Fate Alchemist - A Regression Academy LitRPG

The entire Academy filled up the audience risers of the central arena. It felt odd to be in the risers once more, but in his past life, Wulf had only ever been in the risers, watching from a distance. Once or twice. He hadn't been a fan of the crowds that erupted around combat.

But last time, no one from the central branch had come here to give a demonstration.

Wulf and Kalee walked through the crowd together, weaving down a set of stairs, until they found an empty seat. Irmond and Seith had gone off on their own, and it was probably for the best. Wulf had told them that he planned to discuss the upcoming attack with Langold with just himself and Kalee. A smaller crowd would feel more like a conversation and a warning, and less of a confrontation.

"This…this didn't happen last time, right?" Wulf whispered to Kalee as they navigated the crowd. His voice was barely audible over the rumble of thousands of talking students. "Last time, as in our last lives."

"If it did, I hope I would've remembered it," Kalee said.

"We're…we're the only thing that changed, right?" Wulf asked. "How could we have had such a large effect already?"

"They said it was because they saw an especially promising batch of first years, and were hoping to do a little scouting." Kalee turned down an aisle and approached a set of empty seats. "To snap up a new batch and bring them to the Centralis Academy for higher-level training."

At that comment, her voice turned bitter.

Wulf remembered Centralis only as a city in distress. Being the largest city in the world, it was far from the Istalis Confederacy, across a vast ocean.

In Wulf's memory, its walls and towers crumbled, stacked buildings burned, and enormous fiends rose from the water outside its port. He remembered Piloting an Oronith, wading waist-deep in the port, or marching through the streets and stomping through hordes of demons.

But never saw Centralis, the shipping hub, the capital of that far-off Kyzanth Empire, in its prime.

"We must've…tipped the scales," Wulf breathed. The ripples of this were going to travel throughout the world, and he couldn't count on too many of the events he remembered from last time to be the same.

They took a pair of seats two thirds of the way up the risers. They were still a ways away from the centre of the arena, and since the audience would only be academy students, Wulf doubted they'd even fill the arena halfway. Plenty of spaces to choose from.

Their seats had a direct view of the faculty viewing booths. They could watch and wait for Langold to sit down, and then pounce on him and some of the other important figures from the Centralis Academy.

"Are we still going with the oracle story?" Kalee asked.

Wulf shook his head. "Langold would know that it's false. But…with these guys, do we have to bend the truth so much? Why not say the Field visited us and warned us? It sent its little Messengers or something."

"To both of us?"

"It'd lend credence to the fact that we're both approaching them with this." Wulf slumped forward. "It's the only chance we have. I don't have high hopes, but if we can get their Oroniths out there in Arotelk…"

"Then it'll go much better than the first time," Kalee agreed.

"Exactly."

The crowd began gasping, and the conversation roared to a peak. Wind rushed down on them, and the thrum of hundreds of wingbeats shuddered. A shadow passed overhead, washing over the crowd, and Wulf glanced up.

A pair of Oroniths flew overhead.

Well, they didn't fly. They were too large, too bulky, to fly on their own. But with flocks of thrustwings—a massive bird the size of a horse, which happened to be quite intelligent, and most importantly, strong—attached to ropes harnesses, they could carry Oroniths short distances. The thrustwings' wings glowed, and not just because the sun shone behind them. Their wings sparked, and with each stroke, they interacted with the Field itself, bending reality.

Two Oroniths passed over the edge of the arena, both hulking gargantuan stone giants, about thirty storeys tall. But they didn't belong to the Istalis Academy.

With a clank, the thrustwings' ropes detached, and the Oroniths dropped into the center of the arena. They both landed in a crouch. The impact sent up waves of sand. A cloud of particles rolled over the audience risers, and vibrations ran up the seats. Stone groaned and creaked. There was a faint whir as runes activated, and the Oroniths' joints shifted.

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When the dust cleared, two Oroniths stood in the arena, facing each other. If they were the size of humans, the space would only have been about the size of a small boxing ring.

On the far side of the arena was an Oronith modelled in the fashion of a knight. Bulky stone armour with red steel swirls, spikes on its shoulder, and an enormous sword made out of some crimson metal that Wulf couldn't identify. Surely, it was magic.

The Oronith's head was where the Pilot and Mage stood, visible only as black silhouettes in the orange glow of the golem's mana. On its shoulder perched a lone thrustwing with a saddle on its back. An elven ranger sat in the saddle, wearing armour made of folding red leaves to match the theme of its crew. He carried a gold-gilded bow and a quiver of arrows that radiated power even from this distance.

The Oronith's Artificer perched on its other shoulder, strapped into a harness. He held a pouch of tools at his hip and hooks that looked like ice-picks in his hands. Probably for scampering around the outside of the Oronith and repairing damage.

On the other side stood a different Oronith with a more angular, blocky design. Blue gemstone armour crystalized over its original shell, and it had no visor, save for two round portholes where its eyes might normally be. It held no weapon, but it raised its fists in a fighting stance. Like the other Oronith, a Ranger and thrustwing perched on one of its shoulders, and an Artificer clung to the other shoulder.

Dr. Langold approached the front of his glass viewing booth. The voice amplification construct activated.

"I would like to extend a warm welcome to the Fourth Year students of the Centralis Academy!" Dr. Langold called. "With the main branch's resources and assistance, they have all advanced to Low-Silver a few weeks ago, and to celebrate their achievement, they have come to demonstrate to us the true strength of Oroniths."

Langold paused for a second, and behind the glass, Wulf thought he could see the man bending down to look at a sheet of parchment. "I present to you: Scarlethorn and the Fist of Bellar. These are the two top-rated Oronith Crews from the Centralis Academy, and they are here to demonstrate to you a proper fight between two Oroniths."

Wulf hung his head. Oroniths fighting each other was probably the biggest waste he could imagine, and made all the more frustrating by the fact that a proper, high-level Oronith fight should have been with demons.

A crew fought like real, sentient species, who had rational thought. Most of the races across the world were humans and near-humans. They were simply races, slices of a whole, but their differences were incredibly minor. Most behaved similarly, thought, similarly, acted similarly.

Demons were another species altogether. They were beasts of slaughter, and though they may have had thoughts, it was altogether different from humans. They didn't reproduce in the manner of humans, they didn't eat in the manner of humans, they didn't do anything in the manner of humans. You couldn't anticipate what they would do if you were used to fighting other Oronith crews.

Wulf shook his head with contempt, then leaned back and glanced at Kalee. "Well, we know where Langold is," he whispered. "Shall we give it a go?"

She nodded. "Let's."

Keeping low, they stood up, then navigated through the half-empty stands. Wulf had picked a set of seats near the edge of the row, and when they made it to the stairs, they climbed all the way up to the top of the arena—where a walkway ran around the outer edge.

As they climbed, a roar rang out through the audience. The ground tremored, stone creaked, and the Oroniths moved. They were slow at first, especially the Fist of Bellar (probably the one with blue armour), but given their size, their movement was faster than it should have been.

The weight was there, and when the Oroniths struck each other, booms rolled across the arena. Shockwaves rumbled across the crowd, and wind blasted where the Oroniths' bodies swayed and arms swung.

These were Silvers, too, Wulf reminded himself. Most Ascendants only made it to High-Iron and Low-Silver in their lives, but those at the Centralis Academy would have a better shot than most. They had the resources of the Academy, and more importantly, the drive and will to accomplish what they desired—or to convince the Field that they were striving toward it. They'd grow much stronger.

When Wulf and Kalee made it halfway around the outer edge of the arena, a wave of dust and sand washed across the risers. Wind pushed students back in their chairs from the sheer movement of the Oroniths. Wulf and Kalee, without ground to stand on, lifted off their feet and slid into the wall behind them.

The gust passed, and he turned to Kalee. "Are you alright?"

"I'm good," she replied. "Keep going!"

As soon as she finished, Scarlethorn took a wide stance, held out its hand, and emanated a wave of sound…almost like a Mage's spell Skill, but vibrating through the Oronith's runes. A condensed bar of orange flame roared out its hand and struck its opponent in the shoulder. Crystal and stone shattered with the impact, and debris scattered across the sand.

The spell cut off quickly, though. The flame sloshed and sputtered, almost like liquid. Most arcane fire didn't seem as real as regular fire, but at the same time, had an infinitely greater physical presence.

The Fist of Bellar charged forward, stone creaking, and engaged its opponent in a fist-fight. They threw and tossed each other. Scarlethorn's sword clattered to the ground, and the Rangers took flight, firing enchanted arrows at the Oroniths.

It was an uglier brawl than most Oronith fights, but then again, they were just students. Fourth Years, too, though they might have been technically more powerful than the faculty members of the Istalis Academy branch.

Wulf and Kalee reached the door to the viewing booths, though. On the outside, there were no guards, and they probably hadn't been expecting anyone to enter.

But Wulf did anyway.

He threw open the door and stepped inside, and, searching out Dr. Langold, said, "Headmaster?"

"Wu—Hrothen?" Dr. Langold titled his head.

"Sorry, sir, but we need to talk."