by Charles Dean
You’d be surprised how often that level of forwardness will work, but is it your place to interfere?
If he fails, then won’t he take it out on me, the guy who gave him the bad advice?
Oh, right. And we might lose our place to stay . . . I keep forgetting how weak and insect-like you are compared to most cultivators. Just tell him you’ll help him with his cultivation if he keeps his mouth shut. We can accrue credit with him that we can cash in for favors in the best-case scenario, or in the worst-case scenario, he’ll be worth more EXP if he is a higher level.
I see . . . Not a bad idea, and at the very least, it should buy us some time . . . “Well, how about you just let me help you improve your strength then?” Lars asked. “Then you won’t have to worry about the trade as much for now. Just focus on your strength.”
“Help me improve? You? A tailless—” Matthew visibly bit his tongue as he did his best to stop his own mouth from spitting derogatory comments again. “I mean, I should know better. Your master has clearly taught you ways of strengthening yourself despite your visible lack of blood heritage.”
“You have no tact at all.” Lars sighed. “How do you expect to make it as a businessman?”
“Tact?” Matthew replied. “Tact is for liars and those who wish to ignore the truths of the world. Truths, while cruel, are obvious. Why should I lie about them? Your beast blood is so weak I can’t see a single trace of it on you. You’re clearly of low-class stock.”
This time, however, Lars didn’t take it as mockery. This idiot actually thinks that’s an okay way to talk to someone . . . He hadn’t been bullied earlier. The moron next to him simply talked as if he were better than Lars because he thought he was better than Lars.
If it had been a few days ago, would he have been wrong? He was better than you in every way back then. Even now, it’s debatable if you surpass him in anything, even strength. The only thing you have on him is a set of skills that will let you kill him with a surprise attack.
“I shall come to you later for help,” Matthew continued, giving a small bow. “I hope your master won’t mind you sharing your gifts with someone not directly under her tutelage. I will endeavor not to let your guidance go to waste.”
Say what you want about him being a moron, but he really is like a dog. It’s kind of endearing in a way.
Yeah but . . . could he not have waited until we were saying goodbye or until he had shown me the place where I was staying before saying a line like that? That’s what people say when they’re saying goodbye, he thought as the two of them continued the last stretch of their walk awkwardly.
Lars was greeted by the sight of a woman wearing plain white hanbok with her head bowed toward them as they entered the courtyard. When Matthew took his first step in, she raised her head.
“Young master Matthew, I trust your trip was fruitful and filled with many blessings?” she asked.
“It was not,” Matthew replied with a cheerful attitude. “I was scorned again, and the transaction did not go in our favor. House Se-Silla took 3% more of our cut than they should have because I wasn’t quick enough in adding up the expenses.”
“That is a shame,” the woman responded in a voice that didn’t reveal any emotion at all. “The young master will be beaten by his father once again for such a failure.”
“Definitely the case.” Matthew’s cheerful attitude didn’t fade in the least, but from the context of the conversation alone, Lars was beginning to understand a lot about both him and the society within this city.
Or is it just this clan? Lars wondered, not wanting to draw too many conclusions before he had traveled some more and seen a larger part of the city.
“Then you should wait in the main room for your beating,” the woman said. “As for . . . your two guests. Shall I throw them out for following you?”
“No, don’t do that.” Matthew quickly shook his head, holding up his hand to further emphasize the fact that doing so would not be a great idea. “He is the apprentice of Hsein Ku. His carriage was robbed, and he’ll be staying with us until his master returns to collect him.”
“Perhaps your journey outside the clan was not such a failure. I will inform the master of these details when I report to him.”
“No, you will show these two to an empty courtyard and provide them with a change of clothes before going to find my father,” he said. “I will wait in the main room.” Even though he was giving an order, it felt more like a son talking to his mother than a man talking to his servant. His voice was surprisingly warm, and he was very upbeat despite the fact it seemed like he was literally about to get beaten like a dog.
“As you wish, young master,” the woman responded before turning to Lars and bowing her head slightly. “If your lordship would be so kind as to follow me, I shall show you to your quarters. It is House Neukdaegalbi’s great honor to host the disciple of Lady Hsein Ku. May your stay be filled with as much joy as we have to host you.”
“Thank you . . .” Lars said, following her as she turned and began walking through the estate.
When they reached the place where Lars was going to be staying, he was incredibly impressed with both its size and beauty. They had passed hundreds of stalls and what felt like thousands of people on the trip to Matthew’s compound, but here in the middle of the city, there was a small open space with a little one-room house. The grounds were covered with well-kept grass, flowers, herbs, and a few trees that bloomed pretty white and pink flowers from their branches. The building’s roof was made with shiny blue-painted tiles decorated with tiny white clouds.
“This is the sky courtyard, our guest home,” the woman explained to Lars. “There are fresh clothes in the drawer next to the bed, and the bath behind the house is always heated. Please make yourselves at home. I will have servants bring you and the bed slave dinner when the sun finishes setting if you have not already eaten. I hope you find your stay most pleasant. If you grow tired of your bed slave, we have a few women that we regularly lend guests here—should the purity of the woman not matter to you.”
YES, PLEASE! Three of those women! I don’t care about purity. Just hook us up! WAIT! WAIT! Ask if they do massages. I want a massage. I NEED A MASSAGE. Dad is always going on about how good a professional massage feels compared to a normal one. YOU HAVE TO LET ME FEEL IT. I WANT A PROFESSIONAL MASSAGE, LARS!!!
Dad? He was a bit confused because, in the entirety of his knowing her, she had never once slipped a single word about her history or origins, much less one like a reference to a parent.
Ignore that. I didn’t say anything . . . but . . . did you really think I didn’t have a dad? That’s kind of rude.
There were times Lars wished that his reactions and thoughts weren’t immediately read by the voice in his head. He didn’t know if she was guilting him or what, given how passive-aggressive her tone sounded, but it succeeded. “Do any of those women provide professional massages?” Lars asked. Then, looking over at Desdemona, he felt the need to add, “I hate asking, as she is normally all that is needed, but she lacks certain skills.”
“Of course,” the woman replied, nodding her head. “It is admirable that you need to justify needing a second servant.”
For a moment, Lars thought he felt a little happiness in her tone. “There is little purpose in failing to recognize how valuable every servant is,” Lars said, thinking he’d play along. “This one . . . I owe her my life in a way.”
“You seem much like the young master Matthew, who has refused his father’s wishes to set him up with practice girls before his marriage,” the servant remarked. Then she paused. “I have spoken too much.”
“No, speak further,” Lars insisted. He hadn’t once taken Matthew for a chaste man, especially given his pragmatic, blunt attitude, even as far as women were concerned. “What is your relationship with your young master?”
“He is my son, and I will let the staff know that you would like a professional massage after your dinner.” She gave a quick bow an
d then left before Lars could ask another question.
“Her son.” Lars stood shocked as the words repeated in his head and spilled out of his mouth. “How can a woman be a servant to her own son?”
“It wasn’t uncommon in the sect,” Desdemona commented. “The more powerful the cultivator, the less likely it is for his seed to take root without the assistance of duo cultivation techniques, but it still happens. If a cultivator’s seed takes root with a servant, both of them are usually discarded. The only time this isn’t the case is if the offspring shows strong physical attributes indicative of inheriting the superior bloodline. Matthew likely showed promise at birth, so the father kept him around just in case something happened to the other heirs.”
“So he was garbage? Set to be tossed aside if he didn’t have those ears, that white hair, and that ridiculous tail of his . . . and his and his mother’s existence both depend on his success?”
“That is the gist of it,” Desdemona agreed.
“So getting beaten by his father for even the slightest failure . . .”
“It is probably a very common occurrence,” Desdemona answered before Lars could ask.
“Freaking hell.” Lars sighed as he walked into the courtyard. He didn’t know what to make of everything. He had planned on merely using Matthew and then listening to the voice in his head if needed, but now he was unsure. He could feel Matthew’s pain. He too had been plagued by the conditions of his birth and constantly on edge, but because of his mother’s love and the fact he didn’t have a father, much less an abusive and demanding one, his life hadn’t been as harsh as it could have been. For years, every day had been relatively calm and peaceful and often filled with delicious krowenberry milkshakes from Anneliese’s shop. This guy, the poor sap, had likely spent every day in fear, constantly worried about when he would get beaten again as he toiled away endlessly toward a goal he couldn't achieve.
“He really . . . must . . . get with Mishil,” Lars thought aloud as he finished disrobing and sank into the four-and-a-half-foot deep stone bath that was heated by some magical rock in the middle.
Desdemona, who looked a little nervous, just shrugged, disrobed, and hopped into the bath with Lars, nodding as well. “Yeah, he must indeed, but if he tells it like that to her, he’s screwed, ain’t he?”
“Didn’t want to wait until I was finished?” Lars asked.
“No. Gods, no. I can’t wait for another minute. I trust you to do me the courtesy of not staring, but if you do, what can I do about it? I’m just the bed slave.”
“Well, if you’re a bed slave, I’m missing parts of my memory because I don’t remember us sharing one,” Lars replied.
“Did you see more than one bed in the villa room as we headed to the bath?” she asked.
He thought about it a moment and remembered the low dining table on the floor, the tea sets, the cabinets where the clothes were, and where the towel was, but he didn’t remember more than a single bed pressed against the wall such that the foot of the bed pointed east.
“This is the part where you usually offer to sleep on the floor to protect my maidenhood,” Desdemona said.
“Yeah, that part just doesn’t come after the part where your sect tried to kill or enslave everyone in my village,” Lars snapped back, glaring at her. Even though they had gone through a lot together, he wouldn’t let her forget about that fact—and he wouldn’t forget about it either. “You can share the bed with me, or you can sleep on the floor, but I want to sleep on the bed tonight.”
“Fine,” she harrumphed.
Ha! I’m so proud of you. I had, for a moment, thought you’d cave in to her ridiculous request just because she was born the fairer sex. Good on you for pushing equality.
I’m not pushing equality. I just meant what I said. Though you already know that.
I do.
“So what’s your gameplan if that woman . . . Hsein Ku, who seems so famous in this empire, actually appears? How are you going to lie your way out of it?” Desdemona asked.
“You should learn to keep quiet,” Lars warned. “I don’t know what tricks this house they lent us holds. For all you know, they can hear what we say and see where we are.”
He didn’t know if any of that was actually true, but it seemed like a convenient way to get Desdemona to be quiet and stop nagging him with her worries. If it hadn’t been for the fact that her presence somehow ensured that he was recognized as someone with status—a status that had already netted him a comfortable heated bath, fresh clothes, and a bed to sleep on—then he might have discarded her already. He had thought about it a few times. He could just command her to never speak to him or of him again and to hide her slave collar, and that would be that. He wouldn’t have to deal with her.
“Anyway,” Lars began, deciding to think out loud, “that’s not the real problem. The real problem is . . . who am I going to kill?”
We could just go through the streets at night, popping a few people in the kidney with Knife Hand and start racking up some Qi. Why think too much about it? This city, in all its glory, is still just EXP to be farmed.
Any real suggestions? Lars asked, knowing she knew full well that he wouldn’t kill anyone that was innocent or undeserving of death. He just couldn’t bring himself to be like the monsters that had taken away his comfortable life.
“Doesn’t Matthew’s family run a mercenary group? There is also the army. If you’re really feeling bloodthirsty after our adventures, why don’t you just join one of those? You could even become an assassin! Or a patrolman, killing the criminals that plague the city,” Desdemona suggested with a laugh.
Lars couldn’t help but think about what she was saying. That note earlier . . . it did say that the city guard is down ninety-two recruits . . . If there was one thing the military was good for, especially from the stories that the warriors in his old town had told, it was for killing. “It’ll be hard to join any of those organizations, given the person I’m currently pretending to be,” Lars whispered. “If they see me showing up after playing the rich young master of a famous alchemist, think they’ll take me seriously?”
Desdemona leaned back. “Well, I’d say you could also join a sect . . . Inside one of those, killing happens all the time. As long as you don’t kill anyone of value or importance, no one will be the wiser.”
“Yeah, no,” Lars quickly replied, shooting the idea down. She wasn’t wrong. It might actually be the perfect place, but it wasn’t for him.
“Wait . . .” Her eyes lit up. “Do you have to kill people?”
“Not that I know. Why?” he replied, his ears perking up. If he could avoid killing people and still find a way to get stronger, that would be the ideal situation. There was no dream better than that. Though, without her even saying anything, he could feel his master’s disappointment at the concept.
“Because monsters still exist, right? We fought a few, but there are definitely more outside the city. Under the guise of being an alchemist, couldn’t you take missions to go find monster parts?
Lars shook his head. He had already experienced the great outdoors, the wilderness, and the struggle for survival. He would avoid it again if he could at any reasonable cost. “Yeah, but do you really want to go wading through the woods just hoping to run into one? And even if we do, it won’t exactly be the best scenario, will it?”
Desdemona nodded. “So how many things, people, or monsters do you need to kill exactly? Maybe we could start from there.”
“If I go by the little voice in my head . . . this entire town,” Lars replied with a chuckle.
“Could you do it?” Desdemona asked. “With your, uhh . . . with your master’s help, could you kill this entire town?”
Yes. Absolutely. We just gotta start small, a few women and children that have never picked up a weapon in their lives, and work our way up from there. By the time we reach anyone who is a real challenge, we can have that Knife Hand skill so high we could one-shot anyone! Let’s do it!
This girl knows what’s up! Give us a month, and we’ll have your mother saved in no time!
Calm down, dammit, Lars thought, hushing her. “That’s beside the point,” he said to Desdemona. “I’m not going to just randomly kill people.”
“Well . . . if you want to kill people that deserve to die, that guard post may be your best bet. You could better the city and kill people at the same time. Although . . .” She stopped and looked down into the water.
“Although what?” Lars asked.
“I just . . . you know that criminals aren’t always the ones that deserve to die, right? In my sect, there was a spoiled brat—a third-generation heir of our sect master. He was weak as could be, but the number of women he abused, the number of people whose lives he ruined . . . They were too many to count. But as far as sect law went? He was as innocent and pure as a newborn baby.”
Lars sank deep into thought. There were a dozen ways just doing that could turn out horribly wrong. He could end up the puppet of someone who was even worse than the leader of the sect that drove him into this corner. He didn’t know what to do, and as he stewed in the bath like a frog, turning redder as the heat soaked into him, he realized that he was completely lost as to his next steps.
“You think we have to show up for dinner? Like, are they actually going to bring our food, or are they expecting us at the family meal?” Desdemona asked.
“Huh?” Lars looked over at her, a little confused. He actually didn’t know the answer.
“I mean, we have time to do whatever we want till dinner, right? That should be a couple of hours, right?”
“You’re not still hungry, are you?” Lars sighed. “Didn’t you scarf down all the meat you were carrying this afternoon?”
She slowly cast her eyes downward again to the now slightly reddish water that had been slowly filling with the blood and dirt that had seemingly seeped into the fibers of their beings during their travels. “I’m not hungry. I’m just . . . I was wondering if you had anything for me to do? Otherwise, I think I might nap here.”
