Across the pristine white expanse of the snowy plains, a vehicle with a... rather peculiar design moved forward. The low roar of its engine immediately drew the attention of everyone nearby. It wasn't for any other reason than the sheer rarity; in this godforsaken place where the only thing you usually see is a starving Fang-beast baring its teeth, the sudden appearance of a car was far too conspicuous.
To the local merchants and villagers, there was typically only one kind of vehicle that ever appeared: the Infected transport trucks that showed up at regular intervals. But the sound those transports made was much louder than this car—a rickety, clattering noise that made you feel like it would fall apart the moment it hit a single bump in the road.
"Hey, what on earth is that? I've never seen a car that looks like that. You sure that's even a car?"
A few merchants traveling together looked at the grey-shelled vehicle with immense curiosity. Its design was unlike any vehicle they had ever encountered.
"Hah, I can tell you've never been to a big city," another man nearby said with a smug, self-important air, having had the luck to travel to other cities. "That's probably a truck for selling something called 'ice cream'!"
In truth, he had only ever seen such a truck once and his only purchase there had been a cup of ice water, but that didn't stop him from sitting here and bragging to his companions.
"Ice cream? I know that! That ice-cold stuff? Is this person crazy? Coming to a place with snow high enough to bury you just to sell that..."
"Who knows. Maybe it's some rich lady out for a joyride. What do they call it? Ah, right—'performance art'!"
The men watched as the car disappeared into the distance, squatting there and gossiping about the strange vehicle while offering their meager opinions. After a few more words, they hurried along before they could completely freeze. They didn't have time to waste; if they didn't find a village before nightfall, they likely wouldn't live to see tomorrow's sun.
"It hasn't been easy, but after all that tossing around for so many days, we're finally back."
The one speaking was Jeanne, who was driving the strange vehicle. Breathing in the familiar, biting cold air, she felt a genuine sense of relief in her heart. The journey for the two of them hadn't been simple; the distance from Lungmen to this region was vast, and the route lacked any semblance of smooth roads.
Throughout the trip, the constant jolting was only a minor issue. The real challenge was monitoring the environment to ensure they didn't accidentally drive straight into the eye of a Catastrophe, which would likely mean they'd never come out. Fortunately, thanks to Jeanne's "Revelation," they hadn't hit the center of any Catastrophes, though they did have one very close call where they brushed past the edge of one.
To the two of them, the sight of a tornado reaching up to the very heavens was naturally spectacular. They were even bold enough to stop the car and admire the Catastrophe before continuing their way. Well, in truth, it was Jeanne who wanted to watch. Lemuen had been terrified out of her wits; she had seen people with a death wish before, but never anyone quite as determined as this.
According to Lemuen's assessment, even if Jeanne didn't have her status as a Saint, she would have flourished in Laterano and become a local celebrity of the same "thrill-seeking" caliber as herself.
However, compared to rare and dangerous Catastrophes, highway robberies were far more common. Bandits would often block a mandatory path with a fallen tree across the road, wearing mocking smiles as they waited for their prey to fall into the trap. One could guess from the bloodstains lining the roadside that those who didn't cooperate met a grim end—and perhaps those who did cooperate didn't fare much better.
But was Jeanne the type to put up with that? This was her brand-new car! With a heavy stomp on the accelerator, she would simply charge through, clearing the obstructions and the bandits in one go.
Still, such a conspicuous car running on the road caught more than just the eyes of merchants and villagers. It also drew the attention of the Patrol who were busy searching houses for grain. It was that time of the month again to squeeze the locals for "grease," and these guards were putting all their effort into patrolling the villages for anything valuable—or for any Infected.
In fact, they cared more about Infected than money. These paupers' taxes were already paid up ten years into the future; how much more "grease" could be squeezed out? But if they caught an Infected, the benefits were endless. Not only would they complete their quotas, but they could also sell the Infected to the mining districts for an extra profit.
"Vehicle ahead, stop for inspection!"
They had spotted an Originium-powered vehicle driving right past them! To them, wasn't the driver practically writing "I have more money than brains, come rob me" on their forehead? How could they resist? A few of them stood in the middle of the road, attempting to block the car to extort a heavy bribe—or find a reason to "declare" them Infected and throw them into the mines so they could claim the car for themselves. They didn't know exactly how much the car was worth, but they knew any car was worth a fortune.
But when they saw exactly who was sitting inside, they immediately realized this was going to be trouble.
There was actually a Sankta in the car!
Staring at that shimmering halo, the group began to feel a deep sense of unease. They started weighing their options: should they try to extort these travelers or not? They knew full well that as long as the Sankta inside wasn't an Infected, there was a ninety percent chance she was armed with a gun. To them, that was a terrifying prospect. With their meager armor, she could send them to the afterlife with a single burst, and their superiors wouldn't necessarily stand up for them.
"Is there something you need?"
The Sankta's eyes were sharp and vigilant, and one hand was gripped tightly around something—no doubt it was a gun. The guards sobered up instantly. They didn't have the courage to bet on whether she would fire. If their fears came true, dying here would be a miserable waste.
"Hello. According to Ursus regulations, we need to know your purpose here."
The guard had to find a suitable excuse. He represented Ursus, after all; he couldn't look too pathetic.
"We're here for the snow, sir. Do you know where we can get supplies? We only have candy left in the car—would you like some?"
Lemuen pulled out a few pieces of candy, and the guards' eyes practically bugged out. That was sugar! In this place, finding anything sweet was nearly impossible. If it weren't for the gun, they would have robbed her blindly.
"Thank you. Six kilometers ahead is our temporary camp. You can try to trade your candy with the people there."
The guard now truly believed these two were just tourists. Coming here with just candy? They'd freeze to death by morning! He just wanted them gone. What duty was worth his life? With that Sankta holding a gun, he had no sense of security.
"Thank you, we'll head there."
Lemuen rolled up the window, and the car sped past them immediately.
"Move out, to the next village! What rotten luck, running into a Sankta."
They were still shaken. If she had fired, they couldn't have dodged. They were fine for bullying villagers, but against a Sankta with a gun? Not even within seven lifetimes.
"I really thought a fight was going to break out! I had my gun ready," Lemuen said, putting her weapon aside. She had truly thought they would attack, and she'd already planned how to kill them. She knew the reputation of these "Black Bugs" and expected the worst.
"Most of them are just bullies who fear the strong," Jeanne said. She remembered how the guards would flee in terror at the sight of Patriot. "But since they gave us the location, let's sneak into their camp. It's the perfect chance to scout the enemy."
Jeanne accelerated, heading forward. She didn't remember a guard camp being here. Why set up a temporary camp in a place like this?