Death's Favorite Warlock

by Charles Dean

  There are still . . . Lars pulled at his robe.

  “There are two small red spots on your left collar. Matthew’s father will notice them immediately. His attention to detail exceeds mine,” she said.

  Crap . . . Lars frowned. “Thank you for the advice.”

  “Take care of my son well,” she added before repeating herself. “Dinner will be served in the main room in ten minutes. I’ll be outside your courtyard in five to lead you and your bed slave there. I trust you two will be attending.”

  “Of course I will,” Lars agreed, before darting as quickly as he could walk without breaking into a run toward the room she had shown him to earlier. When he got there, he discovered a haggard-looking Desdemona spread-eagle on the floor, panting for breath and staring at the ceiling. What looked like a liter of sweat surrounded her, soaking through the robe that she was wearing to the point that it clung to every inch of her skin.

  “You should get up and rinse yourself off. We only have a few minutes until dinner,” Lars said, not wanting to know what she had gone through to have those lifeless eyes staring at the ceiling.

  “I hate you,” she grumbled as she picked herself up and jumped into the bathtub. She dunked her head in to fully submerge herself before hopping out and drying herself off.

  “And here I thought we were finally getting past the point of trying to kill each other,” Lars remarked with a smirk. He tossed her one of the fresher, cleaner robes as she continued to dry herself.

  “We were until you gave me the manual and instruction guide on how to torture myself.”

  “It couldn’t have been that bad.”

  “Sitting in a bed of ants or going through a wasp nest covered in honey would have been an improvement.”

  “I didn’t say you had to do it . . .” Lars drew the words out as he adjusted the new robe, checking himself out in the mirror to make sure it fit right and was tied properly.

  “You’re a con man and a cheat. You sold me hook, line, and sinker, and now you say it was my choice?”

  “You’re right. You’re right. That was too much of me. Tomorrow, I’ll make sure you don’t do any more cultivating for that techni—”

  “Hey! No! I came this far. I’m finishing.”

  Lars smiled at her. “Well, if you want to keep using my special technique, what do you say?”

  “I say I hate you . . . but . . .” She paused. “Thanks.”

  “That a girl.” Lars patted her on the head, and she glared daggers at him. “Cheer up. It might have hurt, but at least you were taking a step toward gaining some control of your future. That’s better than an endless number of nights on a cold stone floor like you had at the sect, isn’t it?”

  “ . . . Yeah,” she admitted mopily. “I just felt the need to give you a hard time after what your little . . . technique . . . put me through. Don’t think I’m not grateful.”

  “I know.” He leaned in and helped her adjust her robe by giving its collar a tug so that it covered up more of her cleavage and didn’t look as revealing. “Change is hard, but we’ll find solid ground soon. Okay?”

  “I’m not worried about that,” she replied. “I just don’t know if I’ll have the motivation to keep practicing that stupid technique.”

  “Well, if it helps”—Lars pointed to her tail—“I think you’re making some sort of progress . . .”

  “Huh?” She didn’t understand what he was saying until she whipped her head around to look at her tail feathers. The vibrant green, blue, and red display of feathers had changed. Every single one of her blue and green feathers was now striped. The center of each had started to turn red, the color had spread slightly outward, and her red feathers were now a much darker hue with orangish tips. “WOAH! SWEET KING SUN-SHIN!! THEY—!! THEY—!!”

  “Yeah, they changed,” Lars said. “The process is working. You must be purifying and changing your bloodline to become more and more like that of the phoenix.”

  “I . . . I could feel stronger, and I knew that the Fire Qi was forming in me . . . but I had no idea it had come this far already!” she exclaimed excitedly, practically jumping in place as she put one hand on each one of Lars’s shoulders. “I’m getting a LEGENDARY BLOODLINE!!! YES!!!”

  “Will you be quiet?” Lars urged, quickly trying to hush her. “Do you think we’re by ourselves here? Shut your mouth unless you wish to invite death to both of us before you ever finish that cultivation.”

  Desdemona’s eyes went wide. “Oh . . . right . . .” she said, gulping hard.

  “Now, I’m not going to make you do it, but please try to act your part here at dinner,” he whispered.

  “Yes, young master,” she said in a normal tone as she did a poor imitation of Matthew’s mother’s expression and voice. “I will make sure I serve you dutifully. After all, I am a most blessed and fortunate slave to have you as her kind and loving master.”

  Lars shook his head. “I’m going to smack you if you talk like that too much.”

  “If that is your wish, young master. Would you like me to bend over first?” she asked, turning around and arching her back.

  “Oh, come on.” Lars found himself laughing along with the skit as he pushed Desdemona and the two of them exiting the courtyard. When he was in the hall, he saw Matthew’s mother staring at Desdemona’s tail.

  “I see what the commotion was about,” the servant said. “You would do well in the future to mind your master’s warnings lest that cost you your head as well as your tongue. You are only fortunate that the Neukdaegalbi house is one of loyalty, not cunning.”

  So you say . . . Lars thought with a smile. “I think we’re only fortunate that I still have things your son needs. But don't worry, I think I suffer from Neukdaegalbi’s cursed sense of loyalty.”

  “Perhaps,” she said with a wry grin before her expression then vanished once again. “Right this way, young master. The elder and his children are waiting for you to join them for supper. They are all looking forward to your company.”

  “Lovely,” Lars replied. He strode forward with a smile across his face despite the fact he knew very well that he was once more about to be thrust into a situation where the wrong word or the wrong move might get him killed. Even though this wouldn’t necessarily be a battle like the ones he had been through constantly—or at least what felt like constantly since his village was first attacked—it would still be a battle. This time, however, it was a kind he was skilled in. Having grown up as a Qi-less, tailless, status-less human in a world where even the most common of kids could reach Stage 1 and be over twice as strong as he was, he was well versed in the realm of word battles.

  Oh my dad, why are you taking any pride in just being able to talk your way out of things? You have over 800 points just sitting there and 15 unassigned elemental points! You could spend them and at least be able to do something. Not even beat their hot . . . cute . . . totally squeezable, cold, collected maid . . . but at least you’d have some power to front with! Spend 240 points, and then, presto! You’re Level 4. Even out those 720, and magically you’re Level 5. To them, you’d look like a Stage 5 Qi-Gathering Cultivator. Knowing you could be a Stage 5 Qi-Gathering Cultivator, why are you hesitating? You do remember that there were benefits to leveling up as well, right?

  Lars thought about it for a moment. So, whatever level I am, that is what stage Qi-Gathering Cultivator they also sense me as? Lars asked.

  That is the gist of it. Yes.

  Which means . . . if I had 500 points in every stat except Fortitude but never raised Fortitude to 80 . . .

  Then they’d still think you were just a regular Stage 2 Qi-Gathering Cultivator.

  Really? Lars scratched at his chin as he continued to follow the servant through the courtyard, an idea popping up in his head. I think bluffing my way out of trouble is going to be a lot easier than I thought, he thought with a smirk.

  Oh my, I love that idea.

  I knew you would. He smiled proudly, feeling a littl
e safer as he prepared to go onto the battleground in front of him, quickly raising several of his stats as he walked. Rather than raising everything evenly, he put 39 points into Fortitude, leaving it a single point shy of the 80 that would be needed in that column to advance from Level 2 to Level 3—or, as far as others could tell, to advance from a Stage 2 to a Stage 3 Qi-Gathering Cultivator. He then added 160 points into Power and 280 points into Resistance. This raised both his Power and Resistance to the 320 points he needed to reach Level 5. The point expenditure cost him 479 of the unspent stat points he had. He still had to hoard 241 stat points for his plan, but that left him with 148 that he could spend any way he saw fit. Looking at his Speed, which was 581, he decided to just dump the remaining points that he didn’t have to save into it, raising the stat from 581 to 729.

  That should do it, he thought as he looked at his modified stat sheet. 320 Power, 320 Resistance, 729 Speed, 79 and Fortitude with 241 unspent points.

  I like it. It looks a lot better than 10, 10, 10, and 10 with 0 points unspent.

  It’s not like you to give compliments so freely.

  When they reached the main courtyard, Lars was rather impressed with the architecture. In place of normal walls, there were thick, heavy, canvas-like leather barriers with paintings across them. Each wall segment, which was about five feet long, had a different painting with a different style, but they all seemed to serve the same purpose: to tell the story of the Neukdaegalbi clan.

  As if intuiting his question, the servant in front of them began to explain: “Beginning at the main entrance facing the courtyard on the other side and going right, each panel tells the tale of the three great brothers of the Neukdaegalbi clan, Nathaniel, John, and Matthew, who worked together to secure the river gate against the second beast wave of the First Era of Kings.”

  “They can trace their history that far back . . .” Desdemona slowly said as her eyes, wide as saucers, took in the paintings.

  “Servants should be careful when speaking out of turn in the main courtyard,” Matthew’s mother chastised. “More so than servants, slaves should be doubly careful not to break decorum or rules.”

  Even though it was said with a gentle voice, the message was clear: if Desdemona, who was currently serving the role of Lars’s bed slave, disrespected actual citizens by interrupting them or speaking out of turn once the dinner began, or perhaps even speaking at all, she might be killed for the offense. Lars could hear the lump of saliva Desdemona swallowed as she processed the words. His own heart was beating rapidly at the idea that she might do or say something to cost him his safety.

  “But yes, the Neukdaegalbi clan can trace its history back to the First Era of Kings,” she said. “Back then, the three brothers were nothing more than orphans who had been abandoned at the Temple of Whanin, where they were forced to fend and fight for themselves in the streets of the once-chaotic city. It wasn’t until the guard discovered a beast wave was going to crash into the city and swallow it whole that they graduated from hoodlums to soldiers, putting their names down on the first signup page to be pinned to the town’s bulletin board. Their performance on the first day of the beast wave was so great that the ruling queen of the time, Minhee, personally brought them into the royal guard. They fought tooth and nail to maintain that dignity during the remaining five days and six nights, and at the end, the Neukdaegalbi family was given the martial technique of the royal guards. If the city is ever under attack again, their descendants’ descendants will carry on their ancestors’ legacy and fight once more for the royal family.”

  “But by this wall . . . there is only one brother left. What happened?” Lars asked, gesturing to the image in question.

  “When there were three brothers, and only one technique book was given, what do you imagine happened?” a deep voice asked as the door opened to reveal a man that was easily six foot five, possibly an inch or two taller, standing there and staring down at Lars. He had large white canine ears with a black streak down the middle of each, a massive tail that he let sway back and forth behind him instead of wrapping it around himself like a belt as most cultivators seemed to do, and deep yellow and brown eyes like a dog.

  “One took the book, and two left,” Lars answered.

  “As is the order of things,” the man said. “My ancestor, the great Nathaniel of Neukdaegalbi, fought a tough battle against his brothers but was inevitably defeated. John, the eldest brother of the Neukdaegalbi family, remained in the royal guard, and my ancestor built this home within the city in case he was ever called upon by his brother for aid.”

  So even after he was defeated and given nothing of the inheritance the three fought for, Nathaniel never left his brother's side . . . Lars was beginning to see exactly how deep the reason was for Matthew’s mother’s concern. If Matthew was anything like Nathaniel, his loyalty would keep him wagging his tail for Mishil as long as her words could hold him.

  “I am Lars, the disciple of Hsein Ku, and it is my pleasure to meet you,” Lars said, giving a slight bow of his head. Before he even lifted his head, the man’s hand was already on Lars’s shoulder.

  “Ha! Matthew said that you didn’t know your place! You’re clearly a great disciple of the Mad Maiden Hsein Ku, and yet here you are, lowering your head for a common citizen like me!” the man laughed. “Don’t make me lose face. I’m Nathaniel, just a regular businessman with a small pissant mercenary company. I’m no one to be bowing your head or scraping your knees for.”

  “Forgive me,” Lars said. “Your history just left me stunned and made me think about the fact that perhaps the only reason I am standing in this great city is because of the contributions your ancestors made before my father’s father’s father was even born. It made me think that I should acknowledge the son of such a man.”

  Lars would have given an exact date, but for the life of him, he had never heard about an era of the first kings prior to a couple minutes ago. He didn’t even know what era he was in right now, only guessing that the events must have happened a long, long time ago based on Desdemona’s reaction.

  “Ha! I can now see why that wench of a servant of mine has taken a liking to you. A woman of crafty and low means is drawn to cunning people.”

  Wench of a servant? Lars blinked as he tried to put the pieces together. He still had to figure out what everyone’s relationship was, but he didn’t think for a minute that Nathaniel would belittle her so quickly in front of a guest if he actually loved her. Lars didn’t know how to respond either. If he said something positive in defense of the woman who had been incredibly kind to him, it might cause the man to be angry with her. If he said something negative about Matthew’s mother, Nathaniel might double down and do something later. Why is dialogue so complicated . . .

  Quest: Don’t be that guy.

  Objective: Just stick up for the damn girl. It’ll probably pay off later, and if it doesn’t, do it because I asked.

  Fine . . . “I can’t speak for her quality outside my normal interactions, but she’s better than any servant I’ve ever had helping me. Her advice, her promptness, and her demeanor are the quality one would find in a royal court, I’m sure. It doesn’t seem right for you to call her nothing more than a wench of low means.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed as he lowered a glare at Lars. “Are you, a mere Stage 2 Qi-Gathering Cultivator who is only here by the grace of your master’s name, telling me how I am to treat my servants and how I can describe what’s mine?”

  Lars met his gaze. “I’m telling you what doesn’t seem right.” He had expected some potential friction but not for the situation to escalate this fast. Yet, he didn’t plan on backing down an inch until he got his quest reward.

  Nathaniel’s glare narrowed even further as his face came even closer to Lars’s. “And you think that a woman who used her fancy, womanly, leg-spreading technique for one night and nailed me with two food bills and lodging expenses ever since isn’t one of low means?”

  “It sounds lik
e she gave you a fine son and then dedicated years of her life to taking care of your house,” Lars retorted. He was determined to get his quest completion, and he felt the need to verbally smack this man who, for this instance at least, embodied every annoying person that had judged him for lacking a cultivator’s bloodline.

  “Is that what you think?” Nathaniel asked again. “You think that little runt, Matthew, is a fine son and not some short, weak-blooded, practically Qi-less little brat?”

  “He is,” Lars answered.

  “Ha. HA!” The man leaned back, pushing his chest forward as he let out a forced laugh. “HA HA HA! Well . . .” He threw his face forward, practically pushing Lars with his breath as he positioned himself an inch from Lars’s face. “I like you. And you’re right. He is a fine son.” He clapped his hand down on Lars’s shoulder so hard that Lars felt like he was a nail being hammered into the floorboards by the force of the blow. “But I thought it might be good to see whether or not you were just another brown-nosed, sniveling coward.”

  Congratulations! You have completed the following quest: Don’t be that guy.

  Reward: You have been granted the new skill Falling Water Dancing over the Moon.

  Skill Details:

  Falling Water Dancing over the Moon allows the user to perform the long-lost dance buried deep in the traditions of humanity before the first cultivator discovered Qi.

  Skill Note: A single drop of rain is but a sound, and a thousand drops seem deafening, but in their echoes, there is a rhythm that embodies the beauty of life and the miracle of rain that makes it possible.

  Additional Note: This skill is manual, lacking the need for Power or Qi, and as such cannot be scaled. No levels may be gained from this skill.