The Last Train (1)
Roin had something she wanted to do the moment she became queen.
It was to investigate the lives of ordinary commoners.
"This is the country I'll rule now, so I want to take a look around everywhere. I haven't been back long, and I hardly ever got to see how the people live, right?"
"As you wish, Your Majesty."
2nd Prince Int. No, now the prime minister, replied with an uncharacteristically warm, friendly smile.
"Touring the lives of the people will be a good experience. Just... there are many matters for the handover, so please return as early as possible."
"How early is 'early'?"
When Roin asked, Int pondered for a moment before answering.
"Hmm, let's say a week at most. Think of it as your last vacation before official queenly duties begin. I'll have the system reforms and handover all wrapped up by then."
"Ah, got it."
Roin nodded and shot up from her seat like a bullet. No time to waste sitting around. Things would be non-stop busy from here on out, so she had to enjoy this while she could.
A few minutes later.
Roin, dressed in plain clothes, prepared to leave the palace. It had been quite some time since her ascension and the start of the handover. Time to check on public sentiment. Normally, she'd send subordinates, but Roin wanted to see for herself. She was also eager to check every corner and see how much Acre had changed from her childhood memories.
It was a necessary step anyway, one she'd have to do eventually.
* * *
"Ugh... damn... fire... such a hassle... this sucks..."
Two women in deep hoods trudged along a dusty dirt road. The one leading was Roin, the one trailing was Hotse.
Selecting one from the Pink Dragon Knights to escort Roin had been simple: drawing straws.
"From now on... just seeing... those damn... straws... I'll snap anyone's... legs... clean off~~"
Hotse grumbled nonstop, hands jammed in her pockets. Why did she have to play babysitter on a golden weekend like this?
Meanwhile, Roin walked with a heart full of contentment, eyes scanning every nook and cranny of the road. Houses piled from stone and wood, bustling people coming and going, thick dust clouds under a clear blue sky. And far off, long rails laid out in the distance.
"Oh yeah!"
Roin clapped her hands. Seeing the rails jogged her memory. The country's one and only train!
The Time No. 1, built when Emperor Dordum first founded the nation. Come to think of it, it had been running for nearly 50 years. This massive iron beast, fueled by mana stones, circled the entire country twice a day.
"I remember riding this as a kid on a trip! Father and all my brothers were with me back then..."
Roin gazed at the station with deep nostalgia.
But the station wasn't as grand as in her old memories. The red iron pillars were slightly bent and heavily rusted. The roof atop them was weathered too. Ropes dangling from it swayed lazily in the dusty wind.
"Huh?"
As Roin approached the station, her eyes widened. A huge crowd had gathered in front. Especially lots of kids.
"Why are there so many people?"
In this small country, unless it was something special, not many used the train. It looped around the outskirts, so carriages or horses were usually faster. And the train's speed wasn't much quicker than a horse anyway.
So why the crowd today?
"Hey, check this."
Roin felt Hotse tap her shoulder and turned. A shabby sign stood before the rundown station.
In celebration of Queen Roin's ascension, Time No. 2 will be newly introduced.
The existing Time No. 1 will be decommissioned as of this weekend.
"Ahh... so that's why."
Roin turned back. Most holding the kids' hands were elderly folks. They'd come to share one last ride with Time No. 1, the train that had been there since the nation's founding.
"Today's the last run?"
Roin checked the date on the sign and blinked wide. One day later, and she'd have missed it forever.
She gazed wistfully at the train's surface. It gleamed like it was brand new—someone had polished it lovingly. But the seams on the engines and undercarriage wheels showed heavy wear. Time couldn't be escaped or hidden.
The train looked like an old founding hero of the nation, dignified yet poignant. Unable to help herself, Roin stroked one of its wheels.
"You've worked hard all these years. Rest easy in a museum now."
As if in response to her murmur, the train let out a mighty whistle.
Toot!
Suddenly, Roin wanted to ride it. This was Time No. 1's final run. Miss it now, and it was gone forever.
"Let's ride!"
Roin darted through the crowd. Along the tracks where she'd once run with her father, a bright smile on her lips.
"Wha...? Hangover... can't run... stomach churning~~"
Hotse followed Roin toward the train.
Toot!
Another booming whistle. Roin boarded just as Time No. 1 was about to depart. Grabbing the iron bar by the door, she closed her eyes at the familiar smell wafting inside: dust, sweat, people and their small animals, savory snacks, kids' cries, women's laughter, old folks' soft snores, the crackle of burning mana stones.
All of it swirled into one nostalgic scent at her nose.
"Haa... it's been forever."
Roin plopped into an empty seat. This was third class, at the very back. The car she'd ridden in as a kid.
Peeking over the seat back, she saw an old man in a neat black suit reading a newspaper right behind. The date? A whopping 50 years old—from when Time No. 1 first launched.
Puff— puff—
The suited old man exhaled white cigarette smoke from under his bowler hat. The deep brim hid his face.
"Grandpa's really getting into the mood."
Feeling oddly bittersweet, Roin turned to look out the window. Beside her, Hotse stuck out her tongue, panting hard.
"Took... forever... to find you... you idiot... queen... ugh... hangover..."
Roin smiled brightly and offered the seat next to her. As Hotse slumped down, drooling sweat and spit, a station attendant appeared, looking down at her with utter annoyance.
"Sir, you can't board looking that disheveled."
Hotse glared—what kinda nonsense? But no attendant would let someone dripping sweat and spit, reeking of booze, looking ready to puke, on board.
"You're sweating too much, sir. You'll soak the seats."
"This ain't... sweat... it's dew... honest dew..."
"Ugh, booze stench! You look like you're about to hurl any second, drunkard?"
"I ain't... no drunkard... I'm a... pancake master..."
"Just get off already!"
Roin sheepishly lifted her hood a bit.
"Sorry. It's the last run—please make an exception just this once."
The attendant flinched at her beautiful face.
"Well, if you insist. We'll call you a pancake master and let it slide."
He cleared his throat awkwardly and moved to the next car, tilting his head—face looks familiar...
But even in that crowd, one person recognized Roin. A golden-haired beauty in knight academy cadet uniform. Her short hair could pass for a pretty boy, but she was definitely female. A single diamond insignia gleamed on her chest badge, sword at her hip.
Her name: Georges St. Pierre. 4th-year senior cadet, soon to be commissioned as an officer.
Gasp! That's Princess Roin! What brings her here...!?
Returning from a remote posting via this train, the studious Georges—who memorized all royals' faces—spotted Roin's noble air instantly.
How is such a noble person here without an escort? Pitiful... so far from the throne, no guards assigned. How tragic. On her way back to the palace? But the princes' succession war is raging there now...
Georges knew how miserable royals without power or wealth could be. With her kind heart, she decided to escort Roin herself—subtly, without bruising her pride.
And that super shady drunk next to her...
Georges clicked her tongue.
The object of her wariness?
"Urp~ need some hair-of-the-dog~"
Hotse, of course.
Can't let her attack the princess. I'll block her.
Georges quietly took the seat behind Roin, positioning herself between Hotse and Roin.
Hotse's eyebrows twitched—she was on escort duty, after all.
"Hey~ too cramped..."
"......"
"Plenty... other... seats... why squeeze... in here? Ain't no... sandwich ham... this... ugh~"
"Mind your language."
"Snot-nosed... brat~ when grown-ups... talk... you say... yes sir... keep your... eyes... wide... open!"
Georges ignored Hotse's outburst, pulling her hood low and leaning back.
Whew, boomer. Gotta endure.
"Hey! Snot-nosed... braaaat... that's what I said! When grown-ups... speak... you look... at 'em! These kids nowadays... so spoiled... need a war... to straighten 'em!"
Hotse kept spitting lectures. So loud and salivary, it was like a broken humidifier.
Georges plugged her ears and donned a waterproof hat. She'd just watch Roin quietly.
But then?
"......Kids these days are noisy."
The bowler-hatted old man behind spoke up. He'd been silently smoking and reading his paper.
"Sorry, but could you quiet down? I'm reliving 50-year-old memories here. Don't ruin a good time."
Georges shut her mouth. His voice carried authority—probably a dignified retiree, maybe ex-military.
Then.
"What, old man? You... snot-nosed... punk... yapping 'bout... memories... from where?!?"
Hotse turned her ire on the old man now.
Georges facepalmed. This was awkward.
The old man behind clucked his tongue.
"Heh... mouthy kid. End times, end times."
"What'd you... call me? How old... are you?"
"Seventy-four this year."
"Pfft! I'm... a billion... years old! Still a toddler... sassing elders?!"
"Heh... kid lost her marbles. But that voice... sounds familiar?"
As Hotse and the old man bickered over one seat without even looking, disaster struck.
Bang!
A loud crash—the door at the train's rear shattered. At the same time, dozens of horsemen approached the back. They boarded at startling speed.
"Don't move! This train is now under control of the 'Crowman Hometown Local Alumni Association'!"
Black-masked men in crow-like black fur coats.
Crowman Hometown Local Alumni Association.
Georges paled at the name. "Hometown Local Alumni" sounded harmless, but "Crowman"?
Dexter Crowman! The infamous Midland killer from the distant central continent powerhouse. Give him a sword, and he'd wipe a division overnight. Bounty already in the billions?
Georges's legs shook.
Why was that monster on this train?
Soon, the boss—a hulking giant—boarded. Bald, black mask. Two meters tall, arms like logs. Scars everywhere.
Crowman! True to his name, black eyes like a crow's. (Well, aside from those, no black parts, but still.)
Georges avoided his gaze, but her trembling legs betrayed her.
"Heh heh heh. This train's ours now."
Crowman declared.
At the same time, "What the... hell... ugh..." Hotse's face twisted in annoyance.