The Bumpy Road to Roden
No matter how fine the cart, without a proper road, hauling heavy loads came with all sorts of troubles. Wheels could snag in potholes, or the cart itself might shatter from overuse. Every jolt and rattle drew groans from the refugees riding atop the load.
Some, seasick despite empty stomachs, retched up what little they had. Still, no one complained. Prince Ash sat silently among them, and for these people who had endured every humiliation, just having a cart was a blessing.
Ifrit frowned at the sight.
-You really do attract all kinds.
Salat blinked at the fire spirit's sudden appearance. "What do you mean?"
-Moving with this mystery force now?
"So... what about it?"
-Doesn't it make you uneasy?
Salat glanced at the Berserk Warriors. Honestly, they looked terrifying. And the brutality they'd shown was downright horrifying. But somehow...
"They don't... seem dangerous."
With Loki nearby, she felt safe. Ifrit shook his head at her.
-You're out of your mind.
He worried for her. She was still so naive, clinging to trust in others.
Obviously—
Then Ifrit sensed a peculiar gaze. He tilted his head, searching for the source. Could it be...? He glanced at Loki, but the man was deep in conversation with Aum.
-...?
Then who?
As Ifrit scanned elsewhere, a face the size of his tiny body loomed right beside him.
-...?!
Startled, Ifrit tumbled ass-over-end in midair, staring at the woman peering at him with wide, sparkling eyes.
"...Is this a doll?"
Even Salat, sensitive to sound, hadn't noticed her approach and looked flustered. Kankun's face lit up with curiosity. Ifrit sweated under her blatant stare, his eye twitching.
-Th-this is a joke, right? How can a human see me...?
"It even talks?"
-She understands me too?!
Kankun poked Ifrit's head with her finger. It felt squishy and warm, like a taut balloon.
-Stop! Cut it out!
Ifrit flailed his arms to block her finger.
"Is this toy yours?"
"...!"
To call Ifrit, king among fire spirits, a toy? Salat just gave an awkward smile.
She glanced at Loki, far off. She vaguely recalled this woman chatting amiably with him.
'Can I trust her?'
That was her first thought. Every human she'd known was vile. Slave trader Azar treated her as merchandise; mercenaries saw her as a plaything. This woman had refined beauty, but Salat wasn't fool enough to judge by looks alone.
Pulling her hood tighter, Salat glared at Kankun.
"Wh-what?"
"...?"
Kankun tilted her head at the wary posture. Then, as if remembering something, she clapped and pulled jerky from a leather pouch at her waist.
"Ta-da! Want some? It's spicy fire-flavored meat!"
"...?"
Spicy? Salat, who didn't know the word, cocked her head.
'Meat?'
It smelled like dried meat.
"Loki makes it sometimes when his mouth's bored. Oh, but it might be too intense for first-timers..."
Kankun chomped a piece. Her face flushed red.
"Hot! I have no idea how Loki eats this stuff..."
Tears welled in her eyes. She gulped from her waterskin, but her tongue still lolled out as she fanned it wildly.
"...!"
As Salat blinked at her, the cart hit a massive rut. A fierce gust whipped through, lifting her light frame and yanking off her hood. Silver hair cascaded in the wind, long ears flickering amid the white strands right before Kankun's eyes.
Salat hastily pulled her hood back on, but Kankun just stared, dumbfounded.
Salat's gaze wavered. Fear-filled eyes turned to Kankun.
Elves were a race of beauty and mystery, fairy aides to epic heroes in continental tales, praised in poets' songs. But that was fifty years ago.
After the demon king crisis, the Hanes Empire branded them heretics, devil spawn. People lost themselves in their allure—until the Holy Church spun it as "elves bewitching humans with black magic," spreading lies far and wide.
Azelan faithful grew terrified of elves. Slave trader Azar had locked her away and chained her for "safety." Mercenaries recoiled in demonic fear at her sight.
Endless such encounters still stabbed her heart. Their ugly stares terrified her all the same.
Salat peeked cautiously at Kankun. Would she tremble in fear? Scream? Glower in disgust?
As Salat gauged her expression...
"...!"
Salat froze. Kankun's eyes sparkled like a child's beholding wonder, pure innocence aglow.
Those shining eyes fixed on Salat—intensely. Then, with terrifying fervor, she gripped Salat's shoulders.
Salat flinched.
"Fairy! Miss Fairy!"
"...!"
Salat jolted in shock—not fear, but sheer unfamiliarity. A first in her life.
Or maybe not. It echoed the gazes of servants, maids, and her father fifty years back.
It was...
"So pretty! Wow!"
...affection.
Kankun hugged Salat tight, rubbing cheeks. Salat shoved her face away in distress. Realizing she'd lost herself, Kankun coughed awkwardly.
"You're an elf, right? Fairies from stories are real! Oh! Does that make Uncle Reran the fairy uncle? But his skin's brown? Why?"
Salat reeled under the barrage, shooting Ifrit a desperate look—but he'd vanished long ago, dodging fallout.
"I've heard of 'em! Forest fairies! Elves! So that little cute flame earlier was a spirit? Right? Oh, and elves talk to animals, yeah? Bugs too? Trees?!"
Kankun rapid-fired questions.
"...Animals, just basic feelings. Bugs or trees... no."
"Pulling swords from lakes for heroes? Or songs to soothe dragons...!"
"Th-that's fairy tale stuff..."
"Then! Then...!"
Salat's eyes spun from the onslaught.
"...A dark elf, I see. Loki draws in all the odd ones."
Aum, finally noticing Salat, addressed Loki.
Loki pointed at him. "And you don't know you're one of them?"
"I'm the most normal."
'Is that so?' Loki muttered.
"Roden Territory!"
A refugee atop the cart shouted.
The carts atop the hill headed for the massive city of Roden Territory, far in the distance. Its scale was immense—a 30-meter wall encircling it all, soldiers camped above and below in formation. Not crude gear, but chain mail topped with blue surcoats emblazoned with eastern Ronia's crest.
A mounted soldier spotted the sudden group and yelled.
"Who are you! Refugees from... no?!"
He eyed the cart's refugees, then the Berserk Warriors—his face hardened. Beast-bone helmets, full plate armor screaming "threat" like knightly gear.
"Enemies?!"
As the soldier wheeled his horse in panic, Ash—overjoyed—leapt from the cart.
"Wait! It's me! First Prince Ash Ronia has returned!"
The soldier froze mid-turn, scrutinizing Ash's face and rags. Dust-caked, exhaustion-worn; fine clothes shredded to rags. He looked like a noble mugged by bandits.
Normally, he'd scoff "madman" and chase him off—but those Berserkers sowed confusion.
"...Prince...?"
He couldn't recognize the prince. A mere soldier wouldn't. Lips tight, he eyed Ash, then the warriors. Too suspicious to let this self-proclaimed prince enter.
"...Please wait. I'll report."
"What nonsense?! Don't you recognize me?!"
"Given the circumstances."
The prince was presumed dead—rumors of Worm Pest in the army camp.
"Please understand."
The soldier rode into the gate.
"Daddy, where are we going?"
The father shook his head at his child's question. "I don't know. Just following that one."
"...?"
The child looked where his father pointed. A woman who saved him stood there, aura profoundly mystical. Her followers were anything but ordinary—light chain mail for mobility, surcoats half-white, half-black like her hair.
The father wore the same, donning mask and helm without question.
Were they acquaintances? Didn't seem so. The child watched the mystery procession, then toddled to its center.
"Sis. Where we going?"
The father stiffened, lunging to slam the boy's head down. "Agh!"
"You brat! So rude!"
"...?!"
The child gaped fearfully. Father's eyes were wrong—bloodshot, possessed, glaring.
"Sc-scary, Daddy! It hurts!"
"I'll atone for the child's rudeness."
Father drew his sword. The boy's face drained white. What will that blade do?!
The watching woman raised a hand. Her obsidian-gauntleted fist backhanded his cheek with a thud. He flew, tumbling.
Fatal for a commoner—but just a scrape on his cheek, no other wounds.
"What...?"
"Don't dirty my sight further."
"...!"
The father knelt, head bowed in guilt. "Forgive me!"
The woman offered her hand to the boy. "Are you alright?"
Cold, emotionless tone—yet oddly tender.
The boy met her eyes: pristine gold, gleaming like treasure. He gasped.
"Your eyes are so pretty."
Her eyes widened slightly.
-Your eyes are so pretty.
A memory fragment surfaced—a man's faint words. Longing thawed her frozen heart, aching.
"...Thank you."
She dusted his clothes, placed a hand on his head, murmured a spell. Light flowed, mending wounds with new flesh.
"Magic?!"
The boy's eyes sparkled. She ruffled his hair with her rough gauntlet.
"You asked where earlier?"
He nodded. She pointed afar.
"To the nearest territory from here."
"Where?"
"Roden Territory."