Random Isekai Thing: Chapter 1 – New Rodeo, Or Not

So, this is one of those ideas that just lodged itself in my brain and refused to go away. So, you guessed it. Random Chapter Time! Enjoy! ~Eric

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“Absolute stealth,” Maxwell Periclides mentally commanded.

He felt a dull rush of power wash over his entire body as the blinding light faded away to reveal…

Oh, what a goddamn surprise, thought Maxwell. A throne room. He remained perfectly still as everyone stared at him, or rather at the spot where they couldn’t see him. This wasn’t his first rodeo, and he’d decided that enough was enough.

“What happened?” the stricken-looking man sitting on the throne demanded of a robed figure.

Well, I guess that’s the king and his chief mage or priest maybe. Maxwell didn’t pay much attention to either of them. He didn’t see a need to remember their faces. He wasn’t ever going to speak with or likely even see them again. He was a lot more concerned with the slender, dark-haired woman who was staring right into his eyes. The woman who had her arms crossed and was shaking her head in either disappointment or disapproval. The woman nobody else in the room seemed able to see. He couldn’t help but wonder, Is she like me? Is her stealth good enough to fool all these mages or priests? If it is, that makes her dangerous.

“I—” the robed figured choked out as he rushed over to examine the fading glyphs that made up the summoning circle. “I don’t know. I don’t understand this. The ritual worked as intended. It just didn’t summon anyone.”

The man on the throne reached up to rub at his eyes.

“If it worked as intended,” said the king in a patient voice, “shouldn’t it have actually summoned someone?”

“I suppose it should have,” admitted the mage.

Despite himself, Maxwell looked at the mage who was uncomfortably close at the moment. The mage appeared impossibly young to Maxwell. Then again, it wasn’t the first time he’d seen magical power conferring youth and vitality that extended lives far beyond anything mortals should enjoy. He should know. He was one of those people. Not that it had proven the boon that so many fools thought it was. Maxwell wasn’t even sure that he could die from old age or anything that might be termed natural causes anymore.

Of course, that had been true when he’d adopted the name of Maxwell Periclides, and when he’d taken the name Wang Zhou before that, and when he’d taken the name of Bloodcurse Stonefist before that. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly when he’d achieved what amounted to biological immortality, but he was confident that he had achieved it or the next best thing. If a run-of-the-mill accident or disease could have killed him, he might not have minded so much. In that circumstance, he could have just walked into traffic if the burden of eternal life became too much for him. But, nope. No such luxury as a swift and easy death for him.

All of that magical know-how and combat experience and cultivating that he’d done, along with the leveling he’d done under so many systems, had left him a body that he didn’t think quite met the requirements for godhood. But it also didn’t meet the requirements to be a human being anymore either. He’d gone toe-to-toe with an arch-lich, a master cultivator with thousands of years of experience, and something he was pretty sure would qualify as a demi-god. He’d once gotten punched in the face by an honest-to-god dragon the size of an island. He’d taken the brunt of a magical fire attack that could have rivaled the surface of some suns for heat and lived.

Maxwell had briefly considered storming the gates of whatever passed for heaven in this world and kicking the first deity he saw squarely in the crotch. If mortal world means weren’t enough to get the job done, maybe divine wrath could do it.  Because, Maxwell was done. He was out. He’d saved the world. He’d rescued the princess. He’d killed the dark lord, and the demon high-lord, and insert your favorite villain here, over and over again. He’d ruled as a king and vanished after his glorious victory to live as a vagabond. He’d been a parent and a grandparent. He’d run guilds. He’d run shops. He’d run clans and sects. He’d been a beast king and a monk. Maxwell had done it all. He’d done it all, and he was tired. The storming the gates plan was a no-go, however, because being done didn’t mean he was through with being alive. Not yet.

He also knew it would only take a trivial effort of will to discover whatever problem ailed this kingdom or world. Hell. He could probably solve the problem without ever leaving this throne room. He’d discovered ten or twenty worlds or fifty worlds back that even the most committed, genocidal zealots got really interested in diplomacy when their armies started getting vaporized by a man who was a thousand miles beyond their reach. Not that him being within their reach would have helped them much. So, yes, he could be the hero or something hero-adjacent for these people, but he just didn’t want to do that anymore. He didn’t really want to do anything anymore.

If everything went according to plan, he’d walk out of this castle, find or make a cave, and then seal himself inside of it for a century or ten. At least, that had been the plan before the dark-haired woman had started staring at him. Now, he’d need to elude her, and then proceed with the cave plan. Assuming he could elude her. The longer no one noticed her, the more uncomfortably certain that he became that she was some local goddess. And she was looking increasingly annoyed with him the longer the king and the mages gnashed their teeth and beat their breasts about the futility of something he wasn’t really paying attention to.

The unwelcome staring contest with the woman lasted until the King and his lackeys all withdrew from the throne room. It was only then that the woman spoke.

“You’re really going to let them believe the ritual failed,” she said in a voice that sounded like honey even through her annoyance.

Maxwell considered her for a while before he shrugged and said, “Yep.”

“Is everyone where you’re from so callous?”

“Sweetheart,” said Maxwell in weary voice, “I barely even remember where I’m from at this point. From what hazy recollections I have of the place, no. They weren’t so callous. But I’ve also been to worlds where this level of callousness would have been called sentimental kindness. So, you can spare me the guilt trip. If they want to defeat whatever it is that needs defeating, maybe they should consider some alternative like trying to get stronger themselves.”

The dark-haired woman was blinking rapidly, like she was a computer that was trying and failing to process some wholly alien data. When the blinking finally stopped, she glared at him.

“Did you just call me sweetheart? Do I look like some doe-eyed peasant girl to be called pet names by the likes of you?”

“Is this the part when your start telling me that you’re some arch-priestess, or high, grand magus, or the goddess of this, that, and the other? Because, honestly, it’s not going to get you anywhere. Also, I’ve got an appointment that I’m going to be late for. So, I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you stay here and try to think up some new way to instill the fear of you into me? And I’ll go deal with the appointment.”

Then, before the woman or goddess could come up with a response, Maxwell activated one of his favorite movement skills.

“Quicksilver,” he mentally commanded.

And while he didn’t see it, he had no trouble imagining the expression of spluttering disbelief worn by the dark-haired woman. Nor would he have been surprised that she was left blinking at the empty spot where an insolent mortal had been standing a second ago. After all, he’d seen much the same before.