The Fool's Freedom

Alan stared at the old man, at a loss for words. Why were all the monsters interested in him?!

His request had been straightforward – help with his trait, and for it to come from someone he could trust with his life. So far, it was going all kinds of wrong!

“You mute, boy? Speak!”

Pressure descended like a hammer and Alan felt knees bend and pop. There was a flash on his skin, and all was well again.

“Oh?” the old man grinned, revealing a yellow smile and a missing tooth.

“The fuck do you want, old man?” Alan asked. He was angry, and he could afford to show it with the protection he had.

“The little kid has a mouth,” the old man giggled, then the pine forest grew darker, the shadows longer. The old man’s eyes became like lanterns and pressure that made the barrier protecting Alan shine and shift like a turbulent river descended. “Do you think you are safe because you are borrowing someone’s power, you brat?”

Despite the barrier, the sheer presence of the old man felt overwhelming. Alan had never felt so insignificant before.

A black dot appeared between them, and one of the beings that seemed to represent the Bazaar walked out from it.

“Esteemed Greyheart, your previous infraction was overlooked, but please, do not test us further. The guest was led to you due to his request.”

The old man frowned and his aura retracted, “Why is the Bazaar stepping up for that boy? He’s weak,” it was said as a fact, not an opinion. “The weakest who has ever stepped foot here!”

Alan ground his teeth. The truth stung. He was weak.

For now.

The being shuddered, then stood up even taller, dwarfing the old man, “He is here by invitation of the Bazaar itself. I think you know better than to question what that means.”

The old man’s eyes twitched and he threw a poisonous look towards Alan.

“Alright, I will just chat with the boy, is that fine?”

“Yes, fulfillment of the request is not mandatory if no sufficient payment is offered,” the being bowed and disappeared.

This is fucked up. Was this happening because of his request?

The old man hmphed and they were back on the street. The geezer was still sitting in his falling-apart chair, looking as the first time Alan had seen him – almost dead, but not quite. There was another chair and Alan decided to take the initiative and sit, making it whine in pain.

The strange geezer was dangerous, probably the most dangerous out of everyone he had met except for the Spirit, but Alan was safe for now. If his life on Earth had taught him anything, it was that it was good to learn from the experience of others.

“You drink tea, boy?” the old man asked. The being had called him Greyheart.

“Will it kill me?”

The old man opened his eyes and glared, “If you choke on it badly enough, I guess it could. You don’t know how to drink tea, boy?”

This man was somehow more infuriating than the rude demon had been. Wait, the demon! Alan suddenly realized he had left it in the bag as he put it into the coin pocket space! He had been so entranced by the experience he hadn’t even noticed that. Was that alright to do? Oh well.

“Judging by your expression… you really don’t know?” another toothy smile, but a hint of astonishment as well.

“I know how to drink tea you old fart.”

“Well then,” the old man leaned back in his chair, waiting.

“Well, what?

“Pour us some tea, boy! Don’t you have any manners?”

Fuck you, old fuck. Alan still poured them each a cup. The tea was golden and smelled like heaven. Alan had never been much of a tea drinker before, but this smelled too good to pass. He carefully took a sip. Warmth spread from his tongue and through his whole body, while the aroma permeated every sense. And that was it. Just really good tea.

“This is amazing,” Alan couldn’t help but praise.

“Ha! It is, isn’t it? Those old bastards always complain about how it is just tea and doesn’t contain any essence and all that crap. Tea is tea! You drink it for the soul, not as a resource!”

Alan had to agree, “Some things are meant to simply be enjoyed. Nothing more.”

Greyheart looked at him and squinted, “You are alright boy,” he said after a while.

Alan smiled, “You might be too, old man. Thanks for the tea.”

“Tell me now,” the old man leaned forward, “Why do you smell of those bastard spirits? Huh? And don’t lie. The Bazaar won’t like it, and I won’t like it. Few can sense through whatever you are hiding, but I smelled you the moment you stepped foot near my hut. And to be able to do something about your request, I need to know you. It’s apparent you’re from a newly integrated world, so don’t worry.”

Fuck. How much do I tell? Was omitting parts of the story lying, or was it not? And could he even speak about his meeting with Thorn? He hadn’t been able to when he had tried to tell Ashlyn about it.

Alan decided to try his luck. He was out of his depth anyways. The old Greyheart was probably strong enough to do whatever he wanted to him, and making an enemy out of someone like that for information he didn’t know the value of was stupid.

“Well, there I was, waiting for the elevator…”

Alan told him a shortened version of things. To his credit, the old man sat and listened without interrupting or reacting. He even poured them the second cup of tea once they had finished their first.

As Alan reached the part about the Spirit, he felt resistance. It was much less than before, but still persistent and his words died in his throat. What was it?

Greyheart frowned and reached with a shriveled hand. The movement was slow and smooth, but for a moment Alan felt as if there was only this one hand in the world, and nothing else. A sudden shift brought them back to the pine forest he had caught a glimpse of before when the old man had attacked. The hand reached him but didn’t touch him. The old man swiped as if he was chasing away a fly.

A sudden weight Alan didn’t know he was carrying disappeared.

They were back in the Bazaar. The sudden shifts in environment and the displacement he had experienced that day were getting a bit much. There were only so many broken laws of reality a man could take.

Alan felt himself almost drowning, and he took another sip of tea. It helped a lot. The warmth centered his mind and senses.

“It was a compulsion, a simple one if you can call anything a spirit does simple. You can speak freely now,” the old man said.

Alan nodded and took a few more moments to gather himself. Then continued with his tale. He finished it by saying how he entered the Bazaar.

“Good. You show me trust and respect,” the old man said after some contemplation, “Lying is frowned upon, but refusing to speak is not. Your request brought you to me, but that creates no obligation in either of us.”

“A wise person once said that sharing tea with a fascinating stranger is one of life’s true delights. I was suddenly reminded of that, sitting here. Apart from trying to kill me, you are not half bad, old man. And you are strong. Much stronger than I will be any time soon, so talking with you is an opportunity.”

Greyheart sat staring into the distance, muttering to himself, “…one of life’s true delights, huh?”

With a jerking movement, the old man slapped his knees and laughed loudly. Passing shapes stopped and stared, but didn’t dare get close or interrupt Greyheart’s joy.

“Good, good! I would like to meet this wise person one day. Few are those who appreciate tea at such a level. What’s your name, boy?”

“Alan. How about you, old man?”

“You can call me Old Greyheart. It’s been my only name for millennia. Now let’s go inside and have another cup while we talk some more.”

Alan expected them to simply reappear on the inside of the hut, but Old Greyheart surprised him by getting up, opening the door, and entering the inside like a normal human being would.

Alan followed, perplexed.

The inside of the hut was quite normal for what one would expect of a witch’s hut. There were books on wooden raftes, and a cauldron slowly bubbling over a fire in a nice stone fireplace. All sorts of trinkets and curiosities littered the walls. There was a large window too, and Alan looked through it surprised to see a back porch and a particularly picturesque meadow surrounded by pine trees, with a small pond and a waterfall.

“How are you doing that?” Alan asked, entranced.

“Hm?” Old Greyheart was already sitting on the chair and seemed to be slowly preparing a new pot of tea. A plate of dried fruits and nuts was already sitting on the table. “Spatial displacement. My hut is in quite a few places at all times. My current permanent home though, is that pine forest.”

Alan didn’t understand but didn’t ask either. It was probably some very high-level skill.

He sat down opposite Old Greyheart and reached for the teapot to pour. It was somehow already there, steam rising.

“Wait, it needs to steep more,” the old man said.

The two sat, and Alan was content with simply looking around the hut. It seemed much bigger on the inside than it had been on the outside. Classic.

“First, I wasn’t going to kill you, just scare you a bit,” the old man said. “Second, I don’t know how you’re still alive, but luck is a skill too, and many of the powerful are powerful because they got lucky when they were weak. Do not dwell on that or let it define you.

You are probably far from the only one who has encountered similar beings, but you are most likely the only one who has received an invitation to this place due to it. The trait the Spirit has given you is fine, but it overrides your weakness and softens it, it doesn’t remove it. You should be careful to not become overly reliant on it. There are many ways to fix weakness of the body.”

Alan listened attentively and nodded. He treated each word coming out of the grumpy old man as gold. He knew too little about the possibilities before him, and someone that treated him to heavenly tea and could freely fuck with reality was someone very worth listening to.

“The tea is ready,” the old man said and Alan carefully lifted the black teapot and poured each of them a cup, “This one is different, I grew it myself. I am not very good at growing things, but it turned out alright.”

I guess even the mighty need hobbies.

Alan lifted his cup and softly blew on the liquid inside. The tea was darker, and there was a spicy aroma coming off of it. It was not unpleasant at all.

He took a sip and noticed the old man watching him with half-closed eyes. Was Old Greyheart nervous?

The taste was not as smooth as the previous one and had a slight bitterness that reminded Alan of coffee one of the herbs he had taken from the kobolds. Too bad he had lost them once again. He needed a better way to keep his stuff. It was good, really good. It was a tea that was both relaxing and exciting. Who knew tea was so versatile?

Alan took another sip, just to let the old man stew.

“Well?” Old Greyheart finally asked, unable to take the tension.

“It is very different from the previous one but suits me much better. The taste is slightly bitter, just as my favorite drink was back home, and the spicy aroma wakes up the senses. The warmth doesn’t seem to spread all over but is concentrated in the belly. Very nice.”

Damn, I should have become a tea connoisseur. I’ve wasted my time on Earth.

The old man’s cup shook and he set it down on the table, “Well, hm, I am glad you are enjoying it.”

“I truly am.”

They enjoyed the tea with some dried fruit for a little bit, before Old Greyheart spoke again, focusing on another part of Alan’s tale.

“Weakness is easy to fix, boy. Vitality is a different matter. There are ways, but none that will leave you pleased or I can freely offer. One is to acquire a very special bloodline, which is even harder than having been born with one. But a newly integrated world, especially one that has undergone a merger, is full of opportunities. Who knows how many forgotten legacies and secrets are buried in the new planet the System has scrapped together?” the old man sighed, “Once the System stops protecting you, many will come. I should not tell you this, as messing with integration has consequences few can bear, but keep in mind this: Opportunities beget disasters. You and your people need to grow fast or lose it all.”

A chilling thought, but it was not a story foreign to Alan. People on Earth had historically fought over much less valuable things than magical artifacts or cosmic power. The weak were always good prey.

“Thank you for telling me all of this, old man.”

“A small matter.”

“Say, did you kill the… person, before we spoke?” Alan asked. Curiosity killed the human.

“I did. This was his wish and he paid well. I will not divulge their name, as it would be disrespectful, but that person was afflicted with something much worse than anything you have experienced in your sickly little life. A plague of soul and blood. And I am one of the few here, who can kill a soul.”

Alan remained silent, as the old man looked out of the window, seemingly in deep thought. No matter how Alan looked at it, Old Greyheart looked like a simple old man in simple old clothes. Yet, here they were, talking about killing souls.

“I don’t know how much time has passed, the protection of the Bazaar lasts for only a day,” Alan suddenly said. His request to the Bazaar led him to the old man, and he had gotten some information on the matter just by chatting. He knew [Limited Vitality] wouldn’t be a simple thing to get rid of but the second part of the request was making up for it.

“You are in my home, boy. Time does not simply pass normally without my permission here, and even something as ancient and mysterious as the Bazaar will have trouble interfering. Your protection won’t run out, as it doesn’t work inside of this hut.”

Alan nodded, then froze. Did that mean his life was at the whims of the old man in front of him since the moment he had accepted to enter the hut?

Old Greyheart seemed to sense Alan’s sudden trepidation and smiled, looking more sinister than ever.

“Yes, you were at my mercy the moment you agreed to enter my home, silly boy.”

Well fuck.