Death's Favorite Warlock

by Charles Dean

  “But if your two clans are going to unite eventually . . . is that necessarily bad?” Lars asked.

  “The Se-Silla cannot do better than the Neukdaegalbi at the moment, so she entertains him. If they are able to procure a technique personally gifted by the disciple of Hsein Ku . . . then their status will be higher. They will be able to do better than Neukdaegalbi, and the only thing that will prevent them from legitimizing their standing will be any knowledge of how they acquired the technique. They will kill my son. That is certain. Mishil is too cunning not to,” the mother explained. “So, I implore you this time: do not gift my son this technique in writing, where it can be stolen from him or given away easily.”

  Lars mulled over what she was saying.

  Her eyes flashed red for a moment as she stared into him, as if she were scouring his soul, and then she continued, “Make no mistake: this time, I am threatening you. My life is not as important as the young master’s. I am just a servant, and I can be scapegoated easily to appease the anger of your master.”

  Ugh. Overprotective mothers. Just tell her that the technique will be useless to anyone else except for Matthew, that you’ll tailor it to him, and move on. We have snacks to get! And if she keeps arguing, promise her a scratch behind the ear. No matter what type of mutt it is, that always works.

  Lars had to stop himself from giggling at his master’s order. I am not saying that to a woman who can kill me with a flick of her wrist! “Don’t worry. I won’t give him anything that will put his life in jeopardy. The technique I will teach him will be just for his bloodline. I’ll be using some alchemy to make sure of it.”

  Her eyes lit up at his words. “Then it is a blessing you have come to this house. I look forward to your long friendship with my son.”

  Your overly loyal and easily manipulated son . . . Lars exited the courtyard back into the slightly crowded street with the words still clinging to the back of his brain. He felt like the information would come in handy one day, but for the life of him, he didn’t know how.

  THERE! THERE! I WANT THAT ONE!! GET ME IT, PLEASE! OH MY CLOCKMAKER, I can just taste it already!!! Do you smell that? What am I saying? If I smell it, you smell it, so of course you smell it, and man does it smell delicious. GO GET IT IMMEDIATELY!

  Alright, alright already. You don’t have to yell. Lars shook his head as if it would help him empty the slight pain caused by how loud she had been. He was surprised by how little distance he had to walk before reaching the stall. The roads were large enough to easily accommodate carriages, and the street he was on was so tightly packed with people that he almost tripped and bumped into a few of them just walking across it. He was used to the big open yards between the shops back in his hometown before it had been sacked. It felt like a mile walk from Shook’s bakery to Anneliese’s dessert shop, and that was the norm. Here, there were vendors in front of every building and crowded together along the sides of the street. Some were selling produce, such as giant cartfuls of cabbages or a variety of fruits, and others were hawking desserts or snacks like the one he was approaching. Others weren’t selling food at all but were just people sitting down with a cloth in front of them and dozens of items splayed across the cloth like jewelry or toys or gadgets.

  The whole street was a marketplace—a living bazaar that looked like it had crept up organically with no design or planning as it littered the walkways. If he had been so inclined, as his master had suggested to him more than once, it was dense enough that he could easily murder a weaker person and then vanish back into the crowd before anyone was the wiser.

  I swear to Dad, if you so much as lose yourself in some dumb train of thought about the way people look or the way the tiles hang off the walls or the way the kids are playing and don’t focus on getting your master her delicious-looking treat, then I’m going to take away some of those 109 stat points you’ve been saving up.

  Hey! I’m focused. I can’t walk any faster without being suspicious, Lars replied as he finally reached the stall that his master seemed to want to go to the most.

  “I would like . . . whatever those are,” Lars said when he got to the stall, pointing at the long white cylinders soaked and sitting in a thick reddish liquid.

  “It’s tteokbokki,” the man said as he looked at Lars. “One order?”

  YES! Tell the man to stop talking and start serving!

  Lars nodded, somewhat eagerly awaiting the food too but clearly not as excited as his master was. “Yeah, I’d like to try it, please.”

  “‘Tteokbokki.’ ‘Tteok-bo-kki.’ You can say it,” the man said as he began scooping it into a bowl for Lars.

  What? I said I wanted one. Why is he trying to get me to pronounce it too? Lars wondered, not wanting to embarrass himself by trying and failing. The word just didn’t sound right.

  “Tteokbokki,” the man repeated as he held the bowl out for Lars.

  “Right, but how much is it?” Lars asked.

  “Five copper,” the man said. “Tteokbokki, five copper.”

  “Okay, okay. Tteokbokki, five copper.” Lars sighed as he pulled out a silver and handed it to the man, who quickly handed him back 5 copper pieces and a small wooden pick, which Lars guessed he was supposed to use to stab the little white cylinders in place of proper utensils.

  Lars was about to walk away from the stall, but then he noticed that the man was staring at him incredibly intently, as if his hopes and dreams hung upon Lars’s reaction to the food.

  Okay then . . . Lars decided to humor the old man and poked one of the small, finger-sized cylinders covered in the red goop and lifted it to his mouth. The moment it entered, he couldn’t help but almost let out an audible “ahh” as the flavor coated his tongue. It was delicious. It was unique, savory, and a little spicy, forcing him to open his mouth slightly as he pulled air through to relieve the sensation, but the heat didn’t slow him down.

  “Ahh! Good man! That’s it. Good man!” the guy said. “I knew from the moment I saw you that you had taste. One purpose, tteokbokki. You walked with one purpose! The moment you left home, you walked with determination and one purpose! So I have rewarded you with an extra-well-fried bowl.”

  “Thanks for that,” Lars said as he did his best to wipe the sauce off the corner of his lips after finishing the bowl. “This was amazing.”

  “Simple recipe. Rice cake, gochujang, and gochugaru, but once fried together, the flavor is unbeatable!” the man proclaimed proudly. “This is why I can set up here without anyone bothering me. They all want my tteokbokki. The savory, spicy flavor of fermented chili paste, the salt, the tiny red pepper flakes in the gochugaru—it comes together to make the perfect sauce for the rolled-up rice cakes.”

  “It really does,” Lars agreed, nodding. He couldn’t find any fault with the man’s statement. The food was delicious.

  “You’re still hungry?” the man asked. “Would you like more?”

  Yes. But not now. We need something sweet. This was too spicy. Let’s see if we can find a milkshake place. You still owe me a krowenberry milkshake with zednauts.

  “Yeah . . . but”—Lars paused—“I need something cold and sweet after this. Is there a good milkshake place around? Preferably one that sells a krowenberry milkshake with zednauts?”

  “Ah! That’s good taste! You’ve got really good taste! First spicy, then sweet. Your brain”—he tapped the side of his head—“it’s on point. I can hook you up, just this once. Don’t go patronizing other stores though when you want something spicy. Next time, I’ll mix in some scallions and hard-boiled eggs. You’ll love it.”

  “Deal. So where do I go for sweet?” Lars asked.

  “For sweet, what you’re going to really want is Ruri’s Rurkis. She’s five streets down, by the jail. You can’t miss her, she is the only shop that sets up near the prison,” he added. “Everyone else avoids that place. Guards don’t pay well, the prisoners leaving might steal from you, and a prison is bad mojo in general. But her rurkis are the best.”<
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  What the heck is a rurki? Lars wondered.

  It’s like the tenth take on making a thin cylinder of crisp pastry and stuffing it with an incredibly thick and rich cream. You can’t go wrong. Dipping them in krowenberry glaze is the best way to eat them, but that’s just what I’ve heard.

  I see. Lars just shrugged. He had to feed her four more street foods to complete the quest, so he figured he might as well check it out. Since the shop was by the prison, he could at least get a sense of some of the seedier places within the city, places that he was likely to be able to find someone worth killing—someone he could murder without feeling bad like a criminal, a person who had done something so heinous that death itself would be a gift to them. That’s what he needed to find, and the prison area was likely to have those types of reprobates.

  On the way to Ruri’s Rurkis, he stopped by three more vendors and tried out three more street foods. The first, Sicilian Nom Noms, served arancinis. The process for making them seemed simple enough. The vendor just balled up ham and cheese with rice, covered it in breadcrumbs, and tossed it into a deep fryer, all while talking to Lars at the same time. The second place served what Lars was quite positive were skewered scorpions on a stick, and the third was a milkshake place that he immediately regretted stopping at after his first sip of the zednaut-covered krowenberry milkshake. It just wasn’t the same.

  Freaking Anneliese. Why did she have to die?

  It’s so rare of you to lament anyone’s death.

  I meant, why did she have to die before she made us another milkshake? Right now, imagine the joy our mouth would be feeling if we were sipping that delicious, delectable dessert delight . . . And instead, we have this watery knock off that may as well just be flavored milk. THIS ICE IS THIRD RATE! THIRD RATE ICE! How the heck did that guy mess up the ice? It’s simple. You get some water. You freeze some water. That’s it. That’s all there is to it.

  I knew what you meant. Lars chuckled. But just relax. We’ll find another store that sells milkshakes that are just as good. Trust me. Okay? So relax, take a deep breath—or do whatever you do—and let’s go get some of Ruri’s rurkis. That’ll cheer you up.

  If we don’t find another milkshake place by the time you gain the ability to kill that sect, then I’m going to demand you stack their bodies in the shape of Anneliese’s name. I never thought I’d miss a person so much . . . *Sniffle*

  Did you just . . . Did you just write out “sniffle” in the transcription?

  Whatever. Go get us some rurkis and complete the quest!

  Yeah, yeah. Lars laughed, this time out loud. A few people near him looked over at him as if he were a little “funny” in the head.

  When he finally reached the prison area, which felt a little farther than the tteokbokki salesman had described, he saw only a single stall. There was a woman with two weird, leathery ears popping out above her head and a fat, fleshy little tail sticking out her backside. She was wearing a white apron and a cute black dress with a hole for the tail and was standing in front of a cart filled to the top with sugar-covered rurkis.

  “Ruri’s rurkis! They are the best rurkis in town! Come one, come all, my most wonderful young masters! I will personally feed you a delightful, decadent treat if you patronize my humble shop!” She shouted at every passerby who came too close to her stall, despite the fact that none of them seemed to even notice her existence. To those walking by her, it was as if she were invisible.

  It’s a city thing; you’ll get used to it. If they stop to talk to every person, they’ll never make it anywhere. If someone tries to stop them to talk, it’s usually someone who wants to scam them out of their money. The end result is this: no one pays attention to anyone if they can help it. “Invisible man syndrome” I call it.

  Noted, Lars thought as he walked up to Ruri.

  “Oh! My handsome young master! You look like a wonderful man of the highest nobility. May I interest you in a rurki? Ruri’s rurkis are famed in every part of town for good reason! Come, try one out.” She went from just talking to practically purring and cooing as she approached him. He didn’t know how the woman managed to move so elegantly, like every movement accentuated curves he hadn’t noticed she had at all, but it worked.

  She’s part hippopotamus, isn’t she?

  Huh? Lars shook the dirty thoughts that entered his head out of his mind as he wondered what a hippopotamus was.

  Hippopotamus. Hippo. She’s part hippo. Honestly, what type of eating disorder does a woman with such strong hippo blood need to have to maintain that type of figure? You could bounce a quarter off those abs . . .

  A quarter?

  A silver piece. Whatever. I’m just saying that it is flatter on both sides than an ironing board, but she’s part hippo . . . Miracles, I say. Miracles.

  Okay then . . . Lars just ignored her.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, young master.” Ruri put a hand over her mouth and tilted her head while making a playful “oooo” sound. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I just think that my sweet, sugar-filled hole is exactly what you need right now.”

  I’m down for the Ruri and the rurki if she is offering.

  “I’ll have two,” Lars said, doing his best to focus.

  This is why you need to get something. You’re too easily flustered by any skirt. You’re going to make a bad decision, forgetting that skirts are just as evil as pants, or have you forgotten that beautiful mom’s warning about Mishil?

  I didn’t forget, Lars answered. He had to take a deep breath as the playful vixen in front of him, clearly seeing her effect on him, prepared four rurkis instead of the two he asked for.

  “Should I feed them to you, young master?”

  Please.

  “Yes, if you would,” Lars consented. He opened his mouth as she began to feed him one bite after the other while staring directly into his eyes. He had never had a woman feed him, but the small brushes and touches were worth it. As soon as he finished the fourth and final rurki, a notification appeared.

  Congratulations! You have completed the following quest: Spoil yourself. Spoil your kind, loving, all-powerful, and amazing master.

  Reward: Automatic advancement of Advanced Reading from Level 1 to Level 2. Advanced Reading Level 2: When you focus, you can read three times faster than an average reader. As such, time will seem to move three times as slowly while you are reading.

  Skill Specific Quest: Read 2,000,000 words to increase your proficiency in this skill by 1 level.

  Bonus reward for getting a beautiful woman to serve us the food: the skill Flame of the Pill God has been granted.

  Fire is more than just the bringer of life. It is, down to a basic chemical level, the bringer of change and thus essential to all those who delve into the alchemical arts and wish to change the essences of life. The Flame of the Pill God is the purest form of fire control and allows one to manipulate flame to any degree that your Qi allows.

  Flame of the Pill God Level 1 allows the use of 1 flame that can be controlled flawlessly using Fire Qi.

  Skill Specific Quest: Reach 40 Fire Qi to increase your proficiency in this skill by 1 level.

  Lars was a little confused by Flame of the Pill God. What does that mean? I can control a flame perfectly? Could I not before? Lars wondered.

  Probably not. Creating fire may be as easy as channeling your Fire Qi out of your hands—even if it burns a little as you probably noticed—but actually controlling the flame is difficult. The temperature, the size, the intensity—there are many factors that will vary. With Flame of the Pill God, you and the flame can be one. You won’t lack any control at all.

  Oh . . . okay . . . Lars couldn’t help but feel a little excited. He still had 15 Unassigned Qi points too for his elements—points he had been saving in case he needed them. He was tempted to dump those points immediately into fire and boost his ability with the flame since apparently he now had perfect control of whatever fire he made, but he decided to wait.

  “Sir,
that will be two silver for the four rurkis,” Ruri said, breaking him from his train of thought, “and five copper for the personal feeding service.”

  That puts me down to . . . Lars did some mental math. The street food hadn’t been expensive, but it hadn’t been cheap either. All in all, he was now down 5 silver with only 33 left in his pocket after paying off Ruri.

  As he finished doing the tally, putting the coins in her hand, she gripped his hand tightly. “Though, I can give you a small discount . . . if you’d be willing to hear me out.”

  Lars’s right eyebrow went up as he smelled something suspicious. “A discount?”

  “Yes,” she replied, smiling ear to ear. “If the young master would be so kind as to deliver just a tiny one of these rurkis to a prisoner, then the next time you come here, the first rurki will be on me, young master.”

  “I see . . .” Lars didn’t reject her. He had an itch, a desire to see what was inside the jail. As sickening as it was, he needed to kill people, and that jail likely housed the only type of people he could ever stomach murdering outside of self-defense. “Do you have a description of the person?”

  “Oh, it’s just a young man with a small rhino horn by the name of Brandon who is doing hard time. He’s a great kid, but he doesn’t eat well enough. Could you take him one of these? I worry about his health with all that prison food.”

  I’m pretty sure pure candy desserts aren’t much healthier, Lars thought as he took the gently and carefully wrapped rurki from Ruri. “It won’t be a problem at all,” Lars said, returning her smile. He then proceeded to walk to the jail that was right next to her stand.

  The entire building could have been mistaken for just a regular, damp plain-gray stone building with no special features besides the occasional cobweb. It wasn’t a well-kept jail either. There were only two guards at the front: one sitting behind a desk and playing catch with himself by tossing a small ball straight up and into the air and the other, who was leaning against the wall with his eyes half-closed like he was going to fall asleep at any moment.