Fate Alchemist - A Regression Academy LitRPG

That evening, after their Dungeon Delving class, they found a middle-aged man in a red coat standing out in front of Wulf's dorm room door. He was a non-Ascendant, and judging from his attire, he wasn't a guard. Unlike some of the other city guards or the king's force, it had embroidery all the way down its lapels and a decorative sash with a few family crests sewn onto it.

"Good evening," the man said, dipping his head. He was a human, and likely a Centralis local. "My employer, the king, sends for you. He requests an audience. Tonight would be preferable, though he understands that you may have studies to attend to."

Wulf glanced back at the others. He probably shouldn't turn down an invitation from the king, but they did also have some catching up on their studies to do.

Kalee whispered, "As long as it doesn't take too long. I have an assignment and some last minute cramming."

Both Seith and Irmond nodded in agreement with Kalee's sentiment.

Wulf turned back to the servant and nodded. "We'll come."

"Very good. Please follow me."

"Oh…can we just have a second to put away our stuff?" Wulf asked. He glanced back. Kalee was furiously running her fingers through her hair, trying to straighten it. Seith stood still, arms crossed, and flicked a bit of debris off her stained uniform. Irmond, as usual, had no corrections to make.

"Very well," the servant said, and stepped aside.

After putting away their textbooks and lightening their bags, they met the servant at the front of the Academy a half-hour later.

The servant led them out to a carriage. It wasn't an Academy carriage, but rather, a brown vehicle pulled by four horse-shaped marble golems and tended to by a single Iron-Tier pilot. The walls sloped smoothly, and it had room for four passengers inside.

The servant held the door open for them, and they all hopped inside. Wulf dropped down on the back seat, and Kalee took a place right beside him. It was a little cramped inside, but at least the seats were comfortable.

The servant hopped up to a bench out at the front of the carriage, spoke to the Ascendant driver. The driver triggered a Skill, and the carriage trundled off down the road.

This time, they didn't leave the old city. They navigated through high-end markets and dodged well-dressed city goers, as well as other carriages returning for the evening.

When they reached the residential area, Wulf could barely pick out the royal palace from the rest of the city. It wasn't terribly different from some of the other guild-heads' mansions, which probably wasn't a fault of the palace, but more a sign of how the guilds had caught up.

The only difference was that the royal palace had a greater degree of separation to the rest of the city. First, there was a tall wrought-iron fence, then a hedge, and a broad lawn of gardens, unmoving statues, walkways, and well-maintained lawns. The carriage passed through a gate, then trundled along a road up to the palace's front gate.

The palace itself was a large complex of beige sandstone, on average four storeys, and with clay tile roofs, innumerable windows, and a few scattered domes made of pale blue stone and plaster. Near the center, there were a few spires that reached much higher. Despite the pleasant fall weather, it boasted a few smoke-chuffing chimneys.

The carriage came to a halt and the servant pulled open the door, then said, "Follow me, please."

They passed the guards at the front entrance with ease. The silver-tier Ascendants let the servant pass without a word, and two of them pushed open the heavy wooden gates, allowing Wulf and the others through.

The floors were polished granite, and the walls were a combination of varnished wood, pilasters, and plaster, and Wulf didn't know what half the hanging banners meant. But they didn't linger in one place long. The servant led them through vacant hallways and up staircases until they reached a modest room on the third floor. Its windows would've once looked over the whole city, but with the rest of the old town's buildings springing up around them, Wulf couldn't see very far at all.

He'd been expecting a grand audience chamber, but this seemed more like an average living room. Cushioned chairs and couches were scattered about the room, and there were a few tables.

King Athem sat at a small tea table in the center of the room, holding a porcelain cup and stirring a thick brown tea with a spoon. Two Silver-tier guards stood behind him—a Ranger and a Pilot—but he dismissed them both with a wave. They nodded and obeyed instantly.

Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

"Thank you, Manthus," Athem said to the servant. The man nodded, then retreated the way they came. He shut the door, leaving just Wulf, Kalee, Irmond, and Seith alone with the king.

They couldn't have done anything to him even if they tried. Athem was a High-Gold. At least, that was probably the idea. Wulf might have been able to make a potion that could do something to the king.

Still, he didn't plan on it.

"Please, don't kneel," Athem said. Wulf hadn't been planning to. The king stood up, picking up his cane, and walked over slowly. "Good evening. I have heard rumours about you four."

"Is Athllas alright?" Wulf asked.

The king raised his eyebrows. "Yes, he is recovering, and I'm sure he must hate how much we're fussing over him, but you must understand: he is the most suitable heir in these times. All his siblings…they are not. I have failed them, and it's a Field-given miracle that Athllas is the way he is. He is the only one who I trust not to sell the kingdom for a handful of Crowns." Athem turned away, and broke into a fit of coughing. He reached into his robe and retrieved a handkerchief, and finally, coughed up a glob of blood.

"Why'd you guys even need money?" Seith asked.

"Ah…" Athem looked a little taken aback by her bluntness. "It's a turn of phrase, really. Not money, per-say, but favours, deals, and vanity. Building statues instead of walls, building monuments instead of roads. Letting the guilds dictate your every move. I've made that mistake all too often…and I have made many agreements I wish I could take back, but alas, a Field Pact is a strong thing, especially when made with certain guild leaders."

"Apologies for being so forward, sir," Wulf said. "But is there a reason we're here?"

"I wished to thank you, both for saving my life and my son's," Athem said. "He explained everything that happened. And I wondered if there was anything I could do to reward you."

"You could, like, call off Lord Umoch," Irmond said.

"I apologize, but I don't understand."

Quickly, they explained their predicament.

"Ah…" Athem turned away, shaking his head. He gave a few more ragged coughs, then pounded his chest. "Then more sincerely, I apologize, but that was one of my Field Pacts. In exchange for Lord Umoch's impressive arming capacity, I agreed to stay out of academy affairs. If I had known that he would use it to appoint only crews who favoured him, I wouldn't have agreed, but we needed the arrows, and with his new crossbows and longbows back then, many decades ago…he was an invaluable ally."

Lord Umoch and the Fletcher's Guild had broken into the business of bowmaking a few years ago, as well as just making arrows. They developed a method—company secret—of crafting low-tier magical bows, which every nation scrambled to get their hands on.

"But I have come to resent the Fletchers, as I'm sure many have," Athem said. "I didn't understand why he wanted control of the Academy until it was too late. How can I help you beat him? What gift could I give? I know well enough that giving you a weapon may help in the short term, but will stunt your growth with it far into the future. It must be earned, not gifted. The same goes for armour and equipment. As for mana-water, well…I do have some high-concentration distillations, but I would advise using those under the most dire of circumstances. A boost of mana that doesn't relate to your Class' tasks runs the risk of confusing the Field."

Wulf nodded. At least the king was thinking of something that would actually be useful to them, and he wasn't about to turn down a gift from a king.

"How…are your gardens, sir?" Wulf asked.

"My gardens?"

"What sort of plants do you have?"

"I have specimens from all across the continent, and anything from other continents that will live in our environment. Why?"

"May I have clippings? I've…been putting together my own garden, but it's a little dull at the moment."

Athem scrunched his eyebrows, coughed, then tilted his head. "An unusual request, but you're welcome to it. I'll have my gardener show you them on the way out, and she can help you with the clippings."

"Thank you, sir," Wulf said.

"But that is one gift, and there are four of you." Athem motioned to the rest of them. "You are a crew, aren't you?"

"Yeah," Irmond said. "Give us one second. Group huddle. No, not you, Wulf, the rest of you guys. You already got yours." He gave Wulf a big grin.

Wulf chuckled, then stepped back. The others began whispering, and though Wulf probably wouldn't have heard as a regular mortal, the Marks enhancing his senses helped him hear them anyway.

Finally, they settled on: "Would you let us use your library?" Kalee presented the question. "We need knowledge most of all. I could use some ancient sutras to help with my spell Skills, Seith could use some extra artificing knowledge, and Irmond? Well…he's Irmond. He'll find a use for it."

"An excellent suggestion," Athem said. "Very well. I will write you a permission slip. Show it to the guards on your way into the palace, and they will let you through without a fuss."

"Thank you," Kalee said, dipping her head.

"Best of luck to you all," Athem added. "I know my days are numbered, but I may do a little good before I go, after all. I know I have many servants, but please, take care of my son. He means the world to me, even if…I worry I've pushed him too hard."

"He just wants to make you proud, sir," Wulf said. "I hope you find time to tell him what he needs to hear."

Athem nodded, then broke into another fit of coughing. "I must retire. You have a good evening, you four. And I suppose I shall see you around."