Headed by a Snake

Tycondrius was checking his gear. He kept his looted Tyrion Decanus armor, throwing his dark cloak over it. He left behind his helmet; Duplicarius Zehr would be counted amongst the casualties.

...He wondered if his promotion was in-writing, somewhere.

Anyroad, Tycon's hood allowed him general anonymity. Most people seemed to assume he was elf-blooded, which wasn't... terrible.

He took two Decani swords-- they were good quality steel, as well as his halberd and crossbow.

Isidor loomed over him... admittedly, looking rather cowardly and uncertain for an 80 fulm long Titan Snake.

"Sssashaaaa... She refers to herself... in third-person."

Tycon narrowed his eyes. Sasarame was young and he found the trait endearing. Though yes, it was flawed according to common diction, "What of it?"

Isidor lazily swayed his head back and forth-- like a cobra... which he was not, "You... you encourage ittttt..."

"...State your point, Isidor," Tycon urged, slightly impatient.

This chapter upload first at NovelUsb.Com

The Titan snake hesitated once more... "You mussst... stop. Ssshe is... physically thirteen, according to human standardsss... Near the age of adulthoooood... old enough... to marry."

Marry? His daughter? None would dare.

Tycon felt his mana circulating rapidly, a sudden and inconsolable rage blossoming in his heart. Mana too coursed through his halberd... the oiled leathers covering its blade disintegrating and illuminating its mana-sharpened edge. He slammed the base of his hafted weapon into the ground, forming cracks in the earth as he turned his gaze towards Isidor.

Gold-Rank mana surged through every fiber of his being, and his eyes glowed a harsh white.

"Did. You. SAY SOMETHING?? BROTHERRRRRR??!?!"

Isidor shrunk back, ducking his head down against the dirt, making himself look as small as possible, "No, no. I said nothing, Brother-Tycon."

"Get your things. And we will be leaving the mountain," Tycon ordered. He clenched his teeth, growling the last words, "Brother-Isidor."

"Right. Going," Isidor slithered away...

Tycon slowed the circulation of his mana... He tried to do so gently. He had to sit down and concentrate in order to stifle his anger, narrowly avoiding injury to his mana-circuits.

Minutes passed. Bells of time passed as he sat and regulated his mana flow. Finally, a bell or two before the morning sun, he grew confident in reigning in his power.

« System, display: My personal information. »

⟬ System response: Tycondrius, Gold-Rank Maedar Warlord. ⟭

Tycon frowned. If anyone asked him how he turned Gold-Rank, he... would have to lie to save his dignity.

...

The fearless Isidor returned, complaining that he didn't want to go, after all. Tycon had to bribe him with the promise of meat and spices.

There was not a single bag of holding amongst the fallen Rhodoks, nor any bags amongst Tycon's closer allies amongst the mountain factions. (Likely the elves and dwarves and fat raccoons had them, but had not openly volunteered their use.)

Tycon lamented having left his spatial items in the Kingdom with his allies. Without them, he was forced to be particular about carrying only what was necessary.

Sasarame carried a shortbow and wore her white, peak-hooded cloak. Tycon forced her to carry a few of her own items, as well... extra clothing, a thick bedroll, and extra quivers.

It turned out that the Krakhammers wanted to move to a more resource-filled area for years, but lacked the reason and the armed forces to do so. With the threat of more humans constantly sieging their territories and the factions gathered with Isidor as their base, the dwarves had both. They suggested the alliance travel to the Aetnian mountains to the west.

Tycon incited a war. Reaping the lives of the injured and hopeless Rhodoks did little to sate their bloodlust. They would continue on, taking their frustrations out in a new war. With the Gold-Rank Titan Snake and Idiot supporting Destroyer Dia and Chieftain Thrum, he had no doubt the alliance would gain a powerful standing in their new home.

The mountain factions journeyed together in looted Tyrion wagons, the forefront consisting of the Elven couple and the Krakhammers. Tycon insisted the alliance pay a visit to a certain Iredar tribe, the Blood Paws. They were forcibly inducted into the conglomerate-- an easy task, since most of their warriors had been killed in recent weeks.

The Iredar preferred grassy areas to mountainous, which was fine. At the base of the mountains, the Blood Paw territory would be a trap-filled threshold for any invading forces. They would fend for themselves, birthing more pups and training them to be heroes. Should the humans attack in force, they could lobby to have the mountain factions to help defend their territories against the major threat.

It was more-or-less how the Free Nation worked in the far west. The Eastern States worked similarly, as a republic composed of several city-states.

In a few years, the heroes of the Blood Paws would howl once more, as one.

...

Three hooded figures of varying heights and sizes walked the nighttime streets of Caeruleum.

Tycondrius found the city's name familiar... Where had he heard it before?

Tycon led the trio, wearing his favorite cloak and peaked hood, dark and stylish, though comfortable. Sasha wore her glaringly white coat, her hood pulled down low to disguise her Elven features. She refused to wear a different coat, as it was literally a gift from her god. A bulky figure, shorter than Tycon and Sasha both, followed quietly behind.

Isidor was disguised in his humanoid form. It wasn't... very good and the Titan Snake found it bothersome to wear, but due to his size, he would not cause immediate alarm amongst the humans. And he ate less, which was arguably the main reason Tycon insisted upon it.

They were searching for a particular tavern, directed to him by Virgilia Darkfeather before they parted ways. However, the conspicuous trio found "trouble" before they found their destination.

"The streets are dangerous at night, friend," A human with a patchy beard sat on a dilapidated wooden crate. He brandished a knife, picking the dirt underneath his fingernails.

⟬ Bronze-Rank Human Thug. ⟭

"Thank you for the advice... friend," Tycon eyed the suspicious individual warily.

"Gehehe..." The human grinned, "But now that you're here... how about you... stay awhile?"