Dragon's Tale 100 (Patreon)

I soon ignored the growing difficulty of keeping my transformation in check. After all, it wasn’t like I had anyone to talk to that would make my state a drawback. The only one I technically could talk to was the captain, who was a sorcerer and might have the necessary knowledge, and I certainly wasn’t in the mood to trust him. 

The only risk was one of the sailors coming down to check us, but luckily, their secret armory was not their favorite hanging spot. 

Instead, I once again turned my focus on my internal nature, particularly the way my crackling with an intimidating amount of magic — I would have used the word endless if I hadn’t watched the intimidating display of the Archmagus, giving me a new appreciation of the word — that I needed to take control as soon as possible. 

I cycled the mana, one that turned into lightning in my veins, but rather than leaving me as a charred mess, it just left a comfortable warmth behind, like it was not the most destructive element known to mankind but a simple charm. 

There were perks to losing control of my transformation, I realized. As my ears transformed, my hearing sensitivity increased enough to allow me to catch the discussions between the sailors, and the occasional order of the captain. 

I listened to them as I circled my magic. The first thing I noticed was the distinct lack of gossip and idle chatter between the sailors, which I would have normally assumed as an after-effect of the storm, but as the orders came rapidly from the captain, they neither panicked nor got overwhelmed. 

I would have said military precision, but not even the soldiers I watched could act in such a practiced manner in a state of emergency. Though, considering the secret warehouse of weapons I was currently in, their extraordinary origin was hardly a great surprise. 

An hour into the travel, the ship suddenly stopped, with the first mate of the ship informing the sailors that they were about to go through an inspection. But, that was the extent of his explanation, not bothering to give a lot of reminders to his sailors, suggesting that they expected them to know how to act. 

Which certainly deepened the mystery behind the ship, and in particular, how Theodora was able to arrange such a team.  

While I kept a sliver of my attention on them, I continued focusing on my core, circling my magic again and again desperately to gain control. Of course, I didn’t expect to have enough control to actually casually cast illusions and other utility spells for a long while. 

The ability to cast an elemental blast without actually killing myself was all I hoped to regain. 

Interestingly the inspection lasted long enough to actually allow me to achieve that part before it was our ship’s turn, giving me enough confidence to cast elemental blasts. Of course, since I expected the elemental rejection of the four elements to get even stronger, lightning blasts were my only option, and even then, I wasn’t sure I could control the intensity, only the backlash, making it the last resort that would alert everyone in a several miles ranges to my presence. 

“Luckily, magic is not my only option,” I said as I caressed the Spear of Scipio, the weapon I never actually hoped to hold in my own two hands, let alone using it to challenge multiple sorcerers. With the spear and my abilities, I was confident enough to deal with one or two sorcerers with ease. 

Any more would mean that alerting the others wouldn’t exactly be the biggest problem I was facing. 

Yet, the spear wasn’t the only gain I found, I thought as I turned to the other two weapons, the bow, and the sword. 

I first grabbed the sword. It was a simple, unadorned gladius, clearly Roman in origin, though made of bronze rather than iron. Or, at least, it looked like it was made of bronze, as my weapon forging knowledge was certainly not deep enough to accurately assess a Patrician weapon’s material nature. 

I dragged my finger along its length, appreciating its excellent texture while I felt the connection between me and the weapon strengthen slowly. The sensation felt unfamiliar, yet familiar at the same time, like it was filling a gap that I didn’t even realize I expected. 

Yet, I couldn’t help but sigh as I analyzed the connection, which was not entirely magical, at least not the way I understood. It could still be used to channel magic — something I was reluctant to test without getting better control of my magic — but the connection was almost directly to my life force. 

It was the reason I was able to use the internal abilities of the Spear despite my ruined control.

The sword promised a great expansion of my abilities, but unfortunately, the abilities of the Patrician weapons were some of the greatest secrets of the families that owned them, and it was unlikely to be laid around. 

Of course, even if the original family that owned it had a such book conveniently lying around for me to steal, I first needed to know where that weapon had come from. Weapons, I corrected as I glanced at the large bow, which, unlike the gladius, filled with gold lines and drawings, radiating a much more elegant aura. 

For the moment, the extent of my knowledge was eliminating two families from contention. It didn’t belong to House Scipio as I knew the history of my family too much to miss the existence of two lost Patrician weapons. 

And they didn’t belong to House Junia, and I doubted even they wouldn’t throw their own bloodline-locked weapons with a pile of others just to have more experimentation material. 

The bow clearly didn’t belong to any Patrician Families but to a different land. Unfortunately, my knowledge was rather limited to anything, not Roman, with the possible exception of Gallic and Germanic tribes, which I researched since I was a young adult as a potential avenue of retreat when the day of my uncle took control of the family ultimately come. 

Yet, as I looked at the Spear of Scipio, I couldn’t help but wonder whether it was as inevitable as I had first thought. My grandfather, the crazy old man, clearly had other aims than just raising me into a good disposable weapon for the family considering he had actually used the bestowment ritual. 

Unfortunately, even he wasn’t clairvoyant, and his death arrived before informing me about whatever plan he had for me. 

And a plan, he clearly had, I thought as I looked at the two other weapons that I connected, wondering where the connection came from. 

My first guess would have been my mysterious father, a figure that I seldom thought of since I was a child, not wanting to focus on the man that was the source of my plight. Yet, the bestowment ritual was enough to suggest that something was extraordinary. 

Unfortunately, it was not a strong guess, as my father wasn’t the only direct relative I had never missed. I also never met my grandmother, a figure that my crazy grandfather never spoke about. And the ‘training’ I received after I made the mistake of asking about her once made sure I never prompted that question. 

Though that didn’t prevent me from searching around the Estate back in Britannia, only to fail spectacularly, not even finding a scrap against her. 

So, it was also likely that the bestowment ritual came from her side of the family as it came from my father’s side. 

Or, maybe one from each. 

Unfortunately, in either case, it meant that I needed to back to Britannia to start searching for, the freedom I lacked. After angering the strongest family of the Republic, it was certainly not safe for me to stay in any area under the direct control — or even the influence — of the legions, that that assumed I had dealt with the problem of my haywire core in the first place. 

“One mystery at a time,” I murmured as I caressed the surface of the bow, feeling the connection setting between us, which, even without the visual differences, was enough to confirm that it didn’t come from the same origin. 

The sword and the spear, for all their differences, had a very familiar sensation. If they were human, they wouldn’t be twins, but they would be brothers. Brothers with different colors of hair and some age difference, but brothers nonetheless, a glimpse enough to confirm the familiar connection. 

The bow, on the other hand, was clearly a foreigner, not only coming from a different family, but also from a different country, a glimpse enough to separate the origin, different both in looks and habits. 

Interestingly, even their attitude carried a different flavor. It was hard to describe, but the best thing I could identify was a sense of superiority. All three weapons had that, but the Roman ones had a healthy sense of competition, enthusiastic to prove their superiority but acknowledging the need for it. 

The bow, on the other hand, radiated a sense of superiority that was born from its unique nature, and nothing else. 

Of course, those were the first rough glimpses I was able to get from them, trying to make sense of something I could hardly comprehend, probably mostly inaccurate. 

Before I could delve deeper, however, I was distracted by something more urgent. 

The sounds of combat exploded upstairs…