Smoke curled into the air. The acrid scent of match-cord and musket fire mixed with dust and tension. Grimly determined musketeers lined the barricades, and the First Speaker moved to the front—flanked by several hard-faced bodyguards.
Liora was still busy tending the injured, flitting between the wounded with steady hands and bloodied prayers.
Adarin took a step back and assessed the situation. I need to regain the initiative. No initiative means no agency. No agency means you lose.
He mentally called up the system interface, watching the tattoo on his wooden limb shimmer as the UI bloomed into view.
He scanned through his abilities.
- Living Wood
Alteration – lesser Tier 1
Transform 2^Alteration Core Tier cubic centimeters of wood into Living Wood per minute.
Control up to 2^Alteration Core Tier cubic meters of Living Wood simultaneously. - Cornucopian Garden
Alteration – lesser Tier 1
Grow a fruit tree that senses and extracts local soil resources.
You may shape it to yield specific fruits, limited by your alchemical knowledge.
Growth may be accelerated with focused will or proceed naturally at enhanced rates. - Thousand Eyes
Divination – lesser Tier 1
Grow Divination Core Tier2 cubic decimeters of custom biological optical systems.
Vision limited to the optical spectrum. - Rootwhip
Conjuration – lesser Tier 1
Conjure (5 × Conjuration Core Tier) Living Wood whips, each up to 5 + (Conjuration Core Tier)2 in length.
Lesser spirits inhabit the whips to provide basic autonomous function.
Cornucopian Garden… too much setup. Root Whips—useful. Thousand Eyes—I could get creative with it, but I need time. Maybe try for a light based projector weapon with the optics? Living Wood…
He flexed experimentally. His eyes drifted to the nearby barricades—plenty of material. I could alter my body. But I’ll need breathing room.
Next, he pulled up the implants.
- Limited Protocol Database (Virtual Machine, COG)
Lesser Tier 1
You have access to a restricted set of Imperial Mindware: data hounds, data weapons, and tactical analysis protocols.
Grow in power to unlock more capabilities. Reattempt interface with the hidden point at each tier. - Control Shard Generator (Virtual Machine, MOV)
Lesser Tier 1
Generates (Illusion Core Tier × 10) control shards, detachable from your core sphere.
The more shards you embed into a Living Wood construct, the more refined your control becomes. - Groveheart (Virtual Machine, RES)
Lesser Tier 1
Your Groveheart harmonizes you with nature, proportional to your Alteration Core.
Choose (Alteration Core Tier^2 + 2) woody plant species to form your groves.
You gain access to their abilities based on growth strength—and later, their echoes in your inner world. - Noospheric Link (Virtual Machine, PER)
Lesser Tier 1
Due to your connection with Entity [REFERENCE ERROR], you can link minds with individuals designated by it.
Communication range scales with the power of Entity [REFERENCE ERROR].
The protocol database—useful. Noospheric link… still not sure what the description really means. I think it’s her. But if only I could contact Rüdiger with it…
He concentrated on the ridiculous man, the formidable mage. ‘Rüdiger. Rüdiger. Rüdiger.’
Nothing.
Damn it.
Groveheart?—Too slow to activate.
Then—one entry caught his attention.
- Control Shard Generator (Virtual Machine, MOV):
Generates (Illusion Core Tier × 10) control shards, detachable from your core sphere.
The more shards you embed into a Living Wood construct, the more refined your control becomes.
Adarin’s eyes flicked to the wood around them again. That… might just work.
While the First Speaker and the Crusader delegation devolved into a shouting match full of theological venom and not so veiled threats, Adarin quietly scurried over to a chunk of broken barricade.
He crouched low and began the transmutation—coaxing the dead timber into Living Wood.
The process started slowly. Up to ten control shards, he thought. If they do what I think they do…
He focused on the skill. On the diamenoid sphere that hosted his consciousness. His mind.
A shudder ran through him. Something inside shifted. Cracked.
A segment of the sphere pushed outward—about the size of a finger—then another. They bulged like metal rivets around its equator. The sphere’s surface shrank inward slightly before stabilizing.
Adarin winced.
Feels like my mind’s slower. Sluggish.
He took one of the protrusions with his manipulator and pushed it into the chunk of Living Wood.
The moment it connected, he felt it. Still tethered to the leg doing the shaping.
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He forced the connection to snap.
The transmuted blob of wood lay on the ground, inert—but separate. A mental ping confirmed it was listening.
Very well. What now?
He searched his Protocol Database and pulled up a template.
A spider drone. Light combat frame.
Adarin remembered how Liora shaped corpses using necromancy. He mimicked the technique:
Fed the mental model into his digital avatar’s chest. Projected it into the construct. Infused the wood with shape, purpose, intent. The mound shivered. Four spindly legs punched free and steadied it.
Adarin murmured, “My little spider.”
It wiggled once—ready. He kept the remaining shards in reserve. No need to spend all my resources at once.
Finally done working the spell, he turned his attention back outward.
The negotiations—or what was left of them—had devolved into a full-throated screaming match. Both sides hurled the usual insults—heretics, abominations, Demiurge-slaves—recycled venom with no substance behind it.
Adarin shook his head. Give it five more minutes and they’d be dueling over each other’s mothers—ironic, given the blood relation.
He smirked viciously. Definitely a powder keg. It would be a shame if someone were to light it up.
With a thought, he altered the spider’s leg geometry and sent it scurrying up a nearby vertical surface.
It obeyed without hesitation.
From his perch, Adarin scanned the frontlines. The cannons were ready. Cannoneers stood at attention, but their eyes were locked on their leaders, watching the drama unfold.
Then he noticed it. A brazier filled with glowing coals—placed right next to the powder carts. Adarin gave a low whistle. Almost as if someone wants this to escalate.
He commanded the spider to move toward the brazier. It crawled up the metal side. Heat licked at its limbs—and pain seared into Adarin’s mind.
He flinched, muttering through clenched teeth: “Pain is an illusion. Pain is an illusion. Pain is an illusion…”
The spider reached the rim. A manipulator reached forward, touched the coals. Adarin’s real body jolted. This has to be a bad joke. Can’t I just—
He dove deeper into the construct. Focused. Tweaked. Living wood… what if I just…
He concentrated. Reduced the Living Wood near the spider’s feet. Let it recede, leaving behind raw, untreated wood—less vulnerable to pain feedback. The spider slipped slightly, then stabilized. It dragged a glowing coal from the brazier down with it.
Adarin exhaled. Part one of three—done.
The spider landed awkwardly beside the coal—on its back.
Adarin frowned, then shrugged. He sent a mental command, forcing the legs to push downward in what had once been “up.” The construct didn’t have a head. “Up” and “down” were just arbitrary.
With a quick alteration, he formed pincers of dead wood at its underside and clamped the coal.
The pain dulled to a constant sting—still tethered to his nerves, every crawl of the spider echoing in his own limbs.
He guided the spider toward the line of cannons.
The first one? No good. One of the cannoneers—a grizzled, one-eyed veteran—was paying close attention to the gun rather than the shouting match.
On the other side of the isle, Count D’Estella flailed his gilded sword in increasingly wild arcs, nearly decapitating his own men. What a fucking moron.
He skipped the next two cannons—too many alert soldiers.
Then—perfect.
One cannon manned by a group of fresh-faced soldiers. All of them young, some bandaged, others pale with stress. They stared, slack-jawed, at the ongoing political meltdown.
Adarin sent the spider climbing up one of the cannon’s wheels. He reactivated the grip in its legs, reverting them from hardened wood back to flexible Living Wood.
Meanwhile, he scurried across the lines toward Liora. She was still busy healing. A loose crowd had formed around her, murmuring and clutching minor injuries. This is going to be awkward. But she’s a healer—sometimes the best disguise.
He slipped between legs and cloaks until he reached her side.
He tapped her ankle.
She flinched. “What—? Adarin, you…”
She looked around, blinking like she was waking from a trance. Then sighed long and slow.
A soldier beside her cleared his throat. “Honored Priestess, would you please—”
Adarin didn’t let him finish. “Liora. Someone’s wounded. Come with me. Now.”
Her eyes widened.
Adarin didn’t wait. He extended a root whip, wrapped it gently around her wrist, and pulled.
The soldiers behind them mumbled in confusion.
“She’ll be back soon,” Adarin called over his shoulder. “Wait here.”
Liora followed Adarin, dazed, as if in a trance. Then she blinked, swallowed, and steadied her step. “What’s the injury? What happened?”
Thoughts flashed through Adarin’s mind. Is it better if she knows? Or if she doesn’t?
He made a decision. I need to show her some trust.
“We’re going to escape,” he said. “We’re running. Be ready for the spectacle to start.”
“Spectacle?” she asked—and stopped in her tracks, yanking against the root whip tethered to her wrist. “What?”
But Adarin’s focus had already shifted. He gave the command.
The spider sprinted across the top of the cannon, legs clicking against iron, scurrying toward the exposed powder pan.
One of the young soldiers turned, eyes narrowing, something catching in his peripheral vision.
Too late.
The spider skidded over the top of the barrel, self-righting just as it reached the pan.
The soldier blinked, confused.
Then— Hiss. A sharp sizzle.
BOOM.
The cannon thundered. The shot tore into the assembled knights—at least a dozen fell instantly in a rain of steel and blood.
The battlefield detonated into pandemonium—men screaming, formations collapsing, steel clattering as order died in a single shot.
Liora screamed—then staggered back, hands clutching her bloodied robes as if to shield herself from what he’d done. Around them came shouts, gunfire, the twang of crossbows. The knights surged forward with a thunderous battle cry.
Liora spun on him, eyes wild, voice breaking. “What have you done? Those were allies—men you just murdered!”
Adarin’s voice was iron. “I gave us a way out. Better their bodies feed my survival than ours feed theirs.”
A flicker of system text cut through the smoke: three new levels. It felt obscene—profitable slaughter packaged as progress.
He dragged her into a sprint. “Run.”
Olivists and Dwarves stormed past them, weapons drawn, charging toward the front.
No one stopped them—though a few exchanged confused glances.
They were almost clear of the camp when a grizzled sergeant barred their path, musket leveled. “Halt! Where are you going?”
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