Fallen Mage Regressor

Mal pushed forward through one of the bushes only for a stick to snap back and hit his face. He growled and was tempted to blow it up before he remembered that he had no such ability.

"Not much of a hiker, Mal?"

Holam had looked back from the front of the group at Mal, his expression still the same neutral stoicness. Despite that, Mal could detect the hint of humor in his voice and found an annoyed grimace on his own face.

Back in my day, Mal thought, I would have just razed through and made a path using magic, but that isn't exactly in the cards right now.

He pushed his leg up and into the tall grass, then stepped down, forcing his way through the thick stems and crushing them to the ground.

Behind him, Lusia somehow made the act look almost graceful, while Rolam seemed to have an almost intuitive grasp of the best way to walk. He had probably gone on multiple walks through places like this before in his childhood, so Mal wasn't too surprised. Meanwhile, Philo bulldozed his way using his massive frame and weight.

Essentially, Mal was easily the most uncomfortable and clearly the worst performing person in the group.

"We'll go ahead and take a break here," Holam said. "We still have a good 30 minutes of walking before we reach our destination."

Well, that was exactly what Mal wanted to hear. 30 more minutes of trudging through overgrown grasslands.

The elven witch had talked about this. Everything was just a little bit more wild in the West, a little bit more untamed. This was somewhat funny, given that technically the East had more danger to it.

Chama, by all rights, should have been a hellscape. It directly bordered the Wastes just across the ocean. The average walk should have been a perilous journey.

But the thing was that all of the humans who'd colonized that area had so thoroughly driven out the wildness, that most of the country was relatively safe.

Relatively.

There was still that forest with the Ironwolves, and there were plenty of other areas just like that.

But in the West, every area was like that. Every area had mana dripping out and into the air. Not enough to where it was blinding like in Exodi, but enough to mess with the plant growth and make the wildlife just a bit more dangerous.

Holam held out his hand and the grass on the ground shivered and flexed. Something about the way they twisted and turned made Mal feel a little bit uncomfortable. For some reason that he couldn't quite articulate, they almost seemed to be in pain at the spell, not at all like when Mal used his bracelet.

Nonetheless, the area was cleared and they were able to sit down.

Philo found a log and sat down on it, while Rolam stood off to the side of the group and started practicing his Arcane Spheres.

Lusia pulled out some clothes from her pocket—how exactly she was storing that in her pocket, Mal couldn't tell—and started mending it with some thread.

"We haven't had much of a chance to talk, you and I."

Mal nearly jumped from the sudden voice. Holam had practically snuck up on him.

"You've been very busy," Mal said.

"As have you." Holam said, "You've been talking with one of my aunts. Hortensia. You two have been inseparable for the past several days."

Holam had been paying attention to him? Mal wanted to click his tongue, but managed to stop himself.

"She's just been showing me some gardening techniques," Mal said, the lie constructing itself in real time. "The both of us are gardeners, so we're kindred spirits."

"Still, she's a bit of a strange one. I scarcely can get her to talk to me for more than a minute at a time. What exactly makes you so interesting?"

"I couldn't tell you."

He absolutely could tell him, but that would be a terrible idea.

"My brother has spoken of you often in his letters. Your leadership is something that he is both jealous of and thankful for."

"I'm not the leader. That's just a misconception."

"Is that so?"

A beat of silence. Mal's gaze flickered over toward Rolam. He'd already guessed Rolam's story, but he figured it would be nice to get some confirmation.

"About Rolam," Mal said. "Is it true that he's—"

"That's not my story to tell."

Mal shut his mouth.

Holam grimaced and gazed off toward a random cloud. He chewed his bottom lip a little before he opened his mouth to speak.

"You must understand," he said. "This is something that's a great shame for him. Really, for our entire family. And you could get the story from someone else, but if you're really his friend, then let him tell you on his own terms."

Now, Mal wasn't Rolam's friend, but he figured saying that probably wouldn't be a wise decision.

Instead, he remained silent.

"What I will say," Holam said, "is that regardless of any biological differences, he's my younger brother." He glared down at Mal. "And if he's injured while under your command, or even while he's at that damned human academy, then I'm going to make you wish you'd never been born."

Holam let his mana leak out of his body. For everyone else, it was a sudden drop in pressure, a destabilizing, instinctive force that made the limbs seize. Lusia stopped her needlework and glanced around, her hand drifting to her hidden knives. Rolam froze and glanced around quickly. Philo stood up abruptly.

For Mal, it had been a burst of white, unaligned mana.

It was a different white than Maxim-type, he noted. Maxim-type mana was grandiose, like marble pillars. Air-type mana reminded Mal of fluffy clouds. Unaligned mana, he'd realized, was clinical and stale, like freshly applied paint in an empty house.

On the outside, his facial expression didn't change at all. He then cracked a small smile.

Rolam really does have a good brother, he thought.

Holam stared at him, then nodded.

"You have nerves beyond your years," Holam said. "I've seen fully grown adult wizards flinch from that kind of mana flush."

Mal shrugged. "I've had worse."

His gaze shifted over to Lusia almost automatically. A fully charged up heroine made Holam's little intimidation tactic look like a toddler shaking its fist.

Holam's gaze followed Mal's own and he hummed for the second time in that conversation.

"Rolam has told me a lot about you," he said. "He also told me that you seem to have the affections of that maid, a thief girl, and the princess herself. I must say, while I'm appalled by your infidelity, I can't help but admire the audacity of your spirit."

Mal instantly snapped his head back to Holam and away from Lusia. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Yes, it's abundantly clear your heart belongs only to the maid."

Mal blinked in disbelief. This stoic man who'd only a few short moments ago been threatening him, was now teasing him about his relationship to his maid? Seriously, how did that make any sense?

"Such a relationship would be impossible," Mal said.

Holam cracked a smirk.

"Have you ever heard the tale of Astoria and Selim?" he said

"No."

"Yes, it's an elven story, not one you humans would have heard."

"I have zero interest in elven fables."

"In summary," Holam barelled on. "It's a tale of how a young elven boy with nothing to his name managed to win the affection of Astoria, a princess of the elven people."

"I think a story with closer similarities to me and Lusia would be that of the First Hero and the Four-Horned One."

Holam blinked. "That's a rather dire comparison."

But it's far more accurate than you would think, Mal thought.

Rolam walked over to the two and Mal instantly shut his mouth and acted as if they weren't talking about him just a few short minutes ago.

"Brother," he said. "Will we be moving on, now?"

"Yes, yes," Holam said. "I just wanted to meet your friend."

Mal felt that he'd dislike this man.

The fencing had been destroyed.

The wood grains had been splintered and cracked in half like something had slammed straight through it. On the other side, deep tracks carved into the fertile, recently plowed dirt of the farmland.

Mal stepped closer and rubbed his finger against the wood. No fur, but instead there was something green. Grass strands? He picked one up and rolled it between his thumb and index.

Holam stepped over and analyzed what Mal had been looking at.

He shot his head back over at a farmhouse in the distance. "Dammit, we're late, I didn't think they'd be attacking people in their homes."

"What exactly are we hunting?" Mal asked.

"You're not hunting anything. You lot are only here to observe."

"You didn't answer my question."

Holam chewed his bottom lip. "It's supposed to be Plantbunnies. They're a common pest here in the western farmlands. They reclaim the soil for the wilderness. But I've never heard of one destroying fencing."

Plantbunnies? I've heard of them, but they were described as small creatures, incapable of this kind of damage, Mal thought.

Holam shook his head. "If they've turned aggressive, we need to move. No more questions."

He broke off into a run toward the farmhouse. Mal followed after him, his practice with Philo paying dividends.

They arrived at the doorstep. Blood, bright red and practically still steaming, was splattered along the frame.

Holam quickly ran inside and hissed. "Dammit."

Mal followed behind and grimaced.

An elderly couple, both lying on the ground, vines wrapped around them and twisting their limbs at unnatural angles. What was worse, the vines were growing out of them. Out of their mouths, their ears, in between their fingernails and skin. The faint smell of iron filled the air.

His nose twitched. It felt like something solid had gone down his throat for a second.

"With a name like Plantbunny," Mal muttered. "I certainly wouldn't have expected them to be capable of this."

Rolam stepped inside with quick paces. "I checked around the perimeter. There was nothing—" His face paled when he saw the couple. "What the hell?"

What kind of a creature can do this? Mal thought.

Mal was about to speak when he froze.

He sniffed the air.

Rot. Like the cave, not long ago.

Rolam jolted and jerked back several steps.

"—there's something outside."

Mal stopped.

Outside?

His mouth turned dry. "Where's Lusia and Philo?"

Both Rolam and Holam paled even further at the same time. All three of them dashed out of the room.

Mal barely had a moment to express his shock when something ripped out of the ground and grabbed his stomach.

Wait.

It hadn't grabbed his stomach.

He looked down slowly.

Something wriggled inside of him. The next thing he knew, a vine erupted from his mouth.

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