Chapter 52: Some Goblin Friends of Mine

To the respected Demon Lord Sharlock:

We have learned through the Special Talent Recruitment Center that your friends intend to sign up as combat testers for our new semester's lich graduation research.

The Academy takes this matter with the utmost seriousness and has dispatched a commissioner to Frostlake City. We look forward to discussing the relevant arrangements with you and your friends — please adjust your schedule accordingly, Your Lordship, and confirm a time and place to meet.

Below is our commissioner's current mailing address:

Room 213, the Cutthroat Inn, 777 Old Quarter District, Frostlake City — Professor Bacon, Deputy Dean of Academic Affairs, the Undead Academy.

Sharlock finished the letter. The Recruitment Center's efficiency was impressive — and the Academy's wasn't far behind: barely half a day gone, and they'd already sent a deputy dean of academic affairs to Frostlake City.

Sharlock instructed Bru to hold down the fort, then took a teleport scroll straight to Frostlake City. Out of the portal reception hall, he found a hellsteed carriage sporting an official taxi license:

"The Cutthroat Inn, 777 Old Quarter. On the meter, please!"

"CRACK!"

"CRACK!"

Behind Sharlock, the hellsteed drawing the carriage clopped away down the flagstones to the tune of the gnome driver's whip cracking empty air. Before Sharlock's eyes stood an inn with a 【Cutthroat Inn】 sign hanging.

At the inn's entrance stood a skimpily-dressed beastman, who kept eyeing Sharlock sideways as he approached.

Sharlock, unmoved, walked straight into the inn.

"I'm looking for Professor Bacon, room 213."

Sharlock said this to the gnome receptionist at the front desk, who was busy filing her nails with a rasp.

"Of course, sir — please sign in here, then take the 21st floor; the express lane is on your left."

The receptionist said it very politely.

Sharlock blinked — then quickly finished signing in and headed for the express lane on the left.

At the end of the left-hand passage waited a gnome in a bellhop's uniform. At the sight of Sharlock he snapped to attention and asked in a shrill voice:

"Which floor, my lord demon?"

"Twenty-first, thank you."

No sooner had Sharlock said it than the gnome patted the wall. The wall promptly rippled and split open down the middle, gooey fluid stretching into thin strands from top and bottom.

It was not a wall. It was a mouth that looked like a wall — or some similar vessel — with a space inside boarded over in wood, a magic lamp burning overhead.

Sharlock stepped into the vessel; the "mouth" snapped shut, and then, with a "BOOM," went into free fall — dropping straight down for about five seconds before stopping.

The "mouth" opened again. Sharlock surveyed the corridor before him, the numbers 【21】 pasted alongside.

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Peering out of the vessel, room 【213】 sat not far away.

"Are you getting off or not?! My mouth is getting SORE!"

Just as Sharlock was still peering about, a muffled complaint drifted out of the vessel itself.

Sharlock stepped out; the vessel closed up promptly, going right back to looking like a wall.

"Click."

As Sharlock was about to knock on the door of 【213】, the door swung open on its own — and out walked a skimpily-dressed orc and an equally underdressed gnome, blowing flirty glances at whoever was inside:

"Professor, you are SO much fun — order us again next time, 'kay?"

"We're off now~ Thanks for the spread, Professor~"

The two of them came out, spotted Sharlock, both went slightly tense, hugged the wall, and hurried over to stand by the express lane behind Sharlock to wait.

Sharlock's expression turned a little strange — but he walked to 【213】 anyway and knocked.

"Forget something, sweeti—"

The door opened, and a skeleton frame shrouded head to toe in black miasma appeared behind it. But mid-sentence it registered that a demon was standing in the doorway, and the skeleton visibly stalled:

"My apologies — you are?"

"First time meeting you — I am the Demon Lord Sharlock." Sharlock politely produced the Undead Academy letter he'd received and handed it over. "I came following the address on the letter. Would you be Professor Bacon, deputy dean of academic affairs at the Undead Academy?"

The skeleton looked at Sharlock, at the beastman and gnome waiting by the express lane, then down at its own frame — cheekbones flushing faintly red:

"Do come in, Lord Sharlock."

Professor Bacon stepped aside to let Sharlock through.

The room was quite upscale — bedroom plus sitting room — except the place reeked to high heaven. Bags packed with dirt lay scattered across the coffee table; a plus-size beastman's pair of boxers sat on the sofa; the bed was a full disaster zone, like a dorm pillow fight had just wrapped.

"So sorry — I only just arrived and was worn to the bone; haven't had a chance to clean. You really should have given me a heads-up before coming, so I could prepare. Ah — sit anywhere you like; I'll just go change and be right out." Professor Bacon ducked into the bedroom as he spoke, and shortly reemerged in a bathrobe.

"Those two just now..." Sharlock pointed toward the door.

"Two students I sponsor. Very poor families, but good kids with real futures — I couldn't bear to watch their roads narrow over a little poverty. They heard I'd come to Frostlake City and dropped everything to come thank me. You catch my meaning, yes?"

As he said all this, Professor Bacon brewed Sharlock a cup of bloodfern nectar, settled onto the sofa beside him, and casually flicked the boxers off the seat and behind the sofa, as if nothing whatsoever had happened.

"Understood — completely understood." Sharlock nodded, the picture of sincerity. "An undead of such noble character and deep compassion is a rare thing these days, Professor. Good kids in hard spots absolutely deserve more support. But let's set that aside — let's talk combat testers for your school's lich graduation."

"Yes, yes — business. So, roughly how many of Your Lordship's friends are planning to join this graduation research?" Professor Bacon held out one hand, thumb and forefinger pinched together as if holding something invisible. "Because, as you know, the recruitment notice we posted does come with a teensy bit of danger — about THIS much danger. People die every year. The school's budget is also quite limited, so lofty payouts and death benefits are probably off the table — though naturally it won't be insultingly low either; on that point Your Lordship can rest fully assured."

"I've already gone over all of that at the Special Talent Recruitment Center. What I want to know is: how many testers does your school plan to recruit for the graduation research, what's the pay per head, and roughly how long will it run?" Sharlock laid out the questions he actually cared about.

"As the Undead Academy is the largest undead-department institution in the Northern Underworld — nearly half the liches on the talent market are our alumni, and we graduate large numbers every year — our initial plan is to recruit one thousand slots, at one hundred magic stones per head. As for duration: if the testers don't all die partway through, roughly ten months to a clean wrap; if they DO all die, we'll need to re-recruit, and the timeline becomes hard to promise."

Professor Bacon continued:

"Ah, recruiting this special talent every year eats such time. During a war with the surface, or a regional Underworld war, it's simple — but these past few decades there's been nothing, and never a term that wraps inside three months. Every year's graduation drags on and on; the worst ran ten-plus years overdue. As deputy dean of academic affairs, my job is very hard."

"Yes — that does sound hard." Sharlock gave a sympathetic sigh.

"So — how many of Your Lordship's friends might sign up? If the numbers are substantial, I could petition the school, and we might even shave a little commission off the top for Your Lordship."

Mid-sentence, Professor Bacon lifted a cup of bloodfern nectar and poured it into his mouth — whereupon the nectar streamed straight down through his jawbone, dripping onto the sofa and the floor.

"Truth be told, I intend to contract out your school's entire graduation research this year — and if it's agreeable, I'd like to build a long-term partnership with the Academy, the scope of our cooperation naturally extending well beyond graduation research."

Sharlock delivered this with great sincerity — but the Professor Bacon across from him had gone a bit glassy-eyed. He worked his jaw for a long while before managing:

"Your Lordship means to say — you intend to contract the graduation research? I'm afraid you've misunderstood us. This research does not accept participants of excessive power. Those joining the graduation projects are liches about to graduate — in strength and every other respect they differ greatly from mature, seasoned liches. If the participants are too strong, those liches won't even get the chance to fight back, which would entirely defeat the purpose of testing them. That's why we prefer to recruit Underworld creatures of the beastman-or-gnome variety. A high-tier demon of Your Lordship's caliber joining this graduation research — I fear that wouldn't be quite appropriate."

"Sorry, Professor — you seem to have misread me. I don't intend to participate myself. As I keep saying: it's my FRIENDS who want in." Sharlock shook his head.

"Then — may I ask — what manner of friends are Your Lordship's friends, exactly? Gnomes? Beastmen? In those numbers? With no death benefits required?" Professor Bacon asked, a touch alarmed.

"Some goblin friends of mine."

Sharlock answered thus.