Headed by a Snake



Tycondrius adjusted himself as comfortably as he could on his improvised seat. 

The hatchlings had gathered. 

He wished they hadn't... but since they arrived, he could not leave them be. 

...Tycon cared for the hatchlings. 

He wanted good things to happen to them. 

They were kind and hard-working; their efforts deserved to be rewarded. 

They were loyal, impressionable traveling companions. 

...and that loyalty of theirs was thrice strong as battle-ready subordinates.

If he commanded them to hold the line and die... they would do so without fail. 

--of that, he had no doubt. 

Yet... he would not forgive himself for wasting their lives for... negligible returns. 

...It was an extreme act of selfishness, him sending them away. 

Tycon had one impossible mission. 

Each task of which was layered, demanding in resources, and carried with it a high probability of failure. 

--save for one. 

It was the one task he thought he saw to completion. 

It was the one he felt most confident in-- where if he failed were to fail every single other task, he would still be able to smile and boast:

'But at least I saved the children.'

A new wave of fatigue and despondency washed over his person, afflicting his body with soreness and infirmity. 

The first task he took on-- the start of the myriad tasks to complete, each starting very soon... 

--and he'd already failed. 

The hatchlings had gathered. 

Despite their obvious rebellion, they had become well-mannered in his presence. 

They patiently waited for his words-- of wisdom or rebuke, they had no idea. 

But they waited, nonetheless. 

Tycon placed his hands on his knees and bowed his head. 

"I... must apologize to you all."

"Boss!" Ree yelped, "What's going on?"

"Leader! You must not!" Gobbuto whined. 

The bulky goblin-boy made an awkward attempt at lowering his head, as well. However, even without wearing his restricting helmet, his plate armor had a built-in chin-guard that made doing so difficult. 

The purple-haired one was waving her hands erratically. Were they hand-signs too jumbled for Tycon to understand or was it all just gibberish? 

...Anyroad. 

It was bothersome to be interrupted. 

However, they meant well. 

Tycon assumed they meant well. He was too exhausted to examine their actions, searching for ill intent. 

He waved his hand to calm the unruly children before continuing. 

"I... have failed you," he said. 

"But HOW?!" Pale screeched.

Tycon's body moved automatically, kicking the boy in the chest. 

There was only so much insubordination he could tolerate in one sitting.

The boy rolled backward, then sat up on his knees in a daze, his head covered in sand. 

Then, after a moment, he bowed his head. 

"S-sorry, Boss," he said. "Please continue."

"...Right, then," Tycon sighed. "As I was saying... our current predicament is a result of my neglect of your training as Heroes of our Realm."

"That doesn't make any sense," Kimura argued.

"It does make sense," Tycon corrected.

"...Very well," Kimura said. 

It was not an answer he expected, but it seemed her maturity and wisdom had grown. 

Gobbuto raised his hand, "Leader."

"Go ahead."

Gobbuto, son of Gobsuke, stood up on shaky knees. He rendered a nervous bow (and was, once again, stifled by his chin-guard.)

"It is... my humble opinion... *our* opinion... notice of attack came too fast. There was... no time."

The boy kept his eyes focused on the dirt. 

It seemed he was feeling Tycon's shame vicariously. 

...But it was not Tycon's goal to guilt his hatchlings. 

The fault did not lie with them. 

"I misjudged the time we were allowed," Tycon explained. "Pale, I sent you with Troia as a calculated gamble. You were to see our Realm and others... gain wisdom and judgment that would temper your future actions..."

Tycon sighed and shook his head. He was mid-sentence and had nearly forgotten his point. 

"You were to... figure things out," he shrugged, "like finding shelter in inhospitable locales and dealing with the locals not expressly human."

"I just starved!" Kimura declared proudly. 

"Kimura performed as surprisingly good diplomat," Gobbuto offered.

Pale rubbed at the back of his head, "Troia got into a lot of fights back then."

[My patience has grown,] the High Oracle signed, [I'm an adult now!]

Tycon furrowed his brows. 

Ignoring Troia's remark of being an 'adult', he had expected something of the opposite from the two girls. It reinforced the notion that he had failed to watch over and guide them. 

"But we've gotten a lot stronger because of it," Pale said, his eyes shining with confidence. 

But not enough. 

A traditional Hero Party comprised a front-line defender, a front-line damage dealer, a dedicated healer, and a back-line damage dealer. 

Tycon told them as such. 

Their youngest, Gobbuto might have qualified as a back-line dealer. 

However... 

Gobbuto was afraid. 

Because of lack of confidence or feelings of inadequacy, he failed to accompany the other Heroes to the Plane of Ice. 

Prior to that, he did not seek out his father's guild, Sol Invictus, for the same reason. 

He remained in his homeland and only met with Tycon because the Lich Queen of the Sleeping Country hated the thought of Gobbuto wasting his potential. 

⟬ Gobbuto, Iron-Rank Heavy Gunner. ⟭

Iron-Rank was by no means weak... and he must have suffered greatly to attain his level without assistance, especially considering his age. 

Yet... if only Gobbuto had met him earlier... 

Tycon told him as such. And the boy could not meet his eyes. 

Then, Troia... the Holy Princess of Tyrion. 

So blessed by the Fates, she had access to the most powerful Divine Healing abilities in the Realm as well as a huge mana reserve, rivaling that of a Hero. However, her near-divine existence was only possible because the heavens imposed on her a series of heavenly restrictions. 

They took away her voice and memories of her past. Her potential lifespan was severely reduced-- even to below that of a regular human. 

And those were only the things Tycon noticed. There were certainly many more things he was not privy to. 

Yet... she did not choose to become the most powerful Cleric or Saintess Class of her generation. 

⟬ Troia, Bronze-Rank Human Hallowed Summoner. ⟭ 

She became a Divine Armor pilot... following in the footsteps of Archbishop Crucis, whom she saw as her closest family member. 

And because of it, she was not a healer who met the standards required of the Hero Party. 

Her goddess supplied her with Divine Power, allowing her to pilot Divine Armor: Dawnbringer to devastating effect. 

However, her Bronze-Rank physique could not withstand the highest tiers of healing magic without agonizing repercussions. 

She could not have known, then... that Tycon would have become so grievously wounded in the Plane of Fire. 

She could not have known, then... that bringing him back from the brink of death would leave her drastically weakened during the time of the Tyrant God's descent. 

Considering her physique, if she performed the mana-transfer ritual without the stabilizing assistance of Jægerin or the high-efficiency circle scribed by Lulu, she might have lost her life that sun.[1]

If only Troia had met with him earlier... 

Tycon told her as such. And the young lady could not meet his eyes. 

Then... 

Taree, daughter of House Kimura. 

⟬ Kimura Taree, Gold-Rank Titan Berserker. ⟭ 

In combat, she utilized her ⌈Berserk⌋ form, an ostentatious skill that made her body swell to a height and size even larger than Gobbuto. 

It was a humorous notion. Her family specialized in Stone Body Defensive Arts, which Tycon found unsuitable for her. Yet, after Kimura struck off on her own, she ignored Tycon's advices and developed a transformation skill complementary to her family's defensive style. 

It was a laudable notion to focus on physical strength... but what she had developed still did not perfectly suit her personality and talents. She merely made a different approach to adhering to her family's defensive martial arts. 

She stubbornly chose to wield fists of rock and stone instead of hungering flames, cutting winds, or piercing cold. 

And because of it... her mentor, Dragan was lost.

Yet... if only he had guided her better...

This... Tycon could not tell her. 

But, she already knew. The young lady could not meet his eyes. 

If he had five years...

No... two years--

If Tycon had three moons of focused training with a few weeks for recovery, he was confident in significantly alleviating all of those issues. 

There was, however, one issue for which training was not a solution. 

Tycon focused his attention on Pale... scion of House Morninglord... 

...son of his good-natured, honest-to-a-fault companion, Quay. 

As long as Tycon had known the boy, he was a kind and polite child. He was resolute in his morals and his curiosity had no end. 

He completed his training without fail-- and with little complaint. 

Every task he was assigned, he performed with minimal goading. 

Everything-- most everything about the boy was perfect. 

He quickly gained proficiency in all matters of war. He achieved basic mastery in elementary magics, as well as military tactics, customs, and etiquette. 

Despite his achievements, he remained humble and he was well-liked, everywhere he went. 

It was no surprise that he was chosen as the Hero of the current generation. 

The fates had determined it. His bloodline was appropriate for it. His mentors were more than qualified. 

Yet...

⟬ Pale, Gold-Rank Half-Elven Spear Lord. ⟭

Upon his return to the Realm... the fates deemed him unfit for the title of Hero. 

[1] That sun: See the events of Chapters 1028 & 1029.