Chapter 295 - A Man Called Tucker (Patreon)

“And then this huge dinosaur thing swallows him!” yelled Tucker, slapping the table for emphasis as the young Kirrans across surrounding him gasped.

“What then?” hissed Eranika, the smallest of the bunch. Unlike her parents, the child was much smaller than a human of the same age; apparently, the Kirr grew in defined stages rather than a continuous string of spurts, and Eranika was still a year away from her first development stage. The other three Kirran children were a little older, which meant that they’d already surpassed Tucker in height, if not weight. Right now, they were all whip thin, but they still had two more growth stages to go before they were considered adults. The entire process took two decades, but when it was finished, they would all be around nine to ten feet tall, and densely packed with muscles. Even the comparatively lithe females would weigh about half-again as much as a human being of comparative size would.

Not that there were ten-foot-tall men or women running around. Even in a fantasy world filled with all sorts of magic, that didn’t seem to be possible. But then again, it probably was only extremely rare. Ever since his rebirth, Tucker had found that the concept of impossibility was more of a suggestion than a reality, and his ascension had only hammered home that fact.

“We were all distraught,” Tucker said, his voice low. “Even the craven archer was shocked at how quickly the brave knight was killed.”

“Wish she was the one that got killed,” muttered Eranika.

Tucker laughed. “Seems to be a theme, huh?” he said.

One and all, the children hated the caricature of Abby he’d created in his stories. He actually hadn’t changed much about her personality, but even he would have admitted that he’d accentuated her negative traits. But as far as Tucker was concerned, that was only natural. After all, he’d never liked the woman, and she’d hated him from the moment they met. She had her reasons – their initial meeting wasn’t exactly ideal, what with him having contributed to Talia’s conversion into one of the undead – but even when things had worked out, Abby had still hated him in a way that suggested there was something else going on.

Either way, he found it a little surprising how bloodthirsty the otherwise pacifistic children could be when it came to the archer in the stories he told them. When he’d said as much to Athis, the one Kirran he’d have labeled a friend had explained it by pointing out that they were, in fact, children. If Abby had been a real person, they would have tried to understand the nuances of her actions, but immature as they were, they were too disconnected from reality to comprehend subtlety. To them, everything was black and white, and they’d never even considered that someone like Abby was a real person, with all the many facets of her personality that came with that.

Or perhaps he just wasn’t a good storyteller.

Either way, Tucker didn’t feel the need to give it much thought. After all, they were just stories meant to endear him to the children he needed to study in order to advance his research, and so long as that goal was accomplished, the details didn’t matter. It wasn’t like they were ever going to meet Abby, anyway, and if they did, they wouldn’t recognize her as the archer from his stories.

“Panic filled our hearts, and I was on the verge of throwing myself at the enormous monster, but then…”

The dragon children leaned forward, their scales glistening in the mana-light. Each of them possessed different coloration, with Eranika’s rainbow scales being the most colorful. Otherwise, they looked like smaller, slighter versions of their parents, but with slightly stubbier snouts, wider eyes, and undeveloped claws. If a humanoid lizard creature could be cute, then these children certainly qualified.

“Then, the brave knight burst forth from the monster’s neck, showering the ground with blood, gore, and gemstones!” he bellowed.

“He did it on purpose!” came Eranika’s shrill exclamation as she clapped her scaled hands together. “I knew it!”

Tucker just shook his head. Of course, the real story hadn’t been so smooth. The raptor amalgam back in the Red Wastes had been far more monstrous than he’d described, and there was absolutely no chance Zeke had intended to get eaten. That it had played out so well was just evidence of the man’s monstrous luck. Anyone else would have been quickly digested and used to create more of the gem-covered raptors that made up the amalgam’s body.

But the Kirran children didn’t need to know that.

“Tucker,” interrupted Athis’s deep voice. “Pretty sure we talked about this.”

“Oh, right,” Tucker said, glancing at his lone friend among the clan that had taken him in. Since then, he’d struggled to earn his keep, mostly by brewing various forms of alcohol. He’d made little headway when it came to the main avenue of his research – an alchemical solution meant to solve the problem of their unique constitution. Because of some curse they’d endured in their version of the Mortal Realm, their skills were limited to personal enhancement. Aside from one exception, they couldn’t affect anything outside their own bodies, which meant that they were limited to only a handful of classes.

It also meant that, despite their size, strength, and durability, even their most powerful warriors would never reach more than middling strength when compared to the rest of the population. Nor were the capable of harnessing Will, which was the energy that came from developing a path.

Tucker’s task was to change that by creating a potion that could be administered to the hatchlings, changing their fate. After all, if the problem was caused by a curse, then surely, it was an issue that could be solved. As an alchemist, Tucker even had some experience in the necessary fields. Some came from his time as Micayne’s prisoner, but he’d also cured plenty of curses and diseases in the past.

Even so, the flaw was so ingrained within the makeup of the Kirr that he wouldn’t soon find the solution. It was almost assuredly the work of years, but that didn’t dissuade Tucker. Instead, it lit a fire beneath him. Solving complex puzzles was both satisfying and rewarding; if he managed to accomplish the impossible, then surely his class and path would progress accordingly.

Fortunately, the Kirr were patient. They would have to be, given that they had been living with the flaw for millennia. Either way, Tucker had already provided enough potions and alcohol to silence any critics he might’ve had.

“Sorry. When he burst forth from the raptor amalgam’s neck, the ground was showered with rainbows and flowers,” Tucker said, giving the children an exaggerated wink. “The monster fell dead, and thus, the brave knight’s story continued.”

“Still wish the archer would’ve died,” muttered Eranika. “Stupid girl. Why does the knight even put up with her? He should just kill her himself.”

Of course, the first story he’d told the children was the one where Abby had betrayed Zeke. He’d actually intended it to show Abby in a good light, that she’d been put into a terrible situation where there was no right choice. On one hand, she could betray her companions and hopefully save thousands of people from an undead apocalypse; added to that was the fact that she had a goddess whispering in her ear, egging her on. On the other hand, she could leave everyone to their fate – something even Tucker would have struggled to do. It was a no-win situation, and her choice was perfectly reasonable.

So was Zeke’s reaction to her betrayal, though. It wasn’t about the act itself. Rather, it was about the broken trust. And the fact that Pudge had nearly been killed. So, it wasn’t surprising that Zeke had chosen to cut her off.

The children, on the other hand – especially Eranika – had reacted with now-characteristic bloodthirstiness and derision, crowing for Abby’s death before he’d even finished that initial story. Tucker could only hope that they would one day understand the concept of overreaction.

“The end.”

The Kirran children all groaned and begged for more, but Tucker only said, “Next time, I’ll tell you the story of alchemist’s noble sacrifice. It’s my favorite story.”

With that, Athis told them it was time for bed, and despite their protests, they all complied, filing out of the room and to the clan’s sleeping quarters. The entire group were housed within a huge compound in the city of Westport, and most rarely left. A few, like Athis, acted as representatives of the clan within the city, and Tucker had accompanied his friend on more than one trip. However, what he’d found was that the Kirr were almost universally distrusted and often outright despised by the other residents of the city. Only the dragon man’s imposing physique and obvious experience as a warrior kept them at bay.

Athis had explained it candidly by pointing out that Kirr were out of favor with most of the other races, largely due to their prominence as raiders, bandits, and pirates. In his defense, Athis had also said that they only resorted to such methods when they’d been unfairly barred from other means of survival. To Tucker, it was a chicken-and-the-egg sort of situation; which came first? The racism or the banditry? He had no intention of trying to figure it out. The fact was that the Kirr had treated him well, so he wasn’t going to upset that applecart by searching for reasons to distrust his sponsors.

Once the children were gone, the Kirran slapped a bulky package on the table. He said, “This cost me more than a few beads. I hope it’s worth it.”

Tucker grinned. “Oh, it will be,” he said.

“Is it something to help with your research?” Athis asked.

“Nope.”

Athis’s eyes narrowed as he growled, “What?”

“Don’t get your scales scuffed, you big lizard,” Tucker sighed. Any other Kirran would have taken the insult as an invitation to fight, but over the past couple of months, the friendship between Athis and Tucker had progressed to the point where a few friendly jibes were acceptable. Still, being on the receiving end of a glare from a ten-foot-tall lizard man was enough to send a shiver up Tucker’s spine. If he’d been as durable as someone like Zeke, he wouldn’t have minded, but his talents lay in another direction.

In any case, Tucker unwrapped the package with the eagerness of a child on Christmas morning, and when the contents were laid bare, he couldn’t keep the grin from spreading across his face.

“Those things are unreliable,” Athis said, nodding at the item. “Only commissioned by people with too much money or too little sense. And considering you don’t have any real money, I’m goin’ with the second one in your case.”

“Oh, ye of little faith,” Tucker responded, picking up the blunderbuss. To his surprise, firearms weren’t an unexplored branch of technology. Whether it evolved independently or if it was the product of ascended humans, Tucker had no idea. What he did know was that the concept had been abandoned after it had proved insufficiently lethal. Even higher caliber weapons had been created, but the reality was that, in most cases, guns just weren’t as convenient as even the weakest skills. Bows and arrows – or even crossbows – were better options, if only because they could take advantage of the Framework. Firearms couldn’t, and though they weren’t completely unheard of, they were seen as a novelty.

Tucker knew about and agreed with that assessment. But he was in a position to take better advantage of the concept. He hoped. Which was why he’d had Athis commission the weapon from an engineer with whom he’d worked in the past.

He looked down at the firearm. It was about three feet long, with a stock carved from dark wood that had been decorated with fanciful whorls that Tucker recognized as the visual component of an enchantment. The barrel was made of some sort of gleaming white metal that Tucker couldn’t identify, but the engineer had chosen it specifically for its durability. It was an extremely poor mana conductor, so it was also fairly cheap, but for Tucker’s purposes, it was perfect.

The barrel was also much wider than what could be expected of an earth rifle, but that was by design. After all, it needed to accommodate the second generation of his alchemical grenades.

The weapon didn’t function according to earth principles, where a spark caused a tiny explosion that would propel a bullet with incredible speed. Instead, it worked off of mana, and though the projectile it fired wouldn’t move at nearly the speed of a bullet, it was far better than Tucker’s throwing arm, which had always been a bit of a weak point in his fighting style. Depending on his own arm, he had a range of a few dozen yards – at best – but with the blunderbuss? That range would triple, at least.

But that wasn’t even the primary benefit.

No – the major reason he’d had the weapon crafted was because it could be bound.

The idea had actually come to Tucker only a few days after he’d been picked up by the stolen caravan. They’d been attacked by a few wolf-like creatures, and while the fight hadn’t been dangerous, it had allowed Tucker to see how the Kirran ranged attackers fought. And he’d been impressed.

Not because of their skill, though that was part of it. Instead, he’d been fascinated by their weaponry. Or rather, the way their bows and crossbows worked with their quivers. Not only were those quivers spatially altered, which meant that they could hold hundreds of arrows and bolts instead of only a dozen or so, but the archers weren’t required to actually draw the projectiles. Instead, they merely channeled a bit of mana into their weapons, and an arrow would appear.

It wasn’t as good as Abby’s ability to conjure an arrow from nothing – after all, they could still run out of ammunition – but it was much better than nothing. As a result, the archers were capable of firing extremely rapidly, which gave them the edge they needed to take down their attackers before they even reached the caravan.

Tucker had asked around, and it turned out that the enchantment was a common one. It only took a bit of logic to make the connection between his own abilities and a firearm, and while the engineer had charged an arm and a leg to make it work with Tucker’s spatial storage, it wasn’t so outrageous a request that he couldn’t do it. It was just further evidence that this plane was far more advanced than the Mortal Realm.

Tucker ran a finger along the weapon’s length, saying, “It’s beautiful.”

“It’s a trash weapon made of trash metal,” Athis said. “The mist-wood is nice, though. Good mana conductor. Shame to waste it on something like that.”

“How do I bind it?” Tucker asked.

“Just touch it and siphon some mana into that glyph on the very back,” Athis said. “Nobody else’ll be able to use it after that. Not ‘til you die, at least.”

Tucker grinned and did just that. Immediately, he felt mana the mana rebound back into his own pathways, connecting directly to his core. Then, it returned to the weapon, creating an endless loop that reminded Tucker of a figure-eight. Or an infinity sign. Either way, the moment the loop was complete, he felt something click into place, and he summoned one of his grenades. The enchantment took over, loading it directly from his storage and into the weapon’s barrel.

“Oh, that’s nice,” he said. “Very, very nice.”

He looked up at his Kirran friend, adding, “We need to go test this right now.”

Athis shook his head. “Fine. But just so you know, we’re going to need another batch of healing potions to pay for your new toy,” he said. “Not to mention your other project. How is that going?”

“Slowly. I told you before, it’s going to take a while,” he said. “I do think it’s possible. The problem is that it’s been so long since the curse hit you. So, the changes have…settled in, for lack of a better way of putting it. I don’t think it’s an insurmountable problem, but it means that I have to get creative with the treatment. Fortunately, I’m a damned good alchemist.”

“So you keep telling us,” Athis stated.

“My potions speak for themselves,” Tucker countered. And it was true. He couldn’t quite measure up to the alchemists who’d been working in the Eternal Realm their whole lives, but he could hold his own. And it was only a matter of time before he caught. Or surpassed them. It would take a significant amount of work, but that was how alchemy worked. Despite the prevalence of magic, it was still a science. Which was his forte.

No – if the problem could be solved, he would figure it out. But for now, he had a new weapon to test. So, with that, he and Athis left the room and headed to the compound’s firing range where the archers practiced their skills.