American Isekai - Chapter 107 (Patreon)

The conversation ended with the disappearance of Anderson, Maxwell letting out a long sigh.

“He’s always a treat to talk to.”

“...I know the name, but who is that?”

“Only the strongest Knight in the Church, if not the world. It’s surprising you’ve heard of God’s Assassin at all.”

Terrace responded wth a side eye, making me shrug.

“He’s got a bounty on him. I guess that’s nothing more than a joke then.”

“Obviously. Now, back to business. Hand me the rest of the corpse and I’ll perform some tests today. By nightfall, I’ll have a recipe ready. Concoction will be performed tomorrow, and the day after will be when we operate. Kid, I need you to be here for those tests, so stick around.”

“Sure.”

“Then put the corpse over there and sit in that chair…”

I followed along with Terrace’s directions while Maxwell found a seat to the side.

After that, nothing happened except for some lab rat tests that I just had to sit around and offer my arm for. Some blood was drawn, some hairs were plucked, and he even dropped some acidic stuff on my tongue.

Whatever the hell was going on, Terrace was constantly logging information and doing similar tests on the corpse. As he did so, I thought about recent events.

Heretic, Maxwell’s title apparently. He had told me his identity was sensitive, but I didn’t think of it like that. Apparently the story went much deeper than I imagined since one of the strongest knights in the world personally appeared to have a conversation with him. He even respected Maxwell, as he was supposedly the greatest summoner to ever live.

But that begged the question. What the hell did Maxwell do? He was called a heretic, but he wasn’t exactly treated like one. If he were, then he probably would’ve been killed a while ago.

But it seemed he still had at least one or two friends here, powerful ones at that. After not seeing him for almost 30 years, Terrace didn’t hesitate to help him make this Crown.

So I truly couldn’t imagine what he could’ve done. It wasn’t bad enough to be treated like a true heretic, yet be called one. Not to mention that he wouldn’t do anything like that based on my observations. He seemed principled, and rather strongly at that.

Though, it seemed to be his Summoner Call that was under scrutiny, not himself. I wondered what about it could possibly be heretical.

Regardless, for now, we were in the clear and the conflicts had passed. For the remainder of this trip, we probably wouldn’t be disturbed.

For the rest of that day, I just followed along with Terrace’s tests before getting let go at the end of the day.

“Finally. I’m starving.”

I stretched while leaving the elevator with Maxwell, stepping out into the ground floor of the Franks Tower.

“You won’t be needed tomorrow for the concoction. Just be prepared for the operation afterward.”

“I’ll be ready. Just how dangerous is this operation going to be anyway? Am I actually going to be at risk of death?”

“Probably not. As Terrace said, the technology has grown significantly. I can’t be sure anymore, but at the very least you have much less to worry about, especially if he’s the one making it.”

“Alright. Just let me know when I’m needed. Until then, I’ll be with Vetsmon and Umara.”

“Mm.”

Maxwell nodded, the interaction entering a lull.

I stared at him for a few seconds before putting my hand out.

“Thank you, Maxwell. I appreciate all of this. And don’t worry about that stuff with Anderson. In my book, you’re a good man no matter what anyone else says.”

“...”

He looked down before giving my hand a clasp, then separating and turning away.

“I will be taking up residence in an inn. Relax and stay rested. After the operation, you’ll be bed-ridden for some time.”

“Mm.”

I nodded as he started walking away, watching his back for a bit before lifting my Aerial and sending a few messages.

Vetsmon and Umara responded. They were both within the Verga Tower across from the Franks Tower. So I started walking, making my way over while anticipating the day of the operation.

……

“Haahh…”

Maxwell let out a long, rough breath as he sat on the plush couch in the center of the hotel suite.

His head ached like a sore muscle, his mind too powerful for his current self to handle. As the most powerful summoner to ever live, he had a mind that operated on a level most couldn’t imagine. John was only just beginning to get a glimpse at that power.

But after the events of so many years ago, that powerful mind became a curse. His body could no longer bear it, and so he was forced to dial himself down or face the consequences. It was like a powerful engine that could only run at a fraction of its speed because the frame was rusted and brittle, threatening to break apart the moment it revved up.

Heretic, they called him. It had been so long since he’d been called that he almost forgot it. Unlike back then, though, he couldn’t be bothered to care about such baseless mockery. They said that people feared what they couldn’t understand. Well, how could anybody possibly understand the creations of the most powerful summoner?

There was a time when he never had to worry about that. A time when he stood alongside the greatest in the world, respected and treated as if he were on their level. He was a pioneer the likes the world had never seen. Given more time, his name would have echoed across the world as a revolutionary who empowered the whole of the summoner class. His achievements would have brought change to humanity as a whole and sparked the beginnings of a new era. Back then, he could see how bright the future could be.

And yet, one day was enough to bring it all crumbling down.

It was a day of great renown, one that continued to be celebrated even now. But where others found joy and hope, he found isolation and sorrow.

The day he lost everything that made him the greatest summoner, was branded a heretic, and exiled from society. In fact, it was the very thing that made him great that also brought upon his downfall.

The Call of the Fallen Angel. His greatest creation, and the source of his ruin. It’s namesake was by no means insignificant.

There was a time not long after that day that he had sat within his rich home, blind and aimless, almost catatonic. His weak vessel couldn’t sustain his previous level of thought, and the adjustment to that limitation had taken him no short amount of time.

But even more difficult than that was finding a new purpose after he had lost everything.

Years were spent in isolation as he was ridiculed and hunted by those who wanted to do something about the heretic. He had to abandon his home, which still sat barren to this day, and find refuge under the wing of a friend.

For a long time, he had been inanimate. But with time and some age, he realized that he couldn’t just lie back and wait to die. The Scourge would forever be a threat to humanity, and so long as the summoner class was weak, nothing about that would change. As the greatest, he had an obligation to do something about that.

And so he utilized what remained of his mind in order to pave a new path. The Call of the Fallen Angel was more than just a way to contact spirits. It was a demanding path of advancement that far surpassed all of the other summoner advancement paths. However, it was also inseparable from the Call and utilized Aura extensively.

Maxwell hadn’t been raised in the call. He was it’s creator and had to pioneer the path once he was already halfway down the other, mediocre paths all other summoners used. But this screwed up his advancement and doomed him to never breach the Great Barrier. Even as an Authoirty 11, he was only ever able to glimpse the Barrier from a distance, never even touch it.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t allow someone else too. And there was one thing he didn’t lose on that fateful day, besides his massive royalty deal with Sawn Industries that filled his coffers.

His knowledge.

His mind couldn’t operate at the level it used to, but that only meant that he would have to take more time. And having lost everything, he was rich in time. Thus, he embarked on a 20 year long journey where he plotted out the entire advancement path for the Call of the Fallen Angel.

Or, at least most of it. Authority 10 was the limit, because at that level, one was met with the Great Barrier and had to breach it themselves. He had never done such a thing and thus couldn’t plot the path to do so.

But he had plotted up to that point as best he could. The path he highlighted wasn’t infallible because he couldn’t personally experience it. The primary way a Magus detected flaws in their cultivation was by personally cultivating the path. But he couldn’t do that and had to work based on his extensive knowledge on the very nature of cultivation and Authorities.

The achievement of doing such a thing while effectively blind couldn’t be understated. He knew that only he could possibly do something like that.

Narcissist was a word many used to describe him, but he always liked to correct that and say he was merely self aware. And at the very least, he had proven himself right through the rest of his life.

With the Call of the Fallen Angel, he was afforded the chance to do so once more.

The only issue was finding someone who would prove him right. Someone who would take his place, a successor that would change the fate of the summoner class.

It was a task he left to Luna to do something about. He couldn’t be bothered with finding someone personally.

And there were a few candidates sent to his door, some of those few even having adequate potential. But they all had dealbreaking flaws. Whether it was their attitude, their lack of motivation, their age, the low quality summons, or their inability to commit to something they believed to be unfounded.

Almost two years went by, and as his standards rose, less people came. Until one young man came knocking on his door.

Maxwell didn’t think the 22 year old would fare well. He was too old, was a bit narcissistic, too laid back, and had no clue about anything.

But he was glad he gave him a chance. Who knew everything would come so easy to him?

And he sure as hell couldn’t predict the level of exceptionalism John Cooper would display over the course of just half a year. It was unheard of and so unbelievable that even he felt John was being a bit unfair.

He had seen him after he came back, the sheer progress he had made in such a short amount of time. It seemed like every month he was advancing by leaps and bounds, and there was no end in sight to his potential.

Dare he say, John was just as good as he was.

So he made his investments. He couldn’t let such a talented young man die, especially not after he pledged to go along with his training. He maded sure he had protection, something to rely on in battle, yet not a crutch he would abuse and stunt his progress with.

The coat was an easy purchase, and forcing John into the Trenches was his way of making him work for it.

Now though, it was finally time to give him something greater. Something that would continue to serve him even after the coat outlived its utility. He knew this sensory Crown would boost John’s auxiliary power significantly.

The only issue was that it required him to reestablish contact with those that had once exiled him.

Once again, he would have to go back out and fight. Instead of fighting for himself though, he was fighting for his protege.

There was a reason encountering Anderson was so stressful. There was nobody who could tell that man what to do. If he got in John’s way, he didn’t know what he would do, and that caused him to lose control of himself for a moment.

It was a good reason that he still held some level of respect. He knew better than anyone what transpired that day. He was there and had seen it all.

It seemed that his sacrifice that day had earned him something useful. It only took three decades to realize it.

“...At least he’ll get the Crown. I need to find some more ingredients as well…”

Maxwell muttered, pondering over the concoction of the Crown.

He couldn’t possibly allow this Crown to be so bare bones. Forcing John to bring him the material was merely a means to make him earn it. With all his money, there was close to nothing he couldn’t get. The corpse of some Authoirty 7 Royal was countless times easier to acquire than John’s coat, let alone better ingredients.

And John had now earned himself a Crown, so it was up to him to ensure it met his standard. Terrace would draw out the full potential of anything he worked with, so all he had to do was find the material.

The Royal could be the foundation. The fact that it stemmed from the Scout bloodline actually made it prime material for sensory augmentations, despite the low Authority. But there was still more room, and he would fill it with the best possible enhancements.

There was much to discuss with Terrace, but for now, he needed rest.

Just a brief moment of letting his mind out of control had given him a nasty headache, and even that had still only been a fraction of his real power.

His creaking vessel needed some time to repair.

But that was alright. He had a purpose, and so long as he fulfilled it, nothing was off limits. That’s how he had lived his entire life. Just because his purpose now had a name didn’t mean that had changed.

So he closed his eyes and prepared. This time would need to be taken full advantage of.