It looks like you’ll have to go inside now...

Clearly, the door lock is broken or has been opened with a key...

And there is an uninvited "guest" in your home right now.

Your thoughts on what to do next are grim: "Fuck... What the shit?! Someone’s broken into my place... Should I go to the city guard? Probably not... There are hardly any patrols in this wretched slum district... Besides, that recent 'incident' with the female guard complicates things... I fucked that arrogant bitch - but once the magical suggestion wore off, she kept her memories of me... So, running into the guards could lead to even bigger trouble..."

You let out a quiet sigh...

The noise from inside the house grows louder, as if someone clumsily knocked a piece of furniture over.

"Alright... It’s nothing to worry about... It could just be the lessor coming to tell me the rent’s going up..." - you try to reassure yourself.

Alas, such self-reassurance does little good.

It seems there’s no other option but to go inside and deal with the problem - after all, you need the magic book you’ve got hidden in there.

So, you slowly and cautiously pull the door handle toward you...

Stepping inside, you see the familiar, meager furnishings typical of most shacks in this poor slum district.

However, there is something unusual: the table is overturned; your belongings have been pulled from the cupboard and scattered across the floor; and the shattered remains of a stool lie in the corner.

You take a couple of steps forward and turn toward the source of the noise. To your left, behind the wardrobe, you spot the silhouette of a tall, bald man - clad in a worn dark-brown leather jacket, long grey canvas trousers, and filthy boots - muttering foul curses in irritation as he rummages through your chest, tossing items aside one by one.

It is a good thing you hid your magical grimoire elsewhere...

As you take another step forward, an old wooden floorboard beneath your sole lets out a long, nasty creak.

The intruder spins around sharply and stares straight into your face.

Stubble, scars on his cheeks, warts on his forehead, and a wild look in his murky grey eyes.

A repulsive mug...

He is a complete stranger to you.

Instead of asking questions, you raise your hand and prepare to utter the words of a spell designed to magically influence the behavior of this bastard who has invaded your home.

Alas, it seems this guy’s reaction time was far faster than you anticipated...

He lunges at you with lightning speed...

In a moment of panic, you notice his left hand pulling a small weapon from his trouser pocket.

A strike!

The scum’s right fist flies dangerously close to your face.

You manage to dodge aside just a split second before impact.

However, the blow grazes your right cheekbone, leaving behind a stinging, raw pain.

"You’ve angered dangerous people, asshole... Better not resist..." - stranger says, continuing his attack.

Fuck...

His left hand is armed with metal brass knuckles!

A strike!

You leap backward.

The knuckles barely miss your neck...

"What the fuck?! I didn't do anything wrong! Why do you want to beat me up?" - you ask in a panic, continuing to maneuver and trying to avoid painful blows to your body.

"You and your bonehead friends owe money to some very serious people!" - bastard shouts, slamming his knee into your stomach.

Intense pain...

You are thrown backward and crash onto the wooden floor, hitting the back of your head painfully and nearly losing consciousness.

"Now it makes sense... Gambling debts... dog-fighting, and the rest..." - thought crosses your mind.

It seems the scum beating you is a criminal minion for a gang that runs the gambling rackets in this destitute slum.

You and your friends did indeed place bets often, and sometimes borrowed money to do so...

It looks like someone decided the time had come to collect on those debts in full...

And besides collecting the money, this bastard had clearly been ordered to punish you physically.

"Where's the money, you little shit-eater?! Answer me right now!" - bald scum screams while kicking you.

You just lie on the floor, trying to shield your head with your arms to avoid critical injuries.

Damn...

If only you had even a moment to cast a spell...

Then again, even then - there are no guarantees.

Suggestion magic requires high concentration and a significant expenditure of energy. In a critical close-quarters situation, where every fraction of a second demands physical exertion and agility, it is extremely difficult to effectively employ such complex magic.

"I... I'll show you everything... I hid the money here... Please... Don't hit me..." - you stammer pitifully.

The kicks to your body stop.

"Show me the stash, you little bitch!" - criminal’s loud voice clearly betrays his satisfaction at having forced you to reveal vital information.

Lying on the floor, you reach out and point toward the far corner of the room, where the wooden floorboards are ancient and creak loudly underfoot.

The bald man turns his head to look.

In that instant, you make a gesture with your free hand and speak the words of a spell.

It is not suggestion.

It is a simpler spell to cast.

Telekinesis.

A mass of kitchenware flies rapidly off the wall-mounted shelf on the opposite side of the room.

Obeying the magical telekinetic force, the objects hurtle at high speed straight toward the face of the man who had just been beating you.

A copper frying pan strikes his bald head with a dull thud.

Clay plates slam against your stunned enemy’s body, shattering one by one.

A copper fork embeds itself in his ugly cheek...

The criminal screams in pain and flails wildly as the kitchenware flies at him like arrows.

Straining against the pain in your battered body, you suddenly spring up from the floor.

You lunge right up to your opponent, who has his back turned to you.

A swift movement.

A small, slightly rusty iron knife.

It is the very same item you found in the piles of junk at auntie’s house. You have just stabbed the bald man with the tip of the knife, striking him just below his left armpit.

Then you struck him again...

And once more...

With a painful, agonizing rattle, the bald man’s large body collapses onto the floor, nearly crushing you in the process.

You step aside just in time.

Pain in your right cheekbone.

Pain in your stomach.

You wince at the sensations and kick the body lying on the floor.

No reaction.

A large pool of blood spreads across the wooden floor from the left side of the man's torso, while his vacant gaze is fixed on the ceiling, utterly devoid of life.

So, there is a corpse in the house.

It is a good thing it isn't you.

You have killed a man for the first time in your life; your whole body is trembling slightly from the nervous tension.

However, you cannot afford to delay - the situation will only get worse.

So, you try to steady your nerves and take action.

You wipe your iron knife on the dead man's clothes and then slip it into your trouser pocket.

Then, limping slightly, you walk to the far corner of the room and carefully move aside the rotting floorboards.

It is indeed a hiding place.

But inside, there is something more important than money.

A magical grimoire.

You carefully pack the item into your backpack.

Glancing once more at the blood-soaked corpse sprawled in the center of the room, you think: "Should I search that dead bastard's body? Or should I hurry and leave town as soon as possible?"