This bonus chapter was written by the great Lectin Gaezat himself, residing at The Critical Psychopath. It was only very slightly re-worked by yours truly.
Just three years after Lectin had left his old position as advisor to The Western Atlantic, his life was made immortal. And Lectin, ever a man of grace, took to it like a duck to water.
Lectin never did much else but practice his talent for killing once he became immortal. It was strange, the way that Lectin had made the tranisiton from royal advisor to a child queen to assassin so easily. He had skill and speed that was beyond those of any others his age. His was a natural talent, and he may even go so far as to call it a passion, although the “society” that Lectin had grown to despise would be mortified at the prospect of it.
But even killing gets boring, especially after an entire decade of it where he would return to his safe house in an inhospitable wasteland to crash after a hit. And through that decade his name spread, and people started joining his land. They were joining a territory that became hospitable only to those who were shunned by everything else, and if Lectin even cared a bit he would have told them to go somewhere else. But never mind that, Lectin never cared much about them. Eventually, when he realised people were looking up to him, he appointed a point man. He didn’t care much for his second-in-command either though, he cycled through them, really. They all died, whether by age or through a failed mission. But at least those that he chose were competent in keeping the ragtag bunch of criminals that sought protection in his unofficial domain in check.
And a couple of decades, this brought the realisation to Lectin that he didn’t want for company. Hell and spitfire, Lectin could wait till his boon of immortality would fade before he would even bother for it. There was no point in being friends with those who would only fade away, journeying beyond the veil of death to whatever lay beyond, while he was stuck at the shores of life. It was weird, he admitted to himself, to be as reclusive as Queen Melly, or like Queen Kit. But a good assassin was only as well-known as those who were never seen.
And so, Lectin focused on becoming one of the best killers that ever was. It was dreadfully easy. Not a lot of people were left alive to remember his face. Of those that he knew, they were unswervingly loyal to him, or trapped in immortality like he was. And since there were few who remembered his face, he made sure that number didn’t grow too large. When the guild grew larger, only the best were allowed to see him.
Those who did defect after seeing him, a man trapped in his sixties, looking youthful, strong, and terrible (Lectin did appreciate that the curse at least, gave him youthfulness rather than just immunity from death. Twenty years off his age was a fantastic curse, all things considered.), well. Lectin saw that they never escaped too far.
Sometime after the first century grew old, Lectin decided to pursue a more sedentary lifestyle. One could get bored with killing after you have had thousands deaths attributed to your hand, and another hundred thousand in his name. Lectin found that as his mind grew old and his body stayed young, he found a certain distaste for killing. There wasn’t a lot of meaning to ending a life, not much. His grandfatherly instinct to be kind and gentle, oh, it had died long ago. He hadn’t seen his ester while charge, Princess Coffee, for ages. He had grown efficient, and Lectin embraced that. He was fastidious, neat, and cool-tempered to a fault. But he needed something new.
And so Lectin decided to organise the rag-tag bunch of people who had gathered in his territory. He couldn’t have an entire mob of people committing crimes in his name. And so his new lifestyle started off with a blood-bath, killing off all the simpletons – the lackeys that dared to filthy the land with their petty crimes. He kept the best of criminals with him, and then he renamed their group the Mercenary Guild (no false impressions to those who want to join, make it clear, Jon). He named their region, he set up informants and seeded the Kingdoms. He made sure there were ways for people to appeal for help, through a more organised channel of communication. He made sure that his charges would have a warm bed to rest, a safe place to stay, and plenty of work to complete. A sated monster wouldn’t need to try to raise its head at a behemoth.
Three decades passed in quiet working. Lectin left every few years if there was a high-ranking assassination he didn’t trust others but a select few to do. He should keep his muscles limber, his skills honed. A mere seven fell to his hands in those decades, but a great many more fell to his Mercenary Guild that now inhabited the region of Sperenza. Sperenza was a force to be reckoned with, and none of the kingdoms were too foolhardy to even try to engage Sperenza in a war.
Truly, he had made that clear by murdering three of each kingdom’s top officials that were close to the thrones of each Queen (and Princess). Come near us, the message was clear, and your heads are on the platter.
And so Lectin lived on, neutral. Neat. And of course, deadly. And Lectin found that life was indeed, quite good. A good life is a life well lived, and Lectin found that he did pretty well for a mercenary.