The Immortal Slackmaster

Author: Andrew Galbraith

Chapter 1: A Lapdog

Words : 1804 Updated : Nov 6th, 2025

"Still no word from Margaret?" "That ungrateful girl! Does she even know what day it is? How dare she?" The bickering buzzed in his ears like a swarm of flies. The crystal chandelier shivered overhead, throwing shards of light into Jason Sowden's eyes. He blinked, turned his head, and took in the scene. A gilded hall. A stage blanketed with flowers. Formal décor fit for a state banquet. In front of the stage and behind it, a churning sea of guests. It took him two seconds to understand. He'd woken up in another world. He'd been transported to a world with no spiritual energy and no cultivators; a world where no one spoke of spells or cultivation. And today was his engagement party. A breath ago, he'd been neck-deep in sect affairs, hounded by quarrelsome disciples. The next instant, he was at the engagement venue. Jason felt the absurdity hit him like cold water. Even more absurd, just moments ago, his fiancée Margaret Santee's first love had crashed the party and, under a hundred watchful eyes, ran off with her. The man who'd owned this body died on the spot of a broken heart. "Tsk." Jason clicked his tongue, speechless. What a sorry, cowardly way to go. He searched the original Jason's memories. The two shared a name. At their first meeting in college, he'd thought Margaret a revelation and fallen hard. What followed was five years of infatuation. Like most doormats, his courtship opened with a tired cliché, slid through a breathless, ever-worsening middle, and wrapped up in a rushed, sloppy ending. That was the kind of slide one'd spot any day on the Senton trading floor. And through it all, the man thought there was romance involved. All Jason felt was secondhand embarrassment. Under normal circumstances, the original Jason could never have ended up with Margaret at all. She was not only strikingly beautiful, but the Santee family was a powerhouse in Anville, with businesses all over the city. Meanwhile, the original Jason had graduated into a high school math teaching job, taking home a little over $3000 a month, living a dead-end life. In every way, he and Margaret were an ill-matched pair. If not for a word from Salvatore Santee, a man like him would never have stepped through their door in his lifetime. But Salvatore did speak up. That made the original Jason even more certain they were meant to be. Otherwise, why would a man like Salvatore pick him out of the crowd of suitors? That delusion shattered when Margaret ran off with her first love at the engagement party. He couldn't take it. He died where he stood. When Jason finished paging through the doormat's life, he felt no ripple of pity. A laugh almost rose in his chest. A man who didn't love himself didn't deserve to be loved. Even so, he owed the original one thing. If not for him, Jason would still have been chained to that shabby sect, working himself ragged as its so-called master. Given a new life, he didn't plan to cultivate. He didn't know when his old world had fallen into that fever. People threw themselves into practice. Whether they found longevity, he couldn't say. He'd seen men practice for a thousand years on mortal bones, strutting out with swords to make a name, only to be cut down the moment they stepped past the gate. He'd seen the cautious lie low for centuries, swearing to survive by keeping their heads down, then get cut down the moment they stepped past the gate. He'd seen schemers pull strings from the shadows, playing factions like chess pieces, only to get cut down the moment they stepped past the gate. By the look of it, cultivation carried more risk than abstaining. Those who cultivated didn't always outlive those who didn't. Jason hadn't been a zealot. Even so, in his last life, he'd become an Immortal Emperor. There was no secret. Only talent. "Princeton, what do we do now? Everyone's watching." A strained middle-aged woman's voice rose at his ear. "How do I know? You're the one who spoiled her," a man snapped. Jason lifted his gaze. In a shadowed corner, his prospective in-laws, Princeton Santee and Esther, were locked in an argument. The hall had fallen into chaos. Most guests had broken into gossiping knots. A few young women, swept up by the melodrama of a stolen bride, screamed and squealed. "I always said Margaret never liked this. Father pushed her into it..." "Keep your voice down," Princeton cut in. "You want to make this worse?" He looked toward the real power in the room, the Santee family's helmsman, Salvatore. Jason followed the look. Salvatore seemed just past sixty, his face deeply lined, hair half gone to white. He didn't look like a man who bothered to take care of himself. He sat in a wheelchair, his expression as dark as thunder, staring straight ahead. "Dad, should we..." Princeton began, tentative. Salvatore didn't seem to hear. He remained silent. Princeton shut his mouth. "Dax, use my phone and try her again." After a long moment, Salvatore finally spoke, instructing the butler at his side. Dax Warth nodded, took the phone, and hurried to place a call. It went straight to voicemail. "Sir, I can't get through. Her phone's off." Dax handed the phone back with a helpless look. In the hour since Margaret bolted, he had called more than ten times. Every attempt ended the same way. Salvatore's face had gone iron-blue. No one knew what he was thinking. After serving him for more than ten years, Dax could feel the anger rolling off him like heat. Salvatore tightened his grip on his cane, pushed himself trembling from the wheelchair, and walked to the center of the stage. The butler hurried up to steady him. Once the old man climbed the steps, a hush spread through the hall. The guests present were either relatives of the Santee family or close partners from the same circle. They were here to see how the Santees would bring this to a close. Salvatore accepted the microphone from the emcee and spoke without flourish. "Everyone, I am very sorry. There's been an incident, so we're calling off the ceremony for today. The hotel has set out drinks and light snacks for everyone. We apologize for the inconvenience. Thanks for your understanding." He said nothing more. With Dax's support, he left in haste. At a moment like this, explanations were useless. The Santees were bound to be Anville's laughingstock today. Better to say nothing than to feed the fire. The Santees wanted to leave. The reporters had no intention of letting such a bombshell slip by. Some had been invited to witness the engagement of the Santees' eldest daughter. Others had raced over on a tip. An engagement party turned into a farce, and they were delighted. People might not tune in for a society engagement, but a society scandal always draws eyes. All the more since one of the two leads in this drama happened to be a red-hot celebrity.

The Immortal Slackmaster

Chapter 1: A Lapdog

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