Authors Note: Holy shit guys, the love for the fic has been amazing. Thank you so much for all the attention in the first volume, its all motivated me to keep writing this.
But a guy needs to relax sometimes, y'know? Read something fresh, hang out. So, if you wanna come by and vibe, maybe even hear me read you a book, just slide in the server.
Discord: /PecUxPxMZQ
28 years after the death of Himmel the Hero, on a dirt road, located in the northern lands
Senken had resumed his travels the day after that demon was dealt with, sent off with festivities the likes of which he had never seen before in his little village. Everyone had been grateful for what he had done, though the seven victims of the demon couldn't even be properly buried, in the fineries their families wanted to dress them in.
There had been discussions of having to chisel out the basin for the fountain again, and to clear the way for the well water to fill it. Interspersed with the smells of cooking meats, ales being poured, and drunken celebrations.
This included Heben sobbing into his shoulder after half a pint, not wanting him to go.
Far better than his mom drunkenly trying to get any of the village girls to let him "till their fields". That was mortifying. He was happy his dad, the unabashed masochist he was, reminded her of tilling her fields, and they traipsed off like teenagers, giggling into each other's faces.
The girls who had any shame had at least blushed when they next met eyes. Now, whether those blushes were of newfound infatuation or sheer embarrassment, well, his mom's outburst didn't exactly leave much room for any "optimism" in that regard.
Now he was properly back on his travels. He was to become a mage, and that was his focus now. Two days out of the forest, he was making good time. They had laden his pack with all manner of foods for his travels, but none of it was properly treated for long distance travel. He would have to dump what he couldn't eat tonight.
Sanken's strides slowed, until they eventually stopped, leaving him in the middle of the road, staring straight ahead. After his last major bout, he had figured he wouldn't be dealing with any earthen beings for a long while, and yet, there, about ten feet in front of him, there was one.
A very small one.
It looked like a person made out of dirt, clumped and packed together in a slap dash manner, as if in a hurry. Misshapen, its head little more than a lump growing out of its chest, no semblance of facial features or anything like a hand or finger. Just nubs.
It stood maybe a foot and a half tall, barely even reaching half way up his shin. The construct was picking up small rocks, one at a time, pinched between its nubs, and throwing them across the road. At nothing. Sometimes they flew far, and passed over the road entirely. Others, they fell short, thumping in the dirt, just past the halfway point.
Senken stood there for a few minutes, watching this little dirt man throw rock after rock, unbothered and untired. Eventually, he pulled his pack down and rummaged within it, grabbing a few strands of dry grass.
Casting the spell, the grass blended between themselves, forming a wide oval patch of grass before narrowing the braid into two long, thin strands, which he tied off. A small sling. He approached the little dirt man, and dropped it beside him.
It stopped from picking up another pebble to look up at Senken, who only gave it a passing glance and began walking again, his stride once again marching him along.
He could hear the pebbles flying faster behind him, whistling through the air, as the construct picked up and used the sling.
Senken's travels were like that, long stretches of the quiet of nature followed by small moments of minor encounters. The following encounter had been the next day, where he found a wandering merchant, wagon laden with odd goods, pulled by a healthy looking donkey. The merchant himself was pierced in many ways, bobbles handing from his ears, nose, and lips like he would be afraid to part with them.
He had initially been quite cautious of Senken, due to his physique. To those that knew no better, he cut the visage of a monster, a demon stalking the roads. Convincing the merchant to be not afraid had been an undertaking Senken hadn't relished, and none of the items had stoked his curiosity, so he had quickly let the merchant on their way.
Senken now had to come to terms with the fact that, if he were to travel as freely as he wished, he would have to take measures regarding his appearance. His cloak was pulled further in, even on days when he didn't need it to be, because it helped hide his lower arms. His lower eyes had to be kept closed. He didn't stay like that all the time in his travels, but he did make it a habit, so that when he next went to a village he wouldn't have to worry about scaring anyone away before he could shop for supplies.
So Senken traveled like this, walking from place to place for weeks. His destinations were hamlets with no names and places they shared as special. It was a nice, little excursion. However, he could not find another grimoire, an almost necessity for his want to become a mage.
He did find one item worth his while, however. A recipe for a rabbit stew, using an herb that only grew here in the northern frontier as the secret ingredient. Acquiring the recipe had been a simple affair, needing only trade a hare he had hunted earlier that day for the recipe once it was made.
The old woman who had given the recipe had written it down on a small piece of parchment, which he had tucked away in his increasingly heavy pack. Just because he hadn't found a grimoire did not mean he was not laden with gear, as he bought what interested him.
Now, Senken's pack was struggling with the weight. Not even a month into his travels, and he could feel the stitching of his pack failing where it rested upon the shoulder. He had to remedy that.
It was in the warm tones of dusk as he sat beside a small fire, a few meters from the road, when he stumbled upon the idea.
He had already made magic from sorcery once before; the Shrine cursed technique from his past life made anew as a spell to prepare and cook food. Schrein.
Was there not more still to draw inspiration from?
Memories from his past life and incarnations...
…Megumi Fushiguro was one potential candidate.
He doubted he would be able to replicate the summoning component of the Ten Shadows. While the basic idea of molding his shadows into semi-autonomous puppets wasn't beyond reason, the individuality and unique abilities belonging to the Shikigami were not within his capabilities as a mage to replicate. .
However, if not the Shikigami themselves, he could certainly harness one feature of the Zenin Clan's prized hereditary technique; Shadows.
He had the thought at the tail-end of the afternoon, and now, with his back facing the sun, he looked at the shadow he cast over his pack on the ground. Mana seeped into his shadow, sending a subtle ripple across its surface that swept past the pack and settled along the shadow's penumbral outline..
In the twilight, he could see his shadow deepen in pitch, growing darker and darker as if ink, and his pack sunk into it like it had been cast into a mire. It was slow, his shadow seemingly viscous, but eventually the pack disappeared in its entirety beneath the pseudo-liquid surface. Cutting off his mana, the spell ended, and his shadow lightened, returning to normal, his pack now gone.
Now was the important part; being able to retrieve his items. In hindsight, he should have done it with a random rock or something. Should he be unable to retrieve objects from his shadow, a rock would have been less of a loss than all of his supplies.
His mana suffused his shadow again, the colour deepening in shade as the spell took effect. His hand stretched beneath the shadowy surface, and found it felt like nothing. No chill or warmth, nor any resistance or buoyancy, it was as if his hand was still passing through thin air, and yet lacked even the subtle sensations of wind brushing over skin. His fingers felt upon the strap of the backpack, and he lifted it back out of his shadow without difficulty.
With the pack removed from his shadow, a subtle sensation of weight upon his body had been lifted. Evidently, he himself would bear the burden of his shadow.
Nonetheless, Senken had once again successfully reconstructed an act of sorcery within the framework of magic.
Which meant he could do it again.