The Lazy Lord 6: Schadenfreude (Patreon)

The Lazy Lord
Chapter 6: Schadenfreude

-VB-

Having Eidolon’s power at my disposal, I completed what I set out to do: turning my tower into a fortress.

In under a week, magecraft - something most people on Earth Bet had no counter for - became the foundation for the defense. I made a bounded field that didn’t take away from the appearance of my tower from far away, but as one grew closer, their recognition of the location and the tower became more and more muddled in people’s minds. Coupled with electronics-disturbing bounded field between the outer edge of my “property” and the clearing of land surrounding my tower, pinpointing the location became a hassle for most.

Next, I made automated tinker turrets and placed them in several strategic locations. Anyone who grew too close would be alerted and told to return by the turrets, and those who ignored the warnings would be fired upon. I liked to think of these turrets as better versions of the Portal’s Sentry Turret. The lack of high-pitched, wobbling, and squeaky speech alone was a vast improvement by itself.

Don’t know why some people liked that so much…

Then to round out offensive and utility measures, I used Eidolon’s powers to reinforce the walls, the ceilings, floors, doorways, and doors.

Finally, I made friendly diplomatic overtures.

Had I not brutally killed and then resurrected Eidolon, then the PRT and the Protectorate could have been the first ones I talked to about non-aggression pacts. Even if I could, I wouldn’t entreat with Eidolon and Alexandria. I would have to do so much politicking, side-stepping, word-picking that it would be too much work.

No, if they bother me, I’ll just kill them and then boot them after resurrection. Maybe even remove their power. Maybe then Rebecca could be the Chief Director for her full time job.

No, I made diplomatic overtures with the kinds of people who would be just as troublesome.

The Elites.

In the Worm book, the Elites never got the attention they deserved for a national organization of their size. Outside of the Protectorate, they possessed the most number of parahuman capes in their roster, though divided between numerous cells that existed all across North America. Despite this divided nature, the Elite could get some serious things done once properly motivated.

And resurrection was hell of a motivator.

So it was no surprise to me that the Elite came rushing for a meeting with me the moment I sent one of them an offer.

Sitting across from me in the ground floor meeting room of my tower was a figure I knew very little about.

Patrician of the Elite was just as his name implied: a male leader figure from the Elite with some amount of personal, political, and financial power. He dressed the part of his name, too. His mask bore resemblance to Renaissance Italian banking lords’ stylish and wide-brimmed masquerade hats and mask, though he toned down on the decorations. He similarly wore mid-Renaissance rich men’s cotehardie.

Also, I knew nothing more about him because I did not do my research.

Oh boy.

I smiled genially.

“Thank you for coming to visit me so quickly, Mr. Patrician,” I greeted the man with a nod. “To be honest, I expected a fast reply… but not this fast.”

“Thank you for your warm welcome, Mr. Marris, and it is only right that the Elite meets you face to face when you are offering something so valuable.” He glanced around. “I assume it is safe to talk frankly in your base…?”

“It is. Anything electrical I don’t ‘enchant’ or place in specific locations does not work, so there is very little chance of anyone listening in on us, and everyone on this base are people I trust.”

He nodded meaningfully. Was that why his name was Patrician? Because he can just do body gestures that just convey meanings so well? Like a simple sideway glance that sends mooks trembling in fear? What if that was his power?

… I kinda wanted to beat him up now.

“Then let’s get down to business,” I replied. “I am not exactly someone who’s endeared himself to the public or the Protectorate, who relies on presenting a good image to the former to keep itself up. I don’t think killing Eidolon and resurrecting him on a whim did me any favors.”

Patrician paused. “On a whim?” he asked.

“Oh yes. All I had to do was recreate the body from scratch using his DNA - blood gets everywhere, you know? - and then just bring his soul back into his body. Ez pz.”

“Soul? Easy?”

Hmm, was I not presenting a good argument? I mean, I supposed that telling him that I was whimsy and thus fickle was … probably not a good idea.

“Why would you tell him that you are whimsy, you idiot?” Jessica growled into my earpiece. She had insisted on this before the meeting. “You’re like a trainwreck waiting to happen all of the time! You’re going to give away every single card in your hand if you keep doing that, so stop it.”

‘Well, sorry,’ I grumbled to myself, though I made sure to keep my external body language unchanged. “So,” I addressed Patrician. “I am open to negotiation. I don’t have a set price on any resurrection service I might offer, but there will be some conditions that go along with the price. Are you interested?”

He didn’t move, and I had kept only one power active, a rotation among Eidolon’s power called “Future Motion Sense,” which told me that Patrician wasn’t about to pull something stupid on me.

About a minute passed before the man nodded. “I just have a question. Killing Eidolon and resurrecting wasn’t…?”

“Tell him the truth. It isn’t like you won’t blurt it out anyways.”

“It wasn’t intentional. The bastard shot to kill first, so I killed him. His death was making too much of a ruckus, so I resurrected him, which backfired on me in terms of how much noise I was being on the receiving end. But you’re here for resurrection, and this retelling of that fiasco is taking up too much of my time. Tell me what you should pay for the service.”

-VB-

Patrician left the Wizard’s Tower.

Personally, he now called this place the Chaotic Mess because of who inhabited this place.

Alan Marris was a crazy bastard with too much power in his hands, and nothing anyone else will say or what Marris will do in the future will change his mind on that.

He was all over the place!

Patrician felt a migraine. The negotiation itself had been rough, too. He felt more like a customer at the docks shouting prices for the freshly caught prime tuna rather than a businessman in charge of multi-million dollar business.

Sure, he gave away nebulous agreements like letting Marris claim stake over Brockton Bay, New Hampshire, and Maine, not have any Elite cells move in or let newcomers sign up with the Elite if they operated out of aforementioned areas, and other territorial rights.

But why was the man even playing at trying to set up a trade company? What was there to trade in the first place to and from Brockton Bay anyways? It was a dying port city.

Regardless, he made an agreement on behalf of the Elite with Marris that Brockton Bay would not be touched by the Elites, and that any transaction that does occur will go through Marris’ trade company… which didn’t exist yet.

He paused and grinned.

“Maybe I’ll be able to make my fellow Elites feel some of my pain from dealing with Marris,” he hummed to himself as he got into the black limousine that had dropped him off here.