Rebella Ran
Rebella ran. Her left arm had gone numb. Her clothes were soaked in blood, and the reins digging into her forearm were staunching the wound.
Her shoulder jerked sharply. Rebella turned the horse's head and clamped her thighs tight to avoid falling. Marin, now awake, was thrashing about, and the horse beneath them was panicking in response.
"Even running for our lives isn't fast enough. Please. Just stay still."
"Do I look like I want to?! Do I?! Even if I die, I have to be the one! Not here—not someone who can't die here!"
Marin shouted. Her voice was so piercing that even the somewhat dull-witted western horse bucked to throw her off, tightening the reins on Rebella's left arm with every jolt. Rebella forced strength into her unresponsive arm. She didn't have Strekl's brute force to hold a horse head-on. Her body tilted, and she tumbled to the ground.
Damn it.
Rebella rubbed her arm as she stood.
"If your death would get us out of this mess, I'd have used you as bait already. That's why we're in this shitshow."
Dogshit. She'd swung a sword her whole life, but couldn't draw it when it mattered—she was dogshit. The senile emperor who'd suddenly declared that and chased her all the way to the West was dogshit. Bayola, who hadn't grown a bit in years, was dogshit. The whole world was dogshit.
What pissed her off most was that all of it stemmed from her choices. So she was dogshit too.
"Why's the world full of nothing but dogs? Should I just go to some rich merchant and beg to be kept like one? Might be better than flailing around like this. Could be nice, even."
Marin fell silent. Sure, she lost it at the sight of blood, but she wasn't crazy normally. She'd seen all kinds of people. Crossing from the West to the East, she'd traveled with grandmas and kids; in the East, she'd lived on the streets. Weirdos spouting nonsense was everyday life.
But when a normal, rational person started talking crazy, that was a real danger sign. She'd seen "educated" folks make extreme choices more than once. Their demeanor matched Rebella's perfectly.
Rebella let out a hollow chuckle. Bayola's body, which had been quietly still since waking, shuddered once, and an earthquake rippled through Marin's eyes.
"Just stay quiet, and it'll be fine."
Rebella calmed the bucking horse and mounted her own again. She gripped the reins with her right hand and led the other horse with her now-senseless left arm. Her clothes were caked in dust, her unwashed hair and face a mess. She'd probably eaten dirt when she rolled earlier—her mouth felt gritty. She wanted water, but gave up when she realized she couldn't use both hands. Leading one horse with a numb hand was work enough. Better endure the thirst than fall again mid-drink.
A group of mounted riders appeared in the distance. They paused briefly at the flag before pressing on. A few broke off, scattering in all directions.
Surveyors.
But something was off. Surveying was delicate work. Only experts could do it, and it took time. There were even ridiculous tales of villages springing up around flags by the time surveyors arrived months later. These folks hadn't done anything resembling a survey at the flag. They'd just stopped briefly and moved on.
Not my problem.
Rebella's top priority was escape. Hide in Pioneer Village first. Then listen for rumors. The city she'd fled was a key spot in this Land Race—near established pioneer villages, on ruins easy to rebuild. Once its owner was set, nearby settlements would buzz. She could learn what happened to Marhal and Strekl, then plan next steps.
Rebella urged her horses onward. Her left arm... she'd have to give it up. She could handle basic first aid alone, but this was beyond that. She needed a priest or a specialist in nerves—rare gems in the West. With her superhuman body, she'd manage on one arm.
Heading east, she had no choice but to cross paths with the westbound surveyors. Rebella planned to blow past them. To them, she'd just be one odd participant among the Land Race hordes.
"Hold up a moment."
So when the surveyor stopped her, her breath caught.
"What's the matter?"
"Coming from the city direction? What happened up ahead?"
Rebella chose her words carefully. The surveyor was a woman. Women rarely got educated, let alone in surveying—a field even scholars struggled with. Female surveyors in the Union? A precious handful. And that unnatural speed...
A mage.
It explained everything. A Union-hired mage wasn't ordinary.
Don't know her magic.
Mages were trouble. Most were eccentric weirdos whose quirks birthed unpredictable magic.
"No idea. My wound's bad—gotta go."
"Wait. Who's tied to your horse?"
"My companions."
"Tied so they can't move? One looks hurt."
"If I meant harm, I'd have gagged them too, right?"
"Companions. We fought a bit."
Marin glared at Rebella once before speaking. She hated this mess, but tangling with power was worse.
"And that lady?"
"Companion too."
Bayola was just as unthrilled about Union ties, so her reply was curt.
"You can speak freely. The Union can protect you."
"Yeah, we said that. Let's go our ways. Hey, untie me. I'll walk. Believe us now?"
Refusing here would raise suspicion. Rebella grudgingly untied Marin's bonds, cursing her cunning. Marin and Bayola dismounted. Marin grimaced, clutching her floppy arm.
"Fucking hurts. Broken?"
"As you see, we don't get along, but we're really together. Can we go now?"
"No."
"...Do surveyors even have authority to detain people?"
"No authority, but I have power."
A fireball orb materialized above Marina Silanatiell's head. It shot forward, exploding in a spray of embers and heat. Stunned by the magic's might, Rebella looked back—five more orbs had joined it.
"Crazy."
Battlefield-grade spell; it'd roast dozens at once. But worse, dropping it amid troops would shatter morale. No fake "mage" pretender—this was the real deal, one nobles and royals paid fortunes for.
"I saw you fleeing the city ruins. I'm curious what happened. Come with me."
"And if I refuse?"
"I'd have to get rough."
Rebella bit her lip. Realistically, Marhal and Strekl's survival odds were low. Even if they'd tied down Cliff successfully, returning would render it pointless. They'd die. Bayola, the princess, they'd spare—but not her guard. And...
Marin had to die.
End it?
Trackers bound or killed targets. She was confident in a surprise strike. Kill the mage, and luck might let them escape.
"Rebella. Enough."
"But—"
"If our luck's this bad, heaven's abandoned us."
"I'm not out to harm you."
"We'll see. Right now, you're killing people. Murderer."
"Words like that won't shake me."
"I know. Didn't expect it to."
Ancient imperial tongue held innate mystery. Mages studied it; great tomes mixed it in. Bayola, versed in it, knew mages well. Their history was one of eccentricity. Stacked quirks granted mystic power, often tied to taboos: murder, cannibalism, worse.
"Mount up. That's an order."
"Feels new, taking orders."
Marina eyed the resigned trio, wondering if she was wrong—but the city center incident trumped that. She was a top mage, at least in the West. Yet something beyond her sight had happened. Unforgivable for a mage. Confirm it, and she'd do anything. Dooming a few... trivial next to her burdens.
"I'll ride up front?"
"No."
Marin mounted, Bayola gripping her waist from behind. The eastward group turned west. The mage led; others circled the horses Rebella and Marin held.
Marin whispered, "Plan? Gonna pull that shit and die?"
She didn't know the mage. But her power didn't scream emperor's knight captain. She might sell them out knowing Bayola and Cliff's identities.
"Negotiate. Like he did."
"Ha, you? Like him? The one who stood equal to inhuman freaks?"
"...Or die quietly? Run, and she'll blast us. She would."
"I know."
Surveyors were elite, but West chaos snared them too—especially rare mages. She'd probably killed before. Still, necessary. One man had shown the way. She couldn't match his absurd insight, but Bayola had what he lacked: princess rank. Its future value. Empress potential.
Sell future throne for present survival. Other royals did it for years. Factions backed them for the crown; royals used them knowingly. Bayola had never sold hers. Now, as brothers raced ahead, she toed the starting line.
"I can do it. I can."
Fail, and she'd have no face left for the man who'd staked his life as example.
Then, a lone horse appeared from the east. The full-plate knight's cape billowed as he spurred fiercely. Marina spotted him first.
"A knight...?"
Full plate peeked from the cape. No helmet—discarded? Two swords at his waist. The knight saw them and slowed. He squinted in confusion, staring long.
Marina met his eyes—from impossible distance, but neither was ordinary. The trio's faces, spotting Strekl late, swirled with emotions.
Alive. But why alone? Marhal? Wild Dog Knights? Questions etched their faces.
Eastbound Strekl and westbound Marina drew near—voices now audible.
"What is this?"
"Caught. This mage wants to know what went down in the city ruins. Says she saw magic—us fleeing."
Strekl pondered drawing steel. The ruins' events couldn't leak.
Eh... he'll handle it.
He was sword. Swords didn't think. Marhal decided all.
"Perfect. Nearly turned back to Pioneer Village. Head back, apprentices."
Strekl gripped reins, ignoring the curiosity-killed women, and galloped west.