Fallen Mage Regressor

The platform lowered down the side of the building at a rate of several feet per second. Even so, they were so high in the air that there was plenty of time to appreciate their surroundings.

Not that anybody but Mal seemed to care or notice.

"I feel sick! I think this honorable one is on the verge of death. Someone get a doctor!"

"You are not going to die, elf. You're simply getting motion sick."

"You don't know that! Are you a doctor? A medical wizard?"

"Rolam, maybe you should just take it easy? I think you're overreacting."

Behind him and to his side, Lusia stared at the horizon. But her hands were shaking by the slightest of margins.

Mal shook his head. They were atop one of the greatest forms of magical engineering to exist on the planet, and everybody was too distracted trying not to vomit to appreciate it.

Out of the corner of his eye, Mal noticed a few buildings moving around, replacing one that looked a little bit dilapidated. Yes, an entire building. Mal would never stop being amazed at the sheer scale and efficiency with which the city operated.

It was such a shame that I had to blow it up, he thought. The place was never quite the same after that.

The platform below them slowed, sending pressure up their legs, then came to a total stop. Rolam fell onto his ass with a thud. Philo laughed and pointed like it was the funniest thing he'd seen in his entire life.

"So much for your physical skill!" Philo said.

"I'd like to see you give it a try!"

"Philo just did!" Philo pointed at his legs. "And as you can see, Philo's still standing perfectly straight—!"

The platform jerked downward and Philo fell backwards, off the side of the platform and onto a dirt patch hidden behind some stone.

"Ha! Karma's a bitch, isn't she?!"

Nima slapped his palm into his face. Mal suspected that this trip was going to be far more annoying than he'd originally anticipated.

"Rolam, Philo," he said. "Can the both of you please kindly shut the hell up?"

Philo poked his head out from the dirt and shot a hot glare at Rolam.

"Philo can play nice. He possesses the intellectual capability to know when to let go of past grudges." He spoke under his breath, "Unlike other people."

"What was that, you overgrown lizard? You want to say that to my face?!"

Mal let out a long-suffering sigh. He turned to Lusia. "Let's go. They'll catch up later."

She nodded. "Very well, master."

The two walked off, leaving the other three behind.

As expected, Philo and Rolam did eventually catch back up with Mal and Lusia after nearly an hour of shopping. Honestly, Mal was kind of glad that they had the excuse. He and Lusia were able to smoothly purchase the items without too much headache or drama. Mal had no doubt in his mind that if the other three had come along, it would've increased their travel time by several days.

"And that's the last of it." Mal adjusted the bag on his shoulder. "With this paint, I think we'll be able to make our room look halfway decent."

"We still need to replace the flooring at some point," Lusia said.

"The flooring too?!" Rolam groaned. "That sounds like such a pain."

"Several sections of the wood have rotted," Mal said. "Lusia is absolutely correct. We probably won't do it today, but at some point, we need to really take care of it."

Rolam grumbled under his breath but didn't dispute the point. They continued walking when a storefront window caught Mal's attention. A book with carefully designed illustrations and pictures of herbs was proudly displayed behind the glass.

He paused and took a closer look.

A picture of a demon on the left page. And a reciped for a blood-infused dagger.

"I need to check inside," he said. "Wait for me here."

He ignored the response of the group and marched over to the door.

He entered in and stared around, eyes wide. It was a minor thing, but he hadn't been in a bookstore in years at this point. As it turned out, world domination left very little time for casual reading. Mal ran his hand along the spines of the books, feeling each bump and stitch of fabric under the pads of his fingers.

He used to enjoy reading novels, didn’t he?

It had been so long that he'd forgotten that it had been a hobby of his.

At the current moment, he didn't particularly feel like getting a more recreational book. There were things to be done, and he didn't have time to have fun. Even putting that aside, the Malfrasius of the past was a very different person than the current Malfrasius. Past Malfrasius had been looking for an escape, somewhere where he could be someone different other than the failed scion of the Patoal family. The current Malfrasius wasn't like that. The current Malfrasius, if he wanted to escape, would do so. The only reason he hadn't left was because he still had work to do.

Mal took his hands away from the bookshelf. He walked over to the book that had been displayed on the storefront window, then looked back at the shopkeeper.

"How much for this?" Mal asked.

The shopkeeper looked over at the book, then stroked his chin.

"You're a wizard, right?" the shopkeeper said. "Then you should know that book isn't considered much in vogue by modern wizards. I was intending to sell it to a collector, not somebody who'd actually try to use anything in it."

Mal shook his head. "Trust me, I'll find something for it."

The shopkeeper shrugged. "In that case, it'll be ten gold."

Mal frowned. He had a few gold coins in his purse, but he honestly didn't remember how currency worked. Even before coming back to the past, he'd been a spoiled rich child who'd had most of his financial needs taken care of by other people. Granted, among other noble families, the Patoal family would have been considered poor. But the point still stood—Mal had absolutely no idea whether he was getting scammed.

"I'm a member of a noble family," Mal said. "I'll sign my name and you can redirect the purchase to my father."

The shopkeeper nodded. "Sounds good. Put a drop of your blood to verify your identity."

Mal signed his name on a piece of paper and took the book in hand, then pricked his finger onto a piece of paper. His name flashed on the paper.

It was a thick tome, almost as thick as his head. He hefted it under his shoulder and stepped back outside. Lusia looked over at him and bowed her head.

"Master Patoal, have you completed your business?"

Mal nodded. "I have. Let's get going—"

A gust of wind ruffled his clothes and he instinctively shielded his eyes with his other hand. Dust had been kicked up from the sudden gust and he coughed in response.

"Where did that come from?" he muttered.

Lusia's face had shifted by the slightest margin. Her eyes were staring at Mal's tome.

"Lusia, what is it?" Mal asked.

"I'm quite afraid, Master Patoal, that your recent purchase seems to have been forcibly acquired."

"What do you mean? I paid for it fair and square."

"Forcibly acquired from you, Master."

Mal mechanically tilted his head down to where the book was supposed to be resting under his arm. Instead, there was nothing but open air. Mal blinked. He blinked again.

How...?

How was that possible? For someone to steal a book the size of his head without him even noticing—that kind of talent was inhuman. There was only one person he knew in the entire world who could have possibly done such a thing.

A chill went down his spine. It was too early. He hadn't had time to prepare himself. He knew that she was active, but he never thought that she'd just run across him through sheer chance.

A shadow was cast down onto them. Mal's eyes locked up in the direction of it. A figure standing on the rooftop, watching them.

She always did like to see the expression of her victims before she ran off. It was a taunt, a challenge. She was utterly confident in the fact that she'd be able to escape.

Even from down here, her red eyes were perfectly visible, glinting in the sun like rubies. And there, buried in the crook of her arm, was his book.

Mal's eyes turned and locked onto Philo. "Throw me."

Philo startled. "What? Why would the Ape want Philo to throw him?"

"There's no time to explain!" Mal's tone turned sharp. "Hurry!"

"Very well, but Philo is not responsible for injury!"

Philo picked up Mal by the hip, reared back, then threw him into the air.

The girl's eyes shot open to the size of dinner plates and she turned and scurried backward. Mal met the apex of his flight and began to fall toward the roof. He charged up a basic push spell. His hand pointed forward, and the arcane sphere blasted out.

The momentum pushed him back and broke his fall. He rolled into the drop, then immediately shot forward into a sprint. Already, she was gaining distance. In a straight run, Mal would never be able to beat her. She had too many unfair advantages, while Mal had been training his cardio for two months.

Luckily, Mal wasn't planning to play fair.

I need to see, he thought. I need to get closer to her, I need to make sure it's actually her!

There was a chance it was just someone who looked like her. The behavior matched, but he had to make absolutely certain.

The bracelet on his wrist shifted. A set of vines he'd noticed up ahead reached down and wrapped around the girl's legs just as she'd been about to jump to the next building.

She yelped and tumbled to the ground. A knife slipped out of her belt and slashed across the vines in a single quick motion. But Mal had already reached her. He stopped three feet away. Her bright orange hair reminded Mal of the fruit. It didn't hurt that her scarf was the same color.

But her face—it was exactly the same face he recognized. His first lieutenant. The girl he'd raised to become his right-hand woman. A master of infiltration, assassination, and general skullduggery.

Hemp.

The two stared at each other. She growled, then kicked off the ground. Dust flew upwards and into Mal's eyes. He staggered back and blinked away the dirt.

But it was too late. In that split second, she'd managed to disappear.

Mal clicked his tongue.

Even so, a small smile couldn't help but lift on his face.

It's good to see you again, he thought, even if the circumstances of our meeting could have been better.

Mal's feet clicked against the stone bricks. He wrapped the dirty cloak he'd found off the side of the road around himself even tighter.

He passed into an alleyway and immediately noticed the bloodstains against the wall.

This wasn't a part of town that was a particularly good idea for him to go to. A nobleman in the Black Quarter was practically asking for trouble. But he knew that it would be his only chance to see Hemp again. He remembered that she'd mentioned that she had a fence around here. It would be a gamble as to whether or not he'd manage to find the right one at the same time or before she did.

He continued walking. A man in a black cloak looked at him, then at the wizard robes underneath the black outer robe. Mal glared at the person and he shifted his gaze away.

His eyes remained locked forward, his feet moved, but his mind was somewhere else.

He'd failed Hemp, in his past life.

And she'd failed him.

It had been a turn of luck that had led her to run into him in the original timeline. He'd been here in the Black Quarter, purchasing items of an illicit nature when he heard her screaming for help. Unable to resist his own curiosity, he found her tied up in a warehouse, bleeding and bruised. She'd crossed the wrong person and had been poisoned and tied up for her trouble.

I'd done a lot of awful things, even at that point. But the idea of leaving a teenage girl to be murdered or worse had been a line too far for me. I'd tapped into Eldritch magic and blasted every single person there to dust—save for Hemp.

After that, I would run into her again and again. She'd appear at the oddest places—when I was shopping, when he was having meetings—she'd even snuck onto campus at one point.

Mal had found it annoying at first, but he'd eventually gotten used to it. To the point where he decided to formally take up her services, recognizing that she had an immense talent for infiltration. He'd hired tutors for her to make sure she would never be in such a miserable situation again. They'd taught her how to fight, and eventually how to kill.

He paused in front of a door. Was it a fence, or nothing more than a random house?

He brought his ear to the doorway and heard nothing.

He clicked his tongue. He just wasn't familiar with this section of town. He'd been away for too long, and there was just no way to know where he was supposed to go. This had been a losing proposition from the start. And he was doing all this for a girl who'd betrayed him... not that he blamed her.

At first, he'd taken her at her word. She'd said that the other side was offering a better price. She said that he was nothing more than an employer.

It was only now with the benefit of hindsight that Mal realized what she really meant. The way she'd been so attached to him at the start. The way she'd followed him into hell at his request. The way she kept getting back up even when beaten into the ground, over, and over, and over, and over, all to become a killer, because that was what he wanted.

He was all she had. He was the first one in a long, long time who'd shown her even a flicker of kindness.

Of course, she eventually realized the truth—it wasn't kindness, it never had been. Their meeting had been a chance encounter, and he'd taken advantage of her. And when she realized this, she decided to use him in turn.

She never talked much about her past. But the little bits he'd gotten implied that she was more or less alone in the world. What she needed wasn't a boss, nor a partner.

She needed a friend.

And Mal couldn't be that for her.

But he could pretend to be.

This time, he wouldn't make the same mistake. Her services were far too useful to be surrendered to another.

I really am the worst of the worst, he thought. Complete and utter garbage.

He stopped in front of a seemingly normal looking house with a window. Through the window, he could see multiple metal items, a few pieces of cloak, and even some jewelry.

The person at the counter caught his eye, then winked.

There was a non-zero chance that this was nothing more than some sort of bizarre trap, designed to entice stupid people like Mal into total disaster.

Mal opened up the door.

The person at the counter gave him a lazy smile. He was dressed in what seemed to be a cloak stitched together with several other cloaks. The colors were all different and as were the fabrics. A single gold tooth shone out in his grin.

"Looking for something, are you?" the man at the counter said.

"Yes, a book," Mal said.

"A book, eh?"

The gold-toothed man gave an eerie grin. "Books are expensive around these parts."

"Yes, especially when it's a spellbook."

The fence frowned. "I'm afraid I don't have anything in stock quite like that."

"Do you think you could be in stock? Anytime soon, that is?"

The gold-toothed man shrugged.

"There are a few people who stop by here every couple of days to deliver me new goods. But even then, I doubt that they'll have what you're looking for."

Mal couldn't come out and just say that he was waiting for Hemp. That would raise all sorts of questions about how he knew her name, or even if he avoided her name, how he knew her appearance. Sure, the fence might be willing to keep quiet, but that would cost immediate cash that Mal didn't have on hand at the current moment.

"When's your next delivery?" Mal said.

"You came just in time. It should be any minute now."

"Mind if I wait?" Mal said, trying to keep his tone as casual as possible.

The gold-toothed man shrugged. "Be my guest. No skin off my back. I got to warn you, though, she probably doesn't have what you want."

"I'll take my chances. I have time."

"Suit yourself."

Mal walked over to an empty chair and sat himself down in it. The wood was rickety and shook when he put his full weight onto it. Funnily enough, it was the only chair in the entire building, except for the one that the gold-toothed man was sitting on.

Mal tapped his index against his knee. There was no way that this would work. Even if she did come in, she'd flee at the sight of him—that is, unless...

He'd have to use every bit of his silver tongue—his non-existent silver tongue—and try to come up with some sort of plausible story.

And there was still no guarantee that this was the fence she used. For all he knew, he was completely wasting his time.

The door hinge squeaked. His head snapped over to view the person who'd come in.

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