Princess Sia took the reins, and the Princess Manor’s staff was washed clean like a courtyard after a monsoon.

The regency handover was done, and the next day Kelor boarded the convoy toward the Seven Northern Towns, like a swallow flying north on a long road.

The trip was far and rough. From the capital to the frontier isn’t a jaunt; the road coils like a dragon’s spine, and rest stops are as necessary as shade at noon.

Kelor sat in a rocking carriage, the cabin swaying like a small boat on a river, and studied the map under a pale strip of sunlight.

They’d stop at least three cities. The nearest lay by a canal that cut the land like a silver ribbon—Sata City.

Sata City was built upon a dead volcano, a stone crown on a sleeping giant, and folks fondly called it the Dragon Metropolis.

They say long ago, an ancient dragon black as a moonless sky razed the city to ash, its breath an ink storm that spared nothing.

A legendary hunter struck it down, and the beast fell into the caldera, like thunder plunging into a well, to sleep forever.

The volcano, once a red-mouthed beast, fell silent after the dragon’s burial, its fire guttering like a lamp in rain.

Of course, truth clings to tales like morning mist—hard to grasp, easy to drift.

Kelor folded the map with a sigh, like closing a paper fan, and then heard Xueyu’s dry complaint from the front of the carriage.

“What are you doing?” Her voice flicked like a sparrow’s tail.

From the right came Lingcai’s answer, light as a breeze through bamboo.

“Traveling, obviously. Why?”

“But you—you—this is way too—!” Her words stumbled like loose stones on a slope.

Annoyance rose first, sharp as chili. Kelor lifted the curtain and snapped at Xueyu, her tone like a whip on water.

“What are you two up to now? Still bickering?”

Seeing Her Highness stirred, Xueyu could only point right, her finger stiff as a branch.

“…See for yourself.”

Kelor looked and froze, eyes going wide like saucers under moonlight.

To the right of Kelor’s carriage rolled a pedal tricycle, wobbling along with the convoy like a duck among horses.

Lingcai sat on it. Her pack and countless odds and ends were heaped behind her, and the Crimson Cherry Blossom Blade lay across them like a scarlet petal.

She pedaled easy, as calm as pond water, and even raised a hand to Kelor, greeting with a sunny wave.

“Hi~”

Hi, my foot.

Kelor nearly dropped her jaw along with the curtain.

That might’ve been tolerable, but behind Lingcai trailed Scarlet Leaf on a donkey, a dust-gray beast plodding like a cloud that won’t rain.

The instant Scarlet Leaf saw Princess Korol, she smiled and waved, voice bright as a bell.

“Hallooo~”

Hello, my foot!

A solemn convoy turned into a traveling market—one trike and one donkey tossed into silk and saddle.

Kelor really wanted to curse, the urge flaring like sparks off flint.

But she’d already said she’d bring Lingcai and the others along; throwing them out would be a cold wind against her own face.

Forget it. Let it be.

She surrendered the fight, drew the curtain like night falling, and tried to hold her temper. Xueyu wouldn’t. Her pride felt scuffed like lacquer, and a single thought flashed sharp as a blade—shake them off.

“Hyah!”

The whip cracked like thunder, and the carriage leapt, the horses surging like waves in a narrow canyon.

She shouted to the Royal Guard cavalry around them, her command a snapping banner.

“All units! Pick up speed!”

Kelor had just lain back, seeking calm like shade under a pine, when the sudden rush pitched her forward; the back of her head thumped the board like a drum.

“WTF… Forget it…”

She wanted to spit fire, but after a heartbeat her anger cooled like tea left out. She swallowed the curse.

Damn it. She’d never been humiliated like this, not once—like a phoenix cramped in a chicken coop.

Lingcai watched the carriages and riders whip past, wind tugging her sleeves like playful children, and remained steady, her breathing smooth as silk.

Soon the entire cavalry line surged ahead of her. She didn’t hurry. Instead she reached back into the trike’s cargo box and drew out an energy cell with a golden sheen, bright as a coin in noon sun.

She tugged her goggles down, the lens catching light like dragonfly wings, and murmured like someone lighting a hidden fuse.

“Trying to ditch me? Not happening. My turn.”

She pressed the cell into the slot before her seat. Her feet left the pedals. Her hands twisted the handlebar twice, quick as fish flicks.

Wooo—thunk-thunk-thunk-thunk—

Steam breathed from the Alchemy engine, a kettle coming to boil, and the trike’s speed climbed like a hawk riding a warm current.

The front searchlight bloomed white, like a flower opening in dusk, and she shot after the convoy in a trail of sparks and quicksilver flashes.

Wooo—thunk-thunk-thunk-thunk—

Xueyu heard the engine’s call behind her. She turned, and her eyes went round, surprise striking like cold water.

Lingcai rocketed up beside Princess Korol’s carriage, dust lifting like pale smoke, then eased off, matching the convoy’s pace like a shadow to a body.

Seeing Xueyu gape, Lingcai pulled off her goggles and slid her a glance with a playful edge, a cat watching a flustered dog.

Xueyu almost popped like chestnuts over a fire.

She wasn’t about to yield. She shouted to the riders at her side, her words a spur.

“Faster! Keep speeding up!”

“Ma’am! If we push more, Princess Korol’s carriage won’t keep pace!”

The nearby escort rider spoke breathless, concern flickering like a candle in wind.

Xueyu wouldn’t hear it. Her temper bristled like porcupine quills.

“I said faster! If you can’t shake that little junk heap, I’ll have your hides! Ride!”

“Yes!”

They didn’t dare disobey. The riders charged like a river breaking the bank, hooves drumming the road.

Soon, the carriage bearing Her Highness dropped far behind, trailing like the last lantern in a procession.

Lingcai could’ve caught the riders easily, but she held steady beside the carriage, her speed a patient line, restraint smooth as lacquer.

After a spell of galloping, the horses grew tired, their breath hot as forge smoke, and the carriage slowed, wheels grinding like millstones.

Lingcai eased off the throttle, keeping pace with the carriage, her expression loose and confident, like a painter resting his wrist.

Wow. She really could make someone blow a gasket—smoke out of the ears, steam from the nose.

Kelor broke first. Nausea surged like churning tide, and she poked her head out, voice frayed as old rope.

“You—stop for me— I’m carsick—ugh—”

Seeing her, Xueyu swallowed her fight like a stone and gently drew the carriage to a halt, the team settling with snorts like winter bulls.

Lingcai let the gas go, tapped the brake, and stopped by Princess Korol’s carriage, her trike ticking as the engine cooled.

Before the carriage fully stilled, Kelor jumped down, hand over her mouth like a lid on a jar, and ran into the small woods nearby.

From the bushes came the sounds of retching, coughs and wet gulps, rough as storm rain in leaves.

“Ugh… cough-cough… urgh-urgh—”

“Your Highness! Are you alright—!”

Xueyu bolted after her, footsteps snapping twigs like brittle bones. Before she vanished, she tossed Lingcai a glare like an arrowhead.

You’re the one racing me. Don’t pin it on me.

Lingcai shrugged, shoulders rolling like slow waves, and watched Xueyu disappear among the trees.

Clop-clop-clop.

Because the front had stopped, Scarlet Leaf came up from behind at an easy pace, her donkey’s hooves tapping like beads on a table.

She saw Lingcai hop off and lean on the trike, helplessness floating like a light sigh, and tilted her head, braid swaying like a willow frond.

“Lingcai, what’s wrong? What happened?”

“Nothing big. Her Highness seems carsick.”

Lingcai brushed it off, words light as falling petals, as if it had nothing to do with her.

Scarlet Leaf cocked her head. “Huh? It’s just a carriage. That’s kinda weak.”

Lingcai nudged her chin toward the carriage Xueyu drove, the gesture crisp as a sparrow’s peck.

“…Sit in that and you’d be sick too.”