The trader had never felt as powerful as when he had gone to equip himself at the Army Museum in the Hôtel des Invalides. Anyone who wanted to rob him immediately gave up upon seeing that he was armed with a long curved cavalry saber. After all, easy targets were plentiful in Paris. It wasn't like in the United States where people didn't carry firearms around! The only ones currently armed were the law enforcement, hunters, and criminals. They weren't the most numerous, thankfully for those thugs increasingly worried about their near future.
Law enforcement was currently busy restoring order in certain areas, criminals were seeking revenge and taking over territories, and hunters were mostly in the countryside.
It had still happened that people tried to take his weapons, and each time he had come out unscathed, which was not the case for the other parties. A good saber strike could cause quite impressive damage. One of these individuals had deeply gashed leg and another had practically lost a hand! And no one dared to reproach him for anything.
It seemed to be the law of the jungle now…
Pierre Marchais felt like a soldier of Napoleon, he only lacked a nice uniform and a horse. The idea of getting a horse had taken root in his mind, and it was now clear to him that electricity would not be coming back anytime soon. He had come to this conclusion upon seeing the proud National Guards mounted on their splendid creatures around the Élysée Palace.
Indeed, there were only a few means of transportation left: his legs, of course, his bike although there were inconveniences when one was a bit loaded (which was his case since after returning to his apartment, he had put all his provisions and useful belongings in a rolling cart), his rollerblades had the same problem (and he couldn't see himself fighting with those on his feet), a kick scooter although it wasn't very impressive, or a mount. The last option was clearly the most interesting. The question remained where to find a horse and equipment.
Logically, he wouldn't find anything in historic Paris unless he wanted to take on the army, which couldn't be a good idea.
From what he had seen, the military were particularly tense, enough to use their firearms at the first opportunity. So he had to venture further to find an equestrian center, the nearest to him being the one in La Villette, close to the City of Science and the Zénith of Paris. It was a fairly recent club since its foundation dated back to the late 70s, but quite renowned.
Vincent Cabot, alias Vince, his former rival in his former company, was enrolled in this club and went there regularly to practice with his precious mare: Perle. He had often boasted about competing with her and winning some prizes. It was one of his favorite topics along with his conquests, his investments, and his travels.
Just as he was on his way to this club, he came face to face with the detestable Vince. Seeing him in such a sorry state made Pierre want to burst out laughing. Indeed, while he was well-shaved, he didn't look proud in his white shirt covered in sweat. There was even a place where it was torn, a sign that he hadn't had a pleasant time. He also had a nice black eye on his left eye and a split lip. More importantly, he seemed to be carrying a lot of things in his backpack, which seemed to be made for hiking.
As soon as Vince saw him, he rushed towards him as if he were the Messiah. He grabbed him by both shoulders, tears in his eyes, too happy to see someone he knew and who could help him.
"Pierre?! Pierre, is that really you?!"
"Hi, Vince," Pierre calmly replied with his usual impassive face. "My God, it's really you!" Vince exclaimed, heading straight towards him with a face overflowing with relief. "You have to help me! There are guys chasing me! They want my food! You're armed, so protect me! I-I'll give you part of what I have!"
As he said, three threatening men armed with sticks appeared at the corner of the street behind him.
Their smiles faded as soon as they saw their victim with another man visibly better armed than them. The group stopped a few meters away, and although he couldn't hear them, there was no doubt they were wondering what to do.
Vince was hiding like a scared child behind Pierre, whose expression hadn't changed.
Slowly, without showing any emotion, he turned to his former colleague and superior.
"You know, Vince, I always hated you."
"Huh? W-what?"
"Now I can tell you: I always hated your filthy face, your way of talking, of licking the boots of your superiors. How you constantly belittled everyone who worked for and with you. I think you were the most hated person in the whole company.
"W-what are you talking about, man? Come on! Show them what you're worth! You want money? My car?! Here! Here are the keys! It's brand new, you've already seen it!"
"What do you think that does for me?"
Pierre struck Vince's outstretched hand, causing him to drop the keys to his precious car in surprise. They fell a little further on the asphalt, near the gutter.
"Your car is unusable, like mine, like these, like all the others. But you have something I want.
"W-what?"
"Everything."
Without a hint of remorse, Pierre drew his saber and attacked Vince.
Because he had sharpened the old blade, even though it was clumsy, it cleanly sliced the man from the shoulder to the hip. The attack was very clumsy and certainly an expert would have exclaimed that it was the most pitiful strike he had ever seen. However, it was effective. Although the wound wasn't very deep, a lot of blood started to flow.
Vince's shirt quickly turned red. But Pierre didn't think that was enough. He looked his former colleague straight in the eyes with hatred and drove his blade through his body, so deeply that the tip emerged from his back.
Curious… That was easier than I thought.
Vince collapsed onto the asphalt, and quickly a large pool of blood formed under him. Blood also trickled in a thin stream from the corner of his mouth.
Pierre deduced that it would only take a few seconds for this scumbag to die.
Vince's pursuers watched their prey die before their eyes and immediately turned back. There was nothing left in the street but Pierre and Vince, dying. If there were any witnesses, they had discreetly gone away.
Ah, I don't know why, I'm not satisfied.
"Hey, Vince, can you hear me. Between us, I thought I would feel better by killing you, but believe it or not, I don't. Yet every time I trained at the gym by hitting my punching bag, it was your face I imagined.
"…"
"I think I imagined something longer. Maybe I just wanted to hit you until your head exploded. But what's done is done!"
Finally, Vince stopped breathing. In an instant, Pierre had become a murderer.
Realizing what he had done, Pierre analyzed his emotions. He should have felt shame, sadness, guilt, but there was nothing. It was as if he had killed a fly or squashed a spider. Surprise was therefore the only emotion that stirred him after committing such an act.
But even that didn't last long when he remembered that Vince was carrying a backpack. This, which was clearly of excellent quality, was indeed packed full of food. Only God knew how Vince had gotten his hands on so many provisions.
Yes! Jackpot! Thank you, Vince, for this gift! I'll put it to good use, you can be sure of that! Alright, I forgive you."