Three weeks in a carriage. That was the sentence.
Three weeks of rattling wheels, jolting seats, and a luxurious prison disguised in velvet. The roads were uneven, the weather temperamental, and despite the gold-plated cup holders and enameled coat-of-arms on every surface, the ride itself made me question whether my spine would ever forgive me.
"Next invention," I muttered under my breath, as the wheels hit another bump with all the subtlety of a drunken minotaur, "hover-kutschen. With shock absorption. And internal heating. And—gods help me—a suspension system."
Tolan didn't even blink. He was calmly reading a weathered copy of Mana and You: A Theoretical Approach to Flow Dynamics, as if the entire carriage weren't trying to eject us both into the stratosphere every twenty seconds.
"We're making good time," he said mildly.
"Yes, we'll arrive with all our internal organs scrambled and several vertebrae shorter," I grumbled.
It happened on the eighth day of travel.
We'd just passed a particularly twisty forest path when the sound of shouting filtered through the trees. The coachman slowed, and I peeked through the narrow window slot, instantly alert.
Ahead, a fancier-looking carriage—lacquered green and pulled by four unusually large draft horses—was stopped in the middle of the road. A group of about twenty rough-looking individuals had surrounded it, shouting and waving blades.
Bandits.
Real, honest-to-gods, cliché-as-hell bandits.
I raised an eyebrow at Tolan. "Should we… do something?"
Tolan let out a tired sigh. "I was hoping they'd resolve this without our involvement."
We climbed down from our carriage. Five guards—mounted on basic mana-bikes—were holding a defensive formation, but they were clearly outnumbered. In the middle of the standoff, standing on the carriage step, was a girl about my age.
Long white hair. A bored expression. Arms crossed. She looked unimpressed by the twenty men threatening her life.
One of the bandits—probably the leader, judging by his unnecessary amount of facial scars—was gesturing angrily.
"Listen, girlie! Give us the goods, and maybe we'll let you and your little knights go without extra holes."
"I already told you," she said flatly, "I have nothing of value but this carriage. And I'm not giving that up."
A pause.
Then the bandit leader pulled out a dagger. "Then we'll just have to take it."
Tolan looked at me.
I sighed. "Fine."
I stepped forward, brushing past the guards as if they weren't even there.
"Excuse me," I said politely. "Please step back."
The guards stared. The girl stared.
My staff clicked once as I twisted the top segment. Energy flowed down its length like liquid sunlight.
"You might want to cover your eyes."
Then I activated the full suite.
Multi-Beam Mode. Target Prioritization: Hostile. Limiter: Off.
What followed wasn't a battle.
It was annihilation.
Beams of searing precision lanced outward, each beam finding its target with unerring accuracy. Heads turned into silhouettes. Weapons melted mid-air. Armor sizzled and crumbled. There was no scream loud enough to compete with the instant evaporation of danger.
Twenty bandits were reduced to nothing more than charred outlines and still-smoldering boots. It took less than three seconds.
Absolute silence fell over the clearing.
Even birds paused in their song, as if stunned by the sudden void where life had been.
I turned off the staff.
The air smelled faintly of ozone and regret.
"Are you okay?" I asked the girl calmly, like I hadn't just disintegrated twenty human beings.
She blinked. Then gave me a crooked grin. "That was... ridiculous. But kind of amazing."
We were about to part ways when she walked up to me without hesitation.
"I'm Sylv," she said simply. No last name. No title.
Tolan choked on air.
I blinked. "I'm Elara."
"Where are you heading?"
"Capital. Royal Academy."
Her face lit up. "Same. Let's travel together!"
Tolan opened his mouth—
"Sure," I said, before he could object.
She looked delighted.
He looked like he'd swallowed a pinecone.
The next days were... odd.
Sylv was relentless.
Where I liked quiet contemplation or grumbling to myself about engineering solutions, she liked talking. Specifically, about utterly foreign topics like nail polish, hair braiding techniques, and how certain colors made your eyes "pop."
"I don't even know what 'pop' means in that context," I muttered at one point.
Sylv patted my head. "It means you're cute without trying. But we're going to work on the 'trying' part."
Tolan, gods bless him, remained silent and vaguely horrified the entire trip.
One night, as we camped by a stream, I asked her something that had been bothering me.
"You don't seem like a noble."
Sylv shrugged. "I'm not."
"But your carriage, your guards—"
"It's what it is," she said with a casual smile.
She didn't elaborate.
Tolan watched her from across the fire, expression unreadable.
Something about her was off. Not bad, just... odd. But I couldn't put my finger on it.
And for now, she seemed friendly.
If perhaps a bit too excited about convincing me to try pink lip gloss.
Three weeks passed.
And at the end of it, the towers of the Royal Capital rose into view.
But that… was a tale for tomorrow.