Book 5: Chapter 24 - Cruelty (RAW)

Fortune bestows both the lofty peaks and the deepest valleys upon every man. Yet the truly wise, whose heart remains as calm as a still lake beneath the moon, endures these vicissitudes with serene equanimity. In this tranquil acceptance, misfortune is stripped of its power, and true happiness blossoms from within.

- The Human Question by Gideon de Salavia 378 AC.

The procedure had been completed. Doctor Zahrawi had performed the surgery with an artistry that could only come from years of practice, his blade moving with the precision of a master sculptor shaping marble. Yet, despite all that I had seen in my life—the carnage, the battles, the bloodshed—there was something unsettling about witnessing it up close, flesh being carved away as though it were mere clay. I felt a slight queasiness in my stomach, a rare moment of weakness that reminded me of something I had begun to question about myself.

If I could still feel sympathetic pain, still recoil at the sight of a knife cutting into the flesh of a girl, then perhaps I had not yet become the monster the world was pushing me to be. Perhaps, in some small way, I remained human.

At the very least, I was not a psychopath.

But even amidst these thoughts, another odd notification appeared before my eyes.

10 experience gained.

It was a small reward, almost meaningless in the grand scheme of things. I pondered the source. What had I done to earn this? My mind retraced my recent actions until a tenuous connection formed. Could it be the rats? The monstrous, bipedal creatures that lurked beneath the city, seemingly tethered to my will? Was it their crusade in the unseen depths that had triggered this? The answer eluded me, but the implication was clear—somewhere, in the darkness below, they fought and killed in my name. And for that, I was rewarded.

Larynda lay unconscious on the pristine slab of marble, her repose peaceful, innocent. The Leharnum concoction kept her in a deep, dreamless sleep, while the doctor’s skilled hands and alchemical salves had erased nearly all traces of her elven heritage. Now, she appeared simply as a strikingly beautiful, human girl, one who would likely grow even more enchanting in the years to come.

As the surgery concluded, I weighed my next move carefully. The good doctor had served his purpose well, but the question remained—did his life hold more value than the secret he now carried?

A decision had to be made.

“An excellent performance, Doctor Zahrawi. I am impressed,” I said, clapping my hands together as I forced a smile onto my face.

“Why, thank you, samasa. A basic procedure, but I see you have an appreciation for the art!” he replied, his lips curling into a rodent-like grin.

“Yes, it is a matter of balance. Art and medicine. Your knife, your brush. People, your canvas. Here, a bonus for your work!” I said, throwing a thick wad of notes toward him.

He scrambled to catch the money, hands fumbling as greed took over. And in that precise moment of distraction, I drew Zariyah, the weapon whispering through the air like a lover’s sigh, and slammed the pommel into his temple.

The doctor crumpled instantly, eyes wide in a frozen expression of surprise and betrayal. Death claimed him before he even hit the floor.

A notification flickered before me.

You have slain Ehsan Al-Zahrawi. 8 experience gained.

Curious, it seemed that the functionality of my system had improved. If I knew someone’s name, even without the Identify spell, it would give me their name when they died. A most basic and unsatisfying improvement.

Ever so slightly annoyed, I ignored it and knelt to gather the scattered notes and strip the body. It was an odious task, but a necessary one. As I gazed upon his lifeless form, I was reminded of the transformations he wrought upon the flesh of some of the whores in the Begonia’s Shade. This man had turned dross into beauty, reshaped flesh as a skilled potter reshaped clay. He had possessed a talent that few could rival. Future whores would miss his services terribly.

I tossed his garments into the hearth, the flames hungrily devouring the fabric. The body, however, required a different approach. I whispered the incantation for Decay, feeling the dark magic coil around me like a serpent. The spell was slow, deliberate, the energy seeping into the corpse like creeping vines.

A resonance stirred, something outside of myself. Perhaps, a whisper of recognition from the Void. The sweet smell of accelerated rot filled the air, before even the smell itself was consumed by the magic. What remained of the body slowly collapsed into nothing but dust. With an irreverent kick, I scattered the remains.

My work here was done.

Draping a thick cloth over the still-sleeping Larynda, I lifted her as though she were a sack of potatoes. Just to be certain, I cast Identify upon her. The spell confirmed what I already knew—she was alive, merely lost in the depths of her slumber.

Satisfied, I stepped into the night, the cool air a welcome respite.

***

Dropping Larynda off beneath the Begonia’s shade, I turned my steps toward the Salahaem estate. The air was thick with tension, the kind that clung to the skin like damp silk. No one sought to stop me, though I could feel their eyes on my back, cautious and wary. 

The thrill, the urgency, the first rush of lust when I had first lain with the Sultana Aelayah had long since soured. Now, it was a duty, a rote task to be endured. I relied on Elenora or one of the handmaidens to "assist" me, but even they could not make the act pleasurable. Aelayah lay beneath me, slack-jawed, her breath a whisper of life. No matter her beauty, there was no satisfaction in mounting a near-corpse. It had, in short, become a chore.

Duties done, I chose to return to Naira’s establishment rather than stay the night at the Salahaem’s palace. The streets were quiet, the sky bruised with the first touch of evening and night. Then I saw someone, a messenger from their livery, running across the manicured lawns, an offense worthy of a good whipping. The messenger tore across the grounds of the estate, wild-eyed and frantic. Without thinking, I activated Improved Dash and caught them by the throat, yanking them to a complete halt.

"What is this? Speak," I demanded, my aspect grim.

They gasped, their voice tumbling over itself in panic. "Gil-Gilgamesh… samasa! Ships—ships or islands, seen! Sighted on the horizon! The glasses caught them! Yet the Mer… they do not attack!"

Boy or girl I could not tell, but it was a child. A youth not yet grown, their face one of deep worry and fright.

"I see. Be about your business," I said, releasing them.

The messenger rushed off as if the hells were after him.

What did it all mean?

I turned toward the main gate of the palace, thoughts dark and churning, when a squad of men stepped into my path. Their stance was rigid, their hands too close to their weapons.

“This better not be you trying to impede me,” I warned, voice flat as a whetstone. "Ten men are not nearly enough.”

Their leader, Arnis, stepped forward. A Raqib—the equivalent rank to a Sergeant. I remembered him from the Contest of the Knives when we fought side by side and the gutters overflowed with blood. A dependable man sort, but not one rather dispossessed of original thought and imagination.

"The Vizier requests your presence. We are to escort you," he said, his deep voice firm, unwavering.

I let the words settle before answering. "You will tell me where he waits. I will not allow you to escort me like some wayward child. Insist on this, and all of you die."

Arnis hesitated. "But we have our orders…" he began stubbornly.

He never finished. My hammer swept through the air, the spike smacking into his helmet, crumpling his skull like an overripe fruit. An annoying notification flashed in my mind, announcing the insultingly meager experience points I had earned.

"Do not draw your weapons, fools!" My voice cut through the night as hands twitched toward hilts. "I am the First Tamkar of Salahaem, and a mere Raqib dared to countermand my order."

A part of me longed for them to resist. To forget their fear. To be real men.

"First—First Tamkar Gilgamesh," one stammered. An older man, a fraction wiser than the rest. "The Vizier Baz waits for you in the Green Room of the Southern Wing."

"Excellent. See? Not so difficult." I stepped past them, then turned back to regard Arnis’s lifeless form. "Have this sack of meat fed to the pigs. He will not join the Goddess in her embrace. He has dishonored his family, his name. Fail to see it done, and I will butcher you and all of your kin myself. Understood?"

So terrified were they that they did not answer. But, they did not need to.

I flared my Improved Entropic Aura, drinking in the naked fear on their faces. They bowed, stiff and shallow, and I left them to carry out my orders as I went to find Idris.

***

I found him fuming, pacing like a caged beast in the Green Room, his silken robes swishing with each heavy step. I did not knock. I did not announce myself. I simply shoved open the heavy wooden doors, letting them almost explode inwards, and grinned as if I had walked into a feast.

"Arnis was a good man!" Idris, Vizier to Sultana Aelayah, snapped at me in greeting. So, word had flown ahead of me. Quicker, at least, than my sedate pace this damned chamber.

"He's a dead man because I judged him not to be a 'good' man," I said with a shrug, rolling my shoulders as if shaking off a bit of dust. "The Goddess is with me in my judgment."

Idris flushed, his jaw trembling with barely contained rage. He opened his mouth, then closed it, steadying himself before finally whispering, "Why?"

"For countermanding a direct order."

"You have no authority."

"Oh, Idris," I sighed, tilting my head. "I am the only thing propping up this little game of yours, the strong steel holding your delicate order together. So, yes, old man, I have the authority. I have all of it."

He sucked in a breath. "I could have you ki—"

The slap was light. Just a brush of my fingers against his cheek. But the old man reeled as if struck with a heavy mailed fist, spinning and crumpling onto the green marble floor. A pathetic sight, the golden headdress of his office now askew, his bejeweled rings clattering on the stone floor.

"Do not finish that sentence. Do not even finish that thought," I said, stepping over him, planting an armored boot against his chest. He wheezed, a thin whistle of breath escaping his lips. "You must know from Farzan what I do to those who threaten me. Send another squad against me, and I will burn this palace to the ground."

His gaze, hot with hatred, locked onto mine. Not broken yet. Stubborn old fool.

"Go on," I murmured. "Call for help. Cry out. Shout for the guards. But know that in doing so, you will be killing them."

"You... are... a monster," Idris rasped, spit and blood pooling at the corners of his lips. "I see now what Aelayah—"

I pressed down harder. He choked, the words dying in his throat.

"A monster, am I?" I mused, shaking my head. "And what does that make you? A glorified administrator, grasping at the power that does not belong to you with your dirty, wrinkled hands? I became what this world demanded of me, Vizier. That is all."

I sighed, watching the realization dawn in his watering eyes. "You overplayed your hand. That is all. Unfortunately for you, I must break you now."

A sharp crack echoed through the chamber as a rib gave way beneath my boot. Idris screamed, blood flecking his lips. I had learned long ago how to hurt a man without killing him. A delicate balance, but one I had mastered.

I used the spell Identify to make it even easier.

****

You have gained 1 Charisma

This silly game had added to my attributes for the most arbitrary of reasons. I could not make rhyme or reason of it. 

From my session with Idris, I gleaned something of interest: ships had been sighted on the horizon, great vessels cutting across the sea like leviathans. And, if the Water Mages of the Al-Lazar were to be believed, the tides would turn come morning, drawing back the sea for three miles. A momentary boon or a harbinger of disaster? Soon, time would tell.

The jade marble of the Green Room was slick with Idris’ blood, staining the once pristine floor in rich crimson. More blood than any man should have had in him. My Heal spell restored his blood, ensuring that he bled anew with each fresh wound, only to be restored for another round. He lived because Gilgamesh willed it.

Halfway through my work, I leaned into the hallway, snaring the wrist of a servant girl. Wide-eyed, she paled at the sight of me.

"Fetch Elenora. Now."

Wide-eyed, she fled to see my will done. 

When Elenora arrived, she did so with the presence of a queen, though she was nothing of the sort. A common whore, nothing more. She carried herself now with the bearing of a noblewoman, the sway of her hips deliberate, her lips curving in something that was neither a smile nor a smirk. A flicker of something dark passed over her face as she took in the scene before her. A tremor ran through her, the kind I had seen in the throes of carnal passion. She licked her ruby-red lips.

She would do for what I had planned.

"Gilgamesh," she purred, stepping forward. "A disagreement with the Vizier? Did Aelayah put you up to this?"

Good girl. Sowing the seeds of discord already.

"The man threatened to kill me," I said, smoothly. "He required discipline."

Elenora knelt by a puddle of blood, gazing into it as if it were a mirror, before dragging her gaze back to me. "What would you have of me?"

I crouched, slapping Idris lightly. His swollen eyelids fluttered open, his agony-filled stare meeting mine.

"If you wish to live," I murmured, "you will do as Elenora commands. She is now my representative here in the Mahdi Al-Maraquis. You will obey her in all things. Do you understand?"

A slow, pitiful nod. Inside, I laughed. How far he had fallen.

Elenora covered her mouth, though her laughter was unrestrained. "Oh, Gil... you do know how to spoil a girl."

For a moment, I could have sworn I saw fangs. My stressed mind playing games with me, I was sure. Still, I made a note of it.

I straightened. "You will speak nothing of what transpired here," I declared. "If you do, the Sultana Aelayah—peace be upon her—will have your head."

Elenora’s grin widened. "Oh, Gil, you are delicious."

"Have Idris and Farzan make Al-Lazar ready for war," I commanded. "My instincts tell me we are not dealing with merchant vessels. Hope for the best, prepare for the worst."

Elenora exhaled, eyes glittering. "It will be done."

And then she was upon me, arms coiling around my neck, pressing herself against my armor, her lips finding mine in a kiss that tasted of copper and something deeper. 

Something more dangerous.