by Charles Dean
When he turned to go check on his friend, wondering what had become of him since Lars had been forced to handle the entire fight by himself, he found the reason why Nick was entirely absent from the fight. There, in the middle of the alley, bleeding out and doing his best to hold the wound tight, was Nick.
“Ha . . . ha ha ha.” Nick’s laugh, forced to the point of looking painful, echoed as Lars met his gaze. “Looks like you got ‘em . . . old buddy . . . old pal. Think . . . Think we can make it to a temple for healing? It’s only . . . It’s only a few blocks . . .” Nick could barely get the words out, and the wound looked rather bad. Lars noticed the dagger lodged in Nick was doing something to Nick every few seconds that caused a little more blood to spurt. The Qi, magic, or whatever it was on the dagger prevented Nick from removing it, and it also seemed to be dealing a steady damage-over-time effect.
“I’m sorry.” Lars frowned as he walked over to Nick.
He’s even worse off than the kids you mercy shanked at your village. Why are you hesitating this time? Do it before he finishes dying from that magic dagger. You don’t know how much longer he has. If he dies without you finishing him off . . . just think of all that lost stat point potential.
But he’s right: the temple is close . . . Lars shifted Nick, only to cause the dagger to flare the injury even further.
“Ack!! Ge . . . Gen— Gentle—” Nick could barely speak at this point.
Lars. If you won’t do it for the EXP, do it just to be a good buddy.
I . . . I really hate this, Lars said as he used Knife Hand to stab Nick in the right temple, quickly finishing him off.
Congratulations. You have successfully killed Nick. You have gained 38 stat points. Your elemental affinity with Earth Qi has increased by 20.
Well, that didn’t feel gross and disturbing at all, Lars thought after the joy of gaining more Qi faded. Even if it was one of the best sensations he could experience, he still felt disgusting afterward. A mercy killing may have been right—it may have been “putting them out of their misery” when Lars helped kill off those villagers and now Nick—but it still felt awful having to do it. He was starting to hate the world for forcing him to be this way.
Lars, he began this chain of events. Over a skewer, remember? He bragged about it. He boasted about his actions. Don’t feel bad. Don’t beat yourself up. There is an order in the world, an order that keeps the world turning, and it’s also an order that will violently protect itself against anyone or anything that tries to change it. Nick’s life was forfeit one way or another the moment he tried to break that order.
Haven’t I already started breaking that order though? Lars asked, thinking back to his actions as he recalled all the things that led him to this alley and how he had met Nick to begin with.
You’re still coloring within the lines. You’re still safe for now.
Gee, thanks. Lars shook his head as he started to turn around, eager to leave the alley and make his way to the temple. However, he was also thinking about changing direction and heading back to the courtyard to get fresh clothes and wash off the blood first, worried that his current appearance might prevent anyone from talking to him seriously or, even worse, might invite real harm upon him.
WAIT! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!
Ophelia’s panicked voice stopped Lars right where he was. He quickly turned back and forth as he tried to figure out what he had done and what danger he had placed himself in. When he didn’t notice anything, he quickly asked for assistance: What’s going on? What’s happening? What do I need to do?
Go get the freaking loot! What’s wrong with you? Magic, freaking dagger. It’s a magic, freaking dagger! And that girl was a mercenary who ran a little squad all on her own. Do you think she has nothing? Why aren’t you searching bodies? Ugh! Lars, don’t do this to me. Learn the formula: harvest the EXP, take the loot, process the parts, and turn in the quests.
But . . . there weren’t any quests? Lars thought for a moment, but looking back at Nick creased an even deeper frown across his face than he thought possible. You have got to be kidding me . . .
Last time I checked, you weren’t rich enough to avoid turning in quests before traveling to the next zone.
Fine, fine, fine, Lars huffed. He didn’t know if he was telling Ophelia things were fine or if he was repeating the word to build his nerve. Regardless, he summed up the willpower and checked the mercenaries’ bodies.
Can’t believe you almost skipped out on the looting. Some days, I think that, even after all the time we’ve been together, I don’t even know you. Loot is sometimes the most important part of life.
Will you stop it already? I’m looting, okay? Lars shot back as he finished rummaging through the woman’s belongings. All in all, he was able to scrounge up 67 gold pieces, 147 silver pieces, 20 throwing daggers, the magic dagger that he had pulled out of Nick, 2 bounty scrolls rolled up, and a large leather sack, the exact purpose of which Lars sadly knew the moment he picked it up: to hold the head of the bounty so it wasn’t completely on display as they walked through town.
He was a little comforted by the fact they had so much money on them. It meant the sob story Xerxes had told when he begged Lars to spare his life might not have been true. There was still the possibility they had to take that contract, but the probability it was true being a little lower meant a little less weight on his shoulders.
So, what was this guy’s name?
Bok Kyu. Remember? Nick was bragging about stabbing—or, well, shanking—someone who called him worthless all over a two-copper kebab. He said the man was second-generation wealth, so that means Bok Kyu is first generation.
Which means he didn’t come from a large family. He probably started in the streets and grew his wealth, Lars thought, trying to imagine what type of person he was about to run into if he really did turn in the bounty. Given the adventures he had experienced so far in this town, carrying Nick’s head into this Bok Kyu’s compound might net him a ton of money, but there was also a very strong possibility it might get him killed too.
Stop worrying about it. How can you be so tense when there is still that beautiful lingering tingle of stat points coursing through you. Beautiful, wonderful Qi. I mean, I’ve always liked it when things die, but I had no idea when I made this contract with your father that this particular aspect of our journey would be so wonderfully pleasant. I almost feel bad for how little he got out of the deal and what happened to him.
What happened to him? Lars blinked. What do you mean, “what happened to him”? Is he okay? Where is he?
Oh, your father? Do you really want to know what became of the man?
Don’t tease me. You're the one who started talking about what happened to him. You can’t leave me hanging like that. You have to tell me. What happened? Ophelia, what happened to him? Is he okay?!
Why are you acting like it would matter one way or the other to you if he was or wasn’t? It’s not like in two decades you once left home to find him . . . or even asked your mother about him. If he’s alive and next door, would it change your life at all? Oh well, if you absolutely must know, he’s dead. Dead as a doornail. No resurrection. Game over. And his loot is unsalvageable for all intents and purposes now.
He’s . . . dead? Lars dropped the bag holding Nick’s head. He didn’t know his father at all. He never met the man. His father was, like Ophelia pointed out, not even so much as a blip on his radar; but, for some reason, knowing that he was dead still hurt. He felt it to his bones, and he could feel his eyes stinging. He didn’t know why though. He couldn’t put his finger on it as he began to wonder: if his father were still alive, would he have ever met him? Would his father have stayed with his mother? Would he and his father have fished together or done some activity together when he was growing up? Would he have been like every other kid in the village, able to laugh and bond with the man who helped bring him into the world?
Who knows, but . . . Hey, cheer up. It’s not like you lost anything
today. You're no different right now than you were this morning except you’re stronger and more powerful and have a lot more loot on you. So why are you sad? Don’t . . . Don’t . . . Don’t be sad. Lars, Lars . . . don’t do that. Don’t be sad, Lars. Lars . . . listen to me. Why aren’t you listening to me?
Quest: Don’t be sad.
Objective: Just stop it, Lars. Don’t cry.
Quest Reward: I’ll think of something. Just don’t cry.
Lars . . .
The voice kept repeating herself, but Lars just stood there, taking in the air as he did his best to process the news he had received. He would have sat down if there were a chair. He would have sat on the ground if it weren’t covered in barely melted ice, a urine-smelling stink, and blood puddles.
I need a drink. The words formed in his head as he gave up for a moment and let his feet pull him, one after the other, out of the alley—out of the place where he had heard the news that crushed him. He hoped some alcohol or a change in scenery or anything would make him feel a little better.
Chapter 9
Name: Lars
Level: 5
Power: 320
Speed: 729
Fortitude (HP): 447
Resistance: 320
Unspent: 333
Elemental Abilities
Wind Qi: 270
Earth Qi: 246
Ice Qi: 237
Fire Qi:196
Water Qi: 115
Metal Qi: 102
Toxin Qi: 32
Wood Qi: 16
Unassigned Qi: 85
Abilities
[10] Advanced Reading Level 2 [12,598/2,000,000 Words Read]
[10] Knife Hand Level 2 [1/10 Unaware Combatants Killed]
[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!
Don’t be sad.
Despite the fact Ophelia had stopped telling him to just “not be sad” over and over again, Lars could feel her presence like it was breathing down his neck as he took one step after the other toward his destination. The man who could have changed his entire life if he had known him, someone who brought him into the world but whom he never got a chance to meet, was dead, and he was just finding out about it now. He did his best not to let it bother him.
“This Bok Kyu’s place?” Lars asked the two people holding halberds standing at attention outside of a courtyard large enough to take up an entire block and dwarf the Neukdaegalbi home. It was also much more colorful, as if advertising its wealth with walls that shone like silver and gold in the sunlight.
“What’s it to you?” the guard to the left of the door said, his eyes slowly descending to the bag Lars was carrying.
“As you can see, I have business,” Lars replied, his eyes trying to take in both men at once. They were each dog-blooded cultivators with golden-colored tails, but they showed no other signs besides that, their blood not being strong enough to differentiate them from any other common canine-blooded cultivator.
“Did the business have a name?” the guard asked.
“Unless you’re the one doling out the bounty, the business I have ain’t your business,” Lars snapped. He knew the guard was likely just doing his job, but in the back of his head, another voice was whispering, “What if the guard finds out what you’re carrying and leads you into a trap so that he can claim the bounty instead?”
The man stared at Lars for a few minutes but then huffed and then relented. “Fine, I’ll see you in,” he said, opening the gate and motioning with a hand for Lars to go in.
Lars, not wanting to expose his back to anyone, nodded his head and gestured for the man to go in front of him.
The man scowled but eventually gave in, and the two of them walked into the compound. The inside was also night-and-day different than Neukdaegalbi’s place. Whereas the home of Neukdaegalbi was mostly just empty space, walls, and living quarters, there was nothing wasted inside this compound. The courtyard could easily have been called a farm instead. The space that wasn’t a walkway was occupied by rows and rows of an oddly styled garden. There were planters suspended about two and a half feet off the ground, and they were perhaps a foot deep with different herbs and flowers growing on top. Underneath each was another identical planter filled with odd mushrooms growing out of hollowed-out pieces of wood with holes in the sides of them. There was only enough spacing between the rows for a single person to walk, and Lars spotted a few workers as they passed through who appeared to be tending to the herbs, cutting the leaves, trimming the mushrooms, and occasionally taking red liquid from a strange bucket and pouring it on top of the herbs. That . . . That can’t be blood, can it? Lars thought as he tried to make out what it was that was being dumped on the plants.
“Keep your eyes focused ahead of you,” the guard warned. “See the wrong thing, and you might wind up dead.”
That’s comforting, Lars thought, keeping his gaze more focused. Even though the guard leading him was barely a Stage 3 Qi-Gathering Cultivator, he didn’t think the threat was without merit. Whatever was going on in here, it was not something that Lars wanted to get involved in, at least not with the meager power he had at his disposal. For all he knew, some almighty, massively overpowered Qi-Condensing Cultivator was watching his every move.
He was let into the main hall, where there were a few desks set up with people working behind them and a second large room with a rather fat man who had patches of both white and black skin. The corpulent man was seated on a cushioned chair, leaning back and looking at a paper in his hand. He was flanked on either side by two rows of women. There were four women in each row, and each was dressed in only a pleated forest-green skirt. They wore no tops, putting their slave collars on display. Each stared at her counterpart in the opposing row, making them look more like statues than people. When the adipose gentleman spotted Lars, his eyes went from Lars to the bag holding Nick’s head and then back to Lars. He smiled.
“King’s Day has come early,” the man said. He motioned for Lars to come closer, and two guards that Lars hadn’t even noticed came out of the woodwork behind him. “You can go now, Timothy. My front door will be cold without you.”
“Yes, Master Bok Kyu,” replied the guard that had walked Lars in, giving a deep bow before leaving.
“Wait!” the large man called out, stopping Timothy before he could finish turning around.
“Yes, Master Bok Kyu?”
“Make sure to grab a beer for you and your companion on the way out. I hear the sun is rather mean today—a cold beverage should help you handle that,” Bok Kyu said.
“Thank you, Master Bok Kyu,” the guard repeated, giving another bow and leaving.
“So, do you know what my favorite part of this encounter is?” Bok Kyu said, turning his attention back to Lars.
“The—”
“The mystery of it,” he said before Lars could even get a second word out. “It’s the mystery of it all. Here I was having a normal, predictable day when a man whose face I’ve never seen shows up unannounced. Not only that, but he had to have bullied my poor guard; otherwise, someone would have announced him before he opened that door. To make matters even more interesting, this man is carrying a bag holding something the size and shape of a head. Great, isn’t it? So now, I get to piece together the mystery and try to figure out who and what has happened, making this day . . . much, much less predictable than it was a moment ago.”
“Glad I could be of—”
“No, no, you don’t talk yet,” Bok Kyu interrupted again. “The more you speak, the more clues you’ll give. That’ll take the fun out of it . . .” He smiled as he stood up, handed the paper that was in his hand to the girl on his right, and began walki
ng forward. At the same time, the two guards walked Lars to the middle of the room.
“No beast ears, no beast eyes, no odd patch of fur,” Bok Kyu said to himself. “Not even a visible tail . . . But that doesn’t mean you didn’t have one, or you do . . . Oh. I know. There was a rumor of a man who broke a few prisoners out, a man without a tail! That makes you . . . Lars!” the man proclaimed gleefully. “Tell me if I’m right! I’m right, aren’t I? I’m never wrong about these things. Go ahead. Nod if I got your name correct.”
Lars nodded. I’ve only been in town for a day, maybe not even twenty-four hours. Lars was a little shocked at how easily his identity had been guessed.
“I must say, you have done me a world of favor, but you’ve also ruined one of my surprises. If you’re Lars, then that bag”—he pointed to the headhunter’s sack Lars was carrying—“must be Nick. I can, after all, already see what happened. You tried to use Hsein Ku’s name to bust Nick out of jail, but things didn’t exactly go smoothly when the main guard became suspicious, and you were forced to kill the witnesses. Then you killed a bunch of the worst prisoners you could find to vent your rage, to further obfuscate things . . . before letting Nick himself out. At which point . . . you fled the scene before killing Nick because you needed to find protection against Hsein Ku. After all, a failed plan—a butchery in her name—was sure to draw her attention. But by the time you got it, there were already other hunters after your bounty . . . so you killed them and then killed Nick, and now here you are . . . come to collect the bounty you had to break out of jail to kill.”
Lars didn’t know what to think. Parts of the story were true. He had used Hsein Ku’s name, he had killed a bunch of random prisoners, and he had killed some mercenaries before killing Nick. The technical details were all correct, but the intent was wrong. Lars had never set out to kill Nick in the first place. The only reason he had done so was because he was positive that Nick wasn’t going to make it to the temple in time to heal. However, as scummy as he felt about it, he wanted that money. It was money that, after all, he might desperately need later.
