Fallen Mage Regressor

Mal had expected to be boiled in a cauldron of oil, or maybe to be turned into a frog, or whatever other strange story he'd heard about what happened when witches got angry.

Instead, Cassanrda had taken him back to her home, made some tea, and had asked him to explain. He did, and by the end of it, the anger had faded, replaced with a simple neutrality.

"Yes, well," she said once he finished. "I suppose that ended about as well as it could have."

He blinked. "You aren't angry?"

"No, it's my fault. I should have told you not to go on that trip, but I was so busy I didn't realize that it would be a poor idea." She sighed. "We're lucky that you ran across one of the nice ones. And what's more, it seems it was worth it. That journal is a rare artifact. Be sure to treasure it carefully."

"I really need more context."

She tapped her table.

"First of all," she said. "In general, there's nothing wrong with teaching or being taught other techniques from other witches. There's a bit of a norm around it, actually. We don't hide our knowledge to gain an advantage over each other. We work together, lift each other up, that sort of thing."

Mal nodded slowly. "Got it."

"The problem—" she took a swig of her tea. "Your gender already makes your choice of magical path quite controversial, even here in the East. The West is infinitely more traditional than the East due to how many long-lived ancient elves are wandering the countryside. Had you run across any other Elven witch, it probably would have ended with your death."

Mal stilled. "That's a rather extreme reaction to—"

"It is. Luckily for you, you ran across the one Elf who deigns to speak to her human lessers. She's an eccentric among Western practitioners, and it seems that worked out for you."

"You talk like you know her."

She grimaced. "I don't really know her, per se. I just had the misfortune of running across her during the Grand Conclave—"

"What's a Grand Conclave?"

"Something that you'll likely never get the chance to participate in, because if you did, I would become blacklisted from Greater Witch Society," she said.

"The more I learn about Greater Witch Society, the less I like about it."

She shrugged. "It's a loosely formed group made of tons of people, and people are generally complicated and annoying." She looked him over from head to toe. "I didn't anticipate needing to teach you this so soon, but we're going to need to go over how to disguise your lack of a core. I think I have some materials that should create a sort of substitute. A charm you can slip around your neck."

"You're gonna make it?"

She chuckled. "No, you're going to make it."

"Because the materials work better when I'm the one who grows and crafts them?"

Her eyebrows lifted. "Hey, you're actually learning. I didn't even teach you that one."

"I figured it out on my own."

"You're almost making me not regret this." She paused. "Almost."

For the next couple of days, Mal focused on his plants and training Lusia. The Flower Moon, the fifth month of the year was coming to an end, and several of Mal's plants had started to bloom.

Their growth rate was astonishing, and Mal knew that there was something up about it. He could only conclude that once again it was a side effect of his Shattercore status. In between classes, he did his best to stay out of the way of all of the couples. The Strawberry Moon Summer Festival was coming up, only a scant few weeks away, and apparently there was some sort of tradition where you were supposed to have a date. Mal had ignored this both in the original timeline and he intended to continue to do so in this timeline.

On the plant side, his waterrose was nearly fully bloomed, the light blue petals shifting into a deeper, warmer color. The Fireglove had caught up rapidly, grown by the heat of Mal's furnace. The Cokane had sprung up at ludicrous speeds, to the point where he'd been able to start participating in sending it to his gang and making some serious cash.

With that done, with that all taken care of, he heard a knock at the door. He walked over to his room door to see Lusia in her student attire. She stared up at him, face blank. "Master, it's time for our appointed training."

Mal looked over toward the window. The sun was a little bit past the—was about a quarter of the way from falling past the horizon.

"So it is," Mal said.

"Let's work on it."

She was incredible.

"Focus on circulating your mana through the bloodstream," Mal said. "It's not bad to let it into your muscles when you're trying to enhance your body, but when you're trying to channel it to your core, it's wasted energy."

"Yes, master," she said.

Lusia held out her hand and an Arcane Sphere of golden color appeared on it in front of her. It blasted out and hit the target that Mal had set up. The push effect activated and the target flew off the rope, snapped off, and went off into the distance.

"Excellently done."

"Thank you, Master."

Within a few short weeks, Lusia had nearly caught up to Rolam and Philo. What had been something of a gag for the other two members of the circle had lit a fire under their rears. They were training incessantly, Rolam especially so, to avoid getting overtaken by Lusia.

Part of it was her A-grade core. She was able to manipulate mana easier, and channel more of it at any given time. But the other part of it was a natural intuition that stunned Mal. He barely had to explain things to her—in fact, explanations seemed to confuse her, guiding her along the path worked wonders.

But then again, she was the heroine, so he wasn't sure why he was surprised.

"I want to go ahead and teach you a more advanced effect," Mal said, "one that I recently picked up in a—" Quick, think of a lie. "—book."

"What is it?"

"A slicing effect. It's especially effective against human opponents. Should you come up against somebody who seeks to do you serious harm, feel free to use it."

"Very well."

Mal had gotten a hold of the Cat's Eye gang leader's personal journal, explaining the spell in detail. Both Philo and Rolam were too soft to use it. Lusia, on the other hand, would have no such inhibitions.

"The rune is a sequence of modified push runes," Mal said. "The push runes are concentrated and pointed the same way as a blade using a relatively simple set of instructions."

Mal drew it out on the dirt and looked back over at her. "Write it down on your core."

Lusia nodded and slowly started writing it out.

There was one thing that Mal had elected not to mention—that the rune was incomplete. It would require a different order of rune than the way he'd written it down.

He wanted to see if she would be able to pick it up on her own or if she would require guidance.

The Arcane Sphere appeared in front of her. She aimed it at the tree and launched it. It shot forward, and the bark was shredded into tiny splinters.

Perfect, Mal thought. She completely nailed it.

"We'll wrap it up there," Mal said.

"Thank you, Master."

The two looked at each other. Mal scrambled for a conversation topic, aware that it was rude to just bail immediately afterwards.

"How have your lessons been?"

"Good."

"Great. That's... awesome."

Another beat of silence. She stared at him, and Mal got the feeling that there was something that she wanted to ask him.

"Do you have any questions?" Mal said.

"Why do you keep disappearing in the middle of the night?"

Mal felt his jaw drop. What? Was she stalking him? How did she know?—wait, no, he had to respond, hadn't he just confirmed it via his shock—?

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said, his words stilted.

"I was practicing at night when I saw you slip out via the gate."

The gate. Mal had started using his authority, given to him by Deacon Thoma and Vigil, to exit and enter as if he were on official school business.

"I—"

He could trust Lusia, couldn't he?

If it had been just two months ago, he would have told her without question. Although he would have been confused as to why she even cared, he wouldn't mind telling her.

But something stilled his tongue. He found his hand, his eyes darting to the back of her hand, where he knew the mark of victory would eventually manifest itself.

"It's nothing major," Mal finally said. "I've taken up some Business. Crime. It pays very well."

"Do you want me to accompany you?"

Mal paused. "No. Focus on your training."

At that moment, her eyes twitched just a bit. Disappointment. Mal suppressed his guilt.

"I'll see you later," he said. "I have things to attend to."

"Very well, master."

"Thanks to your planting techniques, Cokane production has gone up significantly. We've been moving all of our product and undercutting the competition due to our lower prices. The first batch of funds will be sent your way later this morning."

Mal broke out of his thoughts and glanced over at Hemp. "Already?"

"Yep. Apparently our product is not only cheaper, but higher quality. The other gangs are starting to take notice, and they're not happy about it."

"They're going to attack us," Mal said. "No question."

They were both in the back of the abandoned building where the Cat's Eye Gang had set up their base. Although it looked less like a gang hideout and more like an industrial warehouse. There was a team of packers sorting out the Cokane and setting it and putting it in tiny cloth bags. There were a few tables for bookkeepers. One person was holding a training session on how the supply network functioned.

"How many do we have who can fight?" Mal said.

"All of them are experienced in scraps," Hemp said, "but none of them are trained."

"That's fine. The other side isn't trained either. A good surprise attack should do the trick."

"What are you planning, boss?"

"The best defense is a good offense," Mal said. "If we eliminate one of our competitors, that should prove that we're not to be trifled with."

The uneasy expression that had been building on Hemp's face the entire conversation came to the forefront. "We're gonna kill all of them?"

Yes.

The words stopped on his tongue. It was the right decision. It was the decision Mal would have made in the previous timeline.

Which was why he knew it was the wrong one.

"No," he said. "We'll absorb them into our gang, whoever's willing to bend the knee. Everybody else will have to leave the city. We'll spread rumors that we killed several of them. The truth might get out, but by then the rumor will have settled into the minds of everybody who's paying attention."

Hemp sighed, tension in her shoulders disappearing. "I mean, that one guy you killed earlier—that was—I understood why we did that. But if we were just massacring tons of people, even if they're not really good—"

"I understand. I want to avoid that too."

A near bloodless capture of the entire criminal underworld of Exodi City. It would be incredibly difficult, but to avoid his old self, Mal would do it.

"Do you have any ideas for who would make a good target?" Mal said.

"Strangely enough, I do," Hemp said. "There are three gangs in our immediate vicinity, all controlling a few streets in the Black Border. The Bloodletters are surprisingly peaceful. They prefer to negotiate with the other gangs and almost act as something of a neutral party."

"A bad option. We draw enmity from the other two and from anybody else who's watching the fight."

"There's also the Greengills. They're more of a middle-of-the-road gang. They've been involved in their fair share of scraps, but they generally walk the line between aggressiveness and neutrality."

"A potential option, but I want to hear about this third one."

She grimaced.

"The Shanks are the nastiest gang out of all of them," she said. "They don't just deal in Cokane. They deal in people, similar to the former leader of this place. Unlike the Cat's Eye gang, though, it wasn't one bad egg—no. All the upper ranks are fully involved in and ardently supportive of what they're doing. The other two gangs hate them, but know they don't have the firepower to finish them off."

At that, Mal sensed an opportunity.

"How difficult would it be to arrange a meeting with those two?"

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