Work in progress - a secret ‘Fairy Tail’ Tale

The Hidden Arc of X791

by sammig82

There was a local town in Fiore where a disgruntled gunsmith was working on a stolen revolver passed on to him by a bandit to be repaired. He had been paid pennies to fix and change the appearance of the firearm so that the bandit could yield it without arousing suspicions. Fixing stolen goods for thieves and robbers had been his sole source of income ever since being barred from taking on proper jobs for merely pissing off a member of Sabertooth - Fiore’s current strongest Magic Guild since the disappearnce of Tenrou Island along with the elite members of Fairy Tail.

With a magnifying eyepiece attached to his left eye, the gunsmith who not only resemble Macao in terms of age, but appearance as well, was meddling with the inner parts of the gun by using a delicate forcep with his right hand. The shaking of his limbs was worsening as it was hindering his ability to perform as he used to during his heydays. That made him resent the Sabertooth mage who had initiated his downfall from being the best gunsmith in Fiore to the ditch of working for a band of bandits. In fact, the resentment have to be shared among all the magic users. The gunsmith thought about the unfairness of the wizard population and their advantages of getting lucrative opportunities. Not everyone was born equal in the world seperated into the magic user and otherwise.

“Oleigh, mind giving me a hand here,” the gunsmith swiveled in his wooden stool to look at his supposed assistant who ad been too absorbed with an old issue of a weekly ‘Sorcerer’ Magazine.

Oleigh was another victim of the inequality where mages tend to have an easier route to success. At just 23, he was born with zero magical talent despite trying his hardest to earn them. A wizard used to boil it down to the incompatibility of his core. He ended up working as one of the bandits the gunsmith had worked for until realizing that robbing and being beaten up by mages were too much of a trouble for him. His growing belly was an indication of him spending more time slacking around than actually assisting.

“Oleigh!” the gunsmith raised his voice.

“Fine, fine… what do you need help with this time,” Oleigh said, finally putting his magazine on top of an old ‘Sorcerer’ stacks dating to when Fairy Tail was still the most powerful guild in Fiore.

“The tiny cog along with its miniature spring, there…” the gunsmith instructed, “…into the pocket behind the barrel.”

Oleigh did as he was told. With his good eyesight, there was no need for him to use the magnifying eyepiece as his hands worked deftly to fit the parts into place. If the young man had been willing to toil, he would had been an excellent gunsmith. Unfortunately for him, the failure to achieve his dream to join a guild as a wizard had probably murdered his spirit.

“Whoa… wh-what’s going on?” Oleigh asked as soon as he noticed that the latin inscriptions along the barrel started glowing.

Both of them could see the green glow from the foreign lettering the gunsmith had first thought was purely cosmetics. Then they saw the shining green words floated out of the gun. They seemed to be some kind of magical particles traveling in the air before splitting in two. The gunsmith and his assistant had no time to react as the two streams of green glowing magical inscriptions shot into their head. They both fell into a deep slumber.

It was a slumber not without a dream – a telling dream about the origin of the revolver and more importantly, about its gruesome ability.

The gunsmith woke almost an hour later to find that Oleigh was still snoring like a boar. Worried that he might never wake, he shook his shoulder hard until he grouchily opened his eyes. They were both about to throw questions at each other until the glow of the gun caught their attention once more.

“It was still glowing,” Oleigh said, bewildered.

“Which could only mean that whatever we saw in our dreams… were real?” the gunsmith said, his voice calmed as schemes started running through his mind.

“If what we just saw in our dreams were true…” Oleigh said before turning his gaze from the old man to the stacks of the sorcerer magazines on the dirt. A grin was spreading wider and wider on his chubby face.

“We’ll only have two chances to prove it though,” the gunsmith said as he was staring into a different type of magazine.

Swinging out the cynlinder cartridge of the revolver, he confirmed that there were only two similarly odd latin inscriped bullets left cocked inside. If the dream he and Oleigh shared really meant something, they could only take their chances trying the gun’s ability on mages – and it could only be female mages.

“Pop! Help!” the shriek of his son interupted his thought as the 18-year-old skinny boy shot through the doorway, seemingly out of breath.

“What trouble have you gotten yourself into this time, Kip?” the dread in the gunsmith’s voice was apparent.

“The… they… accused me of stealing their loot! I almost certainly did not!”

“How many times have I told you not to go near the bandit’s hideout, Kip?!” the gunsmith lamented before hearing footsteps of no small crowds closing in.

“We need to run, old man,” Oleigh said as he was gathering his ‘Sorcerer’ magazines.

Just as he was getting up, a towering figure stood at the doorway, blocking their path. There was another group bandits covering the backdoor too which effectively diminished their hope of an escape.

“Where do you think you’re going?” a short man with a gouty and slanted eyes step out from the back of the giant at the front door.

“Whatever my son took, Donn, I’ll have him return them to you by the end of the day. Just give some time,” the gunsmith pleaded.

“Give you time to escape?” Donn, the bandit leader said in an uncompromising tone.

There was no getting out of this mess, the gunsmith thought. Then, he was reminded of the revolver which by the way, was still glowing on his workbench. If he could see it glimmering, surely Donn and his men could have seen it as well. However, none of them appeared to be noticing anything out of the ordinary.

“Kip, can you see some sort of green radiance coming from the gun on my workbench?” the gunsmith asked.

After a brief scrutiny, Kip told his pop that there was nothing extraodinary with the firearm. The cogs in his mind started spinning a he worked out a plan to get them out of the pickle. When one of Oleigh’s Sorcerer magazines slid out of his grasp before turning to a page with the picture of Bisca Connell aka Mulan Rouge on it, everything just fell into place.

“Hear me out, Donn. I have an interesting proposition to make.”