“So why’d we come here? Aren’t we saving Raven?”

Stini cocked her small head, suspicion written on her face like a cat watching rain beads slide down glass.

“How? Charge straight into the battlefield where the Heretic Inquisition and the Truth Seekers Assembly are clashing? Cut down everyone in our way like wheat?”

“Did a hit to the head make you stupid?”

“Of course not. We’re not killing anyone—besides, we’re the walking wounded. We can’t punch through. That’s why we borrow tools with teeth.”

I took out a key—the Arcane Workshop key I got after hitting a certain affection threshold with Raven—and opened a half‑meter thick blast door. Rain-dim amber light slipped in like thin syrup. Dust rose and fell like tired moths. The master hadn’t been back in ages.

I’d actually asked Raven to mod me an armored car. I wanted to take the girls on a countryside drive. The wild’s full of beasts. We can beat them, sure—but bleeding on a joyride kills the mood like a cold wind.

She got annoyed at my nagging and tossed me a key, told me to check her progress myself.

No idea if she finished before the Truth Seekers Assembly hauled her off.

“First, we’ve gotta punch through the war zone. We need a ride that can tank a Heretic Inquisitor’s Divine Art and trade shots with an Arcane Engineer’s cannon. A very sturdy armored car would do.”

I led the way into the workshop and hit the lights. The glow snapped on like a sunrise through fog.

“Huh. Two of them…”

These armored cars were modded off my past life’s Land Rover template. Nobody should have this silhouette yet.

So Raven probably liked the look, built another to sell like a fresh-forge blade on a stall.

Even the Silver Era’s IP sense is surprisingly solid—thunder with a contract’s seal.

“When Raven’s back, I’m charging her licensing fees… For now, let’s drive. What was the startup passphrase again?”

I opened the door and dropped into the driver’s seat. Stini squeezed onto the same seat like a stubborn cat on a sunny sill.

Why’re you crowding me? It’s wide, but it’s still a one-seater. The cushion was soft as a cloud though, so whatever. Boot the system first. When I told Raven the passphrase back then, she teased me about how “close” Stini and I were…

“Stini is an idiot.”

“Andor is brain-dead.”

“Password incorrect. Door locked. Two attempts remaining.” Raven’s teasing voice poured from the speakers like honey with thorns.

Now I get why she mocked me. If our relationship’s “great,” then I’m a turtle that thinks lightning’s a friend.

Stini and I shared a tender look. I grabbed her cheeks like dough; she yanked my hair like weeds.

“So you’re the one who bought this car! And the passphrase calls me brain-dead?”

“Raven said there was a pretty, cheap car, so I bought it! You called me an idiot first!”

“You’re definitely an idiot, but I wouldn’t go as far as brain-dead!”

“Let’s fight. Loser apologizes!”

Under everyone’s contempt like drizzle on a tin roof, we scrapped like grade-schoolers.

Noses bruised, faces swollen, but nothing serious. Old injuries still ached, so neither of us had much bite.

“I’ll go first. I shouldn’t have called you an idiot. Even if it’s true, I shouldn’t have said it.”

“Same. I shouldn’t have called you brain-dead… wait, something feels off.” Stini blinked, like a deer catching a scent.

“Just your imagination. Start the car. We still have to save Raven.”

Try the passphrase again. But whose car is this, really?

We’ll test them one by one. Two tries left. We’ll nail it—

“Stini is an idiot.”

“Andor is brain-dead.”

“Pfft. Password incorrect. Door locked. One attempt left.”

Raven’s laugh through the speakers scratched like a cat on a silk screen. Infuriating.

“…” “…”

“Um, Miss Stini.”

“Mr. Andor, speak.”

“Why did you race to say the passphrase? The mic picked both at once. It’s a muddled noodle now.”

“Weren’t you the one who said to hurry?”

“…” “…”

“…We probably inhaled toxic fumes and our minds are fogged. Good. Let’s forget that and move on. One chance left. I’ll shut up. You say it.”

“No, no, someone as farsighted as you should.”

“No, no, our captain should.”

“No, no, Andor, you.”

Thud. Thud. Thud.

The window boomed like a drum in winter.

Her Highness Princess Golia was hammering the glass, strike by steady strike. The armored frame shivered like a tree in a squall.

The specialized glass, rated to take high-tier spells head-on, spiderwebbed with cracks like frozen lakes. She pressed a sheet of paper to it.

—HURRY UP!!!

Stini and I ducked in perfect sync, two guilty cranes folding their necks. That window material cost a fortune.

“Gotta gamble.”

“Yeah. I’ll say it.”

Her Highness stands for the Colonna Empire. It’s already generous that she came along. Asking her to pay for damages would be lower than mud.

We’d swallow the loss like bitter tea.

Stini put her hands together and prayed to some Divine Being or another—praying this car wasn’t hers, so her wallet wouldn’t bleed for new glass.

Last chance. Let the passphrase reveal the car’s master.

“STINI! IS! AN! IDIOT!”

Her shout had soul, like a bell rung at dawn.

“Attempts exhausted. Doors locked. Dear thief, please say hi to the police for me.”

Raven’s affection for me didn’t drop. Mine for her dipped like the sun behind clouds.

Stini smacked her forehead onto the steering wheel, tragic as a banner torn by wind. Tell me this is a lie, or I’ll die right here.

“It’s my car…” Her voice rasped like a zombie’s ruined throat.

Crying at me won’t help, kid.

“Anyway, let’s get out first… hmm, sounded like the doors just auto-locked.”

Now that we knew it wasn’t mine… I waved to Her Highness outside.

“Uh, how do I unlock… Wait, Andor, what do you mean! The glass is shattered, the frame’s bent—what else are you planning to do to my beloved car?!”

The soundproofing was excellent—still as a sealed lake. Even a backseat romp wouldn’t leak a whisper.

Thinking nonsense, I shaped the words slowly at the window for Princess Golia:

We—are—trapped—inside.

“Stop! Stop! I’m begging you, I wrote IOUs to buy this car!”

Please—cut—it—open.

“Don’t!”

Princess Golia shot Stini one impatient glance through tears and snot. Then she raised her hand and cut down.

The sharpest edge under heaven bit the armored car. It split cleanly in two, like silk under a razor.

I kicked the nose section aside and climbed out, rolling my shoulders. Squeezing with that shameless, overgrown brat made chivalry a full-contact sport.

Stini stayed seated, face like winter ash. Beyond grief, her heart just… went quiet.

Leave her. Her greatest stat is vitality. She’ll bounce back like spring grass.

“Stini is an idiot,” I said lightly to the other armored car in the workshop.

“Welcome back, Lord Andor.” A sugar-sweet voice. My favorability for Raven ticked back up—though I did pay extra for the Raven first-edition limited.

I ran a quick systems check. Most armor and weapons were installed. Good.

Power conduits, mostly done.

Composite barrier, intact.

Startup system, nominal.

Plenty of Raven-only black tech—logs say don’t expect miracles. At least her bottom line holds: it won’t hurt the user. That alone is gold.

Assign roles, set routes, lock the plan. This rescue is all but sewn up. Only one problem remains…

“Whew—Your Highness, we’ve hauled all the chosen supplies.”

“Put them… on that… car.”

A girl heaved a big sack to the rear seats, then dropped it with a thump like a sack of grain.

Only then did she free her hand, slide the big scythe from under her arm, and set it aside. The blade was plain as a farmer’s tool. A scythe’s odd among worldly weapons, but some schools wield it. Nothing impossible.

But…

She swept her flaxen braid over her shoulder, showing a freckled face.

Not stunning, but bright enough to catch the eye like sunlight on water.

On any other day, I’d ask her to dinner, or for a song.

—If that wasn’t my sister’s face. The Demon King’s trueborn daughter.

Anna.