Death's Favorite Warlock

by Charles Dean

  “I do . . .” Lars quickly said, frowning at the two. “You want to go take all the gold and run, right?”

  “Yes! That is the plan,” Birkett replied. “Come on, we agreed—”

  “But what are you going to do when someone stronger than you, or even me, sees you with a bunch of gold and decides to kill you all where you stand just to take the money?” Lars asked. Lars wasn’t actually worried about their lives but was thinking instead that he needed the money. The auction would happen, and he wanted enough cash to purchase the villagers from his hometown that had been enslaved or at the very least save his mother, so his brain kicked into full gear as he began trying to talk them out of taking everything.

  Ben gulped. “In this town . . . he’s not wrong.”

  “Yeah . . .” Birkett frowned. “As long as no one knew how much money we have, we’d be fine, but if one person found out we had Bok Kyu’s whole stash of gold . . . we’d be dead before nightfall.”

  “But . . . Bok Kyu was safe, right?” Lars pointed out. “He did horrendous things and had money everyone knew about, but he was safe, right?”

  “Yeah . . .” The two of them nodded as Birkett began to think out loud. “Because he didn’t have enough wealth to attract the Qi-Condensing Cultivators, and he had enough power, with those four women of his, to protect against anyone that wasn’t a Qi-Condensing Cultivator . . .”

  “Oh, and the drugs. People needed the operation to stay intact for the drugs . . .” Ben pointed out. “He had a lot of powerful clientele that loved his merchandise . . . which won’t be produced anymore thanks to you killing all the farmers.”

  “Can’t you hire new farmers?” Lars asked.

  “I mean, we could. He has enough gold that we could find some . . . potentially buy up some poor slaves to do it for us,” Ben said. “Working a farm has to be better than getting executed because no one wants to buy you.”

  “Right . . .” Lars nodded. “Well, I have a plan, but it’s going to require some help from a few friends. Why don’t we go check to see if there are any willing to lend a hand.”

  I love how brave you are sometimes, Lars. Most people would be so scared that, the moment they opened that door, the newly freed slaves might rebel and kill you, stamping out your existence on the spot just because of the murderous rage that being stuck as a silent mannequin to a messed-up monster for years had left them with. You? No fear at all. You just waltz right in like there is no potential for a grim consequence whatsoever.

  Lars frowned. Well . . . I wasn’t afraid initially. Why did you have to remind me?

  Why can’t I just like your flustered reactions when I point out the obvious horrible trap that could be waiting?

  Sometimes, I don’t know with you . . . Lars sighed as he walked over to the door leading to the main hall, the hall where his dreams had been raised and crushed and would now once more be raised if he played his cards right. The door slowly creaked open, and he could hear crying and wailing coming from within. He looked through to see two women, Gisaeng One and Gisaeng Two, still standing perfectly still where they had been before and the others moving about. Two of them were pulling at Gisaeng Two’s arms, trying to get her to move, but clearly not using enough force to topple the still woman over, and another one was on the ground, holding the head of the dead girl, Jennifer. Lars had never seen what happened when a slave died, but he understood it immediately as he looked at the woman. The head had been separated exactly where the slave collar had been. The slave collar, upon the death of the master, must have detonated or exploded or magically cut through flesh. Something had sent the head toppling five to ten feet from the rest of the corpse, where the woman now held it with two others comforting her and holding her at the same time.

  “How are we still alive?” the one who held the woman’s head asked.

  “That would . . . That would be me,” Lars replied from across the massive hall, raising his hand and smiling. “Though, apologies that my skill isn’t perfect. Can’t save everyone.” He tried not to sound a little upbeat, but it was hard to feel entirely down when the sensation of the Qi having entered him following Bok Kyu’s and Jennifer’s deaths was still lingering in his body, not having entirely faded.

  “How . . . How can you?” the girl holding the head asked.

  “What?” one of the girls pulling at Gisaeng Two’s arms asked.

  “You’re stronger than before?” It was both a statement and a question from one of the two women comforting the girl holding Jennifer’s head.

  “You . . . You freed us?” the woman beside her asked.

  Lars didn’t know which one of the questions to respond to, having been bombarded with four all at once with the women practically talking over each other as they assailed him with queries.

  “First, how about we start with . . . Gisaeng One, Gisaeng Two . . . you can move freely now,” he said. Unfortunately, it didn’t work.

  “Gisaeng” is a title; it’s not a name. It basically means courtesan or something similar. It’s hard to explain, but it’s a word to describe someone, not their name. You have to issue an order that is clearly meant for them to obey. If they knew you were talking to them, it might work, but the sobbing and confusion and the fact you’re not actually using their names might be stopping the words from working . . . though I am just guessing. I don’t get it.

  Okay . . . Lars frowned. He didn’t understand how “Gisaeng One” or “Gisaeng Two” wouldn’t be clearly referring to them. If they could hear him, they should know they were the only two people in the room he could be referring to.

  “Any woman that can hear my voice, you are free to move as you like and talk as you like.” Lars modified his order so that it would encompass everyone. He didn’t expect that even after saying those words, they still wouldn’t move.

  It was at this point that one of the women that had been trying to help Gisaeng Two grabbed something from underneath the throne Bok Kyu had been sitting on earlier and rushed over to Lars. “You need this,” she said as she handed it to him. “Please tell me you can use it. It’s the only way someone who isn’t Bok Kyu can talk to them.”

  “Huh?” Lars looked down at what he had been handed: a pad with some paper and a large black piece of charcoal to write on it with.

  Oh, wow. So it wasn’t the title that was wrong. They have just been ordered to not hear anyone talking to them that isn’t Bok Kyu. He really did deserve to die. Good job with that.

  Thanks . . . Lars said as he scribbled out a message: “Your body is your own. Use it as you please from now on.” He didn’t know if the message would work, but he could only hope as he rushed over to where they were and showed each of them the note. The second they saw it, they practically collapsed on the spot, gasping, panting, and stretching their legs.

  “FREEEE!!!” Gisaeng Two said. “I’m finally free! OH MY GOD! THIS FEELS AMAZING!”

  “We’re not free yet,” Gisaeng One replied sternly. “We still have a master, and only time will tell if he will be crueler than the last one.”

  “Hey, give me some credit.” Lars frowned as he studied their eyes. He could see murderous intent, and he knew that at least Gisaeng One was deciding whether or not killing Lars would be better than continuing life as a slave.

  Given what they went through, can you blame them? Don’t worry though. Slave laws are strict; they can’t hurt their master, remember?

  Right. Lars gulped down his anxiety and continued talking. “I’ve just saved you from a life of . . . whatever you were going through. Doesn’t that matter somewhat?”

  “It does,” one of the freed women said as she came up behind Lars, putting a hand on his back. “Thank you so much. I couldn’t stand another minute of that terrible fate. Thank you so, so much.”

  “What she said,” the girl who had fetched the paper and charcoal said as she hugged Lars. “I haven’t seen my family in what feels like forever. I thought I would die in this damnable place.”

 
“Umm . . . you want us to, uhh, wait outside?” Birkett asked from behind Lars.

  “Yeah, we can totally leave,” Ben added.

  “No, no, hold on,” Lars said, waving his hand for them to come closer. “Look, I know you guys have a lot to process. This probably isn’t how you expected your day to go, and you all have just lost someone I assume was a dear comrade in a troubling time.” Lars turned to look at the three women grieving Jennifer’s death. Even though they had stopped crying to look at him and listen to him, they were clearly still traumatized. “But I’m going to need to ask a favor of you all. It won’t be an order for you two.” Lars indicated the two women who hadn’t managed to escape slavery. “It will be a favor I’m asking of all of you, and it’s something I think will be in your best interest.”

  “What is it?” the charcoal and paper girl asked, her eyes narrowing.

  Lars had a feeling she was the take-charge kind, not just from her actions, but her mannerisms and tone. “I kind of need help with this compound. You see”—Lars held up his hands as if he were defeated—“I may have accidentally murdered the previous owner, and yet . . . there still needs to be a flow of product. Cultivators are going to still attempt anything to gain a breakthrough, which means these drugs will still be in high demand . . . but I don’t want to manage them. I was hoping that maybe you ladies and these two gentlemen behind me could take over the operations.”

  “You want us to continue slaving here for you?” the woman next to the charcoal girl, the one who had been tugging on Gisaeng Two’s arms with her earlier, asked as her eyes flared up in fury.

  “Slaving? No, slaving is when you’re not paid. Slaving is when you don’t have a choice. I’m asking you to take over. You all went through the worst life had to offer for this place, why should you give it up just because the bastard who owned you died? How many years did you sweat so you could be strong enough to protect this place? How many times did you suffer in service for this place? How could you want to walk away from it so easily? If it were me . . . I’d demand my fair share,” Lars said. “And that’s all I’m offering you guys, your fair share . . .” He tried to sound as nonchalant about the offer as possible. “But hey, if you don’t want it, if you want to walk out of here without even clothes on your backs to show for the forced servitude you had to endure, for the friend you lost, for the years you’ll never get back, I won’t stop you. I’ll even help find you a little money to take with you and recommend some places to stay. Birkett, you know places to stay if they want to leave, right?”

  “I . . . of course I do,” Birkett quickly responded as if he caught onto exactly what Lars was after. “I’m sure with the money we can find around here, we can afford to put them up for a few nights at the finest places in the entire town until they get a job and are back on their feet of course. I know just the people to talk to. I mean, after all, the money we’ll make running this enterprise . . . it’s going to easily be enough to cover them for a bit until they find a job at some tavern or working as a bodyguard for some noble or doing good labor in the fields as a constructor or farmer.”

  Thank you, Birkett. Lars felt incredibly happy that this guy knew exactly what to say. He had planned on pointing all of those things out, but he was an outsider. If he said it, it wouldn’t fully register. Birkett was someone who had been stuck as a grunt with Bok Kyu. They had to have seen him. They had to have known he had spent his life doing menial labor here, and so he was likely in a similar—though definitely not as bad—situation as they were. Lars couldn’t help but hope that that type of camaraderie had built the trust needed for his words to be taken seriously.

  “I don’t want to be a tavern wench again,” the girl who had snapped at Lars earlier, accusing him of turning them back into slaves, said. “You said . . . we can get paid well here?”

  “Hey, you don’t have to look at me. I’m not your master,” he said. “If you want to work here, it’d be great. I think it’s an operation you all can run. I have weight with Princess Hsein Ku as her only disciple, so I can legitimize your ventures here, but that’s all you’ll need me for, my name. The rest is up to you.”

  “What’s in it for you though?” charcoal girl pressed. “Why are you feeling so generous as to offer us this opportunity rather than rush us out the door? If you were smart, you wouldn’t have used your skill to save us, but rather you would have killed us and taken everything. Why are you doing this? That skill of yours, the one that spared us, it must have consumed a great deal of stamina for you to use it, or been incredibly difficult, as I’ve never heard of anything like it . . . But you did it for strangers like us. Why? And why did you leave Su and Yoon-Ah as slaves?”

  Lars mulled over how to answer the question. The girl wasn’t wrong. Keeping them alive was incredibly important, but their deaths would have made things a lot, lot easier for him. He wouldn’t have to be negotiating here. To them, he could have spared the effort, killed Ben and Birkett, and hired a staff of fresh people to manage the area for him. He didn’t need them. He didn’t even need to save them.

  “Because . . .” He thought for a moment as he stared at her. “I’m not strong enough. I had enough power to free you all, but even using that power I was still too weak to prevent . . .” He looked over at Jennifer’s body. “I still was too weak to save her. I wanted to free you all, but”—he sniffled, wiping a tear that didn’t exist from his eye—“I couldn’t. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He sniffled again. “I really did want to save you all . . . I really, really did.” Lars had no idea if his performance was working well enough, but the words weren’t fake. If he had his way, none of them would have stayed slaves. None of them would have died. No matter how he felt about Desdemona, he hated having someone as a slave, and now he was stuck with two more.

  “Uhh . . .” Birkett blanked, putting a hand on Lars’s shoulder. “Uhh . . . there, there, man?” he said, trying to comfort Lars. “You can’t murder your way to saving everyone. These . . . These things happen?”

  “Yeah . . . you keep that psycho stuff up, and one day you won’t lose anyone,” Ben said.

  The girls, on the other hand, seemed less convinced at first. Maybe it was a gender thing. Maybe it was a reticence to trust anyone after what they’d been through. Lars didn’t know, but he could tell his performance hadn’t completely sold them.

  “Is that why . . . your first command was to let us do whatever we want? You don’t want us as slaves?” Gisaeng Two, or Yoon-Ah, said.

  Lars didn’t respond; he just nodded.

  “If you’re so broken up about this, why did you seem so cheerful a moment ago?” the charcoal girl asked. “What’s really going on? What do you want out of us? Is it that you were too weak to free us all or that you were too weak to keep us all as slaves?”

  “LOOK!” Lars decided to let his anger out, wiping away a few fake tears and some snot. “This whole thing is hard for me! Okay? I don’t want to deal with this stuff any more than you want to be the victim of it, but I have to. Right now, as we speak, my mother is being marched toward an auction tomorrow to be sold off like cattle to some highest bidder. Every person I grew up with, my friends, my family—if they weren’t slaughtered—are now being treated as possessions by a bunch of bastards, and I have to find a way to raise money to save them. I have to save them. I can’t let them die, and I can’t let them live their lives worse than pigs waiting to be slaughtered as they spend their days without free will. So am I a little broken up about this? Yeah, I am. Okay? Am I trying to put on a tough front? Am I trying my best to pretend like everything is okay and like I have a plan? Yeah. I am. Okay? I just . . . I just want to make it through tomorrow, save the people I love, and have a little bit of land that’s well managed for them to retire on instead of leaving them stuck in servitude.”

  Lars didn’t even need to guess or wait for their response. He could tell his speech had worked. All of them looked devastated. Their giant eyes were like those of puppy dogs as they star
ed at him.

  I hate that your tongue is so effective. I wish you were half as good a fighter as you are a talker and half as decisive at killing as you are with these inane plans of yours.

  Oh, come off it. You don’t really hate this . . . Lars replied to Ophelia, doing his best not to smirk in response to her and ruin the charade he was building as he mixed heavy amounts of truth with just the minimum amount of lies needed.

  Well . . . no. I suppose you wouldn’t be you if you didn’t act like that.

  And you wouldn’t be you if you didn’t nag me about killing every time we talked. Lars had to work even harder to suppress a smile, furrowing his brow unnecessarily as he did his best to keep a rigid, semi-forlorn face.

  “We heard Bok Kyu’s words earlier . . . So, this is the guy?” the charcoal girl sighed. “I’m sorry for doubting you. It’s just . . . good guys don’t show up. The legendary tales of the soldier who saves the day . . . they’ve always been just fantasies. I didn’t expect someone to actually show up and rescue us, unless it was a family member.”

  “And her family probably still has no idea where she is . . .” Su, or Gisaeng One, said. “None of our families would know. None of our friends would. Here we are, standing . . . visible for all to see, and yet no one came for us.”

  “If they did, you might have been made to kill them, and rescuing you might have led to your death,” Lars pointed out. “There was no good ending as far as they could know. They might not have helped you not because they didn’t want to, but because they couldn’t. Bok Kyu was, after all, a monster.”

  “A bastard.” Charcoal, as Lars was starting to think of her, spat at the ground.

  “Easy. He’s dead now,” one of the women said. It was hard to tell which. They were all dressed the same, and they all moved the same. Other than their faces and hair colors, they had no distinguishable features either: even their bodies were nearly identical in shape. Then the speaker came forward and hugged Charcoal from behind. “We don’t have to ever go through that again.”