Fallen Mage Regressor

The meeting had been far shorter than Mal had anticipated.

The Greengills leader was a short, stocky man. Quiet. The Bloodletters, on the other hand, had a woman for their leader, a genial type, who had got along well with Mal. When he’d shown off his Academy robes and proved that he was a trained wizard, they had practically fallen over at his offer to carve up the Shanks and divide the spoils between the three of them.

Hemp, though unwilling to support an outright massacre, understood that a handful of deaths would be unavoidable. Surprisingly, the other two leaders were also on board. Apparently the family who ruled the Black Quarter disliked smaller gangs committing massacres—it set a bad precedent. The rules of engagement were clear: they would try to knock out as many as possible. The exception would be the leaders, both of whom were in possession of basic magic.

It would be Mal and Hemp’s job to take care of them, while the other two leaders coordinated the gang members on the ground.

”Can you put me down now?”

”Sure, boss. But you looked a little comfortable there.”

”Shut up.”

Hemp set him down from his bridal carry position onto the roof. The torchlight shined in the alleys, and the shadows flickered as the others moved into position.

”Now we wait for the signal,” Mal said.

”What does the signal look like?”

A loud boom ripped through the air and a section of the wall of the building burst open.

”That’s the signal.”

He searched for an opening into the building then spotted a trap door at the top of the roof. With a quick two steps, he dashed over and swung it open.

He dropped in and was immediately greeted by the sight of three Shanks gang members reaching for their weapons. For a moment, the three stared at him, and he stared back with a blank look on his face.

A loud thud. Hemp fell to the ground in front of Mal. She looked at all three and her expression turned grim. She reached for her sheathed dagger, pulled it out, then pointed it at the three frozen individuals.

”I would personally advise that you turn around and pretend you didn’t see us,” she said.

They stayed still.

One reached for his sword.

Hemp dashed forward almost faster than Mal could track. She jumped into the air, knee pointed at one’s nose. Bone met soft tissue and a crack echoed out. Jumping off of the falling body, she spun through the air and kicked one in the back of the head, immediately knocking him out cold.

The third stepped back, eyes wide. Nathan dived forward, mana circulation fueling his every step. He hit the ground and with one tremendous push, he bowled over the third, and they hit their head against the floor with a sharp snap.

”Will they be okay?” Hemp poked one of them with the tip of her boot. ”Like, aren’t they going to have brain damage or something?”

”Probably not.” Mal paused. ”I think.”

”Right. That’s great.” She looked back over at the door. ”We’d probably best get going.”

The two burst out of the door and quickly ran through the upper floor.

”There are two,” Mal rushed down a set of stairs. ”You can’t miss them. They have these strange blue scarves that mark them as the leaders and magic users.”

Hemp nodded, not winded at all. ”Got it.”

Below, Mal could hear on the first floor the sound of shouts and cries from the bog standard gang members getting ambushed, but Mal knew that if the two mages were allowed to enter the fray, their forces would quickly be decimated.

They ran to the end of a hall, and Mal sniffed the air.

His eyes darted to the left, and he quickly pivoted and slammed the door open.

Two men, both with blue scarves around their necks, jumped back in surprise. One had a spell already at the tip of his tongue while the other glared at them, teeth clenched.

”What the hell is this?” the one with clenched teeth said. ”Who are you two supposed to be?”

The other one didn’t bother to wait for an explanation. The spell finished and an Arcane Sphere launched through the air—aimed straight for Hemp’s shoulder.

Hemp easily dodged around the Arcane Sphere and the spell continued onward before hitting the wall and shattering it on the spot.

It’s just a juiced-up push effect so strong that it causes serious damage.

They’d run across this variant before in the past, so Mal wasn’t too worried. He quickly dashed forward with his Airgrass boots, closing the distance in a second. His hands lit up, Firegloves all warm and heated.

Flames burst across his fingers, and he slammed his open palm into the clenched-teeth one’s chest. The clenched-teeth leader doubled back, white shirt already alight with embers. He let out an undignified scream and scrambled to get his shirt off. Mal followed up with a sharp right hook. Flames burst on impact and he flew back into the ground from the force of the punch.

The other one charged up another spell—only for Hemp’s fist to meet his face. He hit the ground hard, and but unlike the other, he wasn’t knocked out. He pointed his hand up, and an Arcane Sphere was already forming at the tip.

Hemp had nowhere to dodge, and Mal was just a few feet too far to make any kind of intervention.

There was a brief flicker of hesitation in Hemp’s posture, a short pause—

before she abruptly shot forward and slid her dagger into the opponent’s throat.

The spellcasting leader’s spell stopped and disintegrated harmlessly. Blood gurgled out of his throat, and he convulsed against Hemp’s grip. She pulled out her blade and stepped back, and the man collided with the floor.

A flash of something soft crossed her face. Her eyes tightened and her lips quavered before the expression disappeared in an instant.

Mal looked away, not wanting to hurt her pride. He picked up the dead one and dragged him over to the exit.

”Come on. Best not to dwell on these things,” he said.

There was a beat of silence, then footsteps. He pulled the leader, the dead leader, over the doorway and brought him downstairs, then threw him to the ground with a thud. The remainder of still undefeated Shanks members looked at the corpse with an aghast expression.

And then the fight was over.

With that, the Shanks had been eliminated. The other two gang leaders had met with Mal and expressed their surprise at how smoothly things had gone. The spoils had been divided between the three of them, with the other two agreeing that Mal should get the lion’s share of the loot.

He could see the fear in their eyes, and he found that he didn’t mind it at all. Things were so much easier when done this way, as opposed to all of the complexity that the Academy had become.

Even so, he hadn’t finished all his tasks for the night. There was still one more thing he wanted to attend to before he made his way back.

He was now back at his headquarters, Hemp beside him, as they waited for the arrival of their guest.

It was a quiet night, with most of the other Cat’s Eye gang members having either gone home or found a place to hole up inside of the warehouse.

The doors swung open, and a familiar man with grey hair, a wolf’s tail and wolf ears, stepped through the doorway.

”Aston,” Mal said. ”Come on in.”

Aston stepped forward, his back straight and his eyes forward, not a hint of fear to be had in his eyes. He looked around in curiosity, quickly spotted the Cokane, and let out a small chuckle.

He approached the table, then took a seat opposite of Mal.

”So you moonlight as a dealer in illegal magical herbs?” Aston said. ”I wouldn’t have expected that from a noble’s son.”

”In fairness, my house isn’t exactly prestigious. We’re dead in all but name, with the estate being the only thing of any nobility.”

Aston hummed. ”I see, interesting. But why did you call me in?”

”You and I both know that your mercenary group is in dire straits.”

”You want to hire me?” Aston said. ”I’m not sure what a bunch of mercenaries would be able to do for you. Besides, we have some dignity. We’d want to be paid well.”

Hemp reached underneath the table and heaved, muscles visibly flexed from the strain of her pull. She went all the way up and dropped a massive brown bag onto the table, one that easily weighed as much as her, if not more.

Aston looked at the bag and back at Mal. ”What is this supposed to be?”

”What you could have if you work with us.”

Aston tilted forward and looked inside the bag.

When he saw what was within, his breath hitched.

Mal suppressed a smirk. The lion’s share of the spoils had been something to behold. The Shanks, as it turns out, were misers of the absolute worst sort, and while combing through the base, a huge amount of coinage had been located.

Aston drew the bag tight and took his hands away from the spoils, a visible shake in his hands.

”What exactly would you have us do?” Aston said. ”Because we do have rules of engagement. We’re not going to bully civilians or—”

”Of course not. And even if we were the sort to do that, it doesn’t take a Spellsword to intimidate a bunch of random people. No, I have something much better in mind.”

”What are you planning?”

”Nothing less than complete control over the entire criminal underworld of this city.”

It felt utterly good to say things like that again. And it felt good to know that this was an achievable goal.

Mal had accomplished far greater, even if he’d had a little bit of extra help. Taking over a city’s criminal side? Child’s play.

Aston stared at the bag, then wrenched his gaze away and stared at the table like it had personally wronged him.

”We were once hired by royalty. We worked for nobles across the land, known as the preeminent mercenary company of the East. And you’re asking us to abandon that so that we can help you become some sort of kingpin?”

”You stopped being the preeminent mercenary company as soon as that job went wrong,” Mal said. ”You’ve had to resort to being an airship crew. You, a master Spellsword with years of experience.”

”But...”

The hesitation in Aston’s gaze disappeared bit by bit. He, at his heart, was a pragmatist. He was a commoner, someone who’d scrapped his way to the top of his field, then had it all ripped away in an instant.

Even so, his time as a servant of nobles had affected his outlook.

Annoying. I’ll have to change my tactics.

”You want honor?” Mal stood up. ”Then let me make something clear. This is only the beginning.”

Mal hadn’t intended to say this part, but if those tiny scraps of nobility that he attained secondhand were getting in the way, then Mal would say whatever was necessary to appeal to him.

”I am the son of a duke,” Mal said. ”A dishonoured household. But I won’t have it be that way forever. This city is just the beginning. I will rebuild my house using this as a springboard. And if you agree to my terms, I will make you my Marshal. Commander of all of my men.” Mal paused. ”And I will ensure that you obtain a minor title of your own.”

At that, the last traces of hesitation disappeared from Aston’s face. He nodded slowly.

”I believe that you have yourself a deal.” Aston reached out his hand and shook Mal’s. ”Lord Patoal.”

And with that, Mal had obtained the core of his new army, and much earlier than he had in the previous timeline.

Of course, Aston wouldn’t be able to mobilize vast numbers of soldiers. The types of jobs that they’d done were the sorts that required small bands, and that was what Aston worked in. There were only about thirty members of the group in total, from what Aston had said.

That was perfectly fine with Mal. He assigned Aston to take a few of the younger gang members to teach them military discipline and the basics of magical combat.

It would be some time before the rest of the mercenary company was used. Most of the other mercenary members didn’t have experience in having their own command. They were all independent and clever, but Aston would have to train them into being officers. It would be a major shift in mentality for a group of people who’d worked in a mercenary company.

Mal assigned Hemp to begin recruiting. He wanted more members for his little project, and the long-term plan was to begin expanding outward in steps and pieces. Not so fast that they attract attention from the major crime families of the four quarters, but fast enough that they’re able to continue building a larger and larger army.

He’d just finished making the initial plans for all of this when he finally made it back to the academy. The sun was already rising, and he let out a yawn. The platform inched upward and his knees jolted from the sudden pressure below his feet.

The platform went all the way to the top and stopped.

Mal stared at the front of the gateway entrance.

He blinked.

He reached up and rubbed his eyes.

There were dozens of pink streamers coming over the side of the academy walls, mixed in with the pink was a strawberry red, wrapping around each other in a chaotic mess. Through the gate, Mal could make out multiple stalls that were in the process of being set up. One was halfway finished, and a group of people were wrapping it in pink and red cloth. There was another that had just gotten started with a group of men nailing together wood planks. Somewhere off to the back, there was a couple holding hands and laughing and giggling, and Mal had to suppress the instinctual revulsion rising in his throat.

What in the name of Eternus did I miss?