Fate Alchemist - A Regression Academy LitRPG

Wulf's next tournament fight was a week later. He was near the bottom of the Middle bracket, but even then, the registry list showed his first opponent as a Middle-Coal, just the same as him.

As soon as he'd seen the list, he spent a good portion of his potion-making time with a singular focus: getting ready to face someone his tier. A Mage, no less. And he couldn't inflict lethal poisons. That'd be much too intense for the circumstances.

Still, when he approached the arena, he was ready.

In the Middle Bracket, people were allowed to bring their own weapons. Wulf didn't have a personal golem, but he did carry a homemade pouch—from a spare bedsheet in the dorm. He wrapped his newest creation to keep it hidden as he approached the arena.

As much because he wanted to keep Kalee, Irmond, and Seith in the dark about it as he wanted his opponents to be. A mischievous streak wanted them to see his prototype for the first time and be impressed.

But to test it out properly, he couldn't be in a golem. It wouldn't be a fair test of the weapon—to see if it felt right for a crafter to use.

He wasn't going to pretend it was a smart choice. He still wanted to win, and this wasn't exactly putting his best foot forward. Though he might not have needed recognition from an important guild, he did need the funds and extra ration chits winners were afforded. But also he wouldn't get a proper test of the weapon if there was nothing on the line. Without the rush and chaos of battle, how could he know if the weapon was right?

Still, he drank two strength potions. They made his stomach tingle, and his limbs thrummed. Both potions were Low-Bronze, and combined, they made his form tremble. A Middle-Coal body wasn't supposed to have so much…potion in it, especially not potions two tiers above him, but it wasn't killing him.

An attendant leaned into the armoury and asked, "Hrothen? Ready?"

"Yes, sir."

"No golem?"

"No golem, sir."

"Are you throwing the fight?" the attendant asked. "You won't get expelled, but you'll make a great deal of enemies by making their bets go sour…"

"I'm not, sir."

"Alright, then." The attendant turned away and beckoned him forward. "If you want to get eliminated…" He shook his head.

Wulf only grinned as he stepped out into the arena, still keeping his weapon hidden.

~ ~ ~

Kalee leaned forward in her seat as soon as Wulf stepped out into the arena. From her vantage point, he was only a distant speck, but she'd invested in a spyglass a few days ago, specifically for this purpose.

Even though these young eyes were much better, she still couldn't make out all the details—not without the spyglass. She, Irmond, and Seith all sat in the upper third of the arena's audience risers, watching the fight carefully.

"By the Field…" Seith whispered. "What's he doing?"

"Where's his golem?" Irmond exclaimed. "Is he…like, insane? He's up against Trasie Larlowe! She'll kill him!"

"You just wish you could fight her," Seith teased.

"Yeah, well so what if I want her to beat me up a little." Irmond rolled his eyes. "Would rather Wulf not lose, though!"

Kalee, sitting on the edge of the row, kept watching. "He has a plan."

But even she couldn't tell what he was doing. He was carrying…something wrapped in a bedsheet. It was too big to be a sword, but too wide to be a staff, and not wide enough to be a shield. A giant axe? But still, a little too wide, and it tapered near the tip. A giant battle axe wouldn't do that.

"Did he tell you what it was?" Irmond asked. "You guys like…share future info stuff with each other?"

"I have no idea what he's doing," Kalee admitted. "But I know he does."

On the other side of the arena was a young woman in a heavy, sleeveless robe. Its folds jutted out well beyond her shoulders, though, making her appear a little wider than she actually was. She flicked her long hair back with a flourish, then used a spell Skill to bind it up. A nearly imperceptible white runic circle appeared around the tip of her hair, binding it into a ponytail with nothing but wind.

She was probably going to become a wind mage.

"Show off," Kalee muttered. She may have been a Middle-Coal, too, but there was no way she could use a spell so effortlessly like that.

"Do people start getting more attractive at Middle-Coal?" Irmond asked. " 'Cause…damn?"

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Kalee rolled her eyes. "It depends on how many physically-enhancing Marks you have. Most will make you a little more handsome or a little prettier, just with the subtle changes they make to your body. It builds up over time. Trasie was just born lucky."

"I have a suspicion you'll get there," Seith replied.

"Why, thank you." Irmond smirked and spread his arms.

"Not you, idiot. Kalee."

"You underestimate me," Irmond sighed. "Sorry that I'm not from the future, but I'm going as fast as I can."

A crackle roared out from near the top of the arena, and, the communication constructs activated, amplifying Dr. Langold's voice. He announced, "Wulf Hrothen has moved up from the Low Bracket, and will now be joining us in the Middle Bracket!"

At that, the crowd erupted in cheers.

"But…it seems that everyone's favourite Pilot has forgotten his golem? What-ever is his plan?"

A few skeptical murmurs passed through the crown.

"And facing him, Trasie Larlowe, an exceptional Mage who is heading straight toward a wind aspect. Hailing from the Larlowe family, she is from upper-middle nobility, but we can expect a terrific performance from her."

C'mon Wulf, Kalee pleaded. Show us what you're hiding. Fill me with confidence. I don't want to see you get eliminated here.

"We should probably drink our potions now," Seith suggested, pulling a vial Wulf had given her—one for each of them before the fight—out of her jacket pocket.

The three of them all pulled a High-Coal tier sight-enhancing potion (he'd gotten better at making them) out from their jacket pockets and drank it in a single glug. Kalee knew well enough to not even try tasting it, but some still remained in her mouth when all was said and done, and it made her shudder. Vinegar, but even worse—and somehow, more bitter.

"The things we do for our Pilot," Irmond said with a wince. "I think he found a way to make them taste worse."

"Just be thankful you haven't tried dragon's bile," Kalee replied. "It's slightly worse."

Dr. Langold signalled the fight to begin, and a trumpet sounded. Wulf ripped the bedsheet off his weapon, revealing…a set of scissors?

They were enormous—about the height of a quarterstaff, and they had a blunt middle section, as if a hybrid tool meant for grabbing something.

"What the hells…?" she whispered.

And better yet, they weren't just scissors. They were shiny, silver-white metal. Only a keen eye—a practiced artificer—would pick up what they were.

Bonesteel. An arcane substance that had excelled at absorbing magic and disrupting spells.

"How'd he get so much of that?" Kalee breathed in shock.

"Transmutation," Seith said. "Alchemist business. But everyone else will just think he'd been saving his funds."

"For scissors?"

"For really good scissors."

Before Kalee could say anything else, Wulf and Trasie charged at each other, weapons raised, and the fight began.

~ ~ ~

Wulf had designed his prototype so he could wrap a hand around the center of the scissors' grip, crossing both loops of the end while still being comfortable, and then using the outer edge of the loops as a handguard.

He could have just made the loops smaller, but he needed to keep the general form of a tool, not of a slightly modified sword. Otherwise, it wouldn't have suited his class very well, and the Field might recognize changes.

The further he drifted from the purpose of his Class, the more muddled his abilities became, and overall, he'd be weaker.

Needless to say, holding the scissors was comfortable. At least, for one hand. Getting a second hand in…well, he'd need to make it a little thinner down at the bottom, but otherwise, it worked.

As he and Trasie fought, he swung the scissors in broad swipes, cleaving through columns of air and busting up wind-based spell Skills. Trasie wasn't landing a single hit, though a few stray currents may have knocked him around a little.

But still, he wasn't closing the distance, either. He might have been disrupting her attacks, but if neither of them even landed a hit before the time was over, victory would go toward the contestant with the better odds: and that meant Trasie.

According to the displayed odds, the chances of Trasie winning were sixteen to three. They'd shot up in her favour as soon as Wulf stepped out into the arena and the crowd saw him without his golem.

Halfway through the fight, he was starting to get worried. Neither had scored a hit, and Trasie knew it. She was planning to win by default. If nothing changed, she would.

Wulf held his scissors with a two-handed grip and swatted through a current of wind, again.

But he was using it like a warhammer. His scissors weren't a warhammer. He needed to change his strategy.

Instead of just disrupting the spell Skill, he had to end it.

Trasie took a wide stance and twirled her staff, then pointed it directly at Wulf. As usual, a ring of faint white runes appeared in the air. Then another, and another, marking the path of the wind.

Instead of turning and adjusting his stance, preparing to bash through the attack with the blunt end of the scissors, he faced the attack head-on.

Adjusting his grip on the back of the scissors, he held one half in each hand, then pried them open.

When he was making the prototype, he began with a wood carving around the same size, then transmuted each segment into bonesteel—a form of almost-metal an arcane step more chaotic than snailsalt. It was a little sticky, but…

When the rune circle drew close to him, and the tunnel of wind nearly hit him, he slammed the scissors together, cutting the circle and instantly ending the skill. Trasie gasped and staggered back, as if he'd hit her directly.

Bonesteel, he had guessed, was the best way to simulate the effect of xerion. At least, he hoped it would work similarly, which made it a perfect candidate for this experiment.

Throwing himself across the arena, he closed the distance in seconds, then caught her staff with the blunt midsection of his scissors and ripped it out of her hands.

She gasped, then stumbled forward, and Wulf pushed her to the ground, then pointed the tip of his scissors at her back. "Yield?"

She deflated, then blew out a puff of air. "I yield."

The crowd erupted in cheers, but also confused exclamations.

Still, Wulf had won, and that was all that mattered. The scissors might take a little getting used to, but halfway through the fight, they'd just clicked, and he understood.

Scissors. That was going to be the form of his weapon.