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“You heard the lady,” said one of the bandits behind the crab, by far the biggest of the four. “Cough up all your coin, or we crack you open and get it ourselves.”

“Yeah,” said the ratty-looking one, “just hand it over, save us all the cuts and bruises.”

“Shut up, Tem,” barked the apparent leader of the group.

He had been the first one to appear, and his outfit, while a low-grade armor, was still by far the least worn out between the four of them. He carried a large machete on his belt, which he had not yet unsheathed, despite all the other bandits having done so with their respective weapons. This was enough to tell Balthazar that he was clearly the boss of the gang.

“I… I think maybe you guys got the wrong traveler, friends,” the crab hesitantly said, in a hurried attempt at placating the bandits slowly advancing towards him.

“Right,” started the leader, with a mocking smile on his face. “Because I’m sure there are so many crabs traveling these roads. With a backpack. And talking.”

“Alright, fair point,” said Balthazar, giving himself a roll of his eyes for such a poor attempt at subterfuge. “There’s only one merchant crab, and that’s me, but really, I’ve been doing business all day, fellas. I’ve spent all my coin buying loot from passing adventurers. I got no gold left, and trust me, you also don’t want any of the junk I’ve bought. It’s all so worthless. Those idiots really do pick up anything they see. It’s only good for selling to other dumb adventurers. Not like you, smart and wise… bandits.”

The merchant put on a forced smile of someone who had just been offered a dung pie and was still trying to look friendly, while three of the bandits exchanged slightly confused looks at one another.

“You talk too much, crab,” said the larger thug, reaching down to grab Balthazar’s backpack.

“Woah there, buddy,” said the crustacean, taking a side step to avoid the man’s hand. “No touching the merchandise unless you’re gonna buy it!”

“Quit stalling and hand over that money bag,” said the woman among them, flicking the pocket knife to her other hand as she reached for the crab’s Bag of Holding Money that was tied to the side of his shell.

As she grasped it, the bag held in place, the knot on the rope tightening the more she pulled. One of Balthazar’s specialties: the eight-point pincer knot. The harder you pull on it, the tighter it becomes.

Before she could bring her blade up to the rope and cut it, Balthazar spun around once again, out of her reach.

“Not nice, miss!” said the crab, wagging a pincer at her. “You can’t just go around grabbing someone’s money sack like that! Consent matters!”

The woman’s lips twisted into an irked expression as Balthazar backed away from her, only to find himself now closer to the scrawny one from the group.

“Come on, this will go a lot easier for everyone if you just drop your stuff and back away,” said the bandit. “We might even let you go.”

The bigger one let out a devious chuckle. “No we won’t.”

“Shut up, Dax!” said the ratty one.

“Both of you shut up,” their boss ordered. “I’m getting tired of this nonsense. Just give him a beating and take his stuff. I wanna go back to the tavern and grab a pint before I find a dice table to bet his money on.”

The cowardly bandit shrugged without much conviction. “You heard the boss. Orders are orders.”

Balthazar gulped. He knew he stood no chance against all of them in a proper fight.

But this crab did not need to get involved in a proper fight, when he had something better: a mouth full of words and a bag full of junk.

I guess if you can’t beat them… dazzle them.

“Whose orders?” Balthazar said to the bandit approaching him.

“Huh?”

“Who gave you the order to attack me?”

“What are you talking about?” asked the confused man. “I just told you, the boss right there.”

The crab looked over to where the bandit was pointing, towards the gang’s leader.

“And why are you doing what he tells you?”

“Because… because he’s the boss! It’s right there in the title!”

“And why is he the boss?”

“Wha…”

“Why aren’t any of you the boss instead?” Balthazar pointed a pincer at the bigger thug behind him. “Why isn’t he the boss, for example? He’s clearly the largest of the group.”

“Me?” said the big guy, raising both eyebrows in surprise as he pointed at his own chest. “You think I would make a good—”

“Shut up, Dax,” said the woman. “The crab is clearly trying to confuse you, you idiots.”

“Me?” said Balthazar. “No, no, madame. I’m only asking questions here.”

“Why’s it taking you muppets so long to skin a bloody crab? Just get it over with and stop humoring him,” the boss yelled from his spot near the tree, from which he still hadn’t moved since revealing himself.

“I mean, have you listened to him? He doesn’t even get that crabs don’t have skin! He doesn’t sound very bright to me.”

Dax scratched the top of his head, while Tem just seemed conflicted. The woman, meanwhile, seemed to be growing angry.

“For Crea’s sake, I have to do everything around here!” she exclaimed, bringing her pocket knife up and charging towards the crab.

Balthazar braced for impact, but as the blade connected with his chitin, it bent and snapped, the tip falling to the ground with a tiny plink.

Oh right, natural armor.

The woman looked down at her broken knife and then up into the crab’s eyes with a livid expression.

“That is some very bad quality material you have there,” said Balthazar.

“Get him, Dax!” the woman screamed, backing away from the crustacean.

The large thug stepped forward, raising a crude wooden club over his head, ready to bring it down on Balthazar’s shell.

“And look at that club! Shoddy! It even has a crack on it!” the crab quickly exclaimed.

[The Gift of the Crab: success]

Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

Uh… interesting.

The bandit stopped halfway through his attack, frowned, and then looked at his weapon. “It does?”

Balthazar took a deep breath.

“That’s what I was trying to tell you, guys. Why are you all taking orders from that fella over there? He doesn’t even provide you with proper equipment, and he stands over there doing nothing while you three do all the work.”

The merchant moved closer to the larger thug.

“Think about it: why should the bigger guy be taking orders from someone clearly smaller and weaker?”

Dax scratched his five o’clock shadow, clearly doing his best to squeeze out a complete thought.

Balthazar then swiftly moved over to the bandit lady, who recoiled at his approach.

“And did you notice how your ‘leader’ did not even move a finger when your service weapon failed catastrophically against me there? Imagine I was actually a violent crab. I could have easily snapped you in two right there and then, and you would have been left to your own luck by him and his poor job conditions!”

Once again, a system notification popped up in the corner of Balthazar’s sight.

[The Gift of the Crab: success]

“I… but… I mean, he could have done something, I guess…”

Without missing a step, the crab skittered towards the ratty bandit.

“And as for you…” Balthazar recoiled slightly as he got closer to the man’s face and felt his breath, foul and rotten enough to kill the roadside flowers if he blew on them. “Does this job even offer dental? I bet it doesn’t!”

Another system notification of success appeared, and the scrawny man frowned with a puzzled expression. “Denta-what??”

“Exactly! You don’t even know!” the crab loudly exclaimed.

“Enough of this rubbish,” the gang leader said, finally stepping away from his tree. “Sick of watching you morons playing with this crab. Take care of him, or I’m keeping your cut of the spoils.”

That seemed to worry the three thieves.

“And what,” Balthazar started, turning to the trio, “may I ask, my thuggish friends, is your cut of the profits after a successful robbery, raid, or pillage?”

“Well, the boss gets half, because he’s the boss, and we get the other half,” said the scrawny one.

“Tem, shut up! Why are you telling the crab that?” the woman said, shoving her elbow against his side.

“Yeah, and that’s fair, because it’s an equal split!” exclaimed the bigger bandit with a dumb smile on his face, proud to contribute to the discussion with a thoughtful conclusion from his own head.

“No, because if you three have to split that half then all each one of you ends up with is actually 16.6666666667%!”

The trio stared at the crab before exchanging confused glances at each other.

“Oh gold help me…” Balthazar muttered. “Do they not teach you basic math at bandit school?! It means he gets a whole half to himself, while you three have to divide yours into smaller scraps!”

“Oooooh!” said the ratty bandit.

The larger thug scratched the top of his head once again. “I still don’t get it…”

“Alright, you idiots had your chance, I’m handling this blabbermouth myself!” announced the bandit chief, stepping towards the traveling merchant.

“Hang on,” said the woman, stepping between her boss and his target. “Now I wanna hear him out. He kinda makes some good points.”

“Brenda, I swear, if you don’t get out of my way…”

“Don’t talk to Brendy like that,” said the bigger bandit, stepping past the crab and towards the other two. “That’s not nice.”

“How come you always hang back and let us do all the heavy lifting but then get half of everything, huh, Jackson?! How come you didn’t even try to help me when the blade you gave me last week broke? You said that it was pure steel!”

“G-guys… we shouldn’t fight,” the remaining bandit said. “Boss, maybe we should just solve this by settling on a more fair share for everyone and—”

“You worthless clowns aren’t getting anything more,” yelled the gang leader, clearly growing angrier. “I’m the boss, what I say goes!”

“You know,” interjected Balthazar, addressing the lower thugs in front of him and ignoring the angry boss behind them, “you guys should stick together and voice your concerns. Demand better shares of the stolen goods! Better weapons to rob travelers with! Better dental hygiene! Really make your voice be heard by the powers that be. Like some kind of union of bandit rights.”

“Yeah, what he said!” exclaimed the woman.

“I agree with Brenda!” said the large thug. “I like what the talking crab is saying!”

“I mean, I guess he does make a bunch of fair points…” the more cowardly thief said.

“I swear on me mum, you bastards, if you don’t snap out of… whatever’s gotten into you, I will…” the bandit boss pulled his machete from his belt. Unlike the other weapons, this one was pristine and of decent quality.

The other three visibly recoiled at the sight of their chief’s blade being unsheathed.

“I knew this was a bad idea!” cried the ratty thief.

“Dax, you got your club, stand in front of us!” said Brenda.

“But it’s cracked,” the larger one said with a whimper and a lost puppy face.

“After I’m done with you,” said the boss, “I’ll handle the crab myself, and I’ll keep all the spoils to myself. How’s that for a fair share, you bloody morons?”

“Perhaps I could be of assistance,” Balthazar said to the trio, from his safe distance behind them. “I just can’t stand idly by and not help such a noble movement as yours.”

The crab quickly dug through his Backpack of Holding, searching for any worthless junk he could find.

“Aha! Here, catch!” said the merchant, tossing a crossbow at the ratty bandit. “A fine quality ranged weapon to keep you at a safe distance from your opponent. It’s already loaded, too.”

The thief looked at the weapon he had just caught in his hands. It was made of old wood, it had bits chipped off here and there, and the string on it seemed to be close to breaking, but he smiled like a kid opening a birthday present.

“What the hell do you think you’re doin—” the bandit leader started as he took a step forward, but he immediately froze as Tem pointed the crossbow at his chest.

“H-hold it, boss,” he said, his knees shaking and his voice faltering. “W-we just wanna talk. We can solve this, just don’t come any closer for now.”

“Ya bloody traitor,” Jackson said bitterly. “I should have known you’d be a turncoat with no honor, Tem.”

“Oh please,” said Brenda, “what are you even talking about? We’re bandits! We’re all scum, it’s part of the job description!”

“Well said, miss!” said Balthazar from the back. “Here, this is for you. This one is actually made of pure stainless steel!”

The crab tossed a blade across the ground towards the woman, who stopped it with her boot before picking it up and examining it against the moonlight.

It was a knife, it had a long and sharp blade, and it was in fact made of pure steel. It was also a kitchen knife meant to cut pies, but that wasn’t an important detail worth pointing out right there and then.

“Now, let’s talk about that cut, Jackson,” said the lady bandit, putting on a devious smile as she flicked the knife into a sideways position against the side of her wrist.

“What about me, mister crab?” said Dax, looking at Balthazar with pleading eyes like a five-year-old kid. A very large and broad-shouldered five-year-old kid. “Do I not get something too?”

“Uhh… yes, you…” said the merchant, stretching his eyestalks to peek into his pack. “I’m sure I’ve got something for you here.”

Crap, I’ve got nothing for him here.

After much shuffling and rummaging, Balthazar finally grabbed something from the bag.

Screw it, this will have to do, so long as it keeps the big guy happy with me.

He tossed a round glass bottle full of an orange, almost red liquid at the thug, who caught it in his hand.

“That’s a potion of… might!” said the merchant. “It will make you as strong as a bull with just one gulp. Or, well… maybe two bulls, in your case.”

I have no idea what that potion is…

“Oh, nice!” said the big guy, before downing the entire thing without hesitation.

“I’ll hang you all for this,” said the (now former) leader of the bandit group. “Each one of you.”

“Come on, boss,” said Tem, slowly making a circle around the boss, crossbow still aimed at him, “we just wanted a better deal.”

“Yeah, Jackson,” said Brenda, moving to his other flank, “you brought this on yourself. The crab just opened our eyes to the obvious.”

Alright, I think this is the part where I get out of the crossfire area and wait for them to take each other out.

Balthazar slipped behind a nearby bush as he observed the bigger thug stumble a few steps between him and the rest of the group.

What’s up with that one?

“G-guys…” Dax said with difficulty. “I don’t feel so good…”

Balthazar’s eyestalks frowned.

What was that bottle I gave him? I swear I remember them from before on my shelves…

The crab’s eyes went wide as the memory of the description for those round orange bottles surfaced in his mind.

[Fireburst Concoction]

[Throwing Weapon]

[Made with highly flammable alchemy ingredients, this bottle will explode into a burst of flames upon contact. Keep out of reach of children and low INT adventurers.]

Suddenly, the distance between him and the bandits, as well as his choice of cover behind a bush, no longer felt as safe anymore.

“Mister crab? Why does my tummy hurt?” said the bandit, turning around to look for the merchant as his face turned red, and his stomach grew dangerously bigger. “I feel… I feel like I’m gonna…”

Balthazar looked around for better cover, but there was none.

“Oh crabapples…”