Looking at the window, Brett reviewed his progress.

That suddenly gave him 17 endurance, making it his highest stat. It fit perfectly with his one skill. Now that it had a staying power of two minutes, it was much more viable. Until it got to level 10 or so, it would still be a bit of a risk to use it. Hopefully, endurance should help mitigate the side effects of the backlash.

He also had a free point to allocate. Where should I put it? It would get the most out of my strength, but I haven't felt lacking in that department yet. I could also lean into endurance and try to outlast my opponents better?

Seeing how his only skill gave him a time limit, outlasting opponents sounded kinda stupid, he thought. In the end, he decided to dump it into dexterity. Being just a little faster might have really helped him out here.

Before closing the screen, Brett looked at his mental stats. So far, he hadn't needed them at all, but the low fortitude was a little worrying. He couldn't really complain about the wisdom or intelligence too much, though. Shrugging, he closed the window. There was not much he could do about it now. He was doing okay, but not so well that he could afford to give up necessary points yet.

Brett winced, feeling a lot of soreness in his shoulder. He would bet everything he had that nearly half his body was a mess of bruises. It seemed a healing potion could only go so far. Stepping out of the exit portal, he blinked his eyes and brought up the notification before it had a chance to blind him. 

Before he got a chance to look at it though, he knew something was wrong. Shilia was supposed to be waiting for him, but she was no longer alone. A small group of people were arrayed in a semicircle in front of her. Her back was to a large rock, and it didn't seem like she had a way out.

He didn't make out what they were saying at first because he was too busy studying them. There were four figures. Three were level 8, and one was level 9.

Each one of the newcomers was at least a few inches taller than him. They had pig-like faces and short tusks that curled up to almost their foreheads. They were all dressed the same, too, with a heavy iron breastplate and some other bits of plate armor. Each one carried a mace like Shilia, but it was at least twice the size.

Only after he finished the once-over did he listen to the conversation.

"I swear that's all I got for today." Shilia said in a pleading voice, her s's slightly more hissing than normally. She gestured to the small leather bag in the grass between them. 

"Say fer a sec we believe yer slitherin tongue." One of the pig things said in a grunting, guttural voice. "Ya musta didn't get all that little less ya split it wit som'un ta? Wher be tat someone?"

"No, no one. I got it alone." She said, but she gave it away by looking around and seeing me. Her reaction was small, but her assailants caught on, and two of them spun around. They both took a half-second and looked right above my head. Ah, they’re checking my level. If I’m that obvious about it too, I need to get a little more subtle. Imagine that's a little rude in some places.

Seeing level 5, they both sneered. It was odd how in sync their actions were. The level nine stepped forward. "I dun kner ya. Yer new 'rond ere ain't ta?"

Brett didn't respond, still trying to parse the meaning behind the broken sentences. They sounded a bit like a hick crossed with a pirate. He spoke hick just fine, but the pirate was throwing him off a bit. "Yer deef ta?"

Ignoring both of the questions, Brett used his law enforcement brain. Diffusing tense situations like this was a large part of his job. Of course, things could go wrong, but he was pretty good at it. "What’s going on here? There seems to be some sort of altercation."

It was important not to take sides coming into a situation, no matter how obvious what was going on. He knew that Shilia hadn't started it, but starting off accusing them of something would guarantee a fight, no matter how likely it already was. He would rather try and avoid it, seeing how bad his shoulder was messed up.

"Attler-cay-shin, yer could say ser." The thing responded. "Yer see ta hand takes a tax and yer hadn't paid ya's yet." 

Well, that made it clear; there was some sort of shakedown they had going. They probably had avoided Ravenous and Alan. Was this even something as basic as a protection racket, or were they too simple for that? 

Still keeping his cool, he responded to the implied threat. "I can't say I have ever heard of the hand before."

"Well yer shudahvva. Sounds lik ya need ta's introduction." The last word was oddly enunciated. Without warning, the pigman barreled toward Brett. They were only a dozen paces away, and he barely had time to react. Well over a decade of instincts and training kicked in, and Brett's 44 was suddenly in his hand. Before he pulled the trigger, he made one adjustment. Moving his aim up from center mass. He only had one bullet and not enough time to draw his swords.

The kick impacted his shoulder less than he was used to, but the results weren't at all less than expected. A red mess obscured the face of the charging pigman. In a heap of limbs and armor, his corpse slid to a halt a foot from Brett's boot.