Fate Alchemist - A Regression Academy LitRPG

Wulf stepped into the warehouse, holding his scissors out in front of him. He wished Irmond had a communication construct, but they didn't grab one before leaving.

"I'm going to leave most of the fighting to you," he whispered to Kalee. "You and Irmond. You guys will benefit the most from doing the most, here."

She nodded, then took the lead. With a twirl of her staff, she stepped farther into the warehouse. Orange sparks gathered at the staff's tip.

The first thing Wulf noted was the smell. It wasn't exactly the worst thing he'd ever smelled, but it was up there. And soon, he found out why. They walked out into the main hall of the warehouse, where light filtered in through holes in the sloped roof. Old, shattered crates lined the ground, and fallen beams and dust were everywhere. It was like Wulf was crossing a desert with how dirty the ground was.

The smell was almost of rot, but more pungent. A many-day-old punctured intestine. Animals—mainly dogs, but a few cats, lizards, and medium-sized rodents hung on the opposite side of the hall. Metal clamps suspended them by their feet, and they dripped blood down into a carved runic circle on the ground.

"A Desperate Ascendant," Wulf muttered.

"The way you say desperate makes me think it's a big D, not a little d," Seith whispered.

Wulf wished Irmond was here to say 'those are called capitalized letters' or something like that, but Wulf only said, "Ascendants who never made it into the current way of things. Who ended up outside the system, for whatever reason, and realized the entire world was against them for it."

He remembered Dr. Arnau telling him about them last life. She'd been so worried that he was becoming one of these dark Ascendants. She might have been right.

"They'll do anything to advance," Kalee said. "Sacrifices, that sort of thing. Eventually, they twist the Field around them, and it becomes their purpose to sacrifice stuff. They gain greater power from the act of sacrificing. It rarely stops with just animals."

"Humans…" Seith breathed, then gagged, and let out a dry retch to the side.

"Eyes up. Stay focussed," Wulf said.

At the center of the rune-covered stone slate was a dead body, spread and flayed, its limbs slit, or just skinned in places, and they leaked blood out into the rest of the runic circle. It still wore the tattered gambeson of a city guard.

"But we gain mana from killing things, too," Seith said.

"As a Copper, you wouldn't get anything from killing a mortal non-Ascendant," Wulf said. "Not a random guard you found. These guys do."

"Where is he?" Kalee asked.

"Hiding," Wulf replied. "He knows he can't take us. But…"

There was a thud on the roof, then a shrill cry of Irmond's thrustwing. A second later, the roof burst open, and an enhanced arrow smashed through the wood, cleaving through the rafters. A human-shaped bundle fell.

"...not much can escape Irmond's senses anymore," Wulf said.

When the person hit the ground, Kalee used a spell Skill to trap him in a well of enhanced gravity. He shouted incoherently.

The Desperate Ascendant was a middle-aged man in a tattered black cloak. Rusty armour covered his body from chest to toes, and he carried two heavy butcher's cleavers at his hip. His face was scarred, and one of his eyes was mutilated. The other was so bloodshot it almost glowed red.

"Should we…arrest him?" Seith whispered.

Wulf grimaced, then stepped forward, splitting apart his scissors slightly.

The Ascendant reached into his coat and tore out a glass vial with something swirling and red inside it. He smashed it on the ground, and a tornado of red mist surged out.

"Blood spirit," Wulf whispered.

He didn't let it last long enough to assess its rank. He simply jabbed it with his scissors, then stole the chaos and order from it. It collapsed into a tiny pellet of glass and shattered when it hit the ground.

The Desperate Ascendant's eyes flared, and he let out an animalistic snarl. He ripped both his cleavers off his hips, then charged forward. Before he could escape the well of gravity, Kalee drove a wedge of gravity down on his spine. It cracked, and he fell face-first into the ground, dead on the spot.

Wulf shook his head. "Desperation brings out the worst in people. Take his cleavers, and we'll have them in to prove we completed the mission."

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

"That seemed…weak. His body just…broke?" Seith winced. "And what even was his Class?"

"He likely had no Marks, or ones that didn't synergize well with each other," Wulf replied. "As for his Class, he'd probably muddled it so much that it was unrecognizable. He's not someone you want to learn from."

He whirled his scissors around and tucked them into his sheath, then turned away. "And we should probably get the city guards to clean this place up."

~ ~ ~

They completed nearly a mission a day for the next few weeks. They made sure the Lions didn't know they were taking missions with the guards, because that'd surely pin some of the suspicion on them.

It went surprisingly well. Most of their missions were taking out Desperate Ascendants in the city, though there were some missions where they simply tackled normal non-Ascendant criminals. There were always patrols, always new missions, always reports of something happening in the city.

Sometimes, it turned out that nothing was happening, and though they didn't accumulate much mana, that tended to be for the best. No need to cause problems if there was nothing to do.

It was halfway through the third week, a couple days before their midterms, when they encountered a Desperate Ascendant who'd undergone some sort of spell-Skill ritual. He'd tried to do something to enhance his Marks, some poorly advised sacrifice ritual.

"The Black Pilgrim," he'd said, rambling to himself. "The Black Pilgrim says a new order is coming. A new great saviour…one who can transmute the fabric of the world and build it in his liking…we must serve…"

That had given Wulf the shudders for the rest of the days. He probably would've chalked it up to a mindless rambling, except that they guy had specifically said transmutations.

Was the alchemist that Varl used that powerful?

They told Captain Basil about the awful rituals, and all he said was, "Never, ever works. They think they're going to do some exotic ritual they read in a book somewhere, snort a little reema beforehand, and suddenly they'll shoot from Copper to Iron. Count your blessings you aren't like that."

Wulf did. He wasn't sure what to make of them, except for a mixture of disgust and pity.

As for their advancement, the missions put Irmond halfway through Low-Copper. Seith didn't gain much except for some scrap metal for constructs. Kalee reported that she was halfway through Middle-Copper.

Wulf didn't gain much progress directly, but there were plenty of wild spirits in the slums. Clay spirits, fire spirits, sand spirits, and scrap spirits. Most took the shape of wild dogs, and few were ever stronger than Iron. Sometimes, the local Ascendants tried to harness them, but it rarely went well.

Whenever Wulf found one, he harvested its essences with the Fate Cutters. The scissors' chaos- and order-unit storage was improving greatly, simply by him helping with the missions.

While he didn't relish in it, he was altering plenty of people's fates with the scissors.

Though the patrol missions cut into their time, they didn't have as much left to do with the Wraith. Most of the damage from their dungeon run had been repaired, except the hand, and according to Dr. Blyke, they'd raised the joints and other internal devices up to modern standards. He'd listed off a whole slew of them, but Wulf didn't really know what they meant.

But the problem was, the internal mountain spirit was still slumbering. Dr. Arnau still said it was in a coma, and that waking it was going to be an enormous challenge. It wouldn't wake until it truly bonded with a Pilot.

She had, however, sealed off the hand and kept the spirit alive. They didn't know exactly how to rebuild its hand while it was in a coma, and Wulf was still secretly hoping to use the Viridian golem's hand. It wasn't the right colour, but when it came to size, it was perfect.

Alright, maybe the hand was a little big, but once they had it attached, they could modify it.

He hadn't presented the idea to anyone. He wasn't sure how they'd take it, and if they'd take it well at all, so instead, he planned to save that for later. More of a do first, and ask for forgiveness later type of situation.

But they'd finished tanning the dire-bear pelt a while ago, and though they had used some of it for Wraith's blades, there was still plenty left.

For warmth, Wraith didn't need a cloak. There really wasn't any reason to put a textile on an Oronith, except if it had a magical property.

At least, for regular Oroniths. Wraith, however, was lighter and more maneuverable. It came at a slight cost—it left Seith and Irmond very vulnerable. Especially when it came to a situation where they were being pelted with shrapnel or debris. Normally, they could hide behind the Oronith's bulk, or between some dislodged outer stone panels, or in the crack of a joint. Not with Wraith.

"If we give it a thick cloak," Wulf explained, "I can pull it over where you're hiding and give you better cover."

So they worked on trimming and cleaning the pelt further. Wulf made a batch of healing potions with the king's westwart, but he didn't keep them for himself. He splashed them along the pelt's inner hide.

Though the pelt wouldn't regrow a giant bear inside, not ever, the healing potions were Low-Gold (they could've been higher if he had let them transmute, but he needed the purpose of the westwart—he'd used a transmutation slip to stop them from changing). They were strong enough to mend some of the holes and damage, even if the monster it belonged to was long dead.

Then, with the last of their hardvellar, Seith made a clasp for them, completing the construct.

Shimmercloak (Unique)

A fur cloak crafted for an Oronith. There are few others like it, because few others saw a need for it.

Upon moving, the fibres of the pelt shimmer n unique patterns, making the user's movement difficult to track.

They will only function for their bonded Oronith.

With the cloak finished, Seith advanced to Low-Bronze, and Wulf gained a little mana, but there wasn't much time to celebrate.

The very same night that they finished the cloak, Varl found them at the foot of the Oronith.

"We're going on a mission," he announced. "We're visiting my supplier, and I need backup. You're coming with me."