Fate Alchemist - A Regression Academy LitRPG

Chapter 65: Weavers



The Whitesurge Weavers Guild wasn't as easy to find as Wulf had thought.

Though they arrived at the place marked on the map, he saw nothing but the shores of the river. Over the weeks of walking, the ground had gotten slightly more hilly and the elevation rose—in preparation for the mountains now peeking over the southern horizon. It wasn't as frigid as it had been a few weeks north, either, but it wasn't exactly warm. Winter hadn't broken yet.

More than anything, Wulf was just hoping to get inside after a few days' ride between villages—where they'd had to camp and set up a tent. (And letting four academy students try to set up a tent alone was a bad idea. Even if two of them were technically sixty years old, Wulf wasn't very practiced with setting up a tent—you didn't need to put up a tent when you camped inside a dungeon.)

"It should be…here," Irmond said, looking at his map and holding it up. "I'm looking at the right curve of the river. This is the only place in miles where it made a horseshoe."

The Whitesurge was much narrower and faster up here, and combined with the temperature, there was no ice on it.

"Are we supposed to be on the other side of the river?" Kalee asked.

"Do you see anything on the other side, either, granny?" Seith asked.

"Nothing that looks like a sect headquarters."

Wulf shook his head. He still sat at the front of the wagon, holding the reins and driving the horses as they trotted along a shoreline path, but he'd looked at the map before. The marked location of the Weavers Guild headquarters was at the very tip of the horseshoe, and that'd indicated it was on this side of the river.

He pulled back on the reins, and the horses trotted to a halt. "Does that tree look a little odd to you?"

"Hm?"

He pointed at a lone ice-oak out in the middle of the field to the right of the wagon. He probably wouldn't have noticed or cared if he wasn't looking for anything out of the ordinary, and hadn't had the experience of a past life, but this was different. "Ice-oaks don't usually grow on their own so far away from other trees. Always in clumps."

"That is odd…" Kalee said.

"It's a landmark, then. Someone put it there as a sign. Come on." Wulf swung off the side of the wagon and jumped down to the snowy fields. Here, it was ranchland, but whoever owned this land was far off.

"If you, uh, need someone to stay back at the wagon," Seith volunteered, "I'm down for it."

"Don't wanna see the Weavers?" Kalee asked.

"They're mousefolk, aren't they?" Irmond whispered. "She's…she gets, like, scared of mice."

"It's not…" Seith shuddered. "Mice scare me, alright?"

"Ah, the big tough skyhorn brought down by mice," Kalee teased. "Don't call me granny, and I won't tease you about the mice."

"Only if you let me stay behind and watch over the wagon."

"Deal."

Wulf rolled his eyes, then set off toward the ice-oak. There was no need for his golem, he hoped, but he still wore his scissors in a sheath on his back like a sword.

Ice-oaks were a hardy breed of trees that grew white leaves in the winter and shed them in the summer. Because the leaves were now turning blue and falling off, it was a sign that spring was coming.

He stomped around the base of the tree, kicking through the fallen leaves and the light layer of snow, before his boots thudded on a hard wooden hatch. He was about to open it, but before he could reach for its handle, it flung open all on its own.

Or…not entirely on its own.

A middle-aged mousefolk poked his head out through the gap and stared at him. "Quit your stomping, you big oaf, and find another tree! And don't even think about letting your dog pee on it!"

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"I…don't have a dog?" Wulf tilted his head and leaned down to face the man. He was about half the height of a regular human, with grey mouse ears. He wore flame-orange, embroidered robes with runic patterns and a blue sash. On his back, he carried an enormous set of steel scissors. They were about half the size of Wulf's, but for the mousefolk's size, they were about the same proportions.

He'd found the Weavers Guild.

At least, one of them. Not all were run by mousefolk, and not all were this small, especially in regions right with silks and other textiles.

"Actually, sir," Wulf said, "we came to see you."

"Me? I don't recognize you, and few would even know the name of Guardsman Bartholo! I don't believe you." The mousefolk man put his hands on his hips and narrowed his eyes. "Scram, before I cut out your eyes!"

Feisty. But as far as Wulf could see, the guardsman wasn't an Ascendant. No rank badge, no obvious Class.

Still, he was starting to understand why Seith might have been unnerved by them.

He glanced back at Kalee and Irmond, and they both shrugged—though neither of them looked concerned.

"I came to see the guild," Wulf said. "I came to offer my services in exchange for something, and I'd like to see someone who can make deals with me."

"I…I can't just let you—" Bartholo sputtered.

"Ah, sure you can." Wulf reached out and pushed the trap door open all the way, then reached for the ladder down into the depths. But Bartholo drew his scissors from his back.

"Wrong move," Wulf said. As Bartholo drew his weapon, Wulf ripped open his haversack and drew out a wisp of a harmless seeing potion with [Arm of the Alchemist]. He directed a whip of pale gray liquid to deflect the scissors, then struck Bartholo in the chest and flung him down the ladder, before using the potion to attach him to a cold metal pole that ran up to the trapdoor. It was still cold enough to freeze liquid to the touch, and it kept Bartholo trapped near the bottom of the ladder.

Wulf said, "Come on," then descended the ladder. It wasn't as dirty of a hole as he'd been expecting. Wood lined the walls, and candles flickered in sconces, lighting it dimly.

"You won't get away with this, ruffians!" Bartholo exclaimed, pulling against the potion. Though Wulf had released the potion from his control, Bartholo was still stuck.

"I'm not here to hurt any of you," Wulf said. "Just wanted to make a deal."

At the bottom of the ladder, they arrived in a long hallway with a low ceiling that forced him to hunch over. At least there were no hanging chandeliers. He turned his back to Bartholo and set off down the hall, with Kalee and Irmond close behind.

"Hello?" he called. "Anyone else here? Anyone else reasonable?"

At the end of the hallway, they arrived at an intersection, with five other hallways leading deep into the ground. At the end of a few, Wulf spotted broad rooms filled with mousefolk sewing all sorts of clothes—he even noticed a few academy uniforms. Mousefolk carried around reams of fabric and enormous sewing needles, or buckets of thread and yarn.

But as soon as he stepped into the center of the room, footsteps thudded and echoed in the hallway ahead. Three guards, dressed the same as Bartholo, stormed out of the hall, followed by a fourth mousefolk with a bulging belly.

The fourth mousefolk wore a green waistcoat and cloak, and carried no weapon. Still, judging by the way he carried himself, and the way he was dressed, he was at least someone important in the guild.

"Halt, big folk!" a guard shouted, drawing his scissors.

"They're Ascendants," another whispered.

"What is your purpose here?" the mousefolk in the waistcoat asked.

"Who are you?" Wulf asked. "We're looking to speak with someone who can…negotiate a little."

He considered for a moment trying to force his way in, find a library, or wherever this guild kept their books, but he didn't know where in this winding underground maze to go, or if they even had what he wanted.

"I am the head of the Whitesurge Weavers!" the mousefolk proclaimed. "Sir Till of Whitesurge. Now, make your negotiations, or leave. And beware: if you waste my time, we…we will hurt you."

"...Yeah." Wulf cleared his throat. "So, here's the thing. I've got these scissors." He motioned to his scissors on his back. "I'm looking for a guild combat manual. You wouldn't happen to have any combat manuals for scissors, would you?"

"In exchange, we can…provide you potions?" Irmond offered.

Wulf glanced over his shoulder. He hadn't been planning on giving away their hand yet, but then again, it didn't hurt. He wasn't trying to be antagonistic.

"In fact, we do have some combat manuals from the Centralis Weavers Guild. Big folk, they are, and not terribly useful to us." Sir Till crossed his arms. "Still, I can't go giving them away. My art is commerce, and to give anything, especially a book, is a great shame upon our guild."

Wulf kept a straight face. "Cool. You want potions?"

"No."

"Are you going to make me guess?"

"I want you to kill the river draugr."

Wulf raised his eyebrows.

"You folk are ascendants, aren't you?" Sir Till asked. "It comes around every evening, sniffing for us. We've had to cancel all our nightly above-ground festivities because of its hunting. Killed two guardsmen, it did, and there's nothing we can do about it. It's too strong."

"So we kill this river draugr, and you'll give him the book?" Kalee asked.

"That's correct!" Sir Till exclaimed.

"Then it's a deal." Wulf nodded. "We'll handle your infestation, as long as it comes around tonight." It had to be tonight; he wouldn't delay their journey any longer. "And you'll give us a few combat manuals from the Centralis Weavers Branch."


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