“It appears that he is dying.”
Dorian ignored Tyraleus’s observation as he frantically searched through the crowded shelves. His apprentice was rapidly bleeding out on the stone floor at the foot of the basement steps, and it didn’t take a healer or fleshcrafter — or even a necromancer — to tell that he wouldn’t last much longer.
The attack had been an instinctive, split second decision — one that the shopkeeper instantly regretted. As soon as everyone had overcome their initial shock, he had sent Lucy upstairs to gather healing potions. She would know the particular layout of the shop more intimately than anyone else.
Dorian himself had remained to help manage the situation — and while he was there, he couldn’t stop himself from desperately searching for anything that could be useful for keeping Tyler alive.
So far, he hadn’t found anything that could heal him — or at least, that wouldn’t take a quarter of an hour of preparation — time that they didn’t have.
Upon hearing the patter of hurried footsteps, the Alchemist whipped his head around. Lucy — back in her human glamor — was dashing down the steps three at a time with a heaping pile of glass vials in her arms.
Tyler’s chest was still moving — just barely — and hope blossomed in Dorian’s chest as he rushed over. Perhaps whatever materials Lucy had gathered would buy them the time they needed — and there she was leaping down beside him into the pool of dark blood.
She slipped.
The shopkeeper watched in horror as she tumbled backwards and the assorted glass vials flew into the air. Reaching out with one hand, he attempted to catch a passing crimson healing potion. He missed.
The vial crashed to the ground several paces behind him, shattering and spilling its contents across the dusty floor.
“…and, he’s dead now.”
“Fuck!”
Dorian clenched his fists and glared at the lich king. It wasn’t the old necromancer’s fault, of course, but for the first time in years, the shopkeeper’s temper flared forth. His anger was in truth mostly at himself.
Rising shakily to her feet, Lucy attempted to wipe the blood off of her hands in vain. Dorian shut his eyes and took several steadying breaths. Once he had calmed down, he looked around again.
Lucy looked shaken, Stephen had turned whiter than chalk, and Tyraleus was even more expressionless than usual. If anything, the lich looked vaguely entertained.
Singling him out with a pointed gesture, Dorian gave him a command. “Reanimate him.” He raked a hand through his hair. “As a revenant.”
There were a plethora of options for the creation of an undead, and naturally the shopkeeper chose the most lifelike for his apprentice. He would do as much as he could to ensure that Tyler’s life wasn’t entirely cut short.
The necromancer gave a single curt nod and strode forward. Stepping out of the puddle, Dorian waited anxiously as Tyraleus crouched motionlessly over Tyler’s prone form. He new that the necromancer was likely focusing on working with his system — he was a master of the craft, after all — but the lack of visual feedback made the shopkeeper nervous nonetheless.
Finally, Tyraleus spoke. “Which of his classes would you like for me to choose?”
Furrowing his brow in thought, Dorian took a moment to speak. “Are you able to complete the process without selecting one yet? If possible, I would like for Tyler himself to decide.”
“Yes, it is possible to defer the class selection process… shall I proceed?”
“Wait.” Dorian fiddled with his coat seam. “Can you do it while leaving him unconscious?” The lich nodded, and Dorian shut his eyes again. “Then go ahead.”
Opening his eyes, he observed no change in his apprentice’s new corpse — but he trusted that the necromancer had done his job well. Despite his dark disposition, Tyraleus had so far proven to be extremely dependable.
“Shit, what now?”
Lucy was the first to break the silence, and all eyes turned towards her. She had dropped her glamour again, fully revealing her demonic nature.
“Right then,” Dorian announced, clapping his hands together. “While this was a rather unfortunate turn of events, I believe that we can now welcome a new member into our group.” He paused. “Tyler has hitherto been a nearly ideal apprentice, and I sincerely hope that this mishap won’t spoil that relationship. Therefore, I suggest that we recruit him for our mission while continuing his current education like normal.”
Stephen fidgeted awkwardly with his hands, and Tyraleus raised a single skeletal finger. “Uh, Boss, there might be a problem there.” Dorian gestured for him to continue. “He’s still going to decompose. Soul magic won’t do anything about that — not to mention he has a giant hole in his chest.”
Nodding, the shopkeeper began to pace. “So what do you suggest?”
The lich threw up his hands in a shrug. “If you want to recruit him I see no problem, but I don’t think we can have him walking around out in the daylight.”
Dorian continued to pace, and Stephen nervously stepped forward. “I uh, I think I have to agree there,” he stammered. “I don’t think this is something we can hide like that.”
Stopping his pacing, the shopkeeper glanced at Lucy. “And you?”
Furrowing her brow, the demoness thought for a moment. “We can’t just have him go missing, right? What would we tell everyone?”
Resuming his pacing, Dorian nodded slowly to himself. “No, you’re all right. We have to do something about the decomposition, and we can’t just have him vanish… so I suggest we acquire a fleshcrafter.”
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
Tyraleus spoke first. “I can’t say that it wouldn’t work in principle. I suspect that we would have to move quickly, however.”
“Do you think we could get Lady Zarya to do it?”
Grimacing at Lucy’s question, Dorian shook his head in the negative. “No. She’s a close confident, yes, but she has limits.”
The group remained silent for several moments. Dorian continued to pace, and Stephen stared intently at his hands. Finally, the young man spoke.
“What about Lord Baron?”
Frowning, the shopkeeper glanced over at him. “What about him?”
Stephen bit his lip. “I mentioned his ah, unique financial situation previously, right?”
“You did.”
“So we leverage it. Crook or no crook, he’s a damn good fleshcrafter, and we have information over him. Or assistance for him — depends on how you want to pitch it.”
Rubbing his chin, Dorian considered the suggestion. It certainly had merit — though the shopkeeper wasn’t usually keen to associate with the likes of the kingdom’s supposed great philanthropist, the crime boss may be just the person they needed.
Glancing around again, he saw Lucy tilt her head in confusion. “I don’t understand. Why would an honorable man like Lord Baron help us?”
Dorian stopped and grinned. “Because we know the truth.”
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“And to what occasion do I owe the venerable Lord Skeil?”
Dorian and Stephen had hurried immediately to the private residence of Lord Baron, leaving Lucy and Tyraleus to watch the shop and Tyler, respectively. The philanthropist’s butler had — somewhat surprisingly, given the current hour — let them in to the receiving area without trouble.
Lord Baron’s manor was a grand affair. Shimmering chandeliers hung from the high ceilings, brilliantly illuminating the green, gold, and wood toned decor in warm light. The man himself descended a lushly carpeted staircase to greet the two visitors. He was garbed in sumptuous — yet tasteful — evening robes that fit his heavyset build perfectly.
“First, an apology,” the shopkeeper began as their host approached, “for troubling you at such an untimely hour.”
The portly man casually waved his hand to dismiss Dorian’s concern. “It’s no trouble at all. You can always count on me to make time for important matters.”
Underneath the polite graciousness there was a contrary message — that they better have a good reason for disturbing him.
“Allow me to introduce my fiduciary, Mr. Applewood.” The shopkeeper nodded at Stephen, and their host gave a polite smile. “I would consider him one of the best up and coming analysts our kingdom has produced.”
“It is an honor to meet you, Sir,” Stephen said.
Nodding, Lord Baron turned around and beckoned for them to follow. Leading them to a small parlor room, he gestured for them to take a seat around a small wooden sitting table.
Once they had all taken a seat — their host leaning back with one arm draped over the side — he spoke again. “So.” He studied the shopkeeper for a moment critically. “What can I do for you?”
Dorian took a short moment to compose himself. “Ultimately, we require your expertise as a fleshcrafter. However, I ask your patience while we explain the context as well as some additional circumstances.” He paused. “Obviously, we would not ordinarily request your services in such a manner.”
Lord Baron nodded once slowly, indicating for the shopkeeper to continue.
“As I previously introduced him, Mr. Applewood is an excellent Analyst. I am far from his only client, and as such, his expertise and connections have provided him with many opportunities to work with highly confidential information.”
Dorian paused. Lord Baron remained expressionless.
“I’ll be direct. We know what your real business is, as well as the fact that you charities are, put simply, entirely corrupt.”
The crime boss still didn’t react. If anything, he looked bored. “Alright. What is this, some kind of threat? Are you angling for extortion?”
Frowning, the shopkeeper leaned forward and steepled his fingers. “Quite the contrary. I present you with a favor, and kindly ask for a favor in return.” He paused. “The Bureau of Investigation is currently in the process of preparing a warrant for a covert raid of your holdings in Blossomfell.”
Dorian had to hope that the crime boss wasn’t already aware of what Stephen knew. If he was, then at worst, they could still technically fall back on blackmail — though the shopkeeper was loathe to do so. Even if they couldn’t provide valuable intel at the moment, he would much prefer to work with Lord Baron on an equal and amiable basis.
Generally speaking, blackmailing a competent organized crime lord was a practically suicidal proposition.
The portly fleshcrafter leaned forward as well. “Tell me more.”
Suppressing a grin, Dorian leaned back. “I’ll have Mr. Applewood deliver a full report to you before sunrise.” He spared a glance at Stephen. He hated to overwork the young man, but he was certain that he would understand the importance, given their current circumstances. “Now, would you be open to hearing out our request.”
Lord Baron seemed to think for a moment. Finally, he spoke cautiously. “I’m listening.”
“As I said, we our in need of your expertise as a fleshcrafter,” Dorian continued. “Naturally, I intend to pay you your standard rate. What I need to guarantee is your silence.”
Their host leaned back as well. “Consider my curiosity aroused.” He rubbed his stubbly chin. “So what exactly do you need?”
The shopkeeper finally let himself grin. “Tell me. What do you know about undead?”
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Disposing of his gloves in a nearby wastebasket, Lord Baron stood up and wiped the sweat off of his dampened brow. It was almost dawn, and the fleshcrafter had finally finished his work on Tyler’s corpse, which was now carefully arranged on a lab table in the basement storage room.
Lucy and Tyraleus were absent — Dorian had sent the Demoness home and hidden the lich. As far as he was concerned, the fewer identity’s the crime boss knew, the better.
“I must confess, this was a fascinating exercise,” the fleshcrafter said as he packed up his equipment into a small black briefcase. “Both as a stimulating challenge and as an educational experience.”
The shopkeeper chuckled as he walked his new partner in crime up the stairs. “I can see that you are most definitely a fellow man of science.”
“In my opinion, one has to be passionate to truly excel in fields like ours,” Lord Baron said. “To be merely good, perhaps not.”
“Agreed.”
The two men reached the outer door of the dimly lit shop, and the crime boss stopped at the threshold. “Please, keep me informed of how things progress. I am certain that you will require additional, if not regular, treatments in order to sustain the subject’s condition.”
The alchemist didn’t doubt it. He had wanted Tyler to be able to fake living as exactly as possible — including the ability to eat and drink.
Lord Baron had achieved a solution, though Tyler would only be able to convincingly fake the process, without truly tasting or digesting what he consumed. The most important requirement, of course, was that he not visibly decay — something which the fleshcrafter was confident was well within his technical capabilities.
“I will send payment along with the report,” Dorian said. “I just checked in with Mr. Appelwood a quarter of an hour ago, and it is nearly ready.”
The crime boss extended his hand, and the shopkeeper took it. They gave each other a firm shake. “It’s been a pleasure to work with you,” Lord Baron thanked him. “And I look forward to a continued relationship.”
With that, he departed into the early morning darkness. Once he was out of sight, Dorian deflated slightly. It had been a long, tense night, and it still wasn’t finished — he still needed to question the undead bandit and get someone to dispose of the corpses.
But first, he had to deal with Tyler.
Descending back into the basement, he shut the door and locked it. Striding over the far wall, he knocked on an old cabinet. “You can come out now.” The door creaked open, and the cloaked, skeletal figure of Tyraleus emerged. “I’d like to wake him up now,” Dorian continued, tiredly rubbing his eyes. “Better to get it done now so that we’re ready to go come sunrise.”
The lich nodded, and the two figures approached the corpse on the table. “Shall I proceed?”
The shopkeeper gave his assent, and the corpse twitched, before heaving a shuddering gasp. The newly undead apprentice’s eyes snapped open, and he flicked his gaze immediately to meet Dorian’s own.
Dorian gave him a weak smile. “I believe I owe you an apology, as well as an explanation.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Where to begin?”