Chapter 12: Stick and Carrot

Sunlight filtered slowly through translucent muslin curtains onto the floor. Dust motes, charmed by the sun, glided and danced in the beams. Below them, the tip of a quill pen skipped across the surface of an oak desk, like a fish swimming through a river of light. Magical ink, made from the blood of a newborn lamb mixed with a catalyst of magic, was being drawn onto a pristine sheet of parchment that emitted a faint aroma of old books.

Constantine carefully pinched the pen, finishing the last symbol. The upper half of the parchment was now covered with slightly twisted, peculiar characters, while the lower half held an intricate and mystifying magic circle. He then picked up a small nearby piece of parchment and carefully sprinkled a pinch of solidified Star Sand, which amplified the magical effect, onto the completed circle. He watched as the vibrant red lamb’s blood ink slowly transformed into faintly glowing silver lines. Next, he framed the top and bottom ends of the parchment with pre-cut cork strips, rolling it inward from both ends. Finally, he picked up a seal ring inscribed with his unique personal emblem, dipped it in the magical ink, and pressed it onto the outside of the scroll.

A faint breeze lifted the boy’s golden hair. He felt a tiny trickle of power drawn from his body into the parchment until the entire design stabilized. Constantine then meticulously began outlining the universal magical sigil for scroll makers around the pattern, indicating the creator and the spell contained within.

With a satisfied sigh, the boy slid the newly crafted level-one spell scroll into a delicate pouch, which already held five identical scrolls.

“I must admit, you always manage to surprise me…” a voice echoed in the boy’s mind. “Leaving aside your craft, just those little tools you made to assist with drawing the circles are remarkably clever.”

Several small items crafted by the boy lay on the oak desk: a ruler, two triangles, and a protractor made from translucent mica. While not exceptionally precise – the finest markings on the protractor were only about three degrees apart – they were perfectly adequate for the imperfect corners of the circles. And thanks to these tools, all six scrolls Constantine had crafted in the past two days succeeded without failure. Even for an Archmage with the title of Lich, this success rate was astonishing.

“Did you people really have no tools at all when scribing magic scrolls?” The boy responded to the Lich’s amazement with an indifferent shrug.

Six scrolls in two days – Constantine wasn’t satisfied with this pace. During scroll inscription, every character and every line required a constant infusion of mental power; otherwise, it wasn’t a magic scroll, just expensive paper covered in complex, useless lines. If it weren’t for this requirement and the parchment needing a certain level of cleanliness, Constantine would have long figured out a way to use printing plates to mass-produce these.

“Correctly stated, we transcribed. We didn’t trace over pre-drawn sketches like you… Mages are scholars, not artisans.” The boy’s casual dismissal brought a touch of anger back into the Lich’s mental voice, though it quickly changed to a sigh of realization. “However, I must admit your method is highly efficient. Just learning to draw a pentagram capable of successfully activating a spell could take an apprentice considerable time. Further time is needed to master it to perfection. Yet you solved this problem in mere minutes…”

Constantine’s lips twitched into a silent smile. Of course, he wouldn’t tell the Lich that the foundational theories condensed into those few minutes were the culmination of centuries of work by countless people.

BANG!

The study door crashed open. The sound made Constantine lift his head towards the noise – a slender figure clad in black swept like a gust of wind right up to his desk.

Constantine’s brow furrowed in its habitual way. Within this mansion, the number of people who could barge in like this was decidedly unique… actually, aside from the Blood Elf he’d bound into service, it was precisely zero.

The lady was no longer wearing her form-fitting leather armor. Instead, she was dressed in an elegant black maid’s uniform. Her golden hair was pulled into a ponytail at the back of her head. Long bangs covered half her face, and the frilly cap concealed her long, pointed ears. The snow-white lace and ruffles perfectly obscured her alluring figure, yet instead of diminishing her appeal, they lent her a different, gentle beauty.

In fact, Constantine had to admit that this attire suited her even better than the all-black, skin-tight outfit. The delicately sewn lace at the collar revealed a clean, slender neck that made one ache to kiss it.

However, this beauty’s actions were far less charming than her looks.

Clatter! The Blood Elf slammed the tray in her hands down on the desk in front of the boy. The rude action made the vessels on it jangle in protest. Before Constantine’s disapproving gaze could fully land on her, she had already perched on a nearby chair without a shred of decorum, casually propping her breathtakingly long legs up on the long table, utterly unconcerned by whether such a pose in a long skirt met any standards of ladylike behavior.

Constantine habitually rubbed his nose but didn’t show overt displeasure.

Three days ago, his wild ambition had ultimately failed to become reality… and regarding this, the Lich had offered a perfectly reasonable explanation. “The success of a Pact is founded on mutual agreement. Without overwhelming power to force her submission, and without her active consent, no Divine Pact would ever accept such terms.”

The Archmage concluded melancholically, “Not everyone is as unfortunate as I am, meeting an unknown monster in what they believed was their area of mastery…”

So the Pact binding the Blood Elf held minimal actual authority. In Constantine’s eyes, it functioned more like a Curse: pain wracked her Soul whenever she defied his commands. However, the Elf’s Mental Power proved exceptionally resilient; the pain disabled her momentarily but failed to break her will.

Therefore, for now, Constantine could only control her actions through simple, direct orders. He could do little more than smile wryly at these petulant displays.

Getting the lady to stay in the estate had already cost Constantine considerable effort – convincing her to accept reality alone took most of a night. Then came a series of troublesome maneuvers: getting special permission to personally choose a maid from the slave market, followed by some sleight-of-hand substitution… Though no major crises occurred, such minor deceptions clearly wouldn’t fool everyone, especially Old Steward Walter. The knowing glint in the old man’s eyes made Constantine nearly certain Walter was fully aware of the secret.

Yet, to the boy’s mingled relief and puzzlement, the steward showed no inclination to expose it. He merely acknowledged the request with calm acceptance and arranged all necessities for the “new maid.”

This seemed abnormally unexplainable. The steward had seen the Elf lady at the auction. While the distance had been considerable, and Walter lacked telescopes, Constantine didn’t doubt his sharp-eyed steward could recognize that breathtakingly beautiful face.

“Little beast, remove this damned Curse from me right now!” Expecting her rough action to get attention, the Blood Elf found the boy seemingly indifferent after her outburst. Her fury bubbled over once more: “And give my things back!”

“I thought greed was purely a Human failing…” Constantine calmly poured a cup from the ornate, silver-plated teapot, then frowned slightly… the thickly sweet, rose-scented beverage wasn’t to his usual taste. Still, he took a slow sip – intensely missing the elegant brew and strong coffee of his memories, but in this Plane, Rose Tea was costly too, and he wasn’t wasteful.

The taste wasn’t bad. The warmth made him squint slightly. Setting down the silver cup, he resumed his topic, ignoring her rage: “First, understand this. You were captured by me in combat. That grants me the right to deal with you and…”

“Captured my ass!” His utter calmness only incensed the Blood Elf further. With astonishing speed, she swooshed onto the desk, snatched the boy by the pristine silk scarf at his chest, and yanked him terrifyingly close to her face. “You damned little monster! Believe me, I’ll leave your corpse bloated in sewage until your pretty little face is bigger than a hog’s rump!”

The threat, however, appeared ineffective. Constantine’s leisurely gaze briefly rested on the Blood Elf’s vividly red eyes, trying so hard to look menacing, then drifted leisurely downward: over crimson lips, a long, white neck, delicately bony collarbones, and further still… finally stopping there.

The Blood Elf paused, then recalled she wasn’t in her usual skin-tight black leather, but in a maid’s dress. The damned thing had a low-cut neckline and didn’t fit her doe-like tight build perfectly. Though the long lace collar and neckerchief helped somewhat, her sudden movement and their proximity rendered the decorative frills useless. Tall herself and the boy small, Constantine’s viewpoint revealed two not overly large but perfectly formed peaks of smooth jade, bare almost to the dangerously tempting points of pinkish crimson.

“Bastard!”

Blood rushed to the Elf’s porcelain-fine features. She roughly shoved the infuriatingly smirking boy aside. Simultaneously, a dagger scarcely wider than a finger flashed into existence between her fingers, stabbing straight towards Constantine’s throat!

Constantine’s smile didn’t flicker. It looked as if the silver danger simply didn’t exist.

His calm wasn’t unfounded. A foot away from his neck, the Blood Elf’s entire body violently convulsed. Uncontrollable spasms traveled up her fingers. The exquisite stiletto clattered silently to the tabletop, and she stumbled forward onto the desk.

“See see… getting overly excited gives girls anemia.” Constantine grabbed her slumped form. Fortunately, beings of her elegant race were unnervingly light; even a child wouldn’t find supporting her a strain. “Failing isn’t shameful. Even a hero like Emperor Richard had times of defeat and captivity…”

“Emperor Richard my foot!” Enfeebled, the Blood Elf could only find balance in volume. “I lost! Fine! Captured by you – my mistake! I admit it! So what’s this cursed thing you’ve saddled me with?!”

“You unlawfully invaded my home, attacked me, and insulted me. Your crimes merit ten thousand deaths. In my boundless mercy, I merely punished your pride, cursing you so you cannot harm me. Honestly, had I the power, I might have resorted to transforming you into something… less troublesome…”

“So… the blameless Lord Constantine…” The boy’s innocent expression made the Blood Elf lady’s lovely teeth grind harshly. She emphasized each syllable of his name like some primal Curse. “This damned thing hits me just because I step a little away from you! Is that my fault too?!”

“Ah, that… no, actually. That’s because of your status as debtor. Until you repay what you owe, I, the creditor, naturally cannot grant you complete freedom…”

“I demanded nothing from you! Devil spawned in the Nine Hells! I owe you nothing!”

Her volume had reached its apparent limit… sometimes, it’s not just the words that infuriate, but the speaker’s attitude. Constantine’s attitude was incredibly… punchable.

“Such a rogue-like demeanor requires correction. I’ll find time to educate you on calmness… later, perhaps. First… we discuss your debts.” The boy wagged his head, starting to count on his fingers. “Food and drink cost money, you know? From that little storm-in to now, you’ve consumed six meals. Charging two hundred gold coins seems reasonable…”

“Are you mad?” The Elf let out a cry as though lashed, strength returning alongside her fury. She scrambled to her feet, cutting him off. “Two hundred? Ridiculous! Just eaten things worth that much? Was every bite pure gold?”

“Gold? Hardly. That would kill ya. Suicide.” Constantine serenely lifted his silver cup, sipping the nauseatingly sweet tea again. “Relax. I admit the price is a tad high.”

“A tad?” The Blood Elf jumped down, a cold, mocking laugh escaping her lips. “Anyone knows that number goes far beyond ‘tad’! It’s robbery!”

“No, I’m Noble. Nobles do not stoop to low acts like robbery.” Constantine shook his head slowly as if hearing absurd logic. “Lady, your years must grant some understanding. First, my home is the Western Frontier Governor’s Mansion. Ingredients here are scarcely commodities acquired lightly… Take last night’s three vegetable courses. They contained nutmeg, mint, cloves, pepper… things you surely know aren’t just bought with coin…”

The Blood Elf lady fell silent. She knew these “spices.” Their value far surpassed gold. Yet, equally unheard of was stuffing them into daily meals. Clearly, she’d fallen into the brat’s trap again. She glared hatefully at Constantine. Only after a long pause did she hiss, “I haven’t a coin on me right now…”

“Naturally, I know.” Constantine stated carelessly. “And I know you carry nothing of value save those clothes you’re wearing. Which happen to be my property… By the way, that will be twenty gold as rental fee. Valid until noon today only. After that, five gold extra per half-day.”

“Know? Of course you know! Damn you!” The Blood Elf seemed at her breaking point, face twisted in a shout. “You seized my weapons! Armor! Every magic item! Even my spoils! And now you ask for coin?!”

“Because losing has consequences. Everything you had then belonged to your victor – namely, me. Did you truly expect to keep tools suitable for slitting my throat? Face reality, lass. Being alive is a sign of my mercy.” Constantine downed the last swallow of his rose tea. “Therefore, repayment requires an alternative method. Such as… working for me.”

“Of course, choosing to default remains an option. I couldn’t possibly coerce. However, I don’t mind an alternative. Count Feesman is quite eager to locate you. Turning you over should earn me a willing reward…” Constantine added thoughtfully.

“Devil!” The Elf glared, pure rage burning in her lovely eyes, her mind conjuring legends of creatures from the Lower Planes. Choice seemed absent. Returning to that fat Count promised a fate far grimmer than this confinement.

The ugly incident at Count Feesman’s residence days prior caused quite a stir, yet strangely appeared contained. The Blood Elf hadn’t brained the fat Count as claimed, merely marooned the terrified fellow stark naked on his own roof for a chilly night. Though early autumn, thick blubber likely ensured he suffered only a long cold. Nevertheless, she wasn’t blameless. Law Enforcement Office guards, clad in gleaming breastplates and kettle helmets, now swamped the streets, jabbing their halberds at hapless commoners. Their jurisdiction, fortunately, didn’t extend to storming the Western Frontier Governor’s Mansion.

“Hardly a Devil. Devils lack my brand of kindness… One used debt to drag two Angels down as companions. By comparison, I’m downright saintly…” the boy offered a sweet smile.

“One year. I shall pay one thousand gold coins. Mostly, your duties involve light tasks like serving tea. Occasionally, I might assign… manageable errands…”

Beauty raging held its appeal, yet Constantine knew the carrot must deftly follow the stick’s threat. This particular carrot was monstrously large – one thousand gold coins. In the Western Frontier, it bought provisions for a troop of a hundred men. Trading it for a tea-serving maid was blatantly ridiculous.

Naturally, wielding carrots grown by others made generosity effortless.

Constantine felt no financial strain. The unfortunate Count Feesman proved exceptionally plump… amongst his treasures seized by the Blood Elf were fifteen or so diverse gemstones plus several rings and gold trinkets. Though Constantine’s refined modern aesthetics deemed them crude, he knew their raw worth – likely rare even at a Duke’s Mansion.

“And don’t contemplate escape. Recall that Curse? Very convenient indeed… simply snap my fingers here… death follows…” seeing shifts in her expression, the boy observed lightly.

Raw deception, naturally. Due to limitations of materials and the Caster’s own power, the Curse remained rudimentary. Stay beyond a hundred miles of Constantine – freedom eternal. To an Elf whose lifespan stretched long, just wait… decades… the boy would crumble to dust… Curse broken.

But.. gaps in knowledge are the roots of deceit, aren’t they?

“This price… borderline acceptable…” Something seemed to strike her. The Blood Elf’s tense features slowly relaxed, culminating in a city-toppling smile. Yet Constantine clearly saw the glint of ill intent in those crimson pupils: “Then… please instruct me well from now on… boy.”

For now, agree… and scheme later, the plan formed.

The boy felt good. Thus, he didn’t expose her thought. Instead, he just smiled, watching the Blood Elf wholly defeated by his twisted logic. “Since you’ve chosen service… proper address matters. Terms like ‘boy’ or ‘you’ feel awfully informal. Lack a proper name? And your own manner of self-reference remains… distasteful. Kindly cease.”

The Blood Elf blinked, then grit out: “Then what would Lord Constantine hear?”

“‘Master’ obviously serves well. Lord suits, too – something respectful.” The boy’s eyes swept over her figure again. “…Though best of all… if each statement ended sweetly with a… ‘meow’, perhaps?”

The lady’s carefully rearranged expression instantly twisted into a work of art. Without another sound, she stormed out, slamming the door behind her.