Fate Alchemist - A Regression Academy LitRPG

Wulf stored his winnings in the back of his storage pendant, reserving a corner of his cabinet for his pouches of silver and gold. There…was a lot. From winning that fight, he received nearly two pouches. Full to the brim—mostly silver, but some gold.

In fact, he was considering just transmuting some of it. Wood wasn't the only object he could transmute (and although by adding some chaos, he could eventually turn it to harder substances, like bonesteel, they weren't actually metal). Bonesteel was more bone than steel.

Simply, you couldn't transmute wood into a metal by adding only chaos. It required shifting the object's identity. Metals had a scale of order to chaos, woods had a scale of order to chaos, waters the same, and you had to add very specific amounts of basic essences and some other ingredients to change them from one identity to another, which Wulf didn't yet know how to do.

But that wasn't going to be a problem. He planned to shape the xerion with his bare hands, according to the method his Mark provided, and once he had the shape of his weapon, it wouldn't need to be transmuted. It was already made from transmutations.

That just meant he needed to make more xerion.

With all his processing in the past week, he'd still only filled up a half inch of the vial. How was he supposed to get enough xerion to make giant scissors out of it at this rate?

Go faster. That was the only solution.

Over the next week, he refined his transmutation processes. He didn't have to make any bonesteel, so he could simply focus on his potions—stealing the chaos from their poisonous forms, waiting until the primal material crystallized, then pumping the chaos back in the moment the primal material solidified.

Snailsalt was, in fact, the best substance to work with. It was poisonous on its own, and could be made by injecting only chaos into primal material, therefore, he could complete the reaction and reverse reaction as many times as he wanted—each time, in theory, losing some of it as xerion.

He created another enormous cube of snailsalt (about the size of his hand) and pulled chaos back and forth all throughout the week until finally, he'd whittled it down to a tiny cube of snailsalt—and nearly a quarter vial of xerion.

Which was better than before, but clearly, xerion was denser—or you just lost a lot of primal material in making it.

Still, with how efficient that was, it was a worthwhile strategy. At this rate, he'd have enough to finish his scissors within two months.

~ ~ ~

Next week's area of experimentation was on bending xerion to his will. Apparently, repeated attempts to feed it essence would eventually break it to him, but he wasn't exactly sure what that meant, or how long it would take.

With spare chaos from his transmutations, he looked to his vial of xerion, opened it, and tried to push more chaos into it. It still resisted him, like trying to push the same sides of a magnet together. Same as before.

But no one said it would be a fast process.

According to the textbook, it could take some crafters years to tame their xerion. Wulf only had months.

Daily effort would be required.

~ ~ ~

Although the Middle bracket was supposed to be more competitive, a few opponents already dropped out of the tournament to avoid Wulf. Better to leave the fight altogether than embarrass yourself in front of all the potential sponsors.

Because of that, Wulf only had one more tournament fight before the winter solstice break—in fact, the last week before the break.

But that meant more time for him to practice with his prototype scissors.

He'd been practicing a little bit with them, but it was hard. In the training gym, he and Kalee sparred sometimes—her using a staff—but scissors weren't exactly a common weapon, and there weren't any manuals on how to use them in combat.

At least, not at the library. When he consulted Ms. Wenarle, she said, "There are a few unusual Weavers' Guilds whose guards use scissors like yours, and no doubt they have a few combat styles they've trained over the centuries."

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But until then, until he left to find these weavers, Wulf would have to work with what he had. And besides, the best way to practice was in the middle of combat.

He just had been hoping that it wasn't going to be against a ranger. His opponent, Ciril Sirl, was a tall elf who wore a tight, sleeveless archery tunic and carried an enchanted bow of some sort.

Wulf couldn't say for certain what kind of bow it was, but it was enchanted. The golden filigree along its edge shimmered and pulsed, like a wild animal's muscles. Before the fight even began, the elf nocked an arrow.

Best Wulf could tell, it was almost a normal arrow, but its tip glistened with vibrant blue syrup.

The fight's odds were also posted at one to one, which made Wulf's stomach lurch. They probably weren't underestimating him anymore, which meant that his opponent—a Middle-Coal too—was a decent match for him.

Other Middle-Coals seemed pretty common in the tournament, but he reminded himself that the average student in their year was still only around High-Wood and Middle-Wood, like Seith and Irmond. To make it to the Middle Bracket, you had to be better than average.

When Dr. Langold finished announcing Wulf, he called, "Ciril Sirl, third son of Lord Sirl, known for his poisonous arrows. Not to worry, not to worry, they only inflict a slowness effect—for today."

Wulf snorted. They didn't know he could resist that.

He took the best stance he knew—almost like a fencer's sideways stance, with his right hand high up on one half his prototype scissors, and the left hand lower down on the other half. He could swing it like a broadsword, but at a moment's notice, he could open it and cut through a Skill. Or a weapon.

A lordling like Ciril could afford a new bow. He might even get an upgrade.

"Begin!" Langold shouted.

Wulf wasn't making the same mistake as last time. He had a melee weapon, and he had to get close—nullify his opponent's range.

Releasing one hand from his scissor, he charged across the sandy pit, aiming right for Ciril. The boy shot an arrow, but Wulf leaned to the side. Though Ciril enhanced the shot with a gust of wind, Wulf had enough experience fighting ranged attackers.

People like Ciril didn't think their attacks could be dodged, but when you saw how they angled their hands, how they stood, how they held their shoulders…you knew where the arrow was going to fly.

But the closer he got, the more difficult it would be to anticipate an attack. He wouldn't have as much time.

Especially when Ciril's next arrow flashed off his bowstring with a boom and split the air. A cone of mist formed around its tip. One moment, it was on the string, and the next, it struck the flat of his scissors, deflecting off to the side.

But not far enough. The arrowhead grazed his shoulder.

It would've pierced his chest had he not deflected it, and he wouldn't have been strong enough to deflect it had it not been for his friends drinking their potions in the audience risers—allowing [Bastion] to increase his speed and strength.

From the graze, Wulf felt the poison trying to work. It wormed its way into his blood, then dove into his veins, but nothing happened. The Field helped him resist it.

But he played it up. The potion didn't act terribly fast, but if he'd been hit, some effect would have to be showing by now. Wulf slowed down, imagining the Field was pushing back against him, resisting his movements.

"And there we go," Ciril spat. "The great Wulf Hrothen, brought down by a single cut." He drew another arrow out of his hip quiver and nocked it. "Yield, or I'll put the next one in your stomach, and you'll have to pay extra for a healer."

Wulf kept pulling himself closer, moving slow.

"Worked fast on you, didn't it? Should've brought your golem." Ciril sneered. "Last warning. Yield."

Wulf inched his scissors apart, then lowered the blunt midsection—for gripping.

"Fine." Ciril released the arrow, and activated a Skill to launch it as quickly and powerfully as his first shot had been.

As soon as Ciril released the arrow, Wulf slammed his scissors shut quickly. He winced for a moment, but there was no pain. The crowd cheered and roared.

Wulf had caught the arrow in the blunt midsection of his scissors. He grinned. "Thanks for telling me where you were aiming."

Ciril's eyes widened with shock. Throwing off his pretend slowness, Wulf closed the last distance in a few steps, then flipped his scissors around—still holding the arrow—and sliced Ciril's arm with it. Before the boy could react, Wulf activated [Deadline], and the poison activated almost instantly. Ciril slowed to half the speed of a regular human (or elf).

Releasing the arrow, Wulf widened his scissors, then chopped through the slowed elf's bow, completely disarming him. Finally, he raised his scissors to Ciril's neck.

"Do you yield?" Wulf asked, then paused to give the slowed elf a chance to speak.

Ciril nodded amusingly slowly, then grunted, "I…yield…"

"Wonderful." Wulf turned to face the crowd and walked away from Ciril. "Thanks for making that easy on me."

If that was how the Middle Bracket was performing, then…it didn't seem so bad. But he reminded himself that the High Bracket would be even more competitive. Not to mention, this was only the Istalis Academy's tournament. He didn't want to know what the Centralis Academy's tournaments were like—those guys were the utmost peak of their generations. They'd be vicious competitors.

Maybe the one-to-one odds weren't all that accurate, after all. But Wulf could almost guarantee that it wouldn't be the same for Umoch. The boy was the son of one of the most powerful people in the world, and Wulf would be damned if Umoch wasn't stronger than average for his tier.

Not to mention…with how many powerful people Wulf was probably going to anger , he'd be facing people much higher than him. He might have lots of Marks, and strong marks, but they were going to get pushed to the absolute limit.