The Lone Wanderer

Chapter 600 – Gladiator

Micky covered several metres with each stride as he charged toward his opponent, his oversized scythes thirsting for the taste of the Violet’s soul.

Lord Parnassus was no slouch, however. Having clearly realized that subjugating Micky with his bloodline was no longer an option, he had decisively switched to using lethal force in an attempt to take him down.

Expelling a tremendous amount of fire mana from his hands, the patriarch had formed countless tongues of condensed flames, hot enough to scorch the ground and melt stone on contact.

The spell reminded Micky of Elaine’s aquatic whips somewhat, though the Violet made full use of his centuries of experience to wield his mana far more proficiently than Percy’s cousin. He controlled many times as many constructs, reached much farther with each one, and struck from all sorts of unexpected angles with shocking precision.

If that wasn’t bad enough, Lord Parnassus had withdrawn his domain from the battlefield at some point, probably realizing that his willpower would only be wasted in a direct contest against Micky’s. It was unclear where he had invested it, though Micky suspected that it was concentrated on his body and the blazing tongues, maximizing his manoeuvrability and the lethality of his spells.

Micky followed suit, toughening his flesh and scythes as he chased after the patriarch, slicing through the approaching attacks.

‘This isn’t sustainable,’ he thought, clicking his beak in frustration.

Thick as a tree’s trunk, Micky’s legs were extremely strong – especially while saturated with beast mana, boosted by the Symbel and further empowered by his domain. Sadly, his limbs also had to carry the bulk of an elephant-sized creature across the battlefield. His enemy was far nimbler by comparison, so Micky had trouble breaking through the storm of spells to catch the pesky Violet.

He could probably increase his speed if he shapeshifted into a crow and flew instead of running, but that might weaken his resistance to the patriarch’s bloodline and cost him the battle. Even if it didn’t, Micky wouldn’t be able to wield his weapons without hands, and he knew that he was going to need every advantage against such a powerful opponent.

Alternatively, he could shrink back to the size of a regular person to reduce his weight and make himself a smaller target, yet that was tantamount to underutilizing his Green beast core – one of the most important pillars of his strength. Without it, his attacks and defence would also grow significantly weaker.

‘I have to find a way to hit him from afar without compromising my size,’ Micky realized. ‘And I need to act fast.’

After accounting for the grade disparity and Micky’s boosting art, the relative mana expenditure of both combatants was similar, so it was unlikely that either would outlast the other. That said, there was a different timer looming over Micky’s head.

The patriarch’s attacks were getting closer to Micky’s body with every passing minute. It appeared that the old fox was constantly gauging his movements and reaction speed, slowly adjusting the number, velocity and pattern of his constructs accordingly.

Taking advantage of the apparent stalemate, the experienced mage was trying to crack through Micky’s defences as if they were nothing more than an intricate puzzle.

‘How am I supposed to reach him? It’s not like I can just hurl my weapons and hope I don’t miss…’

Micky’s affinities still prevented him from regenerating and replicating his scythes as well as Percy. If he lost even one, he would have fewer tools to protect himself with. He wasn’t as good at dodging either, which meant that he would inevitably have to endure a lot of devastating blows, with no guarantee of getting anything worthwhile in return.

Technically, Micky had incorporated his Frozen Shards into the Winter’s Fang – and later, the Symbel of the Savage Gods – so it should be possible to wield the violent blizzard around his body as a ranged spell. The problem was that he’d never attempted that in a humanoid form.

‘Well… it’s not like I have a choice. I need to try something before it’s too late.’

Having made his mind up, Micky directed the snowstorm towards his weapons, channelling the rapidly-converted ambient mana into their shafts. The adaptive self-repair enchantments greedily drank the potent substance, causing the scythes to glow brighter as grey mists roiled and hissed along their blades.

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The tools felt colder in his hands. Despite the resistance afforded by his affinity and frozen body, his very soul shivered as he clenched the weapons tightly. Still, he didn’t hesitate.

Swinging the scythes with all his might, he felt their shafts vibrate with power as their jagged edges sliced through the air. The mana coating the blades propelled them forward, forming deadly arcs that promptly detached from the weapons and kept flying on their own.

Be it Micky’s muscles or scythes, they felt nothing like the body given to him by his parents on Huehue or the cyan rods that he had wielded for decades inside the bloodstained arena. Fortunately, he still had access to many of Percy’s memories, so he found his current equipment familiar enough.

Taking advantage of the dual nature of his mana, Micky allowed the constructs to switch between ethereal and corporeal whenever necessary, phasing them through one another so that he wouldn’t impede himself.

Each arm swung several times per second, each slash releasing multiple glowing crescents. Mana exploded with chilling grace, unfolding outwards like the petals of a giant flower. They tore into the cascade of fiery tongues that Lord Parnassus had surrounded Micky with, ripping them apart.

‘Symbel of the Savage Gods, Second Toast, Turbulent Lotus!’ Micky screamed internally, his soul singing with vicious glee.

Between his long arms, even longer scythes, and the magical slashes that he unleashed, Micky’s reach extended all the way to the patriarch, earning him some respite from the Violet’s attacks.

Unfortunately, Micky wasn’t much closer to landing a hit of his own. Lord Parnassus dodged the crescents with relative ease, promptly adjusting his assault to account for Micky’s new technique. All things considered, the situation was still dire.

Even so, a smile couldn’t help but tug at the corners of Micky’s beak. After completing his latest attack, he had been hit by an important realization.

‘This is fun!’

As dangerous as his opponent was, this was the first time Micky had enjoyed himself this much since his separation from Percy. For the past month, he’d been stuck in a fatalistic daze, unable to extricate himself, yet something about this battle appeared to have changed that.

Resuming his chase of Lord Parnassus, Micky continued to fend off the blazing constructs to the best of his ability as he contemplated his emotional state, trying to understand the source of the strange feeling.

Fortunately, it didn’t take him long.

‘At the end of the day, I’ve always been a gladiator, haven’t I?’

There were many things that Micky wanted to accomplish in the future – such as finding his father, freeing his people, and training by Percy’s side. However, it wasn’t that strange that these goals had failed to motivate him by themselves. As important as they were, they were all external. They had to do with others – not himself.

Micky hadn’t had many passions in life. Other than playing the kik’lit to soothe himself to sleep and remember his mother by, he’d never had the chance to master a craft or pick up a hobby. He’d lived most of his life in the arena, constantly trying to better himself to avoid getting killed.

Obviously, he hadn’t chosen that life – it had been forced on him against his will – but it didn’t really matter. Fighting was all that Micky knew. What he was good at. After clashing with countless opponents, he had grown to love the thrill of battle, and to find pride in the skill that he had painstakingly honed at the edge of life and death. Nothing matched the feeling of identifying an opponent’s weakness and clutching an unlikely victory by the skin of one’s beak.

This was something that Micky shared with Percy to an extent, but his love of battle was arguably even purer than his friend’s. After all, Percy’s goal was to become a god – to reach the pinnacle of magic and attain eternal life. Fighting was a part of that, as was runecrafting and alchemy, but Percy’s personal strength was ultimately just a means to an end.

For Micky – the original Micky – combat had been its own reward.

Of course, he had still died a weakling despite his love of battle. The Orange or Yellow beasts and fellow gladiators that he had been forced to kill in the coliseum weren’t worth mentioning when compared to the Blues that he had fought against after his reincarnation.

He had spent his entire first life held back by his poor affinity, lack of cleansing resources and the fragile body of a sapient. While he had done his best to utilize everything at his disposal, his strength had plateaued years before his fateful defeat at Mixcoatl’s hands.

‘It’s different now,’ he thought, his smile widening.

Percy hadn’t just brought him back from the dead. He had generously granted Micky several new gifts, brutally shattering the barrier that had previously limited his potential. With new affinities, a versatile body that combined the best traits of beasts and sapients, and a myriad of other things, Micky was free to grow to his heart’s content.

Realizing that, he couldn’t help but chuckle. ‘How did I manage to lose track of something so important for so long?’

Perhaps it had to do with how limited his crow body had been before the fusion, or his missing memories. Fortunately, neither of those things was a problem anymore.

Glancing at Lord Parnassus again, he suddenly felt a strange sense of contentment. The man’s insidious bloodline still fought to violate Micky’s will, and his spells kept burning closer and closer, threatening to melt his icy body into a puddle of water at the slightest mistake.

Even so, Micky found himself looking past the immediate danger, a surge of anticipation rising in his chest at the thought of overcoming his opponent.

This was good. He could keep fighting. Improving. Growing stronger. There were several things that he and Percy needed to accomplish in the future, and just as much hinging on their success, but there was no reason not to enjoy the journey as much as the destination.