Trapped in Another World With No Magicc
Chapter 167: The Lost Children

Hekate and Doephluev follow Kabaz through the forest. It has been around an hour so far, and Kabaz is alert and attentive to the sounds of the forest, easily avoiding encounters with the odd animal and the lurking monsters prowling the area.

Of course, the two young women have yet another competition going with Doephluev’s ever-increasing authority on the line against Hekate’s permanent role as the Empress going unchallenged in the future. The terms of the competition are to slay the most monsters or bring home the most usable animals for food without letting Kabaz get hurt.

As they walk, Kabaz asks, “Um… Archa-plyrma?”

“Yes, Kabaz?” replies the archoneldwyn sweetly. She and Hekate are using the false names Archa and Fellia respectively just in case it turns out to be a trap, though Kabaz doesn’t seem to have the disposition to betray someone.

“W-Will you really help us?”

“It depends on whether or not we can help,” replies the former assassin diplomatically. “We are still a fledgeling group, so we don’t have the resources for continuous charity.”

“I-I understand…” murmurs the young boy. His disappointment is palpable, and the two young women share a glance. 

Kabaz leads through a small, particularly overgrown thicket that has what seems like a small tunnel through the underbrush as he crawls deftly through.

“Mind your tail,” replies Doephluev softly in the eastern language, following the boy first. Hekate understands, glancing at her own bushy black tail. Once upon a time, it was a stringy, ratty mess. Since then, the black fur of her tail glistens, and it has a silky smoothness to it, soiled only lightly by the recent battle because she rushed back without bathing.

Huh… My tail is kinda pretty, isn’t it? I should be careful not to get tangled and mess it all up.

Hekate starts crawling, following the two. A few branches and weeds poke and rake against the feldrok girl’s hair, skin, and tail, but her modestly armored combat dress, which combines cuteness with functional protection, does its job to minimize any meaningful snags or damage, leaving only her ears, hair, and tail to worry about.

The ravenette struggles a little to keep up, since she has so many more potential tangles to avoid. But, soon enough, they’re free of the mess, and it’s only a few more minutes before they reach a somewhat pitiful sight.

At a glance, it would be easy to miss, since it looks like little more than a decaying tree. It’s too big to be one of the other species of trees, but far from the titanic size of the glonvokauts  dominating the forest skyline. Senn called them ‘behemoth maples’ for Daniel, and he seemed to like this name for being easier to remember.

As for the dattakorien boy she and Doephluev are following, he crawls under a large piece of bark draped against the fallen tree, the combination of which has formed an alcove under the trunk. Again, Doephluev and Hekate share a glance, and the archoneldwyn teases in Eastern trade, “Do you think you’ll be able to fit, Hekate?”

“What!?” snaps the ravenette.

“I just mean, you have been eating well these days, so you’re not as small as you-...”

“Did Geira tell you that!?” shrieks the feldrok girl, gripping Doephluev’s dress front.

“Huuuh? So you’re saying it’s true?”

“Hrk! Why you…”

“{I-Is everything alright?}” asks Kabaz in the dattakorien language. Doephluev switches seamlessly, as if she was speaking it all along, which upsets Hekate a little. Even Daniel fumbles his own native English when he suddenly switches to it to blurt out things, and put on the spot, he is even worse.

“Why yes. Our apologies, Kabaz. We were just discussing how tedious it is to get to where you live.”

“W-We have to go this way, or monsters would be able to get us.”

“That makes sense. Please continue. I’ll be right behind you.”

The boy nods and begins crawling back under the little cubby again, and Doephluev follows with Hekate bringing up the rear once more.

The little alcove ends up being more like a little tunnel that leads under the huge trunk between a low spot in the dirt that seems to have been dug out, and on the far side, it opens into a sort of partial cavern with an opening above. Because dattakoriens are natural climbers, escape would be practical using the opening, but it also doesn’t seem to be the most weather-proof shelter they’ve ever seen.

What’s more, it’s not a young boy and his younger sister that they find occupying this inadequate little hovel.

Lying in apparent weakness and pain is an adult dattakorien woman, maybe in her late teens at the youngest, surrounded by pathetic and emaciated children ranging from the age of four to ten or so like Kabaz. The eldest girl other than the woman is trying to get her to eat a small rodent she caught, though it’s completely raw and not even cleaned of its fur.

Hekate’s stomach churns. It’s not because she can’t imagine eating a whole, raw rodent like that. When she was a starved and mistreated slave, she ate anything and everything she could, especially meat in whatever form she could obtain it, from bugs to rodents. And, to avoid them being taken from her, she ate them as quickly as she obtained them, barely staving off the hunger for individual hours at a time, it felt like.

Just like these children.

What turns her insides and makes her heart feel tight is the knowledge that she does know what it’s like, and now she hardly even remembers it, like it was all a distant dream.

And, there is a whole slew of children struggling just to survive while their motherly ‘big sister’, regardless of her relation to them, is too weak to help them anymore.

Doephluev switches back to Eastern Trade, “We’ll need to decide…”

“I’ve already decided,” states Hekate sternly. “I don’t care what their story is right now, we’re taking them to the Citadel.”

I don’t care how naiive or dumb I look. There’s no way that woman is faking anything. And, they’re all going to die if we don’t act immediately. Plus, Xyreko was a dattakorien in life. She’ll know what to do.

“Something we need to consider, Hekate, is disease or curses. We can’t…”

“Doephluev, I don’t know your whole story, so I won’t make assumptions about you. But, I want minions. Minions who will love and obey me.” The archoneldwyn continues to look at Hekate, but the feldrok girl stares straight ahead, not making eye contact. “I want to force their loyalty to me because I am greedy. And, I know first hand that the easiest way to enslave minions to your will is to feed and care for them when they are at their absolute lowest.”

Hekate tries to fight it, doing her best to keep her tone level and commanding like the Empress she was chosen to be. She wants to keep a facade of strength, even if that means creating the illusion of being a greedy and manipulative tyrant who exploits the weaknesses of others.

“So, you don’t have to do anything,” states the ravenette, still avoiding eye contact. “They’ll be my minions.”

Doephluev stares at Hekate silently for a long moment without saying anything, both of them surrounded by the whimpers of children and the urgings for the eldest girl to try to eat.

Finally, the archoneldwyn who is acting as a provisional empress due to their bet gives an exasperated sigh. “You foolish little child…” murmurs the former assassin. She holds her hands up in surrender, adding in a slightly sarcastic, lighthearted tone, “If I’m going to be defeated by anyone, it’s almost certainly going to be you.”

The archoneldwyn turns her attention back on the dattakorien orphans, by all appearances, and she declares in their language, “Kabaz, Empress Hekate fell Lawson, and I, Empress Doephluev ark Lawson have decided that you will become citizens of the Fievegal. If you wish to survive, this is your only recourse.”

She opens her magic bag, and Hekate cleverly follows suit, each racing to withdraw as many prepared lunches as they have, which were made by Aramellianna’s serving staff.

“If you join us, all of this and more will be yours. You will pledge your undying loyalty to us, and you will serve as our loyal minions. As our minions, you will serve our every whim, cater to our every desire, and do what we say at all times. And if you do, Hekate and I will both personally guarantee your safety, survival, and even possibly comfort for the rest of your days. So, what will it be, children?”

The children rightfully tremble after hearing such a commanding speech, but they also glance longingly at the food, which is enough to feed them for several days.

Hekate states loudly, knowing that they can’t understand her, but hoping Doephluev takes the hint, “I am a benevolent evil Empress. If you serve me, you will want for nothing.” She begins chanting, focusing her mana into her hands aimed towards the young woman who is incapacitated with weakness and hunger. While malnutrition can’t truly be staved off by healing magic, according to Hekate’s recent teachers including Senn and Vaergraes, the effects can be alleviated briefly. The way it was explained to her is that the mana supplements nutrition, ‘tricking’ the body into surviving on mana alone, and as far as she knows, no one has more mana than the feldrok Empress. It may be thanks to her simply being present when both Lugrae the Feral Feldrok and the Devourer perished, but she has enough mana to do virtually anything she wants, if she has the know-how.

A golden green magical aura extends from the teenager, swirling around her with her massive surge of mana. She’s holding nothing back, since she has plenty to spare. The glow dances around the young woman, and everyone else is forced to shield their eyes from the sun-like brightness of Hekate’s overcharged healing spell.

Within moments, the dattakorien girl coughs, sputtering to life like an old, but working machine. “Ugh… W-What’s…? Who…?”

“Sister!” cries out Kabaz, followed by similar weary, but energetic cries of the emaciated orphans, who all celebrate the revival of their leader. They pile on her, and Hekate urges, “Hey! Wait! She’s not fully… Calm down you fools! Be good minions and listen to me!”

With a smile, Doephluev translates the intent, “Calm down, you’ll hurt her. She’s still very weak and needs food.”

The children, now including the young woman, all look at Hekate and Doephluev.

Hekate puts her hands on her hips, saying proudly, “You may enjoy this meal and my benevolence. I am indeed the great Empress Hekate fell Lawson. I believe your loyalty for the rest of your lives will suffice for this great deed.”

Though they can’t understand, they get that Hekate said something important, and everyone glances at Doephluev. “She said that you should be grateful, and you may enjoy the meal and more to come as her loyal servants.”

In spite of just waking up from a catatonic state of starvation, the dattakorien woman asks with a hoarse voice from dehydration, “S-Servants? I-If… If only I will suffice, p-please… d-don’t harm the children…”

“No,” replies Doephluev sternly. “You will all be servants, and I would be willing to wager this; I will trade places with you if you regret joining us. That is the measure of my confidence and resolve. So, will you join us, or will you struggle to survive in this hole in the forest?”

The eldest dattakorien looks at her orphan siblings, gathering them close in a hug. 

Hekate states, “You can deliberate after eating. You all must be hungry.” She gestures at the food, and Doephluev translates, “Please, eat. You may decide after.”

The dattakoriens hesitantly creep closer, and they hand out the meals to each other while Hekate and Doephluev watch over them.

“Daniel knew this would happen, didn’t he?” asks Hekate, certain the answer is obvious.

“I’m sure he had his suspicions. Once it was revealed how pathetic Kabaz was, and that it was his sister that was ailing…”

“What does the sister have to do with anything?” asks Hekate, looking away from the quietly grateful dattakoriens to glare at her archoneldwyn rival.

“Hmm? Daniel has upwards of thirteen mistresses he beds regularly, and you wonder why he heard ‘sister’ and decided to see what you would do?”

“You take that back!” whines Hekate. “It was because he wanted me to be kind! He’s not looking for more mistresses! In fact, he gave me permission to start getting rid of them! Who should I start with, Hmmm!?”

“It would be poor taste to do anything to the mothers of his children. Which means, you, Vaergraes, and Veiranoei are the only ones in doubt, yes?” retorts the archoneldwyn fearlessly.

The feldrok girl twitches in irritation, about to get really fired up, when the dattakorien woman kneels suddenly before them both, having approached rather skillfully silently. “Please… Noble Empresses. We know little of the world or the countries around us. Our families formed our village after fleeing from across the mountains to hide, and after monsters attacked, we managed to survive only barely on scraps and weeds. Please, have mercy on us.” She and the children all bow before Hekate and Doephluev, and the two Fievegal women glance at each other briefly.

The young dattakorien continues, “Please allow me to make up for any shortcomings of my siblings, but we will serve. If it means we can survive, tell us what we must do. I shall do anything you ask if you’ll only protect them. They’re all I have left.”

Hekate doesn’t even need to scan the small crowd of orphan children. They came to this decision rather quickly, but they did so together. And, while she said certain words, she has no intention of mistreating or enslaving these young dattakoriens. They aren’t overcoming any trials or tribulations yet, as Hekate herself did with Daniel, which bound them together by their adventures. That said, the dattakoriens have plenty of room to forge their own lives, including potentially becoming Hekate’s friends, if they so wish. And, if being maids and butlers is all they want to be, that will be plenty enough to repay this small kindness many times over.

Most importantly, Hekate felt the urge to grant them a kindness she is all too familiar with herself, and which she never takes for granted.

A chance.

Hekate lived her early life as a slave, never truly being allowed to even dream of the notion of choosing her own destiny. Now, she has only one choice that ever seems to be taken away from her, and only because her choice tells her straight to her face that she’s too young.

Until the day she can overcome that misfortune, she will choose everything else about her life, and she will overcome any new challenges under her own strength.

These dattakoriens will almost certainly amount to little more than servants or otherwise common members of the Fievegal, but Hekate does not scorn nor look down on them for that. She just wants them to have hope and a chance to live the way she was granted the very same by a stroke of good fortune.

After all, she is Hekate fell Lawson, the former slave who became an Empress.

***

“Daniel, the assassin reported in. She and Hekate will be returning to the Citadel once more with new members of the Fievegal.” Geirahoel doesn’t sound especially amused, but she also doesn’t make any biting remarks about Hekate’s decision. It’s the decision Daniel hoped the feldrok girl would make, but that’s only because of his own overbearing sympathy, which more often than not, causes him to make stupid decisions because of a sense of pity that squeezes on his heart like true guilt.

Even with Hekate, he felt the urge to help her even knowing that she was just as likely to kill him as the monsters she was fighting. He had many reasons not to save her, and only his own conscience that demanded that he go against his instincts. If the world were so simple that helping those in need was all it ever amounted to, Daniel would be content. But, even in spite of his foolishly charitable nature, he knows that there are often more scammers and frauds than the actual members of any group, destitute or otherwise. As with all things, it is the scum of society that ruins everything for everyone else.

That said, the boy struck him as an orphan, and it seems to have proven true, given Hekate and Doephluev apparently agreeing to take in the orphans. Whatever the full story of their lives is, they need help now, and the Fievegal isn’t against taking in villagers and orphans if it means they can be raised into the next generation of the Fievegal’s economic drivers of all levels.

Daniel will have to make some kinds of preparations, both for himself and for the Fievegal’s management, to deal with the lawlessness that tend to come from directionless members of society, as well as those with nothing to lose. He knows in his heart, like many things, that he needs to deal with much larger-scale problems than tackling monsters.

Monsters being an issue that he absolutely could delegate.

Unfortunately, Daniel has always been a ‘do it myself’ kind of person out of a blend of distrust in others and a desire to handle it so others aren’t burdened. He’s not sure for certain which side of that line he leans more towards; paranoia or altruism, but he would be a fool to believe it’s only one or the other.

That said, in truth, it is Hekate who should remain in the Citadel as the sovereign Empress, though she’s significantly more unkillable than Daniel, who has already had several close calls.

Daniel replies quietly into his helmet, “Understood. Please make sure they go through proper security procedures.”

“Yes. Even the first time, Hekate returned to the transfer station with everyone, since she had too many people to protect and they were surrounded.”

“Correct call. And, I trust what she saw today.”

“The shuttle has been resupplied at the airship and will be meeting up with your group at dawn. If you need supplies sooner…”

“No, please tell everyone to rest, Mukori. Thank you.”

“Very well, Mukori.”

“Before you go, Mukori…” starts the human as he shifts a little in his seated position. Treia is seated with him, and while she has stirred a little, she hasn’t remarked on Daniel talking to the orange dragon.

“I am going nowhere, Mukori. Reina will trade with me in time.”

“Right, thank you,” replies Daniel. Geirahoel is possessive and a bit aggressive sometimes, but even she needs to rest. “Did Ryuo or Reina have any trouble today?”

“There are nobles that have tried to make offers unacceptable to us, but she has caused no harm yet. Though, Ryuo would like to consult with us on the notion of banning trade with their regions as penalty. Aramellianna agrees.”

Yeesh… thinks Daniel to himself. Wonder what they tried to offer…

A different voice fills Daniel’s mind; the one voice that can read his thoughts, Kaeralegier. “{Her chest almost has its own gravitational pull, flawless skin and beauty, and more power than most individual countries. What do you think they tried to offer?}”

Daniel can’t help but laugh lightly, and Treia hums a bit as she squirms. “Something funny, Daniel?” asks the gatonine woman.

Daniel keeps idly massaging her abdomen to help comfort her as she recovers from the near-death experience she had.

“Geira was just appraising me of what’s going on with everyone.”

“I heard that part. You just suddenly started laughing. Quietly, but it must’ve been funny.”

“I was just pondering what ‘unacceptable offers’ could have been made, and I realized, all of my beloved Consorts are too beautiful for their own good.”

“Huh!?” squeaks Treia, craning to look at him, while another “Wh-Wh-Wha-!?” comes from his helmet.

“Help me think of a nice new version of plan troll,” jokes Daniel. “I think I’ve got some dress designs that might really emphasize that beauty even more.”

“Hmmm… And you held out on us before?” grumbles the gatonine.

A flash of light denotes Geirahoel arriving, and she immediately plops down onto the leafy floor of the forest in front of Daniel and Treia, who briefly flinch at the surprising arrival. “Yes, Mukori!” urges the brash orange dragon. “If you have been holding out on us, you should share at once!”

“I have a million thoughts in my head, ladies! It’s hard enough getting as many as I have written down! Plus, I’m not a tailor. I have seen designs, but I don’t know much about making them work.”

“I’ll have Aramellianna direct me to the greatest tailors at once!” replies the youthful redhead immediately. “As soon as they’re at our disposal, I want every drawing!”

“Fine, fine. I get it. Just make sure you ladies restrain yourselves as you have. There’s little more satisfying than flaunting what everyone else can’t have. Where is Gold at on the pearls?”

“So far, she has only harvested the dead ones, but there are around two hundred small pearls of various quality. I think the water is under control now.”

“What about the birthday celebration for the little ones?” asks Treia curiously. “Will we make it in time before the meeting with Rikuto? A-And… the hatchings?”

“It will be close, but I expect that we will use the same strategy as before,” replies Geirahoel a little eagerly. “If we must drop the charade to tend to our hatchlings, I trust Mukori will be happy to cooperate, yes?” She looks at Daniel with an expression that all but literally says aloud, ‘Answer correctly or die’.

Daniel scrunches Treia’s shirt with his hand, and he pretends that he has to give it some thought. “Hmm…”

“Mukori… Do we need to have another discussion?” growls the young dragon before pointedly licking her teeth.

Treia scoffs first, elbowing Daniel as she starts laughing lightly, and he can’t hold it in either.

Geirahoel lets out an exasperated sigh, and Daniel finally replies, “We could be in the middle of… wrinkling the sheets, and we’re dropping what we’re doing and going to the hatching.”

“Wrinkling…?” starts the briefly confused dragon before she turns a vibrant shade of pink.

“You have two eggs and a third ready to pop any second now. How are you still this bashful?” asks Treia, teasing the dragon.

Geirahoel protectively hugs her belly, looking away. “Don’t get cocky, Treia! I just didn’t get his phrase for a moment!” She then painstakingly climbs to her feet, declaring rather confidently, “Speaking of, it should be in the next day or so. As will Ryuo. Finish this silly mission quickly and return.”

“I think we’re close to learning something useful. Keep me posted if anything comes up.”

The auburn haired young woman leans over, kissing him briefly. “Be wary of your foolishness. And, Onii-chan, I know you’ve been listening. You did well this time, but do not be careless.”

“Thank you, your Grace,” replies Neith from a large branch nearby. He wasn’t intentionally eavesdropping so much as staying close for that exact reason.

With that, Geirahoel disappears as quickly as she arrived, though seconds later, Neith clears his throat. “She just added for you to put your helmet back on and to get working on the dresses immediately, Daniel.”

The mechanic laughs. “Let me relax a little bit longer, Mukori.” He knows Geirahoel can hear him through his helmet even if he’s not wearing it, so long as it’s close by. “Neith will let us know if you tell him something.”

“Thank you, Geira,” adds Treia gently, hoping that the dragon will leave them be for a little while.

“‘Fine’, is what she said,” adds the grey dragon from above.

Daniel and Treia laugh lightly, and the gatonine teases, “We all need someone to love us like Geirahoel loves you…”

“If her love doesn’t light me on fire, then she will herself,” jokes Daniel. “For which I’m grateful that I’ll at least always be warm.” He adds the last part as he winks at the helmet, which he suspects will satisfy the orange dragon at least a little, though he’s setting himself up for a stint of mercilessly exhausting ‘confinement’ when he returns if she gets too excited.

Luceniel stretches as she makes her own presence known, hovering around lazily with the lazy atmosphere Daniel and Treia are exuding. True, Daniel is alert enough to be on watch, and he has weapons ready for himself and Treia, but it’s unlikely two strange events will happen on the same night.

At least, not for the group that is camping under the behemoth maples.

***

Zuzia watches as Halkadon and Wulfsten push against a heavily loaded wagon that got stuck in a thick spot of mud in the road. It’s not really blocking the carriage the Polish woman and her mercenary companions are accompanying, but the driver of the other coach offered a reward. The driver and his family are trying to get the cart unstuck, with the mercenaries helping push, and one of the children is driving the buckrokhs, which are having trouble.

The brunette doesn’t know much about old wooden covered wagons, but her aunt once over-loaded her SUV, a pinnacle of modern technology, luxury, and convenience with around three hundred horsepower, which is twenty times the peak work output of Earth horses, and three hundred times their average sustained effort.

Buckrokhs are bigger and undeniably stronger than horses, but if an SUV can be weighted down such that it stalls out or gets stuck, then a clunky wooden-wheeled wagon with no suspension system and a couple tired old beasts of burden stand no chance once it’s bound up.

Thankfully, there doesn’t seem to be any real damage, and what is a little more surprising is the fact that no one has asked Zuzia to help.

Part of that could be from the conversation Zuzia finally had with her companions. She told them about how she fled some castle, believing that she had been kidnapped, and she paid several irreparable instances of disrespect to important-looking nobles of the castle. Given her immense strength, if she were to be conscripted into the military, she would never be permitted to live freely. 

And, if a noble were to take interest in her bloodline…

The brunette disembarks the merchant carriage she’s on, hopping onto the soft wet soil of the road’s bank. Most of the rain has dried, and only the large accumulated puddles have become problematic.

Wulfsten is just starting to say, “You may have to leave some of this…”

Zuzia walks past them, headed to the front of the carriage. She approaches the middle of the tongue as Halkadon jogs up. “Zuzia, you don’t have to do this.”

“People’s livelihoods are based on money, yes? If they have to abandon their goods, they’re abandoning money. That said…” She scowls at the man and likely husband and father of the family travelling. “You should have been more careful with loading your wagon.”

“Wh-...?” starts the man, but Zuzia takes hold of the bottom front of the wagon, lifting and pulling it with one hand as she carefully tries not to slip in the mud. Her boots sink deep, and one wrong movement will cause her to lose traction. But, she moves steadily, as if on ice, and she keeps her balance. She and her grandfather trekked steep, muddy hills when they had to get out of the rain, climbed waterfalls slick with that slimy algae that grows on them, and played in the snow. A little mud is no challenge for the super-charged backpacker.

And, if that fails, she’ll resort to ropes and use nearby trees as a makeshift crane or something.

Thankfully, she doesn’t have to channel her inner architectural engineer, which she’s not. She is careful to listen to the wooden and simple metal parts of the cart, making sure she doesn’t snap or break anything, since it’s no longer distributing weight the way it normally does.

The honey-haired young woman trudges forward, dragging the creaking wagon out of the deep mud.

Everyone is speechless, including the child driving the buckrokhs, which snort and bellow lowly as they also walk forward with the relief of weight.

Once the rear wheels are clear of the sloppy muck, Zuzia sets the wagon down with a relieving exhale. It wasn’t especially difficult for her, thanks to the strength given to her by Amalaskae. She might even be getting stronger and stronger every day. The effort mainly came from trying not to break the wagon by pulling planks apart, which is also why she didn’t just pull the tongue the buckrokhs are hitched to. If she pulled too hard and broke the tongue, the buckrokhs could potentially run off, or the wagon would be disabled for a long time.

In good spirits, Zuzia brushes her hands off of any splinters and dirt as she whistles, looking around innocently at everyone still staring at her, including the men and the owner’s wife and children who are all staring at her shin deep in mud.

The Polishwoman says brightly, “I’d appreciate your discretion. Favor for a favor.”

Suddenly snapping out of his trance, the owner quickly does a high-knee jog to escape the mud and close the distance on Zuzia. “Young lady! I implore you! Please join my wagon! I’ll pay you.”

“No no no!” exclaims the merchant as he quickly navigates the mud as well, also pressing in close. “She’s already booked passage with me.”

“Where are you going, my Lady?” asks the wagon owner desperately.

Zuzia holds her hands up as she backs away. “Take it easy. As the gentleman said, I already have passage booked to where I’m going.”

“I’m heading for Castle Northwall!” exclaims the wagon owner. “We’re going to try to make sales during the international conference that’s going to be held soon.”

“International conference?” asks Zuzia, her curiosity piqued a bit. She glances at Halkadon and Wulfsten, who are unsure.

“Y-Y-Yes!” says the desperate other merchant. “It’s the most recent news making the rounds. In about four days, there is going to be a huge peace conference where ambassadors from the Empire, Kingdom of Mornistae, and the demons! It's being talked up as the biggest and most important event since the summoning of Nanita the Hero.” He leans close, focusing his next low-volume remark towards the otherworlder with his hand. “As a summoned hero yourself, you'd be a VIP at the conference, my Lady.”

Zuzia gently pushes him back to keep their space between them. “I don’t know what you think you know about me, sir, but I'm neither a hero nor a noblewoman. And, as I have already said, my destination and passage are already taken care of.” She walks past him without looking at him again.

He tries the classic, “Wait!” while gabbing for her arm.

Pfft! What is this? A cheesy drama?

She easily pulls her arm away, which stumbles him. Without even looking at the man, she says sternly, “Get control of your man, Madame. I can quite easily put the cart back in that mud pit.”

The man’s family moves to intercept him if he tries anything else, but he restrains himself, watching as Zuzia rejoins her group, and the merchant running their carriage jogs to join them.”

“Thank you, Miss Zuzia,” replies the merchant.

“Is Castle Northwall even remotely close to where we’re going?” asks the young Polishwoman quietly.

“How remotely?” asks Verbert dryly. The gatonine takes his boots off to clean them while sitting on the back of the wagon. 

Wulfsten answers more directly, “Northwall is in Mattarglos near the southwestern border. It stands as the last line of defense at the entrance to the northernmost valley that passes through the mountains.”

“What, like there’s only three ways to cross the mountains?” jokes Zuzia.

All three of the mercenaries nod.

“Seriously?” asks the moderately-skilled hiker skeptically.

“Indeed. As for how close the fortress is to our destination, it would be about a three day journey from the capital.”

“Three days out of the way, huh?”

As the merchant flicks the reins to start the carriage forward, the other merchant family watches them depart. Zuzia gives a dry smile and waves sarcastically, resisting the urge to give an obscene gesture, since it probably has no meaning on this world.

She directs her voice towards the driver’s seat. “I hope we won’t be stopping for any more troublesome deeds like this.”

“Couldn’t agree more, Miss.”

She says that, but if something similar arises, Zuzia will have the carriage continue on, and she’ll handle it. Afterwards, she can and will use her angel-gifted superhuman powers to catch up to the carriage.

“Alright, I’m going to meditate with my artifact for a bit.”

“Sure thing,” replies Wulfsten. “We’ll just be resting anyways.”

The three mercenaries take their seats again, and Zuzia claims her usual corner, pulling out her cellphone. Explaining it as ‘meditation’ was the easiest way to keep the curiosity at bay and cover herself in case she needs to hide her power behind an excuse. In a worst case scenario, her enemies would steal the phone, which, according to Amalaskae, can be summoned back to her hand at will.

Even as she’s still removing it from her pocket, though, the phone is vibrating and has been since shortly after she pulled the carriage out.

Amalaskae proves that she is always watching with a string of excited messages praising Zuzia’s efforts, as well as flattering and somewhat flirty messages.

With amusement, the young brunette settles into her ‘meditation’ to reply and chat with the energetic angel while the wagon carries them towards Mattarglos.

Her good deed seemed innocuous enough, but she underestimated the parties looking for her.

As well as the merchant who will be unintentionally meeting with them.

***