It wasn’t exactly a shocking fact, but there were no automobiles in this world.
Among the ships that sailed the seas, there were some that used blue iron for propulsion, but nothing like that existed among land transport.
In fact, the reason was fairly straightforward when you thought about it.
Ships had large crews, so having a mage or two on board wasn’t an issue. Blue iron-powered engines only required a little mana to operate efficiently.
On land, however, things were different.
The cost of maintaining wheels made from blue iron alone was exorbitant. Especially since blue iron was a rare specialty product from the southern continent, produced only in small quantities in the north.
Coupled with demanding maintenance and high costs, the need for at least two mages among the passengers was also inconvenient.
Given the nature of land travel, it was impractical to simply increase the size, making it inefficient. Additionally, wheels needed continuous mana input to maintain stable power.
Thus, there were no blue iron cars traversing the land. The closest thing available was a four-seater blue iron carriage that required two highly skilled mages each time it ran.
Land transportation still primarily relied on carriages pulled by horses or tamed monsters.
Still, Aslan endured the current discomfort.
Without uttering a single complaint, he bore the weight pressing down on his shoulders.
As the carriage passed over a rock, it jolted violently.
“Ugh… ughh…”
A groan filled with anguish followed. Its owner, curled up with his large body, dribbled thick saliva onto the carriage floor.
Tiyamal, the Archer and respected elder of the party, was seated in a carriage unlike any ordinary one.
This massive carriage could hold up to eight people. In front, a creature resembling a mix between a horse and dragon pulled the carriage, while three pairs of wheels ensured stability despite its size.
Inside, the decoration was luxurious, crafted with great care by artisans, providing smooth vibrations even on uneven roads.
An average person wouldn’t experience motion sickness in such a carriage.
But Tiyamal wasn’t an average person.
In the divided carriage, the duke sat in the front section with his knights, casting a worried glance back.
If the front section belonged to the duke and his guards, the rear section was occupied by Aslan’s group.
Two long benches faced each other in the rear section. Aslan occupied a corner of the rear seat, crushed as if folded. To his right, Tiyamal leaned heavily against him, pinning him down. Meanwhile, Phey rested her head on Aslan’s knee, though she herself was pressed into Tiyamal’s broad lap.
With an expression akin to a tormented animal, Aslan looked wistfully at the duke. The duke felt pity upon seeing his eyes but knew there was nothing he could do.
Crushed from above and beside without uttering a sound of protest—such was the gentle human that Aslan was.
When the duke glanced again, he saw a colorful trio sitting opposite Aslan: Angie, Lumel, and Ereta. Their faces were hidden, but their calm demeanor suggested what expressions they wore.
Should they stop and change seats? Perhaps being squished would be better than enduring the heavy weight of the mighty Tiyamal. Wouldn’t it be preferable to be under the pressure of an elf or a young girl?
Out of consideration, the duke spoke.
“Are you alright? You don’t seem well. We could stop the carriage for a short rest…”
“No, I’m fine. It’s probably better if we just hurry.”
Aslan’s immediate reply left the duke flustered as he turned away. Under the gaze, Tiyamal groaned softly.
“Kill me…”
“…I’ll try to urge them to take the fastest and most comfortable route. Just hang in there a bit longer…”
As the duke awkwardly responded and turned his head back, Phey, lying nearby, winced in pain and grabbed Aslan’s hand.
“Aslan… rub my belly… Phey hurts…”
She pulled his hand and placed it on her soft stomach. Despite the clothes, Aslan could feel the plumpness beneath the tender skin. With a pained smile, he gently stroked her belly.
“Just bear with it a little longer. We’ll arrive soon.”
How soon remained uncertain.
Tiyamal raised his limp arm with difficulty before letting it fall, then said,
“Young one… Aslan… me too… my belly too…”
“Can’t you rub it yourself? It feels weird when a grown elder asks for such things…”
Tiyamal eventually rubbed his own belly with a sorrowful expression, leaving the three observing silently with varied looks.
Angie wore an amused grin, actually giggling softly, clearly enjoying the spectacle.
Ereta, on the other hand, seemed resentful, perhaps because Aslan hadn’t been asked to do the same for her.
That resentment quickly turned into envy as she watched Phey receiving the attention.
Meanwhile, Lumel stared silently at Aslan’s large hand caressing Phey’s belly, her face reddening. Her mind was brimming with vivid inspirations and fantasies about her future with Aslan.
Under the romantic moonlit scenery, they envisioned passionate conversations after a delightful dinner.
Only when she noticed someone watching did the woman snap out of her reverie.
“Are you thinking strange thoughts again?”
The voice belonged to Ereta.
“No, not at all. I wasn’t thinking anything. Just…”
“Doesn’t thinking nothing usually make your face turn red?”
Lumel instinctively touched her face, causing Ereta to chuckle.
“Ah, caught you! You were thinking something, weren’t you? I know everything!”
Ereta, intentionally drawing out her words, whispered conspiratorially. Lumel bit her lip and glanced sideways at the smirking woman.
Her playful smile hinted at knowing everything, forcing Lumel to look away while pulling out a book, using it as an excuse.
“I wasn’t. I was merely organizing some techniques… Anyway! I need to read now…”
Ignoring the slightly smiling woman, Lumel opened the book and forced herself to focus on the unreadable words, a desperate attempt to hide her fantasies.
As she began reading forcefully, Ereta lost interest and turned her attention back to Aslan. Lumel, noticing this sidelong, remembered something anew.
Ereta was a rival.
Recalling the sticky glances Ereta sent toward Aslan, Lumel frowned slightly.
They had almost fought over Aslan before, and secretly, Lumel kept a wary eye on Ereta, especially her seductive charm.
Not knowing Aslan’s preferences, Lumel feared Ereta might have more advantages than her.
Of course, Lumel had confessed her feelings to Aslan, declaring she would remain infatuated until ready. His response had been quite affectionate, which pleased her.
So far, she believed she held the upper hand. But such leads could always be overturned.
While pondering how to widen the gap, Lumel noticed Angie quietly staring at the book she was holding.
“Uh…”
Then came a nudge to her ribs. Startled, Lumel jumped, drawing everyone’s attention.
“Huh, ah, yes? Lady Angie, why, why are you doing that?”
Caught under everyone’s gaze, Lumel answered nervously, while Angie found her reaction amusing.
“Oh, nothing really… just… I noticed how engrossed you were in that book. Thought it might be interesting.”
As Angie’s finger pointed, everyone’s gaze shifted to the book.
It was a novel filled with adventure, a touch of erotica, and romance. A favorite of hers, it was expensive due to its paper quality.
Though she loved it, Lumel was also embarrassed by it.
Instinctively, she hid the book beside her chest, only to realize the unintended attention it drew to her cleavage, causing her further embarrassment.
And that decision proved disastrous.
Receiving attention on both her chest and the book, Lumel blushed furiously.
With a red face, she bowed her head low.
“Yes, it’s an interesting book. Yes.”
“Really? Then… could you read it aloud?”
Angie’s innocent question was cruelly devious, evident by how moist-eyed Lumel looked as she stared at her.
Unaware of the implications, Angie remained oblivious.
“Do I really have to read it aloud? You can read it yourself…”
“I can’t read. If it’s that interesting, please read it for us. We still have time before we arrive.”
Having grown up surrounded by kindness rather than malice, Lumel feared the innocent cruelty of this girl.
“It seems like the part I was reading was interesting. Could you share just a bit? Please?”
Those golden eyes sparkled with anticipation. Recalling the last passage she read, Lumel felt close to tears.
For some reason, the page she had just opened described the intimate encounter between a knight and a lady.
Reading it aloud in front of everyone would be cruel indeed.
She instinctively covered her eyes with her braided hair, shaking her head.
“Don’t… please don’t ask me to…”
“Aww, just once. It won’t wear out, will it?”
Their conversation carried double meanings.
Listening with a faint smile, Aslan noticed the carriage slowing down.
“Stop, temporary halt!”
At the shout, the carriage stopped abruptly. Aslan peeked outside, spotting soldiers adorned with the crest of Duke Helsing.
They were Helsing’s private troops.
“Ah, Master! Forgive us! We failed to recognize you…”
“There’s no need. Since I’m riding in Calus Empire’s carriage, it’s understandable you didn’t recognize me.”
Instead praising his men for their diligence, the duke earned humble bows from the soldiers.
Behind the startled and amazed soldiers lay several bound figures sitting on the ground.
Some trembled, others muttered unintelligibly, and one foamed at the mouth.
Their appearance was hard to define at first glance, but Aslan quickly guessed they were bandits.
Noticing them late, the duke gestured toward them.
“What are those?”
“These are bandits. We caught them heading south near Bandit Forest.”
“Bandits?”
Glancing at the bandits again, the duke observed them silently before expressing surprise.
“They’re surprisingly tame for bandits… not even begging for mercy.”
“In fact… they’ve been like this since capture. They didn’t resist or counterattack, just let themselves be taken. They’ve stayed this way since then, so we decided to keep them detained.”
“There have been reports recently of fewer bandits appearing around Bandit Forest. Perhaps this is related.”
“Yes, we considered that direction…”
Amidst the continuous reporting and responses, Aslan caught sight of the bandits’ lips moving on the ground.
Their mouths moved in a repetitive pattern.
“Wasp.”
Continuously muttering “wasp,” their lip movements caused Aslan to frown slightly.
Something unusual seemed to be happening.
In the forest darkened by nightfall, a man walked between ancient trees, gazing at the ground.
His movements appeared disheartened, yet his face betrayed no such emotion.
He scrutinized the traces on the ground with a solemn expression.
Draped in a deep blue robe that complemented his dark skin, the man paused after examining the tracks for a while, raising his head at approaching footsteps.
“Master.”
The young man who called him master was striking in appearance.
Taller than average with brown hair, his face bore a sinister red-glowing mana tattoo.
The man greeted the youth with a gentle smile.
“Did you find anything?”
“Yes, footprints that no wild beast could leave.”
“…I see. So they’re coming after all.”
The man with black skin, rare in the Northern Empire, was named I’taar.
A veteran martial artist, known as the Master of Combat and the Weakest Master.
Despite recently turning sixty, he looked no older than forty, his vigor undiminished.
The martial artist sighed, leaning on his staff with a calm yet sorrowful expression.
It was the face of one fearing an impending disaster.
“If only the village doesn’t suffer… but that won’t be easy.”
As the young disciple nodded grimly in agreement, the old man raised his head, gazing at the long trail leading through the forest.
Countless footprints and claw marks stretched ahead, resembling animal tracks but clearly not.
They were the marks of monks.
The experienced elder could discern their numbers from the tracks.
There were twenty monk warriors.
