Nudge, nudge, nudge. “Just a teeny-weeny bit more, I’m beat.” Nudge, nudge. “Must you be so persistent, I said I’m dead tired still.” Nudge! “Goddangit, I’m about to blow my head off!” ‘For what? Nobody’s gonna do anything even if you do.’
‘Pansy, I’m tired okay?! Tiredness is a major obstacle to almost everything and nothing to laugh at.’ ‘Sure, sure. It’s the most poisonous of poisons. Are you aware that there is no longer such a pressing need to remain in peak condition at all times?
For once, you can relax and enjoy the day. Wasn’t it you who told me to trust? Now lead by example. If the sky collapses, the ants will take care of it. You appear to suffer from childish PTSD if you act like this.’
‘Says the one who kept me occupied for much of the night with his alchemical shenanigans. And childish? If you think that trying to survive is childish, then something’s wrong with you.
I should also mention what’s going on in your part of the mindscape right now.’ ‘Interesting ideas and practical suggestions that we should follow up on suit–––no such thing as miserly shenanigans.
A bit more respect for this most curious discipline, you dumb oaf!’ ‘…you found your passion, huh?’ ‘…did I really?’ ‘Dunno, that’s up to you to find out and me to suffer from. Anyway, I kinda get that feeling.’ ‘Very funny.’
Nudge!! ‘Would you mind stopping that for once? I find it irritatingly annoying.’ ‘Stop what? I have no time or reason to ignore my genius’ concoctions in here, as I juggle quite well with all these interesting ideas!
Plus, there’s no body besides ours I can command. Must I tell you that you are in charge there?’ ‘Then who is it...’ The agent shook off the replay of the last few moments of his most recent pleasurable dream and opened his eyes wide.
“Curses, not again,” he’d been a tad bit too hasty. ‘I wonder how long it’ll take to remember the change. Muscle memory, if that applies also to the eyes, would be very useful. Eyelids do have muscles, no?’ ‘Pei. With a bit of effort, no time at all.’ ‘This isn’t funny.
I don’t want to go blind one cursed day because silly me is groggy from sleep and forgetful.’ ‘Then you better learn how to use this pighead of yours the correct way. If necessary, outsource brainpower. ...is that even possible?
Either way, I guess suffering once in a while never hurts–––better now than when shit already hit the fan I tell you. There’s only this much you can do contemporaneously.’
‘Keep it. What about my quality time? Last I asked you said soon and that’s already ages past.’ ‘Uups. My bad. Not now, of course, but soon. I shall remember.’ ‘And I’m supposed to trust you as if nothing happened, right?’ ‘You can understand it this way, hehe~.’
‘...’ The agent couldn’t recall the last time they had nothing urgent to work on. Maybe, just maybe... Pansy was right and he was too stiff? Too hung up on security?
Alternatively, Pansy could be trying to con him like so many times in the past. He missed their little soothing banter already, however, even though it was still going on.
With the subtlety of a wrecking ball, our protagonist suddenly realised the simple yet intrinsic extent of the miserable life they had led before.
Although sadly not entirely, as neither had a benchmark at hand with which to compare. How does a meaningful human life look like? That was extremely challenging to answer for them. Ants did not have quite the same need as humans, no?
The agent just knew something very fundamental about their previous way of living was wrong, which was already a lot. Without the undeniable help the hivemind provided, it would have been much more difficult to get to this point.
Thus, once both personalities had the time, they enjoyed a brief respite with relish, as if it were the most precious thing in the world. After all, they were safe here, weren’t they? Nudge?
“Oh c’mon I feel ya. No need to remind me yet again.” The agent said with a hint of irritation toward whoever it was that nudged him constantly and kept doing so despite all his protestations.
As he had learned to do, Linlin tightly closed his eyelids and slowly turned his eyeballs. Linlin was still a bit creeped out that he could see in this state if he so desired. That seemed incredibly strange to him.
Probably just the agent thinking too much... Linlin adjusted the depth of vision by focusing on his peepers. “Interesting…” he muttered.
Initially, the agent thought that it was Azariah or Lord Chartres playing a prank on him or perhaps even the baby snake, but the truth was quite different.
As a quick but not so expert investigation revealed, the sleepyhead had been nudged by an ant intent on waking him up on time. ‘Charming. About three times your size.
Imagine waking up next to a monster with compound eyes and mandibles that could easily cut a grown man in half if it felt the itch. What would others do? Dunno.’ ‘Freaking out?’
‘Passing out seems more likely.’ ‘To whom do we owe this pleasure?’ ‘Azariah of course.’ ‘I know, Pansy. It’s crystal. But why not so.’ ‘If you don’t ask properly, then we’re just wasting both of our time.
In my mind, there are many untold ideas that need to be reevaluated right away. As for this? It’s probably for the planned rescue. You woke up late, the little one missed you, so here it is.
Well, little one is a bit of a stretch.’ ‘Mmh, yes. The female we gotta get out of a shithole and protect for life. I could have done something more worthwhile...’
‘Again. That’s asking too much. It was you that ran your mouth off on an occasion too many.’ ‘…sorry.’ ‘There’s no need to apologise as it’s also you that shoulders the responsibility.’
‘Mkay, you’re evil. So we better go now.’ ‘Of course… not. I had brilliant ideas that kept bugging me throughout the night. Sadly, they have almost disappeared by now, which is unacceptable. So... they come first.’ ‘They do not. My responsibility, therefore my body–––remember?
Who was it who told me not so long ago what to do?’ ‘I swear the metaphor is wrong and misplaced. Anyway, to answer your inquiry: I did, but that’s a different story.’ ‘Yes you did and no, it ain’t.’ ‘Oh c’mon, the gal’s not scurrying off anywhere.
She’s literally rooted there. For years, no less. Read our memories, I’ve already troubled the hivemind.’ ‘What do you know, Azariah–’ ‘Scrap that,’ Pansy grumbled.
He proceeded to ignore the pestering monstrous nanny who kept firing off one inquiry after the other. Someone had enough guts to slack off in its presence? What a scandal! Therefore, the little bugger complained directly to the Big Boss.
As a result, it attracted a swift response. At first, the ant stood there confused at the double-standard, but then it seemed to come to terms with everything and scurried off. However, the dutiful insect made clear it would return tomorrow without fail.
Several steps beyond their makeshift abode, the Master Strategist found his objective. Suspended on a mediocre, blackened, hollow stump was a miserable excuse for a rusty trinket.
The helmet full of fresh water was kept just above the hollow indentation filled up to two-thirds with easily combustible wooden splinters, and the like–––just what Pansy had asked for.
‘And what’s this silly thing gonna do us good?’ Although Linlin didn’t lose his expressionless mask, Pansy was sure the agent wasn’t pleased.
The idea of wasting his few good morning hours on anything but meaningful exercise was unacceptable to him. During normal times the agent could live without quality time for a while, but no morning training?
Unacceptable!! Of course, Pansy had already prepared himself! ‘You live thanks to the State. You live thanks to a big fist. You also live because you possess a little extra something.
Our past is proof. Are you even required to choose? Quality over quantity! And this is–––clamour–––a literal attempt.’ ‘At brewing poison? I rather exercise.’
‘No, not poison. Explosives.’ ‘...sigh.’ ‘What’s your problem?’ ‘That’s my line. Explosives? You like making a smoky hole in the ground?’ ‘I cannot say no.
Remember, though, that’s on another scale, and therefore not my primary focus. At least not for today.’ ‘A joke if I ever heard one. You don’t do half-baked stuff. And you even said it too: It’s a goal nonetheless.’ ‘Not really.’
‘…Pansy?!’ ‘...and before you start nagging like our retired nanny, yes I know the risk, no I don’t plan blowing us to bits and yes again I did ask for permission first. Right now, in fact.’
‘Your leverage?’ ‘Fine, if you must know... Azariah doesn’t appreciate us wasting time on anything but healing brews, but that is nothing a promise worth kettles cannot fix.’
‘Kettles… Pansy, is it what I think it is?’ ‘Uhh… maybe? But it’s practice anyway. We need to see this through. Training!’ ‘How many?’ The agent's icy as foreboding question cut right through their mindscape like a hot knife through butter, causing him to take extra precautions not to offend the vengeful brute.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
More than he already took, that is. ‘Not that many, Stupid. We–’ He might have said the wrong thing. ‘If your meddling delays my rigorous training regime beyond what is acceptable, beyond what you and I decided, your bombs will pop for sure.
On your arse no less!’ ‘…no way. Are you really gonna sabotage the experiment? If so, you are essentially ruining your own efforts. I’m not just talking about what you call useless research, I’m talking about what comes in handy for you too!
Just as I said earlier.’ ‘Sure, but now ain’t the right time, Pansy.’ There was undeniable truth to the agent’s words too. ‘…was I wrong then? Is it true that I am overeager as Azariah said? ...is alchemy really the passion I’ve always feared?’
‘This I cannot tell.’ The Master Strategist paused gingerly crushing some Mudberry Murdersons between his fingers, diverted his attention from the Allscreamer Mixthorn–––a bittersweet that could burst their eardrums if mishandled–––and turned his processing capability to their shared memories.
Pansy sighed, his now proven overeager disposition getting on his nerves. ‘Internal affairs come first, only afterwards can we mess with external hotshots.
It was even me that told you this line first… Now that woman because of fate and karma obviously counts as an internal affair. And you need time to finetune our body.’
‘Don’t be so beat up. Nothing has gone wrong, no? You can always cut me some slack if it doesn’t interfere with your schedule. In any case, I don’t need hours, just stay consistent with my allotment.
I assume we’re going to save the gal tomorrow, then? Or now? Or after finishing the promised herbal brew?’ Pansy looked at the bubbling hotpot on fire and squeezed out an answer.
‘After this one? I wouldn’t want to waste the ingredients. I’m also at a loss with that formula. Making something else should help in this regard. But you’ve got a point too. The hivemind has already informed us, so we better take this seriously.
Fine! Whatever happens with this trial, we’re gonna save the girl next, okay?’ After a brief moment of contemplation during which a tone-deaf bird made its presence known before ending up secured, the other personality hummed in agreement.
This wasn’t exactly contrary to the agents’ intentions either, since they were already late for an infiltration mission when they just awoke, let alone now.
It was in that mess back at home that he learned that most of the time patience was the determining factor between predator and prey.
It would be beyond stupid to force the matter. “The Erudite Sire bastardised reputed proposals for a hopefully merciful daunting rationale, this destitute errand boy hypothesises?”
Linlin never stopped for a second time in smashing a handful of Mudberry Murdersons and went on to peel a mature, one-metre (3.2 ft) in diameter Assricot from the Cheekalode Tree. His hand movements were slow but steady.
If Linlin wanted to lay claim to the very delicate nucleus without inciting a poisonous reaction, he had to handle matters delicately.
Only after the useless fruit fell to the side–––where it quickly rotted–––and the nucleus into the boiling broth did he turn away from the puffing baggy helmet now smeared in rusty red hues and resplendent in horrific, orangish shimmers.
After lighting one of the cigars from the pyramid-shaped stack that held the fruits of an arduous hobby, he took a habitual deep breath. “As you can see, I’m busy today.”
The mimic surely wasn’t happy with that answer, and even the tone sounded grating at best to him. However, his attention soon shifted elsewhere. “…my most veracious solicitation in entitling an unmediated evasion.”
Lord Chartres grew more eyes and stared alarmedly at the unattended, floating content that was eroding its unfortunate container, prepared to retreat at any moment, its past experiences fresh in mind.
“You can tell? Considering your last performance, I have come to the conclusion that believing in your discerning eye is deadly.”
Upon breezy touch, the fumes turned into ominously dark, multicoloured, smelly farts that caused the leaves in the immediate vicinity to rust and dissipate.
“As long as you don’t engage in uncalled-for actions, and I tend to the cauldron unobstructed, this is a safe undertaking.” I see no danger here,” teased Pansy.
He cast a hairy root adorned with patches of purple pulsating warts from under his ripped shirtsleeve into the rotating broth and the bubbling and frizzling sounds calmed down almost instantly.
Instead, the grass tens of metres away withered rapidly. “See,” the Master Strategist spat brusquely, “you were right to listen to me and stand there.
You would’ve replaced the withered tuft of grass if you hadn’t. Honestly, if you get hit by an alchemical curse, I have no idea how many recovery brews you will need to reverse the effect.
I also do not want to consider the implications of mindless overconsumption of the former guarantees.” Lord Chartres did not seem to agree with his lenient evaluation.
Still, the blue-blooded mimic remained silent for fear that strongly contradicting this strange master would lead to yet another lengthy discussion with a certain omnipresent Queenant.
He couldn’t help but shudder at the memory. That would be the third time he’d have absolutely no interest to evoke. Pansy seemed to be hoping he’d respond to him in some way to continue picking on Lord Chartres. Linlin’s lips twitched slightly in disappointment.
No matter what the circumstances looked like, the mimic had learned to assess the latent danger Linlin posed when he engaged in alchemical pioneering. Thus, he kept a safe distance whenever the wannabe alchemist felt like needlessly endangering everyone’s lives.
Lord Chatres came to see if he was all that he claimed to be. But all he found was a madman playing cat and mouse with the Reaper.
Of course, this didn’t mean that Linlin couldn’t be a master alchemist. This simply encouraged the bundle of cells to stay clear of his workplace and ask fewer questions lest he distracts the man and causes disaster for himself.
However, now that he was already here, Lord Chartres couldn’t just leave like that after merely saying hello, no? The reason for his visit would be obvious, wouldn’t it?
As the flustered mimic feared, if Azariah took notice of it, he wouldn’t hear the end of it from her. The Queenant wasn’t exactly keen on retaining his company.
Yet staying here didn’t seem right either, since the attempt could go downhill at any moment... While his brain cells were still reeling, Linlin struck out with the cigar’s stump and fished in boiling, muddy waters for a sticky substance.
Fortunately, our protagonist did not intend to smoke the contaminated cigar afterwards. With his scale-covered hands, Linlin expertly kneaded the rusty trinket into a ball shape without spilling any liquid.
The scales were the result of a skill, namely [Apocalyptic Hide Of The Devourer]. Even with direct contact with the boiling cauldron, the protection kept his hands perfectly safe. It was just that keeping the skill active cost a lot of energy.
Within minutes, Linlin held a hollow ball in his hand, filled to the brim with the quickly crystallising concoction he had encapsulated. The only thing separating the two personalities from a true and accurate assessment of their creation was the cooling down of the prop.
Although all danger should’ve been averted by now, Lord Chartres had difficulty maintaining his form as the blob of cells and brainpower desynchronized with the rest of his body.
He turned into a quivering mass of molten goo, retaining only a mouthpart to facilitate speech. Even though it sounded strange, the mimic was absolutely certain that the danger levels had just skyrocketed the moment Linlin finished kneading the helmet into ball shape.
“Thou art soliciting validation of thine magnum opus?” Linlin totally missed the mimic’s despairing pitch at the end and replied honestly.
“Magnum opus is a load of slimy flattery but yes, I do in about five minutes. It still requires a bit more time to fully crystallise.” Our protagonist cleared the workplace of all hazardous materials, lit a cigar with pleasure, razed the tree stump to the ground, and did everything he could to make his surroundings as safe and free of interference as possible.
After this, he muttered how horrible broccoli-flavoured cigars are and readjusted his mood. “Now’s the time,” Linlin grunted emotionlessly, “so assist and marvel!”
Taking the slightly sizzling stump he’d used to fish for impurities, Linlin infused it with some of his bioenergy and threw it high up the innocent tree as Lord Chartres fled for the bushes like a scared goose.
SprrrrOOooOOmmmm!
It produced a wonderful echo and a memorable spectacle when the cigar stump blew a large hole in the tree, setting the smokey splinters on fire.
Linlin massaged his temples, ignoring the ashes falling down his head. His face contorted into an imperceptible scowl as he racked his brain.
‘What luck, the upper end of Rank C!’ ‘Could’ve worked out better.’ ‘Indeed, it’s better to keep my revamped ideas to myself if the results are so poor. For this to work, maybe we’ll need to become an intermediate alchemist...’ ‘Exercise is the road to success, Pansy.’
‘Maybe. But no matter how diligently he exercises, an idiot won’t achieve what is beyond him. This is the cruel truth and my greatest fear: If you don’t have it in you then it’s all for nothing.’
‘Dunno, but now you sound like a real pessimist. Though... being a worrywart is part of your job description, so it isn’t strange.’ “Immortals above and below, why thy exculpated assay strive lacerates the void, vitiating Nirvana’s intestate?!”
Lord Chartres’ rant came from a very safe distance away; his mouthpiece had grown so voluminous that the whole forest could hear him.
“Don’t exaggerate. Try-outs can end up being a bit problematic at times, depending on the nature of the sampled item.” “Thou disparage–” “no I don’t, my dearest scaredy-mimic.
For all intents and purposes, this trial only tested a low-grade version.” The mimic scurried away further, his all-too-large mouthpiece on countless legs rivalling an orchestra as he screeched at the top of his lungs.
Meanwhile, Linlin had trouble regaining control over his body after a hellishly tone-deaf conductor had yanked it away from him.
In the end, our protagonist came dangerously close to the ball-shaped source of nightmares that the mimic so feared. The kneaded product of bombastic marvel almost fell off the wooden knot...
The performance went on long enough until a furious ant jumped out from well over yonder to snuff out the inadequate performance by lacing the large windpipe with impressive mandibles.
“Ah, finally over. Discordant opinions are okay and all, but what in the blazes was buzzing through the mind that led you to create such a fuss?”
Pansy was positively fuming as he wiped away the many beads of sweat stuck to Linlin’s brow while never letting his full attention stray from the wobbling metal ball.
“You could have sent us all to hell!” Only now did the poor mimic realise what his earlier behaviour had led to, ripped himself quite literally free from the ant’s stubborn grasp and broke into a sweat.
“Naught a virtuous juncture art concomitant of thine oeuvre’s perturbation.” Lord Chartres swore crudely, not sure if he should deem Linlin’s remote surroundings safe or not.
It was dangerous even from a long distance! Ultimately, Lord Chatres decided that enough was enough. “Dignified escapee of two death verdicts extradites most fervent salutations!”
“…not so fast, my dear mimic. You have not yet shown your oh-so dignified compensation for my mental fright.” The quivering mass of furious cells abruptly halted his escape.
On top of getting all semblance of truth distorted and shoved down his throat in a way he couldn’t ever refute, the bubbling mass of cells felt unfairly exploited and toyed with as well!
But that wasn’t the end either. “If anyone asks, I was brewing ointments when you sneakily came along and nearly blew up the cauldron. The ant does not know the entire story, and I fabricated a few details.”
Azariah didn’t need to know he tested and manufactured explosives without the protection of her children, did she? Not after the lecture just the other day. But this put Lord Chartres in a very difficult spot.
Choosing between assassination and being blown apart was a choice the mimic had to silently ponder over. Azariah would certainly have his hide if he played by the ill-written script, but if he did not, the slightly dented miniature wrecking ball might prompt the idea of undertaking another, much more elaborate experiment.
A certain madman sure wouldn’t mind! What if one fine day he gave up his ghost–––for scientific purposes no less–––totally out of the blue? He had little chance of surviving such VIP treatment. Lord Chartres drowned in doubt!
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End of Chapter 4