The Developer Reborn As Archmage

The Red Crescent archipelago had four population hotspots. The island chain known as the Raidola Isles, the lawless maritime autonomous zone of Blacktide, a kingdom of dwarves called the Ironhold, and Galtea, the largest island governed by humans. They changed their initial plan of looking for a Seer in the Raidola Isles. Galtea was closer in their new search for merfolk.

Galtea was the continental navy’s equatorial foothold. The crescent-shaped port called the Vulture Point was connected to Galtea with a land bridge.

The merfolk destination nearest to them was a small island only identified by the number 981. It was a nondescript fishing village owned by Galtea. The location worked out well for them because the island lay 30 leagues beyond the RCMF area of responsibility.

It took them sixteen hours to get within range, even with the steam engine. Darya spent most of her time trying to help Fominel around the ship, or Seris with preparing potions, or Enta with head rubs and general baby wisp parenting. She spent the night cuddling with Seris and Enta. The island was already on the horizon by the time she woke up.

Fominel had lied to them about anchoring for the night and steered the ship on his own without sleeping. Seris let out a sigh about it, and Darya was out of words to yell at him. She was getting used to Fominel’s indomitable workaholism while feeling bad about not helping him enough.

They had to put in a lot of effort to disguise themselves before they neared the island. The easiest excuse that covered their extravagant ship was to act as Dovarist missionaries. It wasn’t a good idea to go out in public as pretty young women wearing nice dresses that complemented their figures. It could only invite more trouble with a rough crowd.

There was one minor problem with this plan. All the Dovarist dresses of both Darya and Seris were in brand-new condition. Wearing any dress like that was a bad idea. They had to look rugged and journeyed if they ended up on a fishing island. They needed more worn and weathered outfits.

The worst dress she had was the one that was soaked in Dreagan blood. It had the swimsuit neckline, hardly an appropriate amount of skin for their cause. Fishermen’s wives and daughters dressed a certain way. They had to blend in if needed.

Seris begrudingly weathered their white Dovarist dresses with a combination of dyes and added fake rips and frayed edges to them. According to her, this was a financial loss that she would never recover from. It had taken all of her willpower to do this for her missing friends, and she swore Emil would have to pay for new dresses if he was unfortunate enough to be found alive.

Darya wore her Dovarist jewels, the Light Keys of Dovar. The silver necklace with the rod pendant and the long earrings gave her a mystic look without even trying. The darkvision passive effect was a nice addition.

Fominel brought the ship to one corner of the busy pier full of fishing boats. There weren’t as many as Darya thought, but they still drew a lot of curious looks from figures idling on them. It seemed this was an off-season or something, because most of the fishing boats looked abandoned at the pier.

“I have to stay with the ship; there are thieves everywhere,” Fominel said after anchoring.

“You’re going to be fine here by yourself?” Darya asked as they used the rope ladder to get down.

“I’ll be fine. It’s you I’m worried about,” Fominel said. “Seris, this is all up to you. The princess doesn’t have her memories or her Manacer.”

That still hurts. Damn it, my precious Warblade. Where did that idiot corpse take it?

It was lost in the second warping spell. The distance had to be way less than six hundred miles. Sarka’s corpse was surely on another island near the initial one. The location of her weapon was one of the first questions she had to ask a Seer.

“We’ll be fine as long as we don’t get into another battle with a dead archmage supreme for some reason,” Seris said.

“There must be some place I can buy a Manacer?” Darya asked.

“Not here, all the mages are in Galtea,” Fominel said.

“Buying a Manacer with what money?” Seris asked. “Even the crappy ones cost several thousand. Unless you’d rather have an apprentice staff.”

“We’ll buy it with the money I’m about to make,” Darya said, flicking her hair over her shoulder. She had a plan of her own for money.

“Please don’t take unnecessary risks for this money, princess!” Fominel sounded anxious. “Maybe I should come with you after all.”

“You should stay since we can’t take Enta anywhere,” Darya said.

Her mana wisp baby was the weakest lifeform she had ever seen. He was too weak to be taken outside in a lamp enclosure. She didn’t want to leave him alone on the ship either. Fominel had to stay behind no matter what.

“The mana wisp?” Fominel scoffed. “That’s the least of my concern!”

“He'd better be your biggest concern while I’m away!” Darya had gotten too attached to her brand-new pet.

“Fear not, swordsman! I shall keep a good eye on the princess in your absence!” Sarka spoke. She had almost forgotten he existed up until he did. She had worn the ring under the glove without telling anyone.

Seris let out a yelp, pulling out her wand from her waist.

He couldn’t stay quiet, could he? Well, good thing he did it now. We’d be in trouble if we were in public.

“You’re taking him as well?” Fominel asked, looking at her hand apprehensively. “Magus Sarka, you'd better keep quiet!”

“I shall not speak until spoken to!” Sarka sounded determined. Darya already knew she had to be ready to take the entire glove off if she ever found herself in a dire situation.

“Princess, I must ask!” Seris said, suddenly grabbing Darya’s shoulder. She started whispering in her ear. “Is this how we’re going to solve our money problem? sell this ring?”

“I heard that!” Sarka exploded. “I must protest the sale of this ring while I’m inside it!” He said nervously. “Let me find a body. I only got to live eighty years. I died before I found myself a wife!”

“Relax, you won’t be sold,” Darya said. “I don’t know about finding a wife, but finding a body for yourself is not a bad idea, as long as it doesn’t involve murder. We’ll talk about that later.”

“I await our next conversation eagerly, princess, swordsman, lady elf!”

“Shame, we could sell it to some idiot warlord and have thirty thousand,” Seris muttered, looking at the ring. She hadn’t quite forgiven poor Sarka for being swallowed by a Dreagan yet.

Darya laughed. “Well, that’s not enough money. I need more.”

“Eh?!” Seris gasped. “Wh-what are we going to do?! rob a bank or something?”

“Robbery?! I shall not take part in illegal activities! My good name has been tarnished as a woman-beater already!” Sarka said, immediately breaking his promise not to speak unless spoken to.

“Calm down, you two. I’ll figure something out,” Darya said.

“Be careful, princess!” Fominel insisted.

“I will, Fom. Don’t worry.”

The long pier with fishing boats connected to the island with a stone platform that had been cracked a long time ago. The largest building on the platform had a rusty old sign that read ‘Colony 981’.

It was midday, but the weather was worsening early. Whatever positive first impressions this small island was capable of was ruined by the dark atmosphere. It didn’t have much going for it, even on a good day. Half the buildings didn’t even have roofs, or looked safe enough to live in.

Curious fishermen kept watching them as they walked down the pier toward the building with the sign. It had once been a warehouse. An old man came up to meet them, hurriedly putting on a tattered rag of a shirt.

She knew what merfolk were supposed to look like in the VRMMO. This man was a far more domestic version of the stylized look that she remembered. He was closer to human, a half-breed that tilted towards a fishman. He had pale gray skin, gills on his jaws, and clusters of dark blue circles on his cheeks and forehead. Complicated genetic mixtures made sense in RLP. In the VRMMO, the race wasn’t a spectrum. It needed clear categories and clear aesthetics.

Looks aside, it’s weird to see merfolk on land. They had an underwater kingdom in version six.

“Oh, the blessings from the light!” the old man said, extending his hands outward. “I greet you, welcome to our humble island, priestesses of Dovar!”

Seris eyed Darya and stepped forward. “May the light bless you, old master,” she said with a smile that could pierce hearts. The old man looked as if he had been shot in the chest. He swallowed and looked at Darya. “Priestess,” he bowed low.

“Blessings,” Darya said awkwardly.

“Wh-what can I help you with?” he asked, gathering his hands cordially.

“We were on another voyage and decided to visit some islands nearby,” Seris said dismissively. “I’d love to meet your elders, old master.”

“Why of course, I’ll guide you there,” the old man said eagerly. He unfurled his hand, gesturing them toward the decrepit road.

Seris nudged her head in Darya’s direction. They started following the old merfolk man closely behind. Three steps into this journey, something dashed at high speed from a dark crack. It stopped at Darya’s feet, and she tripped on it, almost falling face-first.

She caught herself before crashing to the floor. Looking down, she caught a glimpse of two turquoise circles staring up at her.

“Are you alright, priestess?” Seris asked in a calm voice without breaking the act.

“No problem,” Darya said, turning to the light as she dragged whatever had run into her from the darkness. She caught a glimpse of messy dark green hair and a wooden sword.

“Who are you?” Darya asked, looking at a merfolk boy barely tall enough to reach her knee. His eyes glowed in the dark, and he wore a permanent pout on his face. He pointed his wooden sword at her.

The old man’s mouth was hanging open in disbelief. “By the light! He’s done it again! F-forgive me, priestess! please—”

“It’s fine,” Darya said before he spiraled into a chain of apologies. She needed a better look at the little boy. She grabbed him by the arm and lifted him. He seemed surprised to be swept off his feet so easily.

He can’t be more than four. Can he even speak words?

The boy started whining, trying to free himself. Darya was busy inspecting his insanely vibrant eyes. It was as if the ocean had been synthesized into a color that swirled in his irises.

The boy tried to kick her, but he only managed to run mid-air as Darya held him firmly. The old man let out a gasp.

“Stop it, don’t you harass the kind lady!” The old man yelled angrily, stepping towards him. Darya flung him the other way, gesturing at the man to stay away.

She wanted to look at the boy in peace. He had iridescent scales all over him. Despite his sour mood, he was very pretty.

“You should have a tail,” Darya said, looking at his flailing little feet. He was very scaly on the bottom half of his body. She hadn’t seen scaly merfolk in the VRMMO. This was a genetic mixture that tilted at least eighty percent towards an actual sea creature.

The boy stopped struggling and stared at her with teary eyes. The burst of energy that he charged her with was completely gone. Looking closely, he had a long scar on his right cheek that hadn’t healed or even been properly treated.

Darya carried the boy like a dead squirrel and offered him to Seris. She was just as baffled as the old man.

“Seris, fix him,” Darya said, depositing him in Seris’s arms.