Headed by a Snake

⟬ A short distance away... ⟭

Meeting an ally in the Tree God's Forest was completely unexpected.

More unexpected still, it was one of Sol Invictus' own... but better for it.

⟬ Tres Leches, Adamantine-Rank Weapon Spirit. ⟭

The Dark Iron Wolf's presence was welcome... even if it raised as many concerns as it quelled.

He had grown substantially in strength since Tycon last saw him.

As he moved naturally, he exuded a particularly pungent bitterness of metal-type mana.

Tres Leches had perfected his transformation skill. His flesh and fur were protected by an invisible and elaborate mana shield, no weaker than his dark iron-plated natural form.

Even his physical size had grown almost two-fold...

However, to Tycon's relief, some things did not change.

The glutton remained ravenous for one of his specialties: red-and-black peppercorn venison jerky.

"(I haven't had this... in at least *eight*), The wolf said as he trotted alongside Tycon.

"Eight... what?"

In response to the question, Tres stared far off into the distance, "(Eight... times.)"

"...Granted," Tycon shrugged. "Anyroad, wolf. I'd like to receive your--"

"TYCON!!" Krysaos interrupted-- "Can you guys... slow...THE F*CK!! ...down... HUH??!?"

The Captain doubled over, gasping for breath, his palms resting on his knees.

Beside him, the god of sweat and shirtlessness stuck his Storm Axe in a nearby tree, holding onto it for support.

"Friend-Maedar... we cannot... recover... mana... at this... traveling pace..."

"(We must hurry, Ivory Prince!)" Tres Leches urged, "(My partner is close!)"

Ivory Prince? It was an odd time to use proper titles.

"(The pack is injured,)" Tycon chided, "(Despite Lone's circumstances, as Pack Leader, I must prioritize safety and certainty.)"

It was a notion he should have dwelled on before they departed.

"(Then. tell. them. to. HURRY!!)" Tres growled.

The sudden outpouring of Adamantine-Rank mana caught Tycon off guard.

...But he refused to be daunted by the show of strength, no matter how superior.

Tycon grabbed the wolf's snout and held his maw shut, "(If you want to act as Alpha, pup, then you must also *think* as one.)"

Tres Leches met his eyes.

The wolf glared defiantly for several seconds... but he knew better. Eventually, he turned away, going as far as tucking his tail between his legs.

Tycon loosed a heavy sigh before checking his companions' conditions.

Despite their complaints, they had recovered enough that physical overexertion wouldn't kill them.

Of course, if regular mortals were to be in their states, their hearts would have exploded thrice-over. Thankfully, they were not.

They were badly in need of rest... but that would continue to elude them.

Such respite would only be afforded once they were dead.

--once they were *all* dead.

Krysaos shot up, his back straight, "Yo, LT. Since we... got a hunting wolf, now. How 'bout... we send him to find the girlie, ah?"

Tycon narrowed his eyes. The Divine Constitution of a Sea God had transformed Krysaos from struggling-to-breathe to shite-eating-grin in mere minutes.

"(Girl?)" Tres Leches' ears perked up, "(What girl? I can find a girl. I'll find the girl, then she can help us save my partner.)"

"What?" Tycon frowned, "No. Before that, please report what you kn--"

"Gimme some jerky too, LT," Demanded Krysaos as he lazily collapsed onto his rear. "I saw you givin' some to the oversized doggo."

"What?" Tycon clenched his teeth, his frustration rising. "No!"

"Oh COME F*CKING ON, guy!!!" Krysaos shouted.

"Then at LEAST drink some flamescarred WATER before you waste my rations," Tycon shouted back.

"I... too, would like to request some jerky, dear friend," The Thunder God asked.

"Ugh..." Tycon groaned loudly, "Very well. Five-minute break-- but no longer!!"

With a flick of his wrist, he activated his spatial ring to give his knuckle-brained companions their shares.

Death (and therefore some much-needed rest) was near... and had been precariously close in several incidents and exchanges over the past couple of bells.

Admittedly, a ponze of tasteful meats and time enough to breathe were inconsequential requests.

Tycon merely found the timing off-putting.

...And his sour mood likely affected his frustrations.

However, he was looking forward to Tres Leches' report. With some more detailed knowledge, he could craft a plan to improve Sol Invictus' odds of survival.

"(I found the girl!)" Tres Leches barked.

"You did what?"

When did he have the time to--

Tycon narrowed his eyes.

Lone's gods-damned pet had learned a Movement Technique.

Beside the unreasonably tall wolf stood Ophelia Darkmoon.

She wore no armor, carried no weapon, and even went without shoes. She did, however, wear what appeared to be a cloak made from quality Elven material in typical Elven style.

"T-tycon..." Ophelia began... "(I'm begging you... kill me.)"

"What? **No**," Tycon frowned.

The primary mission of Sol Invictus in the Tree God's Forest was to recover the Arcanite Princess. Thus, they would keep her out of harm's way, irrespective of the low probability of success.

...and irrespective of her wishes.

"--Thunder God, catch her."

"Catch who?" Asked the Thunder God-- just as Ophelia collapsed.

Thankfully, the Thunder God caught the woman before she planted her face into the forest dirt.

"(Now let's save my partner!)" Tres Leches barked, "(All together, now!)"

"What?" Tycon glared. "No-- err... Bah! I mean to say: wait!"

"(What are we waiting for?)" Tres Leches whined, "(I've already waited eight!)"

"Eight what?" Krysaos asked.

"(Eight times!)"

"Interesting," Mused the Thunder God... "Eight... times..."

"ENOUGH!!" Tycon shouted-- "And you, secure your hold on the elf."

Glaring the Thunder God down, the fellow gingerly repositioned his left arm and posture to better support Ophelia's weight.

Was his awkwardness due to her being a mortal?

"Guy," Krysaos shook his head, "Have you never touched a girl before?"

"Not now, Sea God..."

"Tolerate it," Tycon ordered. "You're keeping her safe and secure, not trying to take advantage of her."

Ophelia covered her face with her hands and began to sob.

Ah.

Tycon felt like it'd been an age since he made a woman cry.

He had forgotten how easily such was achieved...

No one paid attention to Ophelia's crying, soft to the point that it seemed almost polite.

Still... it was fortunate that the Arcanite Princess was alive and reasonably well.

With her recovery, Sol Invictus had accomplished the first half of their mission. The second half was withdrawing from the Tree God's Forest...

It was even feasible that they could do so without any more casualties.

However... according to Tres Leches... the Lone Shadowdark yet lived.

Tycon had concluded it impossible. He had already ordered the man's death certificate-- though he had yet to submit the paperwork...

...Could he submit himself and his friends to a mission even more dangerous than the first?

Tres Leches was begging for help. The wolf would likely act alone, even without help.

...Would anyone blame him for choosing to abandon Lone?

He felt Krysaos nudge him with his elbow.

"I know what you're gonna say next, LT."

"Then, if you would, Brother-Captain," Tycon closed his eyes. "Dissuade me."