He stopped in front of one of the healthiest-looking apple trees and poked it.
Now, how do I...
He focused on the system interface pattern engraved in his skin and concentrated on the ability descriptions. It appeared, and he re-read it.
- Cornucopian Garden (Alteration) – Lesser Tier 1
Grow a fruit tree that senses and extracts local soil resources.
You may shape it to yield specific fruits, limited by your alchemical knowledge.
Growth may be accelerated with focused will or proceed naturally at enhanced rates.
Local soil resources. Adarin tilted his head to the side and went into the limited protocol database.
Now, hydrogen sulfide is simple. Sulfur and hydrogen— he studied the soil and the plants—are common organics. Butyric acid— he took a look, calling up the structural diagram.
Butyric Acid (C?H?O?): CH?–CH?–CH?–COOH
A foul-smelling fatty acid found in rancid butter and vomit; highly irritating to humans even at low concentrations.
Hydrogen Sulfide (H?S): H–S–H
A toxic, colorless gas with a characteristic rotten-egg odor, often produced by bacterial decay of organic matter.
Adarin nodded to himself. It's simple enough. Hydrogen, carbon, and oxygen. So I should be having everything here.
Now, growth may be accelerated with focused will.
He wrapped his manipulator around the trunk of the tree and followed the instructions Rüdiger had given Liora when she had learned to raise zombies.
He let his awareness flow out, focused on the tree.
His attention burned like a bright torch, illuminating the trunk. He went downwards into the fractal, ever-splitting network of the roots.
He felt symbiotic mushrooms and insects, worms, and the rich soil beneath.
It held everything he needed.
Then he felt up the tree.
His senses unified in the trunk again, and then went up into the branches, flowing out into twigs, leaves, and the apples.
Now, those fruits.
He kept the image of the tree steady in mind.
Sat down, focused on the chemical formulas and his intentions.
He took a deep breath and pulled his mental model of the tree toward his core, toward the heart of his digital avatar.
That was when Adarin met resistance.
The spell buckled like an unwilling horse.
Adarin narrowed his brows, and then he realized where the resistance came from.
The spell is there to grow new plants. I am trying to modify the plant, modify the spell.
No matter. My will is supreme.
He ground his teeth, then let out another long breath, kept the folded-up mental model of the tree in his mind, and focused on the resources, on the organics in the soil.
He wrapped the model around the core, where it began interacting with the intricate engraved structure of Cornucopian Garden.
Yet, something was wrong.
It felt not as fluid.
He dove down, investigating, studied the dot of green light that was the alteration core.
Two shimmering patterns were around it in a lower orbit than his mental model of the tree.
Living Wood and Cornucopian Garden are interfering. This feels inefficient.
Adarin pressed his will down on the mental model, pressing it toward the core, toward the spell.
Flaring pain hammered into his mind like an artillery barrage, but he pushed on.
I am supreme, he ground out in the privacy of his mind.
Distantly, he noticed his wooden body shaking.
The tree began sucking up organics, water flowing, carrying carbon, oxygen, hydrogen and sulfur up through the roots, through the trunk, into the crown.
And finally, he forced it to the fruits.
He let go of the spell, letting it loose on the tree.
It shuddered, vibrant green fluids flowing like blood just under its skin.
He felt the fluids mutating, transforming: butyric acid and hydrogen sulfide.
They pressed into the first apple, altering its structure, mutating it, turning it foul.
Into a reservoir of chemicals.
Into a weapon of war.
And that was when everything went wrong.
The first apple began vibrating, glowing green, then detonated with a deafening clap.
A film spread over Adarin—sticky.
It was like watching a car crash in slow motion.
The energy reached more apples.
With sizzling pops, they went off one after another.
A cloud of brownish vapor surrounded the tree as it withered and died.
Several necromancers rushed close—then froze, gagging as the stench hit. Some stumbled back, crossing themselves in warding signs. A few keeled over retching, whispering about “poisonfruit” and “blightcraft.”
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Adarin smiled sheepishly. Well. Let’s call that a proof of concept.
And I really need to do something about having a sense of smell.
He ignored the commotion as soon as he realized that the wind would carry off the foul vapors toward the swamp. Got lucky there. If this had hit the necromancers, I guess my reputation would have gone down.
He considered the issue and nearly slapped his forehead. Of course. I’m trying to turn an apple into a grenade.
He chewed his lips.
Adarin shook himself off like a dog, not caring for the vile fluids spilled all over the grass and his body.
The tree seemed to digest itself before him, breaking apart and falling into pieces.
“Well.” He walked over to the next one and considered the issue.
He focused again on his limited protocol database. Chemical structures. Come on, come on, come on. You are just simple wood—
There it was.
A fascinating compound:
Cellulose for tensile strength.
Lignin for compressive strength.
And finally, suberin—a structural component that would keep the foul liquid in the apple and under pressure.
Cellulose: [-C?H??O?-]?
A major component of plant cell walls; provides rigidity and tensile strength.
Lignin: C?H?(OCH?)-CH=CH-CH?-O-C?H?(OCH?)-CH=CH-CH?OH
A complex organic polymer that fills the spaces in cell walls and provides compressive strength.
Suberin: HO-CH?-CH(OH)-CH?-O-CO-(CH?)??-CH? and CO-O-C?H?-OH
A waxy, waterproof substance found in cork and tree bark; excellent for sealing and protecting tissues.
This is going to be harder.
He considered the tree.
First I mutate the apples, then I create the payload. Good.
He repeated the process, scanning the tree, grasping its structure, pulling it towards the core.
He imparted his will on the apples as he pressed the tree’s structure into the alteration core toward the complex high-dimensional structure of the skill.
Cellulose was simple.
A headache hit him as he focused on lignin.
He shuddered and nearly retched as his mind was torn apart by the concentration required to create suberin as well.
He forced his focus through nausea and pain, grinding forward on raw will.
Then the tree’s structure and the spell structure touched.
Green sparks were exchanged like electrical discharges.
The pain was overwhelming.
Adarin screamed, but his concentration was a burning blade.
He let the spell flow out.
And again, the green veins transported the magic from the soil towards the apples.
This time their surfaces grew brown, like polished wood.
Adarin smiled.
A little fracture, and then...
Adarin took deep, shuddering breaths as he lay on his back in his mind space.
He observed the sky—distant and artificial, a part of his mind noted.
I haven’t really considered what type of world this is yet. Priorities, I guess.
Slowly his resolve returned and he forced himself back into a sitting position.
He plucked one of the apples and cracked it against the wood, softly.
The tok-tok sound was the only result.
Then he smashed it harder, increasing the force by ten percent each hit.
Tok. Tok. Crack.
It splintered. And a hissing cloud of putrid gas spilled forth. Oh yes. This will do very nicely.
Adarin quickly ran the numbers in his mind.
If they are thrown or crushed by hand—perfect.
Then he cast the spell again, this time for butyric acid and hydrogen sulfide.
Surprisingly easy.
The green veins traveled over the tree and the apples transformed.
Some of the veins remained as greenish lines interwoven in the wood of the apples.
Dozens of warped apples hung heavy, each packed with enough reek to drop a squad of men to their knees. Crude, unstable—but effective.
Well, any more animosity than you get from turning a man into a retching mess and making him soil himself with his own filth. But better than killing them. Maybe.
He looked up and blinked, noticing his audience for the first time.
Rüdiger had conjured a shimmering ward around the necromancers. The green-robed wizards whispered furiously, pointing at the warped apples, some making signs of warding as they edged back from him. Seems the crowd control aspect is working. They don’t dare come near me.
Adarin gave himself a toothy smile and waved one manipulator.
Some of the necromancers waved back awkwardly. Well, my personal hearts-and-minds campaign with my new allies has to wait.
On to the next trees. One by one he cast and let the harvest ripen. Soon the system rewarded his efforts.
Cornucopian Garden, Lesser Tier 1 → Cornucopian Garden, Early Tier 1.
The soldier scurried from tree to tree.
After the first dozen, his head pounded, and he felt as if he had just run a marathon.
Five more, and he had to physically force himself to walk on.
Two more, and he felt like a wrung-out towel.
Each thought ran sluggishly, yet he grinned.
One more. The ability has to...
He breathed and swayed.
He dragged himself toward the next tree, touched it, turned the apples into wood.
Then, fueled by nothing but contempt, rage, and determination, he created the butyric acid and hydrogen sulfide.
And finally, the system tattoo swirled into the desired pattern.
Cornucopian Garden, Early Tier 1 → Cornucopian Garden, Middle Tier 1.
Adarin collapsed among the stinking orchard, chest heaving. The trees sagged with foul fruit, the air greasy with poison. Necromancers muttered from a safe distance, eyes full of fear. Good, good. I haven’t been this fucked up since basic training.
Only then did he notice a wizard with white cloth around his head, but the red hair was unmistakable. He coughed as he closed in on Adarin, trying to keep the wind at his back. Johan.
Adarin was too drained to wave, but Johan cried out:
“Sir Adarin! Sir Adarin! An enemy delegation is coming.”
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