The Lone Wanderer

A tall but narrow mountain appeared on the horizon, its peak lost above the veil of clouds. Numerous colossal fungi grew along its steep slopes, their thick stems curving upwards so that their colourful caps were facing the sky. The wide bridges connecting neighbouring mushrooms looked like tiny strings from Percy’s current distance, while the bugs and people walking atop the fungi were too small to be seen.

“It’s good to be home,” Percy muttered without even meaning to, the words simply escaping his lips.

Home. Somewhere along the way, the Fungal Spire had become that.

The first time Percy had reached this place, he’d barely known anything about it. He’d been a powerless teenager, struggling to get a couple of elixirs per day to cleanse his cores. He hadn’t even known whether he’d have a future as an alchemist, but he’d had no choice but to try his luck, since nobody had been willing to just give him the necessary resources.

The second time, he’d been a fugitive on the run from every bounty hunter on Remior. He’d been in a race against time to give Nephthys a body before the pyramid housing her soul crumbled away. Worse still, he’d been forced to fight his way through dozens of Blues and even a Violet, nearly losing everything precious to him in the process.

On both occasions, the slender mountain had loomed menacingly on the horizon, promising nothing but strife and uncertainty.

This time was different.

There was still plenty of uncertainty in Percy’s future, but all of it was external: it had nothing to do with this place. The Fungal Spire had become his singular safe haven on the entire planet: the one spot where he could relax without fearing for his life.

He was the unofficial master of the mountain, returning to his magical kingdom.

Micky: who had been away from the Guild for the past few years: bobbed his giant head in agreement, nearly throwing Percy off his scalp in the process. The latter had to use his domain to root himself on his friend’s plumage, though he didn’t bother admonishing him. While the crow wasn’t one to shy away from a prank, Percy knew that Micky hadn’t done it on purpose this time: he was still getting used to his new size.

It sure was lucky that the Huehuan had obtained his shapeshifting abilities before reaching Blue. Perhaps they should search for Deimos’ remains, which had rotted away somewhere in the very plains currently stretching below them, and thank him for nearly killing them.

‘Or maybe not.’ Percy shrugged.

Nearing the mountain, he wasn’t in a rush to land. He knew that he would probably spend most of the coming days locked inside a claustrophobic cavern or his room in the settlement, so he might as well get some fresh air while he had the chance.

Steering his friend toward the top of the Fungal Spire, he pushed the colourful motes aside with his willpower so that he could scan the top level of the mountain more easily with his Sage’s Pond.

The mushrooms there were older, larger, and more vibrant. There weren’t as many bridges connecting them, because the Greens and Blues who could survive at this altitude were more than capable of navigating across the mushrooms without them. The ambient mana in the air was denser than it was on the ground, though it still couldn’t compare to the depths of the hive.

A few Starry Commanders leisurely grazed atop the fungi, each nearly as massive as Micky. Their dark, glossy carapaces were dotted with colourful lights, making each creature resemble a patch of the night sky. They weren’t as numerous as the Starry Soldiers, Workers, or Drones at the lower levels, since there wasn’t enough mana to sustain them, nor any reason for their ruler to deploy many outside.

Then again, there wasn’t as much movement on the lower levels either, nowadays. The alchemists didn’t need to hunt the wasps, since the Ruby Empress voluntarily provided the Guild with enough nectar to drown in.

There were still some insects roaming the mountain and capturing the drifting motes of mana that leaked out of the hive, as well as a few mages who enjoyed hunting the creatures either as a hobby or for combat practice, but the White wasp had better ways to rid her growing empire of its weakest daughters. She could have the stronger wasps cannibalize them, or she could just feed their remains to grow Percy’s mushrooms.

The creatures noticed him and Micky approach, though none dared to attack. Percy hadn’t communicated with Nephthys to request safe passage, since there was no need.

The Blue bugs acknowledged him with respectful nods, their intelligent eyes gleaming with recognition. How could they not recognize the man who had lived amongst them for a decade already? The person who had granted new life to their dying kingdom, and even gone as far as to personally grant each of them a second mana core?

Banking in a wide arc around the Fungal Spire, Micky circled back toward the settlement at its foot.

The Alchemists’ Guild had expanded greatly over the past few years, now sporting an outer ring that surrounded its original walls. The buildings outside were newer but no less impressive, since upgrading the settlement had been one of House Etna’s first major projects after acquiring their new runecrafting language.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

Even the inner ring had changed slightly, as the elders had repurposed several buildings into lecture theatres and laboratories. The former had been built to spread Percy’s teachings and train new alchemists faster, while the latter were necessary to accommodate the new experts.

Orin had volunteered to oversee the education of the apprentices. Percy had been more than happy to hear that, since his mentor had always been among the most vocal supporters of teaching the next generation of alchemists properly. That was not to say that the previous generation was going anywhere: not with everyone’s lifespan having grown by several times!

Flying closer to the ground, Micky glided over the buildings, giving Percy a chance to wave back at the alchemists cheering him on. Suffice to say, he had grown a lot more popular in the Guild after everyone had gotten a proper taste of the positive changes he had brought about.

The mages strolling along the cobblestone streets ranged from Orange to Blue. There was no longer a taboo against low-borns, since even a Red-born alchemist could potentially advance several times and serve the Guild for thousands of years.

Very few people on Remior would even consider bullying somebody for their grade. It was hard to justify it in their minds, considering the kind of monster that had clawed its way up from the very bottom of the Colour realm. That was not to say that there were many Reds on the planet who could follow in Percy’s footsteps, but his actions had lifted much of the stigma off of his birth grade.

Of course, there still weren’t any Red alchemists in the Guild, albeit for a different reason. Regular elixirs were much easier to get a hold of even for low-born commoners, so most children would advance by their early teens at the latest, and a child under thirteen was way too young to study such a difficult subject.

Ignoring the inner and outer circles of the settlement, Micky approached a certain area just outside the second set of walls. There, Percy spotted a camp containing a few dozen newly-erected stone houses, scattered among ten times as many tents. It was like a small village still in its infancy, attached to the Alchemists’ Guild.

The temporary headquarters of House Avalon.

Noble families typically weren’t allowed to claim or use land this close to the Guild, but the six elders had made an exception for Percy’s family due to their dire circumstances. Even if the old alchemists hadn’t been immensely grateful to him for elevating the Guild to new heights, they didn’t really have a choice.

Their most important responsibility was to protect the Starry Wasps, and the life of the Ruby Princess was tied to Percy’s. Leaving House Avalon to fend for themselves was equivalent to putting Percy and, by extension, the entire hive in harm’s way.

Besides, who was going to complain?

Half the Great Houses had already taken up arms against Percy’s coalition, while the other half had willingly ignored Machaon’s even-worse crimes. It would be hypocritical of anyone to criticize Percy over something this minor.

Not in the mood to agonize over Remior’s political landscape, Percy chose an empty patch of dirt near the middle of the small village, steering his fellow aspect towards it. Not only did Micky not slow down as he approached the ground, he flapped his enormous wings repeatedly to accelerate.

Diving head-first, the colossal crow didn’t even attempt to land properly, nor did he crash as one might expect. His body splashed against the dirt, liquefying into a wave of frigid water that combined with Percy’s domain to cushion his own landing.

Before Percy took his first step, a person-shaped blob rose from the mud next to him, rapidly transforming into a man with four arms, a toned torso covered in tribal tattoos, and a curved beak. The grey ice comprising Micky’s body squirmed for the briefest of instants, before assuming the colour and texture of skin and clothes.

Percy and Micky had decided not to hide the Huehuan’s origins any longer. Phoebe and the other gods already knew about him anyway, and Percy didn’t care if the idea of an extraterrestrial migrant happened to unnerve a few close-minded nobles.

Leaving aside the fact that Micky was Percy’s closest friend, it was debatable whether he could be considered a foreigner at this point. He had spent the entirety of his second life here, so even the planet itself would probably recognize him as its own child.

The members of House Avalon that saw them weren’t surprised, having already seen Percy and Micky do plenty of strange things over the past week. A solemn: and even sorrowful: mood filled the camp, since many were still grieving over the dead, though nobody seemed to blame Percy for the war.

Everyone appeared to understand that their world had become a greater spring, and their own family was well on the way of becoming a Great House, all because of him. The war and their subsequent exile from the Camelot province were little more than growing pains: or equivalently, the final attempts of a bunch of old fossils to stubbornly hold onto their fading authority.

Instead of insulting or swearing at Percy and Micky, the nobles saluted them, prompting the aspects of the Lone Wanderer to reciprocate the gesture with nods of acknowledgement.

Scanning the camp, Percy located Archibald in an instant. He was sitting inside one of the larger tents, pouring life mana into the embryo of a clone. Over a hundred fully-grown flesh puppets stood outside the patriarch’s abode, though most were survivors from the battle. Only around twenty had been created recently.

Percy wasn’t surprised that the patriarch was staying in a tent rather than one of the stone houses. Those at the higher grades didn’t mind camping outside, since their bodies were tough enough to easily resist the elements. Archibald had only prioritized the construction of buildings for the families with younger children.

Not wanting his grandfather to stop his work to greet him outside, Percy asked Micky to accompany him to the Violet’s tent. There was a lot that they had to discuss.

Percy had plenty of projects that he hoped would bolster his strength in the next few years, but there were also certain levers of political or diplomatic power that he had arguably neglected over the past decade. Given how dire the situation was, he couldn’t afford to do that any longer.

It was time to spread not only his boosting art, but even the Moirais’ Decree far and wide: within reason of course.

Percy’s entire family, as well as the allies who had proven their loyalty in the recent battle would be given priority, though everyone receiving his gifts would have to sign a strict magical contract enforced by Kerfyl’s Decree, to guarantee their continued loyalty and discretion.

Now that the Ruby Empress had advanced to White, Percy even had access to a lot of extra royal jelly that he might be able to spare for a few of his most important allies, with Archibald naturally being at the very top of the list.

‘The next time that bastard, Machaon, decides to show his ugly mug, he’s in for a nasty surprise…’