"Boss Francesca!" Brandley, a former follower of Francesca's, snapped to attention and saluted without hesitation.
Even Buck, who had been her rival back at the training camp, instantly changed his tune. His face broke into an ingratiating grin as he raised both hands and shouted, "You're the boss! What you say goes!"
Serl, however, paid no mind to his companions' "betrayal." Looking at the beaming Francesca, he could not hide his surprise. "You actually know how to pilot a Sandship?"
"I know how to do a lot more than that." Francesca grinned, revealing a row of small white teeth. "Back when I traveled all over with my mentor, I handled every odd job besides combat. You could even say I acted as her Handler.
"A little Sandship is nothing. I can even fly a high-speed Airship!
"You can't even imagine the things I chased while flying one with her aboard..."
Pawdrick promptly burst her bubble. "You make it sound so impressive, but when were you not shrieking and wailing, meow? It wasn't just one or two Airships you crashed, either, meow. Every bit of hard-earned money your mentor scraped together went straight into paying for the damage, meow."
"Shut it!" Francesca pinched Pawdrick's mouth closed. "The Airships I crashed back then didn't go down because of piloting errors. They were damn well shot down, okay? That's not the same thing!
"Anyway, all you need to know is that I can pilot this little Sandship with ease. Even if we capsize, so what? With your skills and that Armor, are you really afraid of capsizing?
"You'll tumble into the sand, roll around, get back up, flip the ship upright, and keep going. Or would you rather continue on foot?"
"..."
"I'm not afraid of anything!" Buck was the first to climb aboard the Sandship.
He was a northerner and could not stand the scorching sun.
Besides, as Francesca had said, a Sandship was neither an Airship in the sky nor a boat drifting on a river or sea. No one would fall to their death or drown if it capsized. If it flipped, it flipped. What was the big deal?
Brandley jumped aboard right after him. The two jostled their way beneath the ship's canopy and groaned in relief.
Serl moved to board as well, but Francesca raised a hand to stop him.
She glanced sidelong at him. "And what should you call me?"
"Darling, meow?" Seizing the moment Francesca took her hand off his mouth, Pawdrick tossed out an answer.
"Get lost!" Francesca flew into a rage and kicked Pawdrick, sending him flying.
Clad in high-grade Palico Armor, Pawdrick felt no pain. He somersaulted in midair and landed gracefully, yet he still did not stop running his mouth.
"She saw you all trudging along on foot and felt sorry for you, meow. So she took an Airship to Sun Worship Town, rented a small Sandship, and tracked you all the way out here... meow!"
Expressionless, Francesca drew her Kelbi Horn Slinger, loaded it, and pulled back in one fluid motion. Without even appearing to aim, she sent a small stone tearing through the air. "Clang!" It struck Pawdrick and knocked him flat.
"It may only be a Slinger, but it's still a Hunter's weapon. Isn't using it on someone a little much?" Alva cautiously ventured.
"It's fine. He's not a person." After brushing off the concern, Francesca glared fiercely at Serl.
She seemed to be wondering whether firing the fully drawn Slinger at close range could induce amnesia.
Serl hurriedly raised his hands in surrender. "Boss Francesca, please allow me aboard as well."
With a "hmph," Francesca jerked her chin, signaling that he could climb aboard. Only Alva and Pawdrick, who was clutching his head and rolling around on the ground, remained onshore.
Alva looked from side to side, then pointed at himself. "Should I call you Boss too?"
He did not particularly mind either way.
"You... No, you're fine." Francesca waved dismissively.
Even setting aside his position as project lead, Alva was still one of her elders. If she forced him to call her Boss and word reached her father, she would be in for a beating.
Francesca returned to the Sandship and was about to adjust the sails and set off when she suddenly froze.
An experienced pilot could indeed operate a small Sandship alone, but she clearly was not one. To get the ship moving properly, she needed Pawdrick's help trimming the sails.
Had she hit him a little too hard just now? It should be fine, right? She had deliberately struck his helmet. His head might still be ringing, but he should not actually be injured, should he?
As she mulled it over, Pawdrick staggered aboard.
He flopped into the hold like a dead fish, feigning grave injury as he weakly stretched a paw toward the rigging but failed to reach it.
"I... I'm done for, meow. It has to be a concussion, meow..."
Then he pushed himself up and turned toward Serl. "I heard from Altaïr that you joined him on 'The Desert Feast!' to repel Jhen Mohran, meow. You may not know how to pilot a Sandship, but you should be able to help trim the sails, right, meow?"
Serl paused at the question, then nodded. "Altaïr handled the sails at the time, but I learned a little myself."
"Then I'll leave... everything to you, meow..." As though delivering his dying words, Pawdrick collapsed limply and fell silent.
Francesca: "..."
She was about to march over and kick him to his feet when Serl said, "It's fine. I'll take over. Let him rest for a while."
As he spoke, he wound the line controlling the sail's direction around his forearm and gripped the rope controlling its height with his other hand, shifting his center of gravity slightly backward in preparation.
Seeing this, Francesca knew he really could handle the sails, so she said no more. She turned to Alva. "Where to next?"
Alva considered the question for a moment. "Before we depart, I have one question. In what capacity are you participating in this operation? As a Hunter? Or..."
Francesca rolled her eyes. "I can come along as a member of the logistics team with a Slinger for self-defense, as a Handler, or whatever else works. Is that acceptable?"
"That's fine." Alva opened the map. "We'll continue northeast. Another five or six kilometers in this direction should take us into the territory of a Diablos.
"I need to observe that Diablos, its size and so on, to confirm whether it qualifies as an opponent for the 'Demon King.' Then we'll decide our next move."
"All right." Francesca worked the helm while directing Serl to trim the sails into the wind.
At first, Serl was clumsy, but he quickly recalled the key points he had learned with the Sandship fleet, and his movements gradually became more practiced.
The sails billowed in the wind, and the Sandship accelerated, speeding off in the direction Alva had indicated.
—--
At the same time, several kilometers away from the Vanguard Hunting Party, the other team was also on the move.
Altaïr was piloting a Sandship as it raced across the sand sea.
Isis had very little experience riding small Sandships, and this was Morgan's first time aboard one. Neither of them even knew how to coordinate their weight shifts as the ship turned.
On top of that, Isis's Armor and weapon were exceptionally heavy, so Altaïr had no choice but to make her squat in the middle of the hull and serve as plain old ballast.
"Where are we going now?" Isis sat hugging her knees, afraid to move as she looked around.
"Mr. Alva and I have a rough plan. We want to create an opponent for the 'Demon King,' so we need to find a suitable Diablos."
Morgan, seated at the bow by Altaïr, turned back and asked, "Wouldn't the one we just saw work?"
Altaïr shook his head. "Not really. That one was too small. It was less than twenty meters long, practically a small gold crown."
Morgan's expression grew solemn. "A wild Monster's strength isn't necessarily proportional to its size. Some small gold crown individuals are immensely powerful.
"Take the one we just saw. Its carapace bore many scars, and both horns were extremely sharp, clear signs that it had weathered countless battles."
"But that Diablos was female," Altaïr said helplessly. "We're looking for an opponent for the 'Demon King,' not a mate."
"Female? Forget it, then." Morgan instantly lost interest.
Isis blinked and looked at him. "Are you empathizing?"
"I am not."
* * *
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