Death's Favorite Warlock

by Charles Dean

  I’ll stick with “favorite.” Lars laughed. He didn’t really care.

  “It pulses when you’re silent,” Su Ryeon observed. “Like it’s spinning even faster, growing and shrinking with your changing expressions.”

  “Is it an innate talent to be able to observe it, or is it something you’ve had to train?” Lars asked.

  “It is part of our cultivation technique. Bok Kyu trained us in pairs, wanting us to be useful at defending, attacking, and—most importantly—gathering information. He spared no expense in finding us techniques that matched these desires,” she said. “He found me because I had the technique, and he used me to teach the others.”

  “I see . . . What exactly . . . What does lunar light do?”

  “My elemental affinity?” she asked. “It’s . . . Well, it’s hard to describe. The techniques I’ve learned allow one to remain undetectable—that is, if they don’t move—or they allow an individual to deliver a single piercing strike from an arrow once a day that can kill most people of similar power easily, although this arrow is difficult to land, and mastering the aim and technique took me many months. There is also . . .” She hesitated. “There is also the ability to change one's facial shape. Though that method is excruciatingly painful from what Ching Shih said. I have fortunately not had to use it yet.”

  “I might need you to teach me those methods,” Lars said as he looked at his Lunar Light Qi of 2,015. It was now, even after only one kill, the highest Qi type he had.

  “If you have the Qi, I can teach you,” Su Ryeon said. “Though I do not recommend it. It is not a cultivation method worth learning. It is too agonizing to practice.”

  “Noted,” Lars said, frowning as he imagined what she had gone through.

  “Shall I lead the way now? Or do you plan to grow even stronger before my eyes?” Su Ryeon asked.

  “I think now is fine.” Lars shrugged, instinctively dusting himself off a little more as he followed the beautiful, half-naked woman to the gambling den while clutching the bag full of gold in his right hand.

  Chapter 11

  Name: Lars

  Level: 7

  Power: 2500

  Speed: 3059

  Fortitude (HP): 4500

  Resistance: 4500

  Unspent: 0

  Elemental Abilities

  Lunar Light Qi: 2015

  Fire Qi: 1077

  Wind Qi: 495

  Wood Qi: 467

  Ice Qi: 376

  Metal Qi: 280

  Earth Qi: 246

  Lightning Qi: 218

  Water Qi: 115

  Toxin Qi: 32

  Unassigned Qi: 325

  Abilities

  [10] Advanced Reading Level 2 [18,292/2,000,000 Words Read]

  [10] Knife Hand Level 2 [1/10 Unaware Combatants Killed]

  [20] Toxin Immunity Level 4 [2/10 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 6

  [15000] Slave Lord Level 1 [0/100 Slaves Impacted by Skill]

  Item Skill Progressions

  Enslavement [3/5 People Enslaved]

  Active Quests

  Go slap yourself!

  Su Ryeon hadn’t said anything else the entire time she and Lars were walking to whatever miscreant-filled gambling den of surprises he was going to visit. He didn’t know what to expect, especially since Bok Kyu was positive that there were demons or monsters—at least a dokkaebi—being held beneath the place. In his head, for some reason, he imagined an identical place to the one he had just, to some degree, taken over from Bok Kyu. He pictured a compound with high walls, packed end to end with tables of gambling morons where Bok Kyu had been growing plants. He imagined a big, empty main hall with beautiful women—and probably men too—there to draw the attention of the guests.

  He also expected that there would be a ton of liquor and perhaps other drugs, as that is what his mother had always said about gamblers: that they drank in excess so that they could forget their losses, their sorrows, or whatever else they were missing in life, the absence of which was so awful they were willing to risk everything they had at just a chance of getting it.

  Mom . . . Just thinking about her caused his heart to clench up and his breathing to shorten for a moment.

  It wasn’t her. I told you that.

  Huh? Lars blinked a few times as he tried to recall the memory. He was positive it had been his mother. It had been her . . . I thought . . .

  Nope. Your mother refused to mention anything about liquor or gambling, the prude. Since the best gambling your town could accomplish was a few loose bets about who would be the top hunter or a few old men throwing dice in an alley . . . she hadn’t thought there was a need to mention it. I did. I was the one who told you what gamblers really were: hollow people reaching in every direction to fill a hole they carved out themselves.

  They can’t be that bad . . . Lars frowned at the thought of those old men in the alley throwing dice or shoving cards one on top of the other so fast Lars had no idea what was going on as they yelled, “Go!” randomly.

  I just hate them because they’re half-hearted. They want the thrill that comes with battle, but they’re not willing to risk what matters most: their lives. What becomes of the idiots? Even if they win, they’ll never feel the thrill of really giving it their all, of betting their lives for what they believe in. They’ll never know the satisfaction of gaining through perseverance and hard work. They’ll only have fleeting moments and shallow joys before very real despair. Pathetic.

  I don’t think fighting battles and risking getting killed by some jack-hole is particularly noble or thrilling, Lars countered. He might have loved the sensation that gaining Qi gave him, but he was not a fan of potentially dying over and over to get it.

  Who says that’s the only way to risk your life? The guy who spends twelve hours a day for years to accomplish something, hasn’t he risked a huge part of his life, years in fact, with a goal in mind? There is more than one way to bet your life. Just ask the Clockmaker because the clock counts too.

  The clock counts too . . . Lars repeated those words in his head as he walked. It felt meaningful, like he should remember it, like he should understand what he was gambling as well . . . But if there really was some deeper profundity to the phrase, as his instincts told him, he couldn’t grasp it.

  “You don’t do much talking, do you?” Su Ryeon stated as they continued their jaunt, making another abrupt turn.

  This time, they had entered a more crowded street, and the number of people really looking, rather than just glancing and turning away, was great enough to give the crowd the courage to openly stare as Su Ryeon marched forward in all her beautiful glory next to a blood-soaked Lars.

  “You don’t walk much, do you?” Lars countered, jabbing a little at the slow pace Su Ryeon was keeping as she led the way.

  “Outside of cultivating, I’m not used to doing anything other than standing still or leading a palanquin.”

  “Sorry.” Lars wanted to facepalm. He clenched his eyes for a moment in shame. He had forgotten her circumstances and said something insensitive. “Well . . . I’m not really used to talking to people.”

  “To people . . . Do you talk to something else? Monsters? Animals? Plants that you water?” she asked.

  “I don’t think I’d call anyone I talk to a monster,” Lars replied, dodging the question. “But why the interest?”

  “We’re stuck until either I’m free, or you make me stop protecting you . . . so I want to know about you. I’d like to know how different you are from my last ma— to that filthy, dung-licking, cut-sleeve bastard.”

  “I hope I’m at least better looking.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Hey!” Lars laughed as he snapped at her.

  “Your face isn’t clean, and your outfit is horrible. I can’t be sure how much those factor into my assessment of
your appearance.”

  “Is that your kind way of saying I might not be as ugly as you think I am?”

  “Yes. Unless you’d prefer I lie, in which case . . . Oh no, master, you are the most handsome and beautiful being I have ever laid my eyes on. From you, the sun learned envy, and the stars learned how to shine. From you, the world—”

  “Okay, okay, that’s enough.” Lars waved one hand back and forth in front of his face as if trying to suppress a laugh, as if he were waving away the smell of the bullcrap she was spitting.

  “Are you sure? I could lie in another direction if that’s your fancy. Are you the type that prefers being called ‘worm,’ ‘ugly,’ or the like? I could also lie and tell you how you’re so ugly that just looking at you causes my stomach to twist into knots and my eyes to wince closed and that your horrendous appearance is so sense-defying it causes my nose to sting and my tongue to shrivel back as far as it can into my mouth to avoid potentially even tasting the same air you breathe.”

  “Honesty will do just fine.” Lars did not like how easily she said those insults with a straight face.

  “Perhaps that second direction of lying is the best one then. A man who wants honest feedback is a man comfortable with abuse.”

  “Or just a paranoid one.”

  “Trust me, as someone who paid confidence’s steep price, it’s only paranoia if there really isn’t a reason to worry.”

  “If you don’t mind me asking . . .” Lars looked at the woman walking proudly next to him, his eyes studying the gentle line right above the divet where her back arched and then traced her spine all the way up to her neck. “I mean, how did you . . . end up . . . as a, uhh . . .” He thought about how to phrase it, but that wasn’t necessary.

  “A slave?” The words came with what felt like a forced chuckle, but the tone was full of grit and anger. “How did I end up as a slave?”

  “Yeah.” Lars nodded. “But only if you don’t mind me asking.”

  “I don’t. You should learn from my mistakes because if they happen to you, I will be forced to pay the price again.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Well, the how was easy. I fell in love. That’s how. They say love makes slaves of us all, and my mother had warned me about the type of man he was. She had told me that anyone who had the black-inked tattoos across the body was not to be trusted . . . but I didn’t listen.”

  Before Lars could even ask the question, Ophelia quickly answered:

  It’s a culture thing. Tattoos, especially ones on the back, are usually signs of being in a criminal organization. They used to get them to prove their loyalty since anyone with one could be sentenced to death without a trial if they were caught, and then they would hide them under their clothes. Although now it isn’t illegal anymore, the culture within gangs has persisted while the culture of the law abiders to avoid tattoos has also persisted. That’s why, if someone has them, they’re likely to fit in with an organization that has them.

  “You must think I was stupid, and you would be right. But he was so beautiful of a man that he stole my heart with one glance, and his charm extended past his looks and out his tongue. Every word he spoke to me was dripping with a honey I had never tasted before. He was a magnificent man, and despite his weak cultivation, I found myself dreaming of him every night after we met.

  “That may have been why I was so trusting: the fact that it wasn’t even two weeks into courting before I let him take me to a private room, just the two of us. I thought it would be the night of my first, but instead, the moment I walked in the door, it shut behind me.” She paused for a moment as her eyes winced shut. “There was a clamp around my wrist, something hard and cold, and then the next thing I knew, I couldn’t use any power at all. I was helpless in a room full of men laughing at me. I tried to struggle, and the moment I did, they started hitting me. One blow to the stomach knocked my wind out; one blow to my face left me dizzy. Strike after strike until the pain stopped, and only numbness remained in the areas they were still hitting. But all of that, no matter how painful it was . . . it didn’t match up to what it felt like when I looked over at that man who had brought me there only to see he was laughing too . . . telling them they could do what they wanted with me but not to touch my chastity or foul my essence with the Qi of a man because the boss needed me pure.”

  Lars gulped. It was hard to stomach. He could see the scene himself as she described it. “Do you think . . . you could recognize the man if you found him again?” Lars asked.

  “If I find him again, unless you use this collar to stop me, no one will recognize him,” Su Ryeon said coldly.

  “Why did he do it? Bok Kyu had said—”

  “Bok Kyu had tried to have his way with me when I completed my first job for him, a simple errand to protect a few herbs during a delivery. I refused him and thought that was the end of it. Then he hired this man, a specialist, to seek me out.”

  “The thing around your wrist?” Lars continued his questions. “How did it sap your power?”

  “Back then, I was only a Stage 4 Qi-Gathering Cultivator. It made it quite cheap to purchase a device that would snap to one of my meridians and suppress my Qi. It worked by being pre-charged with a special type of negative Qi, and then when it was snapped around my wrist, that Qi that it had been enchanted with poured through the meridian and into my body, wrecking my own Qi and leaving me helpless,” she explained. “While it could still happen to anyone if someone were able to snap a powerful enough device onto them, it is unlikely at our levels, so you don’t need to be afraid.”

  “It’s unlikely at our levels?”

  “Right. The device has to hold all of the negative Qi and come in a form that lets it stick to the victim so the person being sealed doesn’t just rip it off and let the negative Qi out. Most devices will shatter if they are loaded with that much power, and devices that are large enough for that much negative Qi to be stored in them are difficult to stick to a victim. Shackles are easy, but shackles won’t work usually if the person is a Stage 6 Qi-Gathering Cultivator or higher.” Su Ryeon’s helpful and overly detailed explanation made her seem, at least to Lars, a bit like the voice in his head. However, that thought seemed to anger Ophelia.

  No one is like me! Especially this easily seduced hussy! Don’t you dare go comparing me to that mortal slave.

  Fine, fine. Lars chuckled to himself. He didn’t know why it had angered Ophelia so much, but he at least knew not to refer to her as being like any others ever again—unless he just wanted to push her buttons.

  “I don’t think I said anything funny,” Su Ryeon said, calling him out on the chuckle Ophelia’s words had extracted.

  “No, you didn’t,” Lars replied. “I just . . . Sorry, I was thinking about different shapes that would work in place of shackles but be large enough to work against me or you now.”

  “Ah.” She nodded. “That’s a reasonable concern. Perhaps a very large beer stein would be able to hold a great amount of Qi. Going to pick it up might temporarily seal you for a few seconds. I remember the moment that shackle wrapped around my wrist. It felt like poison was entering my veins and also like I was being stunned by that wench's Lightning Qi.”

  “A few seconds could spell out death.”

  “Indeed. Your concerns truly aren’t paranoia; they’re just legitimate fears,” she said. “To safeguard against such an occurrence, I’ll be sure to take the first swig from every glass of beer you order.”

  “Wouldn’t you only have to pick it up?” Lars looked at her dubiously.

  “It’s best I check for actual poison too, no?” she asked.

  Not really, Lars thought, but he decided not to say it aloud or to go off explaining himself where others might be able to hear. In this city, just from what he had seen, he was positive that airing on the side of caution and not informing anyone outside of his circle of slaves what he was capable of was a good thing. After all, if Bok Kyu’s concubine had known his ability, she wouldn’t h
ave tried to rely on poison, and Lars might not have gotten the upper hand against the foursome. If they had attacked all at once, then Shawn and Adams would have shown up, and the six of them combined likely could have killed him. Lars reaffirmed his decision not to be loose with his lips in public as he glanced side to side. I need to keep everything a secret that I can.

  “I’ll take your silence as consent. Please hand me the first sip of every drink you pour,” Su Ryeon said.

  “I suppose, whether you wanted to be or not, you really are a well-trained bodyguard,” Lars pointed out. “It’s a shame this relationship is as it is and that I couldn’t have just hired you, avoiding this whole slave thing. That would have been ideal.”

  “If I weren’t your slave, there is no way I’d work for a man like you,” she said, the words stinging a little.

  “Like me?” Lars didn’t know why, but his first thought was that she meant she wouldn’t work for someone tailless.

  “Stupid,” she said, correcting his assumption.

  “Hey . . .” Lars smiled a little as he realized that, at the very least, he was being mocked for who he was, not what he lacked.

  “You take unnecessary risks. I appreciate you saving me, but you could have easily died in the process. You had to gain the help of two people at the compound to achieve your ends. I know enough to know that they are also the ones who probably told you about our capability, which means that if they hadn’t, you would be dead. You’re a foolish man who doesn’t think things through properly before he acts. There is no way I would work for someone like you if I had a choice. I’d much prefer working for a handsome young master who does nothing all day or an old lady with no children who sits around and drinks tea and might even leave me her fortune if I endear myself to her well enough before she passes.”

  “Well, if it’s any consolation, I plan to find a nice cabin away from this awful city and spend my days fishing and farming as soon as I have rescued my mother,” Lars said. “Then you won’t have to take any risks at all.”