Headed by a Snake

Tycondrius blinked several times.

The three quests... that was all he needed to do, in order to return to his birthplace and declare himself free of the Medusa Queen's command.

And... Dragan was telling him they... were already complete?

Literal years had passed since he last saw Athena and Tanamar!

"...We did what?" Tycon asked.

His voice was higher-pitched than he would have liked...

"The Ogre Faction was arguably the strongest in the Free Nation," Dragan explained, "that is-- until Sol Invictus launched our anti-ogre offensive. Your op-naming sense is still shite, by the way."

"Go on," Tycon waved.

"We spent 3 moons in their territories," Dragan said... "We killed... a whole f*ckin' lot of the f*cks, Ogre Kings and Oni Mages, especially."

In the recent past, Tycon had heard news of War Prince Droghan's forces clashing with ogres factions. At the time, he assumed that Dragan held a superior advantage in strategy or troops or resources-- likely a combination of several factors.

Tycon had overlooked the notion that the ogres could have suffered a tremendous loss in overall strength.

Dragan's expression grew darker as he continued, "There are still more than a few War Bands with a lot of power, still growin'... the Nakiri-gumi... Onimart... the Chumbuds--"

"The Chumbuds are *not* a band of ogres," Tycon glared.

"Hm. I guess it was my turn to misremember," Dragan chuckled. "But anyroad, two major things came outta what we did-- what Sol Invictus did.

"First, the vacuum of power has pretty much turned ogre politics into a clusterf*ck of in-fighting.

"And second... the Ogre Clans f*ckin' piss themselves whenever anyone even *thinks* your name."

"Huh," Tycon nodded slowly. "Sounds like I did well."

From what he had understood, the previous-him was nowhere near as reliable as the current him.

However... that person had the same high-tier Class as he did: Warlord. That, alone, was enough to guarantee base competence with strategy and tactics.

"I thought it was genius, you freeing the elf prisoners as a distraction," Dragan smiled.

"Elven prisoners, you say..."

"That's how we picked up Bucket," Dragan explained. "You insisted on it. Said it was what Quay would've wanted."

Tycon pursed his lips, "I... see."

"Any more questions, Boss?"

"Yes, one," Tycon grimaced. "Prince Droghan of House Ashlord, you are easily the most insightful individual I know."

"Eh," Dragan shrugged before sticking his pinky into his ear, "Don't go off to tell the whole Realm. So what?"

Tycon narrowed his eyes, "So why are you being so forthcoming with this information?

Dragan leaned back, closing his eyes for a moment. He wore a knowing smile that Tycon found difficult to read.

"You got stronger," he said. "And I trust in strength."

It wasn't a direct answer... but Tycon found it acceptable. If the gentleman didn't want to reveal all he knew, that was his prerogative.

"I didn't want to get weaker," Tycon smirked. "Anyroad, how have your martial skills progressed?"

"Kuh," Dragan snorted, "not as much as yours."

"What are you hiding, you overly modest behemoth?"

"Hah! Nothin!" Dragan sneered, "Wanna fight, bud?"

Tycon lifted his chin, "State thy terms."

"Bare-knuckle boxing."

"I refuse. Wrestling?"

"Fuuuuck no. Wand duel?"

"You can't be serious," Tycon groaned.

"And if I am?" Dragan grinned.

"No. Pie eating contest?"

"Uh. I... I'm gonna say no to that one," Dragan shook his head. "How about... that board game, Pettaia?"

Tycon frowned... "I haven't gotten any better since last time... but I accept, should we find the time for it. Food and drink?"

"Hells yeah," Dragan smiled. "Let's do steaks. I brought along some of dad's Golden Aurochs, figured you and I could eat a whole one by ourselves."

"I've a barrel of corn whiskey from Forcen," Tycon said, returning the smile.

"Corn?" Dragan twisted his lips, "These Eastern States guys have weird tastes, but I'll try anything once."

"I look forward to it, old friend," Tycon nodded. "Let's hope we can go a few bells without some devastating emergency requiring our action."

"Should we uh... stop the two Princesses from fighting?"

...Tycon looked over to Cass and Ananta.

Ananta, herself, had reverted to her true form: an overlarge, shadowy pit viper. The ink-black shadows of her Domain had blotted out the sun. Dozens of obsidian pillars littered the field, hundreds of shadow denizens trapped inside the glass of each.

Cass was flying with gossamer wings on her back. She wielded a stylized axe in both hands, the material a harshly glowing, mana-charged jadeite.

Ananta was toying with her.

...But it was a dangerous game.

Tycon turned back to Dragan, "Can we stop them if we tried?"

"You and me, together?"

"Sure."

"Then... maybe?"

Tycon pursed his lips. The prospect of quelling the violence of either or both Princesses was... ultimately too precarious a risk to take.

He elected to resort to inaction.

They'd... tire themselves out eventually... or so he hoped.

Tycon turned to ask his companion on the whereabouts of his Pettaia board, but unfortunately... the dreaded interruption he feared came to pass.

He spotted a young Witchling, descending on a broom, adeptly weaving through errant bolts of lightning and obsidian scythe-blades.

She landed, immediately running up to him and Dragan before stopping and resting her arms on her knees.

"C-command... co... c'mand..."

"In through the nose and out the mouth, kiddo," Dragan chided. "And stand up straight-- you got lungs and ya gotta let 'em do what they do."

Caitlyn complied.

Why she had to catch her breath, Tycon had no idea. She'd only used her legs to run a few yalms.

"Commander," Caitlyn cried, "Sir... um. Junior Witch C--"

"I know who you are," Tycon interrupted.

"Who is she?" Dragan asked.

"Ah, my apologies, War Prince Droghan. This is Miss Caitlyn, a Witch from Bella's Iota Squad. I believe she holds the Sapphire Tower's record for the swiftest combat flier."

"Oh, yeah? A natural Flight Mage, huh?" Dragan grinned, "Thanks for the clarification, Boss. I thought she was an angel."

"Actually... it's... ... ..." Caitlyn mumbled.

"Eh? What wazzat?" Dragan asked, looming over the trembling Witchling.

"Nonsense, Brother," Tycon smiled. "Were Miss Caitlyn an angel, I'd have murdered her as she presented herself."

Caitlyn 'eeped' at his jest.

That was a good response.

Tycon believed himself to be very funny.

If she were an actual angel, he would have utilized lethal force long before she landed.

"So what'cha doin' out here, Cait?" Dragan asked, "Assuming you got somethin' to say."

"Oh, yes. I... yes," Caitlyn babbled, "Commander!"

"Go... ahead," Tycon waved.

"The... the front line has sustained some casualties," she said.

"Odd," Tycon narrowed his eyes. "It's been a half-bell, at least, since I ordered a temporary withdrawal."

"That ain't enough time to communicate to an entire front line," Dragan frowned.

"It's more than enough for the Sapphire Tower," Tycon explained. "Bella's erected a number of Relay Crystals that facilitate instant communications to all troops within range."

"Then... y'think there was a range issue?" The ever-so hopeful Dragan suggested.

"Each squad operating in Making's underground, no matter their affiliations, has their own miniature Relay Crystal," Tycon brooded. "It's fair to assume any squad that chose to remain has willfully ignored my commands."

"--or they ran into somethin' that prevents 'em from doin' so," Dragan glared.

Tycon pursed his lips-- "or has extenuating circumstances. Granted."

"C-commander?"

Tycon turned back to Caitlyn, "Ah, my apologies. You're dismissed, young lady."

"Commander, there's one more thing," said the fidgety Witch... "Do you know... someone named Suka?"

...

⟬ Making's Underground Labyrinth ⟭

Tycondrius provided suppressive fire for Dragan, discharging several rounds from his Nemayan pistol.

A stout humanoid, peeked over his cover, a hastily constructed wooden barrier. Its hair and beard were composed of actively burning flames.

Yet that did provide protection from bullets. One such struck the fellow in the center of their forehead, killing them instantly.

Two more firebeards of questionable intelligence abandoned their protective cover, crossbows nocked and ready to fire.

Tycon shot one in the chest, the other in the side of the head, and the first once more (around the same area.)

Unfortunately, one of them managed to fire their weapon.

The bolt struck Dragan on his exposed neck.

The tip bounced off his mana-reinforced skin.

Tycon briefly wondered if the Titanblood would even bruise.

The giant-blooded behemoth didn't seem to notice. He grabbed the thick arm of an axe-wielding firebeard. The audible snapping of bone was both prefaced and followed by that creature's screams.

Dragan then pulled them in, simultaneously powering his heavy knee forward.

Tycon almost flinched when the strike connected.

A humanoid's bony ribs were designed to protect and cage their soft and vulnerable internal organs.

After receiving the knee strike, however, it appeared that the firebeard was devoid of ribs on the right side of their body.

An explosion occurred near Dragan's feet, the shrapnel tearing into his trousers and jacket. As with the previous attack, he appeared uninjured.

Still, he was being careless.

Tycon activated his ⌈Shadowfang⌋ Movement Technique, emerging from the shadows at the opposite side of the room.

He shot the human bomb-thrower in the back of the head, then resumed the search for more enemies...

He cut another firebeard down with Mercy and his ⌈Eviscerate⌋ Skill. While they were writhing in pain, he opened their throat with a second slash.

He discovered a humanoid with bark-like skin. Tycon used his ⌈Legionslayer⌋ Skill to stab them in the heart.

Tycon marveled at how easily he executed so many high-level Skills in succession.

He was half-step into Adamantine-Rank... which was something he should have been proud of.

Even though he couldn't compare with the overwhelming talent and bloodline purity his allies claimed... on a logical level, his personal growth was respectable.

It just... felt... unfortunate-- that despite his strength, he lacked the ability-- the foresight-- whatever the hells it was...

He was lacking. That was why Suka took injury.

Tycon swiped his blade in the air, slinging off the blood before replacing it in its sheath.

His sector was clear.

He needed to rejoin Dragan.

",

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