Sitting in the carriage, Mr. Qin’s cryptic line kept tolling through Alicia’s head, like a temple bell rolling through fog.

Confusion pricked like a thorn. "Lian, what does ‘Only a storm can fell a great tree’ even mean?"

Lian set down her work on the Darkness Sword, gaze deep as a midnight lake, a faint sternness like iron under snow.

"Alicia, sis, it’s not something to chase. If you really want its story, it starts with the Qin era—back when divinity ran scarce..."

Alicia flapped her hands like startled sparrows. "Stop, stop! I get it. I won’t pry! My bad!"

Her gut coiled like a long yarn: that tale would stretch for miles. She had no urge to sit like a granny, steeping in a long-winded brew.

"If you don’t want the story, sit tight. Once Aer calibrates the tracking mark, we head out. If only you were as useful as Aer..."

"Yeah, yeah..." Her answer trailed weakly, a lantern low on oil.

Jealousy sprouted like spring weeds. Was she really that useless? She was strong—steel under silk.

"Guys! Found it. Time to move!" Aer’s voice cut in from outside, sharp as a whistle through pines.

Everyone snapped upright like spears before a storm. No more chatter; they sat straight, the air smelling of a coming final clash.

Aer vaulted onto the driver’s perch in one smooth stride, wind tugging her cloak. "Hold tight. If you drop, I’m not fishing you back."

Alicia blinked, doubt fluttering like a moth. How fast could a carriage be? What could toss someone out?

...

The next heartbeat slapped that doubt aside. Even Alicia, queen of mountain passes, had to admit Aer’s driving was art—stones and ruts flowed underfoot like water, never a jar, every step flat as a moonlit path.

But—someone explain this—why did that horse roar like an engine, vrooming like thunder under iron hooves? You’re a horse, not a car, buddy. Darwin would weep into the rain.

How did one horse haul a carriage and leave afterimages, streaking like a comet’s tail? Reporters sprinted behind with cameras on their shoulders, seeing only the taillight glow. Tomorrow’s headline already wrote itself:

"A carriage nails an apex drift, skimming a canal bend—human nature warped, or morality in tatters?"

All that ran through Alicia’s head while she clung to the carriage rim, knuckles white, fighting the wind like a leaf refusing the gale.

Dozens of minutes later, they reached Dio’s base—well, the backside of a little hill a kilometer short of the gate—like wolves waiting beyond the treeline.

Boot tips kissed solid ground. Everyone but Aer felt comfort surge up like warm earth after rain—the sweetness of living through the hard part.

"Rest a bit," Aer said, voice steady as a campfire. "Three hours till night. We’ve got time to prepare."

Her words drew them back from the brink like a hand from water. Heads nodded in quiet accord.

Seeing no objections, Aer started laying out the plan, lines clear as paths in sand. "You two maids there—sorry for the formality, but let’s not fuss—please find a spot to prep dinner and gather some firewood."

Remi and Flan glanced at Alicia. Alicia gave a small nod, light as a falling petal, and they moved, their task unwinding like ribbon.

"Alicia, that’s right, yes? Could you handle the hunt? Lian and I will gather vegetables and herbs."

Alicia’s social sense was keen as a fox’s ear. She heard Aer’s true wish: to catch up with Lian, old threads tying quietly. Stepping in now would be rude. However it stung, she’d give them space—at least while Lian was in control—time like incense offered at dusk.

She nodded and slipped into the green, hunting steps soft as shadows.

—Two hours later—

They regrouped at the spot Remi had found, a nook like a cradle in the hillside, smoke-ready and still.

Alicia arrived first, a dead magical beast on her back—a lion look-alike, the size of a juvenile elephant—tonight’s feast heavy as harvest. Two small birds dangled from her hand, neat as midnight snacks.

Her gaze swept the clearing like a broom over dew. Only Remi and Flan came into view; two were missing, and the air felt thinner.

"Where are Lian and Aer?"

Remi and Flan shook their heads, the motion quiet as reeds. They’d been back for a while, and hadn’t seen the pair at all.

"We don’t know. They haven’t returned. Everything’s ready, water’s already boiling—steam like a pale dragon. We’re just waiting."

"Got it. Then we wait. They shouldn’t be in danger," Alicia said, words set like a small stone on a larger one.

"And before they get back, Alicia, please hand the magical beast to Flan. We need to dress it and start cooking."

Only then did Alicia notice Flan standing before her, both little hands outstretched like cups, meaning clear as sunlight. She’d missed it, and those small hands trembled with effort.

"You little dummy—say something, will you? If you’d asked, I’d have given it."

Talking, Alicia swung the beast off her back onto the butcher’s slab with a solid thud, warmth steeping in her chest like tea just right.

"I only wanted your conscience to sting," Flan said, smile sweet with ink-dark edges, a plum with a pit of shadow.

Maybe it was that devilish streak, but Flan shattered Alicia’s soft feeling like glass. Alicia carved a vow in stone—a life-or-death rule: never, ever tick off Flan.