by Charles Dean
“Not exactly,” Lars responded.
“Oh? What did I get wrong?” Bok Kyu said as he continued to walk across the massive room to Lars.
“Well, it’s not what you got wrong; it’s what you didn’t mention. You forgot the detail where Nick bled out, rather slowly, on the cold, hard ground in the middle of a piss-soaked back alley.
“Ah! MUSIC! Music to my ears,” the man said triumphantly, a smile spreading across his face. “That is just . . . glorious.”
“It makes me happy to know that my client is happy,” Lars continued on, doing his best to fake a gruff persona.
“It does astound me that a young man like you, who looks wet behind the ears with two green horns, could be so ruthless for a little money,” he replied with a laugh. “You must desperately need the money for something, right? Otherwise . . . you wouldn’t be willing to risk so much, would you?”
“Yeah, I do need it,” Lars admitted, wondering where the massive man was going with this. Now that Bok Kyu was closer, Lars realized that he was at least six foot six, potentially six foot eight.
“Now, this is where the bigger mystery comes in,” the man continued. His smile spread from ear to ear and revealed he was missing two teeth, one on his top row and one on his bottom row. “What could drive a young boy like yourself to be nearly suicidal for only a thousand gold? Maybe . . . it has to do with your family?”
Lars nodded.
“Ah, too easy, too easy.” The man sighed. “Is it your mother or your father?”
Both parents caused Lars to wince a little internally, but he did well not to show it at all.
“No hint? Oh, well, it’s funner this way. Let me guess. Since I’ve never heard of a tailless youngling with the strength to break into a jail or kill a mercenary company, then I’m going to guess that you’re from an obscure village. If you were in this city, I would have known about an oddity like you. As for which village? Hmm, there was a village . . . not more than a few days from here, that was recently attacked by the Sect of Falling Flowers. The men and women of that village who weren’t killed are being sold as slaves at tomorrow's auction, so my guess is that, when they were attacked, you fled like a coward. Even though you’re strong, fighting a Qi-Condensing Cultivator with your ability would be no more useful than trying to tear down a five-foot-thick wall by throwing eggs at it. Then you must have tailed them or found your way to this city by chance and discovered the auction . . . and now you’re desperately taking up any and all contracts to get the money to save someone special from an eternal life of humiliating slavery.”
The moment the man mentioned a slave auction of his fellow villagers, the ones that hadn’t been killed, Lars’s eyes went as wide as possible. If it hadn’t been for him squeezing his hand as tightly as he could to handle the stress, he would have reacted right then and there with yells and demands, questions needing answers.
“Ah, that face. Yes . . .” Bok Kyu nodded as he stroked his chin, his eyes paying no heed to Lars or anyone particular in the room. “I have guessed your home, whose head you're carrying, your motives, and your origin. There are no presents left to unwrap, no mysteries unsolvable. This day is not as good as I thought it would be when you first appeared; you didn’t add a surprise for me at all. That’s a shame, a real shame.” He sighed. “If you could have surprised me, even a little, then I might have taken you with me to the auction. I might have guaranteed you, to the best of my ability, the purchase of one slave. After all, you have made me happy. You have brought me the head of my son’s killer. If the man had remained alive, then”—he shrugged—“can you imagine how bad I would have looked? Can you imagine what people would have thought they could get away with?”
“You could still do me that favor,” Lars noted, hoping that the mobster would agree. If he did, Lars could potentially get back his mother or at least free one person from his town. “Just because you’re in a good mood.”
“I could,” he laughed, leaning his whole head and body back as he did, as if to make a grand show of his laughter. “But why? Why? I’ve gotten what I wanted, and my contract is cheaper and easier to fulfill than some nebulous promise that could cost me a lot more. I might even, just for fun, buy the slaves myself and then see what you’ll do for them. Maybe I can get you to break into something I don’t feel like wasting people on, kill someone I don’t have the time to kill myself . . . The possibilities are endless, as endless as it seems your desperation is.”
“You . . .” Lars’s mouth fell open as he stared at the man, not sure what to make of the situation.
“Monster? Beast?” The man laughed. “Do you not understand how I, a weak and fragile little panda, became who I am today? Ruthlessness is the only way to live in this city—ruthlessness, cunning, and information. Perhaps, when you’re older, you’ll learn that. Perhaps, at that point, there will be space in this organization for you . . .” He motioned to the man on Lars’s left. “See the boy out, and see him paid as he leaves. I have some slaves to buy from the Falling Flowers.”
Lars could feel his heart practically falling out of his chest as he stared at the two men who were about to see him out.
Who do you think is the strongest person here? Lars asked Ophelia.
Oh my. Are you really going to? This is excellent! This is perfect! And don’t worry. Those two men on your sides are the only ones that have any power at all. They are at least Stage 6 Qi-Gathering Cultivators, which is why their boss is so smug and confident right now. But he doesn’t know how much Speed you have. You also still have those points, right? We can do this. Come on, Lars. Imagine how good it’ll feel after we kill them.
“There’s no way to change your mind?” Lars asked as the large man began walking back to his seat.
“Change my mind? Don’t be a child. We both know how this world works. The only reason you haven’t killed me, taken my money, and taken this little thing”—he pulled out a shiny gold coin—“so you can get into the auction is because you can’t. I can sense it already. I know that anger, that fire. You’re debating as we speak if there is a way to murder me where I stand,” he said with a laugh.
No, you’re still wrong, Lars thought. I’m not debating a way to murder you; I’m debating how to get away with not murdering you. Lars felt the distinction was important, but it wasn’t exactly one he could confess without immediately starting the fight he was trying to avoid.
“A dokkaebi,” Lars blurted out. “Even more important than the gold, I need a dokkaebi.”
The black- and white-skinned leader stopped in his tracks. “A . . . dokkaebi? Now, why in the world would you be chasing fairytales?”
“If not a dokkaebi, then a yeou-nim, one that has two stripes and two tails,” Lars added.
“A dokkaebi or a yeou-nim? Is it? You’re willing to forgo a thousand gold, a thousand gold for one of those two . . .” The man scratched his chin as he stared at Lars in curiosity. Even as he was looking at Lars, Lars was studying his surroundings, searching for anything that could help him in a fight if one broke out.
“I’m even willing to do extra jobs if it means you’ll get me one,” Lars said.
“. . . More than the slave auction, it’s a mythical beast . . . Were you . . . were you looking for one when the town was attacked? Is that why you didn’t get rounded up like the others?” A smile grew across his face. “Interesting. I like it. Very interesting indeed. Your town got sacked, and the only thing that saved you was curiosity for the red-skinned devils of the past! Ha! Ha ha! This is indeed a surprise. A twist I didn’t expect. Well . . . since you’ve amused me, I’ll help you out. After all, you might not know this, but there is a special gambling den that keeps a magical charm beneath its cellars. I wonder, as both the demons you’ve named can be counted as tricksters . . . The yeou-nim is known to hate humans the most—savagely attacking them when it can—and when it can’t, it revels in their despair, using tricks like failing dice to heighten a man’s misery. A demon beneath a gamb
ling house that fits that description? Sounds possible. The dokkaebi, on the other hand, have always been tricksters, appearing and disappearing . . .”
“Really?” Lars’s ears perked up. He hadn’t lost sight of his objective—this man still was planning to mess with his life in an immeasurable way—but if this guy could also give him information regarding his two other objectives, that would at least put him one step closer to not being murdered by the princess. Lars thought, Maybe the princess could help me with my mother if I prove loyal enough . . . He started to seriously ponder the possibility.
Don’t rely on others. Have you not learned anything? People aren’t reliable. The number of men and women who have died because they thought they could rely on someone else is more than the number of sand grains on the beach or stones on a mountain.
But what else am I supposed to do? Lars felt trapped on all sides.
Stick with the original plan. Come on. I’ll help you. All you have to do is not be sad. If you can cheer up . . . then I can give you a quest completion reward perfect for this fight.
Easier said than done, Lars grumbled.
“You’re not here are you?” Bok Kyu asked as he looked at Lars. “You’re still thinking about a way out, and this is just a stalling tactic, isn’t it?”
“There is a lot to process,” Lars said. “If I’m giving up a thousand gold, I want some proof, some way of knowing that you aren’t messing with me. You’ve only said that there is a demon below the gambling den.”
“Ah . . . who wants to buy a product and not get a receipt?” Bok Kyu smiled. “But do not worry, I am the—THE—panda after all. There are none who should ever doubt my word. It is the gold standard by which my enterprise is built,” Bok Kyu declared, his head rolling back as he laughed. “If I say that there is a demon of sorts there, there is. If it isn’t your demon, that’s not my concern. I haven’t stated that. Now, I’ve paid you, and your questioning of my dignity has cost me my patience, a thing that I value more highly than your life, so be gone.”
Come on . . . Come on, you can do this. Don’t back down now. Sure, it’s a risk. Sure, we could die . . . but think about how freaking awesome and amazing and some other adjective that starts with an “A” it would be to have those strands of Qi flowing through us.
It would . . . It would feel really good. Lars considered the idea for a brief moment but then banished that consideration immediately. He wasn’t ever going to kill someone solely for power or only because it felt good. That was a promise he had made himself, and that was a promise he was going to stick to.
“Oh, and on your way out . . .” Bok Kyu said, “know that by the time you come back, I will have purchased whomever it was you were trying to save from your old village, and I’ll have put them through the wringer, if you know what I mean. After I’ve gotten my money's worth from their body—working them till they can’t move or using them in a brothel, whatever pays me the most, their slave collars the only thing preventing them from begging for mercy—I’ll consider letting you see them. If—and I stress this—you can learn to bend the knee and show some humility when you see me next time, I might let you see them again.”
“. . . Why?” Lars couldn't understand what could possess a man to be so cruel and for seemingly no reason at all. Such evil didn’t seem like it would profit this odd cultivator at all, and yet not only was he planning it, he was bragging about it.
“Because you have such great potential,” Bok Kyu replied with a laugh as he continued walking back to his chair, not even bothering to turn to face Lars as he spoke. “The panda always knows which bamboo shafts will grow tallest . . . and because I know your kind. Children with power as great as yours need a little breaking before they learn obedience. But once you’re obedient, what a nice tool you’ll make. Your future will be limitless, and the people you love, they’ll be your collar. You need to know that now—you need to understand that now—because it will only be harder on you if you don’t. Once they’ve paid off what I spend on them, after all, I’ll let them live comfortably if you behave. If not . . .” Bok Kyu looked over at one of the girls, still standing at attention as perk and upright as her bare breasts. “Gisaeng One, answer me.”
“Yes, Master?”
“You were a disobedient servant before you were a slave, so tell me honestly, what’s it like to be disobedient?”
“Gods, please just kill me,” the woman answered without moving more than just her mouth. “Just let me die. I promise. I promise I’ve learned my mistake. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. Please let me—”
“Be quiet, woman!” Bok Kyu barked, and the woman’s tongue halted in her mouth.
Come on now, there hasn’t been a more perfect and deserving bastard.
But the people around him, do they deserve it? What if these two guards are just being manipulated like he’s trying to manipulate me?
Does it matter? The effect is the same. They’re enabling him to do these atrocities to others.
“So, do you understand now the importance of obedience? The importance of rules? The importance of keeping me entertained?” Bok Kyu asked, leaning back in his chair. “If so, then be a good little bastard and bow your head, put your tail between your . . . Well, you don’t have a tail, so do whatever it is you do when you show submission and leave, and the next time you come in here”—he snarled—“you come in following the rules. You tell the guard who you are, why you’ve come, and how you can serve me. Do this, or what has befallen Gisaeng One, Gisaeng Two, Gisaeng Three . . . It will be a hundred times worse for your kin.”
“I’ll remember that,” Lars said, turning around and preparing to leave. The two guards still flanked him as they started to walk him outside.
Lars, what are you doing? That dude will buy your mother and treat her flesh like cow meat at a barbecue shop, letting everyone take a slice until his coffers are filled.
I know . . . Lars gulped down his anxiety as he prepared for what was next. This scumbag’s existence was one more example of why he absolutely hated this city. This man wasn’t even that strong. He was just a Stage 5 Qi-Gathering Cultivator. Even the guards were stronger than this jerk, but still weren't powerful, and yet the city had tolerated his existence. The city had just let him stay, a wound festering in the middle of it, the people around him tortured for his existence, his son tormenting others until it had culminated in Nick finally killing him . . . Life in this city was broken, and it filled Lars with rage just to think about what that monster might do to his mother. She looked young. She was still beautiful. What a fiend like him would do to a person, a living person, that could make them beg for death like that woman had was unimaginable.
“So . . .” Lars began when they were halfway through the courtyard. He summoned up his nerve and dumped 150 of the 333 points he had into Power and the remaining ones into Speed. He might not be as strong as the guards when the fight broke out, but he wanted to be as fast, if not faster, than they were. It was the only way he could see himself surviving. “What’s that on the side?”
“It’s not your place to ask questions about the master’s business,” one quickly replied.
“Really? Because, where I’m standing, it really feels like my place,” Lars said as he turned his head to look back at them while talking. “I can’t imagine there is a better time or a better place for me to be minding his business.” He activated Flame of the Pill God, which was now Level 3 due to his continuous increases in Fire Qi, and turned on the two guards flanking him. Three separate flames simultaneously shot out of his mouth as he attacked, and the men backed away in order to dodge the spurts of fire. Without space to move left or right thanks to the rows of planters, they were forced to retreat directly backward. As Lars turned, the spouts of flame ignited the herbs on the shelves, and a thick purple smoke flowed from the plants, almost as if every single leaf was a full log burning.
“You!! YOU MORON!” one of the men yelled in frustration, his large leather
y lizard tail slamming on the ground as he shouted.
“You’ve DOOMED US ALL!” the other one shouted, equally as angry.
Freaking Dad damnit, you’re immune. No buzz, no happy go lucky feeling, no joy crawling down your spine. Just a little vibration to let you know it’s poisonous. Wonderful. You’re in the middle of a happy leaf festival of fun-time activities, and it won’t even reduce your back pain after a tough day by a single notch on a scale of 1 to 100.
Wait, it’s not deadly? Lars asked, feeling a little fear as he had banked on it being actually poisonous. Why else would they be so carefully cultivating a field of herbs?
Nope. Not a lick. It’s a Qi-boosting herb that has to be fed the blood of cultivators regularly to maintain its vitality. If eaten in a baked good or drunk in a brewed product, it improves a cultivator’s Qi and gives him the same euphoric sensation you feel when you kill someone.
If that’s the case, how come “The Panda” isn’t way stronger than Stage 5? Lars wondered.
The effect is only a point or two and only lasts for half a day or so. It’s the feeling of progress that a cultivator would chase more than the actual efficacy of the drug. They’d think they were making progress, but it wouldn’t be any more long term than if they had just cultivated normally. The only caveat would be that it can be used in actual potions and contraptions, but I doubt anyone in this backwater age of alchemy would know how to make one.
So . . . all that’s going to happen . . . is they’re going to . . .
Be numb to pain, feel good, and be a very, very, very tiny bit stronger. Right.
Freaking hell. Lars immediately dashed into the farm rows, and the two guards chased after him a second later when the shock of what happened wore off.