He shoved the heavy, scorching hot dragon core tightly under his armpit, feeling the warm divine energy seeping right through his tunic into his ribs.
He took a quick running leap off the dragon’s massive neck, jumped over a six foot stone wall, and landed smoothly in a dark, narrow alleyway behind the cathedral.
"Stop him! He’s heading toward the lower district!" a guard shouted from the plaza.
"Let him go!" the Grand Master commanded, holding his hand up. "A true god of war walks wherever he pleases! We are not worthy to question his path!"
Meanwhile, Philip was sprinting down the back alleys of the lower district as fast as his skinny legs could carry him, holding the glowing watermelon core with one arm and using his free hand to hold up the front half of his ruined pants so they wouldn’t fall down completely.
He turned left past the dirty butcher shop, ducked under a row of wet hanging laundry, and practically threw himself through the back alley entrance of Brandon’s junkshop.
BANG!
He slammed the heavy wooden back door shut behind him, threw two iron slide bolts across the frame, and collapsed against the door with a heavy, wheezing sigh.
The shop was completely dark and filled with the smell of old dust and stale sawdust. Up from the cellar trapdoor came the faint sound of pathetic, high pitched whimpering.
Philip walked over to the open trapdoor and looked down into the cellar shadows.
Hiding under a heavy oak workbench was Brandon, wearing a heavy iron soup pot on his head like a helmet and holding a rusty iron broom like a spear.
The fat man was shaking so violently that the pot on his head was making a rapid metallic clicking sound against his forehead.
"Go away bad dragon!" Brandon whimpered into the dark cellar, closing his eyes tight. "I don’t have any meat! I’m mostly fat and grease! Go eat the bakery owner upstairs! He’s much sweeter!"
Philip pulled off the wet wooden clown mask, tossed it onto a nearby shelf, and walked down the creaky wooden cellar stairs.
"Hey Brandon," Philip said, his normal voice echoing through the basement. "Stop crying into your soup pot. The dragon is dead."
Brandon opened one tiny eye, peeking out from under the heavy workbench.
He saw Philip standing at the bottom of the stairs, covered head to toe in black soot, smelling strongly of fried ham and ocean brine, missing the entire back half of his trousers, and casually holding a giant, blindingly bright orange sun under his left arm.
Brandon stared at him for five full seconds, his jaw dropping so low that his double chin practically folded into his neck.
"Philip?" Brandon squeaked out, his fat voice trembling. "What... what the hell happened to your clothes?! Why are your butt cheeks completely exposed to the cold air?!"
"Occupational hazards boss," Philip said casually, walking over to the central stone table and dropping the massive S rank dragon core onto the flat surface with a heavy, solid thud.
BOOM!
The whole cellar instantly lit up in a warm, brilliant orange glow that made all the shadows vanish.
The temperature in the cold damp basement rose twenty degrees in less than five seconds, turning the gloomy room into a cozy warm haven.
Brandon scrambled out from under his workbench, completely forgetting about his iron soup pot helmet as he stumbled over to the stone table.
He stared at the massive, pulsating fire core with wide, glassy eyes, his hands shaking so violently he had to hold onto the edge of the wood.
"Oh good Lord," Brandon whispered, his breath catching in his throat. "Is that... is that what I think it is?!"
"It’s an S rank metallic dragon core," Philip said, leaning against the stone table and picking a piece of burnt pork out of his front teeth with his fingernail. "Freshly harvested from the throat of the beast that just tried to flatten our neighborhood."
Brandon slowly turned his head to look at Philip, his eyes bulging out in pure, unadulterated shock.
"You... you really were that crazy weeping clown on the news?!" Brandon yelled, his voice cracking so hard it sounded like a dying whistle. "People in the street were screaming that a masked demon flew over the city on butt fire and killed an S rank calamity with his bare hands! That was YOU?!"
"Hey, the butt fire was an unexpected chemical side effect okay?" Philip defended himself, pointing a dirty finger at Brandon. "The dragon scale powder didn’t settle right in my belly. But the important thing is, I saved your precious junkshop and I brought back the loot."
Brandon looked back at the glowing watermelon core, then looked down at Philip’s dirty pocket, which was bulging heavy with stolen gold rings, silver coins, and a noble’s signet ring.
A slow, greedy, oily smile slowly spread across Brandon’s fat ugly face, completely erasing all the terror he had felt for the last hour.
"You absolute, beautiful, crazy little thief," Brandon whispered, rubbing his fat hands together in pure delight. "Do you have any idea how much refined alchemical powder we can make out of an S rank core?!"
"I have a pretty good idea boss," Philip grinned, his eyes sparkling in the warm golden light of the core. "We’re talking high tier energy dust. We can sell tiny three gram jars to high nobles for fifty gold pieces each. We’re going to be richer than the King by next month."
Brandon let out a high pitched giggle that sounded completely ridiculous coming from a fat middle aged junk dealer.
"I’ll go get the heavy steel grinders!" Brandon shouted, turning around to run toward the supply shelf. "I’ll get the velvet storage boxes! I’ll buy you ten new pairs of pants!"
"Make it twelve pairs piggy boss," Philip chuckled, sitting down on his wooden crate and stretching his sore legs out. "And go bring me another pork pie while you’re at it. Saving the kingdom on an empty stomach is terrible for my digestive health."
Philip leaned back against the cool stone wall of the cellar, listening to Brandon happily banging iron tools around in the dark corner.
He pulled a single stolen gold coin out of his front pocket, flipped it high into the warm orange light of the dragon core, and caught it with a crisp, satisfying metallic snap.
Life in this crazy fantasy world was dangerous, unpredictable, and completely nuts, but as Philip looked at his glowing prize on the table, he knew one thing for certain.
He was never going back to being a broke loser ever again.