He's my son."
"You're definitely telling the truth," Meyer said, unlocking the safe. He found the correct key, holding the man with one hand and searching with the other. He opened the compartment and pulled out three obsidian blades. Just the number he wanted. Holding them ignited him again—a tingling sensation in his blood, his fingers going numb.
In his other arm: the trembling man.
Magnus Truve's father.
The famed Magnus Truve.
Did the man confess this because of that fame? Because his son was seen as good and noble? But Meyer knew the truth. He had unmasked Magnus years ago. Magnus had made it onto the execution list since the night he took Emma beneath him. He'd shattered every wall between them.
Meyer gripped the strongest blade tightly, like a sword. He looked at the man beside him with satisfaction and freedom. He raised the blade. It was no longer about stealing. His blood flow reversed, pressure surged through his veins. Thoughts raced like accelerated film frames. He was headed toward something far greater than theft. The feeling was familiar: taking the life of Magnus Truve's father.
The Devil Chip spoke. "Not killing him at this point would be foolish, Cutter."
Meyer felt the hesitation creeping deeper into his soul.
Right and wrong blurred like fog.
He could no longer see the crossroads. Worse, he couldn't even feel them.
Just then, as his trembling fingers gripped the blade tighter, a sound rang out. It shattered Meyer's thoughts, flinging him out of his mental storm and back into harsh reality. He turned toward the glass door beside the display window. The shopkeeper gasped, breathing fast with sudden hope. Meyer shivered at the familiar rhythm of footsteps. His neck tingled. His hand froze. He knew the person approaching the door.
The face became clearer and clearer. And Meyer felt the color drain from his face like dried rose petals.
He had to finish this—now.