Garlan returned soon, after talking to most of the women in the room, never failing to bring a smile on their dreaded faces. He was a smooth talker, except with my lady, so it didn’t really surprise me.

“That bastard is a swine!” My lady, who begged to differ, said. “Shouldn’t you cut all ties with him, mongrel?! I’m worried that mutt will taint you.”

I laughed, earning hateful gazes from the people seated around the room. An undead tainted by a pervert. Sure sounds very convincing.

“What?!” my lady asked, but Garlan’s presence interrupted her questioning glance.

“Don’t worry, my lady. I might taint him to commit some crimes for me, but it will never be the other way around.”

I wonder what my lady thinks of me. I’m not as innocent and as reticent as she makes me out to be, but I’m sure she won’t be pleased to listen to my qualms about it. So, I just stayed put, watching the subtle exchange between Garlan and my lady, imbued with loathing.

“What happened, bread lad?” I asked as he took a seat beside me.

“Consider it done, Rudolf. A short while later, you might get called for an interview, and that’s it.”

“Can I get one too, mutt?” My lady asked, staring daggers at him.

“Ah, lady Letitia,” he looked conflicted, and his smooth tongue had mottled in front of a woman of my lady’s caliber. You can’t blame him, for my lady was too good to be true. Yes, I’m praising myself because my pain-striking efforts to make her into a formidable villainess were finally paying off.

“I’ll be back, Letitia,” I said, and Garlan’s jaw dropped. With a smile at my bread lad, I ambled to the woman who had beckoned me to enter the room amidst the threatening gazes of the people on the waiting list.

“He’s got a recommendation, kids,” she taunted the crowd, who averted their gazes with reluctance.

The room was similar to a modern interview room, albeit adorned with a portrait of King Berzilis Arlikia and his two predecessors. A wide table lay in the middle, and there was an area designated for me within the square drawn behind the table that probably measured the mana reserves. Doesn’t make a difference to me, as even external casters can hold mana within their body for a few minutes.

Two old mages sat in the chairs on the other side of the large table, documents with royal insignia sprawled erratically on them. The glare of the guards could intimidate any examinee, so I bet my first impression really struck well with the two old mages. Not the second one, I affirmed after noticing his glare. His bloodshot sleep-deprived eyes made me wonder if he was the one pissing near the rundown building last night.

“Ah, a nominee,” the lady mage said, her eyes glittering with an uncanny radiance that didn’t suit her countenance. “What can you show us, little boy?”

I’m old enough to be the ancestor of her ancestors, but I decided not to quibble on that. I didn’t come here for a rumble, so settling down for a license amicably was my foremost goal, and taking my lady out of the city, my second.

“What do you want me to show you, honorable mage?”

She stared at her fellow grey-haired mage, who gave me a gruff and snickered at me. Sure, he was the one pissing.

“Spells,” the old mage said a single word and took a sip from the mug stationed on his worktable, droplets of liquid spilling over the sheets that spread over my scoresheet and some other documents.

I cast [Smoke] in the room, close to the guards, whose interrupted coughs filled the stillness of the room. A large battle-ax hung behind them, and a couple of soldiers leaned against it in fits of cough, almost ready to get their heads chopped. Various kinds of knives spanned the two lateral walls, windows on the right interrupting their orderly decor.

“Quite the mischievous lad, but Amateur high-tier,” the woman gave me an evaluating gaze, creases reappearing around her eyes and cheeks, “and Fire attribute. One spell won’t get you out of here, little boy.”

You don’t call an undead ‘little’ because it annoys them to hear it from a mortal’s mouth. It’s just like how you don’t want murderers judging you in court for your crimes, no matter how grave.

With a sigh, I cast [Frost shield] around me while simultaneously keeping the guards coughing, showcasing my talent for multicasting that would certainly help me steer clear of these two old mages.

Light glistened on the hard polygonal ice that encased me, protecting me within, and the spell earned me some approval, begrudgingly from the old man.

“Good,” the old woman’s expression softened, and she wrote down something. “What is your name, little boy?”

“Rudolf, and please stop calling me little boy, honorable mage.”

She had a raucous laugh, but she nodded, nonetheless. “Here’s a question for you. What is essential to become a mercenary?”

“No hesitance to kill.”

“What about a soldier?” she asked, slightly amused.

“No hesitance to kill,” I repeated.

“What about loyalty to the king? Diligence, resilience, honestly?” the lady asked, taken aback by my answer.

“In the battlefield, everything is useless, honorable mage. I’d rather take brute men to the war by baiting them with a few shins than take inexperienced loyal, diligent, resilient, and honest men who hesitate to kill. The qualities of a knight are useful only when there’s no war. Once mayhem breaks out, there’s only blood and no room for flaunting your makings.”

“So you think you can build a kingdom without honest retainers?” the man asked gruffly, resting his sagging chin on his palms supported by his elbows on the table.

“If I can make them fear my absolute power, let alone a kingdom, even the entire world will grovel at my feet.”

“That’s a foolish notion!” the old man snickered. “Honest retainers make a monarch and not the other way around. And loyal soldiers strengthen the kingdoms.”

“Foolish though, it’s not a wrong one, honorable mage. How many kings have fallen to the swords of their loyal retainers? Because the king chose a way that didn’t match the general sentiments, the retainers decided to off him. Who is the one controlling the kingdoms and empires? Is it the king, as the name rightfully claims, or the so-called retainers, whose hunger for power is concealed in their moral intentions behind the betterment of the populace?”

“That’s a thin boundary, little boy. You can never say those in absolute power have never fallen.”

“Then please enlighten me with instances, honorable mage. I, in my life, have never heard of those in possession of absolute power succumbing before the world. Weak sticks together don’t make a stronger one, honorable mage. They just make a bunch of fragile sticks.”

“How old are you anyway? Twenty? You haven’t even seen the world half as much as me to make such bold remarks,” the old man said, furious at having opinions dismissed so blatantly, but he didn’t answer my question.

You see, mortals are so self-absorbed in their notion of moral, normal, and right that they never see the other end of the spectrum.

Why is slaughter wrong? Because every life is precious? That’s an ignorant answer because it doesn’t give any justification for the undead to not kill people. Because life is nothing more than fodder for us. And you eat fodder.

Mortal ethics are designed by them and for them, and it makes little sense for those not bound by the constraints of mortal lives to follow them. So, if you decide to subjugate me for slaughter, I need justification above everything else. We are arresting you on charges of murder. Who are you kidding? Just that won’t work on this undead. You don’t arrest a horse for eating grass. Or undead for eating bread.

I sighed and didn’t answer the old mage. There was no point in me spewing insightful words that would make little sense to the mortal.

“He sounds far more mature for his age, Tentran,” the old lady gave me a cautious glance, warmth seeping out of her eyes that didn’t match her gaze. “How would you, if you were given a chance, build an empire?”

“I won’t,” I replied if I was a mortal. I left the latter words unsaid. “What’s the point of building an empire if it won’t last for more than a few centuries? It’s an idle chore, and I’d rather let someone else take the initiative and enjoy my short life.”

The old woman laughed, but Tentran was more or less burning from fury. Well, if there was anything wrong with my sound argument, I wouldn’t hesitate to have an amicable debate.

“How about you entertain me in my house, Rudolf?” the old woman smiled at me as Tentran scribbled something in my scoresheet. “Your ideologies sound exciting.”

“That, I will have to ask my lady, honorable mage.”

“Letitia,” the old woman smiled, watching the name on the paper fondly. “No wonder she grew up to become an unruly brat. I’ll invite her over, so you can accompany your lady.”

Did she know my lady? I would find out sooner or later if the old mage did invite us. For now, I was happy with getting my license done and reveling in the strange sense of satisfaction I got from annoying the old man.

“Not that I can offer any entertainment, but if you want to debate on the ideologies, I’m quite interested in talking things out amicably, honorable mage.”

The old man snorted coldly while the old woman was laughing. “It’s refreshing to see a child not trying to flatter us with praises. You can collect your license from the pretty lady outside.”

Why would I praise these ignorant bastards who called me a child? If it wasn’t for my lady, I would have made them call me ancestor. After you have lived a millennium, nothing annoyed you more than being called a child. When I was in my four-year-old body, I had conceded. But not anymore. That was the last time my parents of the world held me anyway.

I took the paper she handed to me, which entailed my name and a few crude descriptions like obnoxious, young brat, arrogant, conceited, egoistic, snobbish… Wait, weren’t they all synonyms?

I cast [Fatigue] on Tentran once I noticed royal insignia at the bottom of my performance card with a remark that I had passed the test with bare minimum scores. His eyes looked too bloodshot after all, so I couldn’t help feeling pity. Yes, it was not petty revenge but the sympathy of an apathetic undead.

The old mage glanced at her companion in awe and watched me walk out of the room with a grin that didn’t match the wrinkles on her face. I offered her a genuine smile before closing the door behind me.

Well, at least not all were ignorant bastards who rejected undead’s views on mortal ethics.

The woman inside the booth replaced my scorecard with a small rectangular silver talisman with inscriptions drawn on the top.

“Channelize your mana into the inscription, and you should be able to see the mild glow,” the woman said, and my lady joined beside me.

I tried, and Garlan patted my back when he noticed the glowing inscription.

“Welcome to the guild, bread lad.”

“That looks cool,” my lady took the talisman and dumped it into her pochette. “But you are going nowhere without my permission.”

I sighed and heard Garlan laugh, much to the displeasure of the attendees of the large room. A guard dropped by and whispered something in the reception woman’s ears.

I guess they are marking the end of today’s interviews.

That’s what you will get to witness if you annoy undead. End, and eternal at times.