Chapter 11: Cleaning Up

The tavern erupted into chaos. Patrons scrambled for cover, overturning tables and chairs in their haste. The remaining three mercenaries, seeing their leader stunned and bleeding, charged at Drake, brandishing swords and axes.

Drake grinned, a thrill of adrenaline coursing through him. He might be outnumbered, but he was fast, agile, and resourceful. He wasn't about to let a few angry drunks ruin his evening.

He ducked under a wild swing from an axe, using the momentum to spin and deliver a swift kick to the mercenary's knee. The man cried out in pain, dropping to one knee. Drake followed up with a sharp elbow to the back of his neck, sending him sprawling to the floor.

*Notification: "Skill Activated: Street Fighting (Level 1). Damage Dealt: 10. Target Stunned."*

Two down, two to go.

The other two mercenaries pressed their attack, one swinging a sword, the other wielding a heavy mace. Drake weaved and dodged, using the crowded tavern to his advantage. He grabbed a nearby chair, using it as a makeshift shield to deflect the mace blow. The chair splintered under the impact, but it gave him the opening he needed.

He tossed the remains of the chair at the swordsman, distracting him for a split second. Drake then lunged forward, delivering a swift series of punches and kicks to the mercenary with the mace, targeting his pressure points.

*Notification: "Skill Activated: Street Fighting (Level 1). Damage Dealt: 12. Target Staggered."*

The mercenary stumbled back, clutching his chest. Drake then turned his attention to the swordsman, who had recovered from the chair toss. He feigned a punch to the face, then dropped to the ground, sweeping the man's legs out from under him. The mercenary crashed to the floor with a thud.

*Notification: "Skill Activated: Street Fighting (Level 1). Damage Dealt: 8. Target Downed."*

With all four mercenaries incapacitated, the tavern fell silent once more. All eyes were on Drake, who stood amidst the wreckage, dusting off his hands.

"Anyone else want to try their luck?" he asked, his voice calm and even.

No one answered. The patrons stared at him in awe and fear. Even the bartender, who had seen his fair share of tavern brawls, looked impressed.

Drake walked over to the scarred mercenary, who was still groaning and clutching his head. He knelt down beside him.

"Look," Drake said, his voice now gentle. "I didn't want any trouble. But you started it. Now, I have a proposition for you."

He reached into the mercenary's pouch and pulled out a handful of coins. "Consider this… compensation for the damaged tankard," he said, pocketing the coins. He then reached into the pouches of the other mercenaries, gathering their coin purses as well.

*Notification: "Acquired 50 Gold Coins."*

"And this," he continued, standing up and addressing the entire tavern, "is a friendly reminder not to pick fights with strangers. Especially strangers who are having a really bad day."

He walked back to the bar, signaling to the bartender. "Another ale, please," he said, placing a few coins on the counter. "And maybe something to eat. I've worked up an appetite."

The bartender, still slightly stunned, nodded and poured him another drink. As Drake sat there, enjoying his ale and his ill-gotten gains, he couldn't help but grin. He had come to Oakhaven looking for a little trouble, and he had certainly found it. And he had even managed to make a profit in the process.