Death's Favorite Warlock

by Charles Dean

  [20] Toxin Immunity Level 4 [1/10 Toxins Consumed]

  [N/A] Unyielding Ice Veins [No Level]

  [N/A] Falling Water Dancing over the Moon [No Level]

  [N/A] Flame of the Pill God Level 3

  Item Skill Progressions

  Enslavement [1/5 People Enslaved]

  Active Quests

  Go slap yourself!

  After a few minutes of silence, Nathaniel began to move. He took the nearly burned piece of thin beef off the grill with a pair of tongs, cut it into thinner pieces, and laid them across a long green leaf of what looked like a thick, slightly red-stemmed leaf of lettuce that was easily larger than Lars’s hand. He added two more pieces of meat and then grabbed some red chili paste and layered it on top of the beef before putting a small piece of garlic in the middle of the chili paste and then carefully folding the lettuce in on itself until the creation turned into a stuffed ball of lettuce. Then he handed the ball to Lars.

  “Try it,” he said.

  Lars stared at the little food packet.

  “You forgot to roast the garlic,” Matthew said from across the table.

  “It’ll be fine,” Nathaniel replied, hushing him. “Try it.”

  “Sure.” Lars took the ball of lettuce and held it for a moment, not sure how exactly he was supposed to eat it until he saw Nathaniel hand the next one to Matthew, who unceremoniously stuffed the whole thing into his mouth and began chewing it, making his cheeks stick out like a fat hamster’s.

  Lars copied the gesture and sank his teeth into the lettuce wrap. It was odd at first, and he felt like the lettuce leaves tearing under his teeth were going to spurt out at any given moment, but the flavor was undeniably good. The juicy meat had clearly been marinated in a sweet and salty sauce, the wrap was moist and watery, the garlic’s flavor was sharp, and the red chili sauce brought it all together with a spicy kick. It was great. It was amazing.

  Damn, that is hitting the spot. Just for introducing us to this, I say we let Nathaniel live after we finish killing off the town. He may be a blunt jerk even to his kids, but at least he can operate a grill properly.

  Lars shook his head. Yeah, I think his thousands of stat points are a much better reason to let him live if that’s what you want to call not committing suicide.

  “So, can you fix the boy?” Nathaniel asked while Lars was still trying to chew the food in his mouth. “You said he’s a good son, but he’s weak. He’s not like you. Can you fix him?”

  “Maybe,” Lars answered and then quickly asked his master, Can we actually fix him?

  Yeah. We can fix him no problem. Go ahead and agree to whatever the oaf is asking. I’ll help you figure it out later. Just don’t let him stop making those lettuce balls. I want those balls.

  Can you say it in a less obscene way?

  What? Stop being a child, agree to what he wants, and get me more food. MOOOORE FOOD.

  Whatever, Lars grumbled at her. “Yeah,” he then said to Nathaniel. “He’s fixable, but it might take some time.”

  “How long before your master, Hsein Ku, arrives? Have you found a way to notify her about your situation?” Nathaniel asked.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll have enough time to help Matthew. After all . . .” Lars turned to Matthew and gave him a big smile. He didn’t have an exact time for when Hsein Ku would show up since he didn’t know her, much less what her schedule would be, and he definitely didn’t want them reaching out to her on his behalf. That’d just be inviting death upon him.

  “And the younger one, can you help him too?”

  Nope. Nope, nope, nope. I mean, I can. I’m me. THE GREAT. But no. That kid is such a snot-nosed brat. He could do with not being the best.

  “I can only help Matthew.” Lars did his best to look apologetic and sorry about the situation. “It’s a shame, but that’s how it is. He shares . . . a trait with me.”

  “I’m not going to look tailless, am I?” Matthew asked. “If I cultivate like you? I need to obtain Mishil’s heart, and she won’t like me if I look defective.”

  Stop being so bluntly honest. Lars wanted to smack Matthew for that comment.

  “You need to stop talking about that woman is what you need to do, boy,” Nathaniel stated, silencing his son. “If this boy can help you gain power the way he has . . . then as far as I’m concerned, you’re his disciple now. Kowtow to him three times in the morning and don’t return until you become at the very least a Stage 4 Qi-Gathering Cultivator.”

  “Yes, father.” Matthew lowered his head toward his dad, then gave a second, miniature bow to Lars.

  “It’s not necessary to kowtow,” Lars said, holding up his hands in protest. Then, realizing he might offend Nathaniel and land himself in hot water, he decided to add an explanation to make it clear that he wasn’t rejecting anything of his own volition. “It would be rude of me, as a disciple myself, to take one on officially, especially without my master here.”

  “Ah!” Nathaniel nodded. “That makes sense. Well, if you’ll help the boy, he’ll still be at your door first thing in the morning—after you’ve finished with your bed slave, of course.”

  “Thanks . . .” Lars said.

  “Though, a word of advice,” Nathaniel whispered, leaning in and putting a hand on Lars’s leg, “be careful when you’re with those women. One slip, and you’ll be stuck with an extra mouth to feed.”

  This guy . . . Lars shook his head, still completely unsure of both why he was helping Matthew and why he wasn’t plotting his escape from Nathaniel. He had gold now thanks to the prison guards, and it would easily be enough to afford a room at a good inn. Yet, still he stayed here, comfortably planning out how to assist Matthew.

  It’s because he’s honest and good-hearted despite how cruel that honesty can seem.

  Yeah . . . maybe . . . Lars thought, shrugging at the situation.

  -----

  For whatever reason he was staying, Lars enjoyed his meal and remained all smiles until Matthew’s mother came to fetch him and bring him back to his room. The moment they were far enough away from the main dining hall that no one could hear them, she began speaking.

  “Thank you for what you did in there,” she began. “I know Matthew didn’t properly express his gratitude since his father was there, but I wanted to thank you sincerely on his behalf.”

  “Think nothing of it,” Lars said.

  “That’ll be impossible,” she replied.

  “You really . . . You really would do anything for him, wouldn’t you?” Lars asked.

  “I’ve stayed here for him,” she responded, turning to Lars as they reached the door to the guest villa. “So, thank you again,” she said, bowing her head.

  “You should wait until after I’ve managed to help him.”

  “I know a trustworthy man when I meet one.” She gave him the warmest smile, one that felt like sunshine at the beach when he looked at it, before turning and leaving.

  “Looks like someone has an admirer.” Desdemona laughed as they entered the room, and Lars flopped on the bed.

  “Hey, I’m a likable guy,” Lars said. “Kinda had to be to survive.”

  “Not you,” Desdemona snickered. “Your master. Clearly it’s her wits that are going to teach him how to cultivate . . . though I am curious.”

  “About what?”

  “How did you do the trick in the main room? If you were that strong all along . . . why did we struggle so much in the woods? A Stage 5 Qi-Gathering Cultivator could have easily killed that beast. Ramon would still be alive.”

  “Because I wasn’t that strong until just recently,” Lars answered, taking a moment to fluff his pillow. Is this actually a down pillow? He fluffed it again. He remembered his mother always wanting one and talking about how comfortable they were, but no one had sold them at a decent price in the town he had lived in. The only thing that he had to sleep on, the only thing that she had to sleep on, were the straw pillows that they had to stuff themselves and tie closed at the end. Thi
s, a fluffy, soft down pillow made from what felt like the finest linen, was a new level of decadence that he simply wasn’t used to.

  “You know, you could be a little nicer to me,” Lars said. “I give you a fancy cultivation method, and first you chewed me out, thinking I’ve wronged you, and then you yelled into my ear because your excitement needs to attack my poor eardrums.”

  Desdemona stuck out her tongue. “Oh, don’t be a baby. I thought you were supposed to be a likable guy.”

  “Hey! I think I am,” he said, not bothering to even look at her as he closed his eyes and enjoyed the comfort of the bed. He had thought earlier that the bath was nice, but this was better. A nice, clean, cold bed. Perfect, Lars thought. Then looking over at Desdemona, he decided on the one thing that could make it better. “Hey . . . could you look away for a minute? I’m going to just hop in these covers.”

  “Right now? It’s not even late out yet. Are you seriously going to bed right away?” she asked.

  “Yeah, why?” Lars didn’t understand what the hoopla was about.

  “I don’t know. There are still things to do, right?”

  “Like what?” Lars asked

  “Aren’t you going to cultivate? Am I wrong here? Isn’t nighttime, after people finish their daily chores and work, the time when everyone cultivates?”

  “Not me and not tonight,” he said instead of giving the actual answer: that he couldn’t and didn’t need to.

  “Fine. There aren’t enough pillows for you to be disrobing before you crawl into that bed if we’re going to share it,” Desdemona said as she turned her head.

  “You think I’m going to sleep with a robe on?” Lars asked, looking at her funny.

  This is the first chance we have ever had to feel the comfort of cold linen sheets of such a fine quality against our bare behind . . . There is no way we give this up for her sense of modesty. She should be dead, by all rights, for her crimes. She needs to learn to be grateful and talk less.

  No arguments here, Lars thought as he took off his robe and crawled into bed. It was heaven. The food, the bath, and now the bed—everything was exactly as he had hoped it would be. Nothing about this night can get better.

  “Ugh, fine,” she grumbled. “Well, I’m going to go outside and cultivate some more and then take a bath. Enjoy being lazy and going straight to bed.”

  “I will. Thank you very much,” Lars snickered back.

  “Excuse me,” came a sultry voice from the door.

  “Yeah?” Lars said, turning his head to see who was there.

  “I was told you’d like a massage. I’ve come to fulfill your request,” she said as Lars took in the view. She was of wolf blood like the rest of the Neukdaegalbi clan, but it was clear that her lineage wasn't as strong. She had the tail, but not the ears, and Lars noted that she hadn’t even reached Stage 3 even though she appeared to be between twenty and twenty-five.

  “No chance you’re a daughter of the old man, Nathaniel?” Lars asked as he popped his neck.

  “Ah, yes, I am. I am his only daughter, Jill,” she replied, introducing herself.

  “Well, Jill, I’d like to shake your hand and greet you properly, but . . .” He looked over at the robe next to the bed where he had taken it off before crawling in. “I’m going to have to let you step outside for a moment while I put the robe back on if you’re going to give me a massage.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” she said. She cleared the distance across the room in an instant, planted herself next to Lars, and kicked his robe behind her with her feet. “I’m here to offer you the best services available at the house Neukdaegalbi, per Maggie’s instructions.”

  “Maggie?” Lars didn’t recognize that name.

  “Matthew’s mother,” Jill clarified as she adjusted Lars onto his belly. She then pulled the sheet covering him down until the edge lay just above his butt, exposing his entire back, and then reached into her robe and pulled out a bottle of something before drizzling the chilly, ice-like substance across Lars’s back.

  “What is that?” Lars asked as he lay there, the words slightly muffled by the down pillow his face was pressed into.

  “It’s a jasmine-scented oil to which I added just a little plum blossom,” she responded. “It’s my personal concoction, and I'd say at least the best one this side of town if you don’t mind me bragging a little.”

  “It smells divine,” Lars said as he felt her soft, gentle hands begin to rub the oil into his back. She used long, slow strokes and just the right pressure to melt away any stress he had remaining after the prison fight and the incredibly awkward dinner conversion. After just a minute, he couldn’t help himself as a low “ohh” escaped his lips while she perfectly kneaded his lower back.

  “It’s good to hear you’re enjoying my services,” she said in response to the noise. She pulled the bottom of the sheets upward, leaving his rear covered but exposing his legs, and began to massage his thighs and calves.

  “You’re absolutely amazing at this. I don’t think you need me to tell you that though,” Lars remarked.

  “I don’t,” she said, her hands not stopping for an instant as they worked their magical stun status effect on Lars’s brain. “My mother, who taught me this skill, used to tell me that, when a boy is young, his fantasy is to be the hero, to slay the evil tyrant, to save the girl, and to be the strongest from coast to coast that anyone has ever seen.”

  Her. Her. She's the one we should be teaching. Forget Matthew. Hands like those? I’ll teach her anything she wants for a few more minutes on that spot in the middle of our back.

  I agree . . . Can we switch disciples? Master, please! I’ve learned the error of my ways. I want a disciple that can do this . . . Oh, damn, it feels good.

  “But,” the girl continued, unaware of the praise that was silently being heaped on her by Lars and his master, “when they get older, it all changes. Their fantasy goes from being the hero that builds the empire, the unkillable best of the best . . . to having a good night’s sleep and a nice massage. My mother said that if you can provide a man with at least the massage and do it so well that he gets the good night’s sleep too, you’ll be able to help him achieve the wildest dreams of his youth even in his maturity. Turn over.”

  “Huh?” Lars was so wrapped up in her work that he almost missed his cue, but as soon as he realized what she said, he obeyed her words as if they had just been delivered by his creator above personally, mustering his willpower to get his muscles to work again as he turned over. He adjusted the sheet so he didn’t show anything.

  Now that his face wasn’t stuck in a pillow, he was able to admire her features as her hands began to rub fresh splashes of the oil into the upper part of his chest. He could see her red-hued eyes, the color of smoldering embers, and her long dark-brown hair. It matched the color of wet bark on the trees in the woods but flowed like a river with wavy crests as it went down her head and dangled inches above Lars while she worked. He could see her figure too, but as he tried to glance at it more, he couldn’t help but close his eyes and rest for a minute.

  It wasn’t until a few minutes later that he realized her hands were continuing their descent downward, massaging his abs now and reaching that point of his abdominal muscles just above his hips. Crap, I need to stop her before she . . .

  Quest: Say, “Lower.”

  Objective: Say, “Lower.”

  Failure to complete this quest within the allotted time will result in the inability to get the required cultivation method to train Matthew.

  What the hell? Lars felt betrayed as he stared at the message. You can’t force me to say it!

  I’m not making you do anything. The quest exists. If you choose not to follow it, that’s your own problem.

  But . . . Lars gritted his teeth for a moment as he weighed his options. He needed her knowledge. He needed it desperately. He had just made promises to a Stage 4 Qi-Condensing Cultivator, and if he couldn't keep his word, his failure might result in h
is death.

  Wait, you wouldn’t do something that would get me killed, would you?

  After having to go about two decades with you not even being able to ask a girl out and then having to watch you ignore the quite attractive bed slave just because of those pesky feelings you have about what her sect did to your mother, maybe a little apathy on my part will help you braven up . . . or get those creative juices flowing.

  Damnit. Lars frowned before finally caving. “Lower . . .”

  “Ah, young master,” Jill said with a giggle. “And here I thought I’d be disappointed because your bed slave was so adequate you wouldn’t request additional services.” Her hands slowly went even farther down while Lars closed his eyes and let himself enjoy the sensation of gliding off to another world in the hands of one of the best masseuses ever.

  Ten minutes after the massage was done and every part of his body was covered in jasmine oil, Lars noticed that Jill was still in the room.

  Am I supposed to . . . tip her or something? Lars wondered as he looked at the girl, who was standing perfectly still a few feet away from him. He wasn’t sure what to do. He hoped his master knew the customs.

  Huh? What? Oh . . . right.

  Congratulations! You have completed the following quest: Say, “Lower.”

  Reward: You will receive two Qi cultivation techniques that you may pass on to Matthew and Jill. Yada yada. Whatever. If you think about what they need to do to cultivate, the knowledge of how to do it will come to you. Write it down or not. I don’t care.

  Are you dead? Lars asked. Did she kill you?

  Shh . . . Go get us a ham sandwich and try out that sleepy-time stuff. What did she say? A good massage and a good night’s rest? We’re only halfway there, buddy.

  “Umm . . .” Lars looked at Jill. “Is there some way I can help you?” He kicked himself mentally for such a terrible question, yet he didn’t know what else to do with her just looking at him like that.