The Fool's Freedom

Alan’s good mood wasn’t that affected by the grievous injuries at all. At least his current state allowed him to see the extent to which [Internal Mana Boost] aided his healing factor. It was still not strong enough to use in the middle of combat, but what was sitting around for a few hours in exchange for regenerating missing flesh or partially destroyed organs?

He was finished by the time his little witch sidekick was done too. It had taken Mayra a similar timeframe to claim the World Temple. She explained about some sort of contest of wills with the previous leaders or something, but since Rust was not there it was just erasing a remnant, and establishing hers. She was supposed to give control to Rosalyn upon their return, creating a fast travel route between this place, and their own Sanctuary. He assumed it would also bring in some points, which could then be invested in the original Sanctuary and grow it. Alan didn’t want to bother with the process, and Mayra was much more suitable to notice any intricacies or gain inspiration.

“Are you sure about this?” Mayra asked as they headed out again. “He might just kill everyone when you get there… Not that I care all that much, but it doesn’t seem like something you’d be in favor of…? Those were just a few people. A hundred might be too much even for you to handle.”

Alan frowned. He hadn’t thought of that. The unwilling suicide bombers were a step too far, and it had only been a few people indeed. If Rust used more then the destruction he could achieve was unimaginable. Alan wasn’t a fan of sacrificing innocents just to measure dicks like Rust was doing. This was not human, and Alan was striving to preserve what made him human. Or at least find out what it was.

Rust was quite a dangerous opponent, but would he go that far? He had killed those left in this place, but… all others? The ones he was supposed to lead? What had him so scared? Or was it just a desire for power? The madness that walked hand in hand with what classes gave people. Alan had a fair share of it and sometimes he wondered to what extent he had changed. His previous life was just a flashback, a grey memory of no importance.

Now he was someone. It made him happy to be someone. To be strong. To do as he pleased. Yet… he had too many doubts still. Destruction only led to loneliness. It was not a path he wanted to see the end of.

“I’ll figure something out. It was a mistake that I didn’t kill him before he realized he was outmatched. I won’t repeat it,” he eventually said.

It was true enough. Many would be alive if Alan’s desire to test his new skills hadn’t trumped over logic. This was no game. This was life and death, and lives were becoming too cheap. Soon enough there would be no normal humans left.

“I think you should conquer him. Curse him, let him stew, then brand him.”

“Brand him?”

“I’ve scrolls that can turn him into your servant. It’s not as all-encompassing and foolproof as a willing oath, but it gives you more control.”

“Slavery? No, thanks.”

Mayra shrugged. “As you wish, Master.”

“Will you stop?”

“No.”

“What level are you anyways?”

“96!” Mayra proudly said.

It was pretty impressive, especially since most of her levels were earned by inscribing skills, studying, and doing otherwise ‘boring’ work. Would some blacksmiths ascend like that too? Would Mr. Muge? [Architects] or all the other non-combat classes Rosalyn had mentioned to him?

That put things into sharp perspective. From the very beginning, Alan had zoned in on being someone who fights. There had been no question in his mind, no doubt. Well, there was plenty of doubt but it was more of a leftover anxiety from his crippled cane dude kind of days.

“We’ll work on that. Getting you up there will be useful for everyone, depending on what conditions you have for your tier up.”

“Oh, those shouldn’t be a problem. As a [Warlock] the conditions will be mostly dictated by my patron. I’ve heard of people reaching 100 and remaining there because the hurdles were so large. Like killing things that are too high level or understanding strange concepts and stuff.”

“Where have you heard that?”

Mayra looked around and leaned in. She smelled of fresh grass. “We talk. The [Warlocks]. Not often, but during important milestones or when the patron drags us into dreams. I’ve only met a few, but they’ve been kind enough to share some experiences.”

Alan didn’t respond. He had plenty of vision-like dreams. He was no longer a [Warlock] but that didn’t mean he was not a follower. Most of his strength had come from those preceding him, and part of their will lived through him, as the new [Scion] of a small forgotten race.

What Mayra was speaking of sounded incredibly useful. She had proper guidance in a situation where most people were stumbling blindly. Alan was one of them, and he was barely starting to comprehend the weight of his power and to grow into his skills. The road was long and treacherous, and having someone powerful for support was a great thing.

The two of them continued through the ever-changing woods. Strange beasts avoided Alan, who projected his will as a deterrent. Gone was the time of sneaking about and trying to avoid conflict. Unless he ran into a beast too stubborn and unyielding, he was the scariest thing in the forest.

Alan still cornered a few of the greater beasts and allowed Mayra to do most of the battle. Her combat was clumsy and strange. A dance of ever-shifting scrolls floating about her, each containing a different skill. Her own skills were mostly long-range magic – a bolt of energy and a binding spell that created a strange rune under her target.

Her worst aspect was certainly mobility, and she used scrolls to supplement that. Unfortunately, all of them took a few moments to activate. Her destructive power was immense once she locked onto her target though—comparable to Alan’s before his recent advancement.

Her defense seemed even stronger than his since she had quite a few skills that boosted other skills, allowing her to chain scrolls and create overpowered effects. Of course, it was a waste of resources since most scrolls took at least a few days to get inscribed and prepared. Alan brought that to a minimum after the first fight, allowing Mayra to simply bombard the ‘victims’ as he bound them.

The result was two levels for the girl, which made her extremely happy. It took them days to reach further into the forest. The fauna often changed as if they were passing through different biomes. At some point they found another mushroom valley, but even as his current self Alan didn’t dare venture forth. This was a dangerous place, but thankfully it was contained in a small radius. Who knew what hid in the depths of the mushroom groves?

Their expedition led to a lot of discoveries, and while Mayra needed rest sometimes, Alan was fine with exploring during the night too. He was pretty certain there were at least two dungeons they had passed, but exploring one took too long and could prove lethal, so he just made a mental note of them.

About five days later, when he was already growing impatient and Mayra was level 99, they reached a small clearing. It had drawn Alan’s attention due to the lingering traces of mana surrounding it. There were all sorts of signatures, and as they stepped onto the dusty ground, he understood why.

Remains of humans littered a battlefield. Traces of obliterated trees and broken trunks were everywhere. Whoever they had fought, had been merciless. Alan stepped over carefully, and his fingers itched. He hadn’t used [Will of the Dead] recently, and there were plenty of candidates around. He wanted the best one.

“Master…” Mayra said, barely whispering.

Alan turned and his eyes widened. Just below the first massive tree marking the end of the battlefield stood a corpse. It was not human, and not in a state of decay like those of the humans. It was unlike anything Alan had seen, actually.

An insectoid body twisted to be a humanoid. It was at least three meters tall, four-armed, and clad in gold. Whether it was carapace shaped like armor or actual armor was difficult to say. The wounds on its body were few, and while the golden armor seemed very beaten up it had held against the tens of skill users. The most pronounced were the traces of burns and fire damage. Perhaps a weakness?

Alan was sure this was the reason for the death of those around. Whatever this being was, it was not a mindless beast of the forest created by the System to allow the growth. It was something else. Something sentient and dangerous.

The danger Rust mentioned…? Could it be…?

Alan stepped closer and stopped himself. His eyes widened. Even now, there was a slight sensation of danger coming off the corpse. Surely it was dead? He tried to sense any sign of vitality, and presence of mana, but there was nothing.

He took a chance and carefully neared the corpse. Up close he could see the many eyes of the thing. Some were burned and melted, but few had remained intact. Black and round. Inhuman. There was no mouth, just a fleshy jaw with a cross-like line.

“Mayra,” Alan said. “Do you have anything that will boost my consciousness?”

“What exactly do you need, master? Be specific.”

“Something that will prevent an invasive Will from damaging me in a direct clash. Something that will allow me to remain fully myself.”

Mayra took off her bag of scrolls and started rummaging. They were not that large, and there were many, but she quickly found the few she was searching for. “I can add a temporary boost to your will and presence, I can cast [Fortify Mind], and I can also make a [Soul Shield]. The last one is kind of a silly one, as it’s meant to counter soul-eating spirits or something. I traded for it with a fellow [Warlock] in a dream. It’s a—”

“Cast all of them on me.”

“All?”

“Yes. Then set up a defensive perimeter. I’ll do something stupid and dangerous, but the gains might be worth it.”

Mayra didn’t question him. It took a few moments until Alan felt the different effects take hold of him. He didn’t feel much different, but he trusted she knew what she was doing. And while Mayra was setting up a perimeter of floating scrolls, and drawing strange ritualistic circles on the destroyed ground, Alan read the description of his (Ancient) skill once again.

Will of the Dead (Ancient)

You walk with the dead. Shadows of memories long forgotten by all whisper in your mind and help you down the path you’ve chosen. The dead hold no secrets from the one who wears the past as a second skin.

Witness their lives and remember their deeds. Learn and grow and in time their wills might join the crusade you’ve embarked on.

You can see the lives, and feel the pain of the dead. You can ask questions, and seek the buried knowledge. The level of control you can exert depends on your Will and Mind attributes.

Beware the remnants of will that can corrupt your mind if you’re not ready.

Be wary of the anger of the departed but do not fear it.

Use this skill sparingly.

Let’s see what and who you are…

He touched the corpse, and the world around him came alive with colors and ghosts of what had been. A chaotic fight of flying limbs and bodies, and a golden form moving through with a slight buzz. Its four hands each carried a strange blade of the same chitinous gold and tore apart the humans who fought it.

Alan wasn’t that interested in the fight for now, so he pushed deeper and felt himself sinking.

Cities of splendor unlike any he had seen, almost built like hives along mountainsides and deep into ravines. A world completely covered by progress and by construction. As if the whole planet was carved out by this one civilization, and made into a singular home. There were patterns to it. Like a complicated ritual circle covering all the surfaces, even the few oceans.

And in the center of it all, deep into the core of the world, a throne hall. He could not see it, but he knew it was there, as the one whose ghost he was scouring had never seen it. The deep reverence was almost intoxicating, but it came from the visions themselves, not from the dead soul. It pushed at his mind like an insistent breeze, begging to be let in.

The vision shifted. Billions chanting as one. A world ablaze. A defiance against the System, and the face of a spirit as large as a star smiling down upon the hopeful.

A sense of new beginnings. Hope. Ambition. Desire to conquer. Alan felt strange knowledge worm its way into his mind.

Something changed. Something new was approaching. Not a part of the vision.

He lost focus and tried to pull back. The clarity made him suddenly realize that there was no presence of ‘self’ in the vision. No will. His senses were warning him of something. The danger that had been so faint before was now real.

The skill didn’t let him go.

A large presence, overwhelming and grand, enveloped him.

Words came, untranslated and foreign, and wormed their way into Alan’s mind. It was a few moments before they morphed into something he could understand.

“Pest. Prying. Desecrate. Past. No. Eat.”