Headed by a Snake

Tycondrius flicked his wrist, activating his spatial ring and summoning his Sword of Venom in hand. A Gold-Rank weapon spirit inhabited its Orcish-runed scabbard... If it cooperated, Zenon would have the chance to recover.

Placing the scabbard against Zenon's chest, Tycon gave a mental order to his System.

« System, establish communication with Garock. »

⟬ Establishing connection... ⟭

Tycon shut his eyes for a moment, re-opening them to find himself no longer in the Caeruleum gladiator pits, but instead, in the lush swamps of the Free Nation.

...

Tycon found the old Orcish Samurai in his home, seated on the floor and concentrating on his craft at a low table. Just as Tycon remembered, Garock wore the simple clothes of a farmer... but the set he wore seemed... cleaner, more cared for. He sat with a straight back, focused and calm.

It was a bit different from when Tycon had met with the spirit previously-- at the time, Garock was desperate to impart his knowledge... regretful that he died so far from his home.

And hungry, a most terrible state.

His clothes, his posture, the isolated location they were in... everything was illusory. Still, as the surrounding conditions logically reflected Garock's mental state, the orc was doing much better than he had been.

Garock held a paint brush, looking tiny in his meaty hands. With it, he gracefully swept black ink onto a roll of paper-- beautiful, flowing script worthy of being displayed on the wall of a tea shop.

...Perhaps even an upscale tea shop.

"Most impressive, Samurai Garock," Tycon nodded.

"What is, Warrior Tycon?" The orc drew a wide, gentle stroke... elegant, yet powerful and domineering, "That a brute such as myself is capable of making works of art?"

Tycon shrugged, "I was surprised that you knew how to write."

It was a relatively uncommon skill. He had forgotten that well-trained warriors even in Orcish clans were expected to be well-learned strategists, consuming books on philosophy, ethics, and the art of war... That Garock dabbled in artistry implied he was more important in his sect than Tycon had guessed-- or at least had a solid upbringing.

Garock paused, placing his brush back onto a small ceramic plate... "You are very good at making me upset, you know that?"

Tycon chuckled to himself, sitting on a nearby stool, "I apologize, Brother-Garock. It wasn't my intention... this time."

Though he had a proper seat, he was barely taller than the massive grey-green orc sitting on the floor.

Garock turned his body, frowning deeply, "I've already imparted all my skills to you. What more could you want?"

"I need you to help a friend of mine restore his uh... his ki." Tycon explained, "I'm fairly certain his mana circuits... no... his meridians? are still serviceable. The fellow overdid it in his last fight."

"That is certainly something I am capable of..." Garock crossed his arms... "I have two questions: One, why would I do this for you?"

"Because you're my loyal... friend."

Tycon had nearly said 'pet' but decided against it. That would be rude.

Garock tapped his bicep with a finger, "You do not treat me like a friend, Warrior Tycon."

"I brought cheesy sandwiches for lunch."

"...Second question: How do you propose I guide your... other friend, considering my current state as a weapon spirit?"

Tycon pursed his lips, "You bring up a solid point. Grant me a moment..."

« System, I'd like you to bring Zenon here, please. »

⟬ Establishing connection... Waiting for response... ⟭

« System, force connection. »

⟬ Setting overridden. Establishing connection... ⟭

Outside the hut, a human screamed... a familiar voice, though. It sounded as if it were falling... and ended abruptly with a loud, watery splash.

"That would be him," Tycon informed Garock. "Fallen into the rice fields, it sounds like."

The orc's mouth twitched, "So it seems..."

...

Tycon and Garock strolled outside to find a naked Zenon, climbing out of the flooded soils of rice.

"O-optio... wh... what's going on?" The Librarian asked.

"...Good afternoon, Brother-Zenon," Tycon greeted. "This is Warrior Garock."

"Hello," Garock waved in greeting.

Zenon covered his nudity the best he could. The water must have been very cold, "Wh-where are my clothes?!"

Tycon ignored his trivial issues, "Garock is a ghost. He will be helping you repair your mana circuits-- using meditation or something."

"A... a GHOST?!?" Zenon's eyes shot wide open, "Optio?? AM I DEAD??!? Is this a heavenly plane?!"

"Don't be ridiculous," Tycon shook his head. "If you were dead, your soul would be reclaimed by your god. And besides, planar travel is forbidden in the Realm. You're currently in a comatose state, lying in a bed and wasting away as we speak."

Zenon's expression changed from concern... to anger... to horror, then finally to helplessness... "This... this sounds really serious. Why don't you look concerned?"

"Oh, I am." Tycon shrugged, "However, I'm certain that you, Brother-Zenon, can be concerned enough for the both of us... Garock, can you help this gentleman?"

The Samurai grabbed Zenon's wrist with his thick hand, using a finger to measure his pulse... "My first impression is... that it is feasible. His meridians appear to have been forcibly... widened."

"Then the reason for his coma?" Tycon asked.

"His spirit's flow is weak," Garock grimaced, deep in thought... "Hmm... That can be improved with my guidance... However... he is a Tyrion. Will he accept help from me? A 'Greenskin'?"

"Don't be absurd." Tycon rolled his eyes, "Zenon judges people by their hearts, not the color of their skin."

...Tycon felt confident in stating that because Garock didn't have any fur. Zenon seemed to have an issue against those types of people, for whatever reason.

"Ahh, very well..." The orc rubbed his chin, looking the human up and down, "Is this true, Warrior Zenon?"

Zenon pursed his lips, "I mean... I've never met a uh... greenskin before? I don't think I'm biased."

"The accepted term is orc, Brother-Zenon," Tycon chided. "Greenskin is derogatory."

"Oh! Sorry," Zenon grinned sheepishly, bowing his head slightly. "I didn't know."

"Eh, good enough," Garock shrugged. "Stand tall, Warrior. I accept your apology."

Tycon nodded, "Does five days in the outside world sound feasible? Warrior Garock?"

"Hmm... That's quite long, considering that time flows slower here..." Garock crossed his arms, but then bared his teeth and tusks in a wide grin, "Very well! I accept the challenge! We shall spend the next few weeks focusing on adjusting Warrior Zenon's spirit flow."

"...Teach him some martial arts, too." Tycon grinned. "Close combat... He was a bit weak against his last opponent, in that regard."

"O-optio..." Zenon sounded as if he were wronged, "That-- that isn't fair. That last person used weird witchcraft!"

"Then you'll learn to fight and kill your 'witches' with your bare hands." Tycon shrugged as he turned to walk away... "Or you don't have to wake up. The choice is yours."