Chapter 53: Where are you putting this compression spring?
Ina slumped in the carriage, bored.
“So free, Cynthia-chan.”
“Yes.”
“We’re really just guards?”
“Yes.”
Ina glanced at Cynthia, engrossed in a book, then leaned against the window, staring at the passing landscape.
Half a month had passed since leaving Bazerolle, crossing most of Barlia.
The journey revealed shifting sights—vibrant customs early on, but growing desolation as they neared the north.
Ina frowned, recalling a more prosperous north from past visits.
Now, the south outshone it.
Their caravan paused in a barren wasteland, the final stretch before Barlia’s capital.
The harsh terrain—unfit for humans, a haven for monsters and bandits—made it a risky stop.
Knights had tried clearing it, but threats persisted, fueling adventurer commissions.
A grim “luck” for their kind.
A small monster pack attacked, but the caravan crew—led by their flamboyant “boss”—dispatched them before Ina could swing her staff.
Cynthia, unfazed, kept reading, ignoring the skirmish.
“Do they even need us?” Ina muttered, watching the crew handle monster corpses.
“With their strength, we’re redundant.”
“Why overthink? Don’t you love slacking?”
Cynthia glanced up, closing her book.
“True…”
Ina sighed, about to rest, when the boss approached, his face grim.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Those monsters… something’s off.”
“Off?”
Ina squinted at the distant demon wolf corpses.
“Wasteland demon wolves, right?”
“Yes, but…”
He held up a sharp, red needle.
“This didn’t grow naturally.”
“What’s that?”
“Fur from the wolves. A lot of it’s like this.”
He explained they’d mistaken it for bloodstains, but the needles had grown over time.
“I suggest we leave. Now.”
“You suggest?” Ina frowned.
“Aren’t you the boss?”
“Uh… yeah,” he stammered, laughing awkwardly.
“We’re ex-adventurers, so we’re used to… suggesting.”
“Oh, that explains your crew’s strength,” Ina nodded.
“Fine, we’ll move—”
“Wait.”
Cynthia appeared beside the boss, snatching the needle before he could blink.
“You said this was on the wolves?”
“Yes. It makes them tougher, deadlier. More of them, and we’d be food.”
Cynthia studied the needle, her mind reaching for the Blood Demon.
What’s this?
[Huh…?]
The groggy Blood Demon yawned.
[Blood thorn?]
[Found on a demon wolf. Blood Crown’s doing?]
[Hm…]
The Demon inspected it mentally.
[If the Crown’s holder can’t control its magic and it leaks, it could affect nearby creatures.]
[You’re not sure?]
[No precedent. All past holders were blood kin. A foreigner wielding it? Unheard of.]
Its tone grew serious.
[Your Bloodstone absorption boosted my link to the Crown. I can sense its state.]
[And?]
[Stable, but its magic’s fluctuating more than a few days ago.]
[Wait—you suppressed the Crown’s magic?]
[Yeah, you wanted to rest, so I dampened it to buy time.]
Cynthia’s brow furrowed.
[Could your suppression have forced the holder to tighten their grip, causing the leak?]
[Huh?]
The wasteland stop revealed unsettling signs—mutated wolves and a leaking Blood Crown.
Ina, bored but sharp, sensed Cynthia’s odd mood, unaware it stemmed from her own scheme to lure her with the 70,000-Nar commission.
The “boss,” a disguised adventurer, dodged her questions with vague truths, cowed by Cynthia’s glare.
Noin’s outrage over Cynthia’s 100,000-Nar bill hinted at her bold maneuvering, tying her mission to imperial funds.
The capital loomed, holding the Blood Crown and the Church’s schemes.
Ina’s hidden Saint identity teetered closer to exposure, while the blood thorns signaled Luofengte’s influence—or something worse—stirring in the shadows.