The Fool's Freedom

It was a somewhat large man holding the axe. He was not taller than Alan, but the heavy bulging muscles, the dark bronze skin, and the bushy beard made him look quite threatening. His clothes were torn and covered in blood, and a few quite ghastly wounds were scabbing on his torso.

Currently, the hand holding the axe was frozen, and so was now the rest of the man, bound by tendrils of shadow. It was the lesser version of [Chains of the Dark Servants] Alan was using, but without creating any sort of anchors. In fact, he was using himself as the anchor and it worked quite well. The shadows wrapped around both him and his new friend, making Alan look like some sort of a shadow monster trying to consume him.

The man was weak in terms of levels, only tier one. However, his strength was up there among the best of them.

“Hello,” Alan said. “Quite the masking skill you have there.”

“Die utopian scum,” the man hissed, then spat in Alan’s direction and a shadow intercepted it.

Ew. Who does that?

“Come on now, let’s be civil. Who are you?”

In return all Alan got was a scream. He could feel the use of a skill—an internal one now. Perhaps some sort of a buff. It didn’t help much, other than make the man look like he was struggling with brutal constipation.

“I can force him to speak,” Mayra suddenly said from the side.

She looked even paler, if that was possible, and wobbled a bit in place. She hadn’t lied about being out of commission after using that strange and extremely useful skill. Alan was honestly surprised.

“You can?”

“I’ll need to recover first, but I’ve seen Rosalyn do it enough to scribble down something similar in a day or two. It’ll be like using a chainsaw and pliers, rather than coercion or truth serum, but all we care about is if he knows where the city is, right? We don’t need his brain to remain whole for that. I’d rather enjoy looking into it… it’s been a while.”

Alan hesitated. “Right.”

Giving the guy a lobotomy? Or is she just saying all that to make him afraid? Probably that. Clever girl.

It seemed to work as the guy deflated soon after, after throwing a few horrified looks toward Mayra. He almost seemed to lose some of his size too. His wild eyes calmed down, and a long-protracted sigh made him seem like a bronze balloon that was letting out all his air.

“You guys are not from Utopia?” he asked, sounding oddly different. The change in his voice was remarkable.

“The fuck is Utopia?” Alan asked.

“The city you’re looking for. Turn back. You’re strong, but turn back now! I know rumors might’ve spread. It’s what they do! Send people to Sanctuaries to speak of it, grow support, conquer the unwilling, and brainwash the rest! Whoever tries to argue or contradict them is infected by the leader and turned into a horrific monster or worse, used as a living bomb!”

Score.

“I think you’re talking about Rustboy, aren’t you? Great! Can you tell me where he is?”

The man almost fell to the ground as the shadows let go of him, and he stared open-mouthed and wide-eyed toward Alan.

“Did you not hear what I said? He’ll enslave you! He’s insane!”

“That’s why Master will put him down,” Mayra chimed in.

“Look, guy. Can I call you guy? Just point us in a direction, and we’ll go kill that guy—the other guy, not you—take revenge for whatever it is he’s done, and be on our way. Maybe we’ll pillage and plunder for a bit, but no one will get hurt as long as they’re as nice as you.”

“You guys… you are insane too!”

“Now, now. That’s a label you shouldn’t throw around so easily,” Alan smiled. “Tell us now, and I’ll let you go.”

“You will?” the man seemed distrustful. “Are you truly going to kill the Rust King?”

“Rust King? Ew,” Mayra scoffed. “That guy was follower material at best. Not king material.”

Alan nodded in agreement. The guy was hardly a king. More of a terrorist if anything.

“Sure. I’ll make it painful too as long as that doesn’t allow him to blow up more people.”

Alan could almost see a fast forward of the man’s emotion written on his face in the next few moments. Hesitance. Distrust. Rage. Sadness. Acceptance. Rage.

“Take me with you! I can lead you, and I’ll die to guarantee his death!”

Alan raised an eyebrow. “Sure. Who am I to stand in the way of a man’s revenge? Come on, now. This journey has been long and arduous despite the surprisingly pleasant company.”

“Aw, Master.”

“I was talking about this guy. What’s your name anyway?”

“Remin.”

“Remin. All right! I probably shouldn’t mention what I’ll do to you if you try to backstab us or anything. I promise, you’ll be begging for a lobotomy if it comes to that,” Alan said.

“He means it!” Mayra added.

Remin seemed uncomfortable now, with none of the mad battle lust he had exhibited during that first attack remaining. A different person altogether indeed.

“I won’t turn on you, Shadow Man. Just keep the crazy girl away from me,” Remin said from the ground.

Alan chuckled, while Mayra showed her teeth before tripping on a root and barely catching herself. They moved shortly after, with Remin on the lead. Alan didn’t trust him at all, but if he was truthful then it would save them quite a bit of time. If he was a liar and he was leading them to a trap, then it would at least be a change of pace.

Deep down Alan hated how confident he was feeling, but it seemed that the more used he got to this new yet old mana of his, the better it was. Every millimeter of his body was under control and permeated with mana, making him feel almost like he was one with the world. Of course, he wasn’t. He was very different from what was around them, and his body was a food addict in a kitchen stocked with fast food.

It was a wonder, but his mana pool was still changing. It was not expansion; his mana seemed to be becoming more concentrated. He briefly wondered if the potion he received from his most recent dungeon tour would have any further effect, but experimenting felt really silly right now. He was on a war path, and a large part of his was quite pissed at Rust.

“What did he do to you anyway, beard guy?” Mayra asked.

They were moving much slower than before, and she didn’t even have to use many of her dwindling supply of scrolls to keep up. Alan found it quite tedious. This world was not made for a human pace of movement.

“Killed my sister just as I found her, in front of me. Wiped out the Sanctuary. I survived because of my skill to hide,” Remin said. The words came cold and detached but still made Alan flinch. “How’d you find me anyways? Even he couldn’t.”

“Let’s just say Mayra here is proving to be a very competent sidekick,” Alan interjected.

Mayra beamed at the compliment, not even arguing with being called a sidekick. It was true. She was impressing Alan with each passing day, and he could only hope her skills would move up once she hit tier two. Picking an early specialization came with the price that her class would remain the same, but Alan was sure there would be a qualitative change.

There always was one.

“Yeah… I’ve been running for a while now. Trying to find a resistance or something. No one survives long enough against Rust and that hunter of his. And now we have those golden humanoid bugs appearing around the forest and killing everything.”

Oh? Now that’s interesting.

“The hunter guy won’t be a problem, I assure you. He got turned into a giant walking pimple, and then I destroyed him. As for the golden bugs… do you know more? We saw a body.”

“A body?” Remin threw them a look. “I’ve not seen one lose. They’re the only ones giving Rust a hard time. Seen them take on tens of people alone once. Crazy things. Their skills are weird and seem to be focused on presence and physical attacks. I can only hope there are no magic users among them.”

“What about you? Does your stealth skill stop them too?” Mayra asked.

If she was doing what Alan thought she was doing… she was good. He was interested to see if she could truly unravel a skill and recreate it like that. Perhaps if she had more time and information…? That would be amazing.

“Yea. I can hide my breath. I call it breath, it’s more of a mana signature I think? I’m a [Tracker] but focusing on buffs and internal mana manipulation, rather than actual tracking. I can do that too, but it’s been getting more and more difficult. I hope I’ll switch it up one day, if I live long enough… probably won’t. Rust will win, no matter how strong you are. He always does.”

“Why lead us to him, then?”

Remin moved in silence for a while.

“Because I hope I’m wrong, and you can get him. I know I won’t be able to, but I won’t rest if that bastard’s alive. With my skill, I can reach far and find safety, probably… It’ll be a miserable life though. I’d rather die for something worthwhile.”

“Like revenge?” Mayra asked.

“Revenge is underappreciated,” Alan said, and Remin grunted in response.

They kept moving for about a day and continued through the night. Mayra burned some sort of rejuvenating scrolls that allowed both her and Remin to go on without rest. Alan didn’t need rest. As long as he had mana, he had stamina.

An edge of a ridge was their ultimate destination, and below it was laid out a strangely empty valley. Trees stood short and distant from one another. They were somehow hard to focus though, and no matter how Alan tried, he couldn’t quite notice the details on them.

“This is it. Not much, but the cloaking barrier is similar to my skill. It’s what inspired me to improve it, to be honest. I spent quite a bit here, staring and staring.”

“Fascinating,” Mayra said. She was already writing in her notebook.

“So you’re saying there’s a Sanctuary turned city there? And I can’t see it?” Alan asked.

This was troublesome. Even his senses of mana weren’t doing much. There was nothing there and the ambient flow went straight through. No. There it was. A few minute flaws that he would’ve overlooked any other time. Like streams going off course because someone had dug a path from them through the earth.

“Ye. Utopia. Where Rust is hiding, if what you’ve said is true. I don’t know how to sneak in. I’m not a resident, and I’ll probably be revealed as soon as I enter.”

“Mayra,” Alan said. “Can you please protect yourself and Mister Remin for a little while?”

“Yes, sure. What do you plan on doing?”

Alan grinned. He needed some more inspiration, and what better target than a whole goddamn city? The only thing he worried about was killing a lot of innocent people in the process, but it would probably be fine. The camouflage barrier was not the only thing protecting this place.

Utopia… what a joke.

“I’ll show you something cool, and make some people piss their pants.”

Alan jumped down without further explanation and used his shadows to slow down his descent, before conjuring Slart’s Invisible Platform mid-air and stepping on it. He kept trying to sense the edge of the minute disturbances, but it was too difficult. A dark dagger materialized in his hand, while his Tome appeared in the other. He had two casts of [Hateful Mist Cut] left, but he supposed that recharging the Tome with mana wouldn’t be an issue any longer.

Carefully, as if drawing a painting, Alan lifted the dagger and then prepared for the skill of skills to appear and inspire him yet again.

Hate, burning but fleeting like the morning mists washed over him. He didn’t let go this time. Again, and again it pulsed, and then disappeared, and again and again Alan tried to hold on to the sensation. When it was too much to bear when his mana was churning so strongly it was threatening to tear him apart, his slash. Not toward the ground, but diagonally, toward the horizon to not hit those on the ground.

The skill went off and it was like shattering a thousand mirrors as one. Then the shadows coated Alan and the platform beneath his feet. He coated them too, just to appear as if he was floating rather than standing on a solid piece of enchantment. A ghastly vision of shadows and murder, come to finish the job.

It was cooler this way. And conquerors always got points for being cool in the history books.