The Outer Ring—an abandoned furnace, as if the Creator threw it away and never looked back.
Today the sky over the Ring is a sheet of red-hot iron. Rolling sandstorm clouds smother the sun, letting only muddy, oppressive pillars of ochre-red light slant down onto a boundless wasteland cracked like a spiderweb.
The wind is no longer air.
It is a solid flood—billions of grains of sand carrying the stench of death. They howl as they slam into rusted guardrails, producing a metal shriek that makes teeth ache.
Tumbleweeds—rootless ghosts—are kneaded and hurled by the gale, vanishing instantly into an even wilder vortex of sound—
the roar of engines.
Steel hearts pounding in a land of despair, beating the only defiant war drum left.
And within this hellish tableau, the Sons of Calydon are performing a lethal dance that tears open the curtain of wind.
At the front: Caesar King.
Her steel mount is like a burning nightmare-warhorse, blonde hair whipping violently in the airflow like a banner on fire. That cold mechanical prosthetic arm—now packed with mountain-splitting strength—clamps the handlebars so firmly its knuckles leave faint dents in the metal.
Sand lashes her helmet visor in popping bursts. She only bares a feral grin, as if this wind of destruction is her true homeland.
On her left wing: the blade in the shadows—"Unbeaten Champion" Lighter.
The scarlet scarf at the back of his neck is no longer fabric. It is a blood-red bolt cleaving the jaundiced sky. It whips the air madly, every snap silently declaring: Die if you block me.
He stays low, helmeted gaze like quenched steel, cutting through sand and noise, searching for anything that might threaten the "General."
Silence is his armor.
Only the engine's scream is his heartbeat.
On the right wing: the fire-driving "Fuel Witch" Bernice White.
She's nearly fused with her mechanical beast. Her bronze skin glints with a metallic sheen beneath the sand. Every twist of the throttle is like a pump of her own heart, injecting carefully mixed "lifeblood" — volatile, energy-rich fuel — into steel veins.
She can smell an engine's hunger.
And she can taste every strange note hiding in the wind.
Trailing behind: Lucy, the noble-born.
Her motorcycle draws an elegant, lethal black arc. The helmet hides her delicate face and those subtle moles, but her straight-backed posture and the half-visible crest on her helmet announce noble pride—and her present agitation—without a word.
Three little pig Thirens—"Grass," "Wood," "Brick"—cling to the custom rear rail for dear life. Their tiny bodies are almost blurred by the violent jolting, squealing drowned by the thunder of engines.
Bringing up the rear: the guardian fortress of steel—Piper Wheel and her beloved prehistoric monster, "Big Fang."
The hulking pickup is a moving metal mountain, bulging with muscle. In the cargo bed, the bar Bernice set up has glassware doing a dangerous tap dance with every bump.
In the cab, Piper's sleepy, oversized eyes are half-open, long lashes trembling with the vibration. Her soft, sticky-sweet voice comes through the internal channel, oddly hypnotic:
"Hold on tight…"
But before the last syllable even fades, the massive body lurches forward as if kicked by an invisible god's foot—exploding with a brutal shove that defies its tonnage.
Wheels grind the road, throwing up two towering walls of muddy sand mixed with gravel. The roar shakes the broken buildings on both sides until they shudder and shed dust.
To her, that earth-shaking bellow is the only hymn that wakes the soul.
A few raider bikes—painted with vicious graffiti, circling like vultures—try to approach the convoy.
Their ending is decided before it begins.
Lucy's whip lashes out like a venomous snake, cleanly flinging aside a chainsaw that swings at her.
Lighter blurs—then a finger hooks, flaming gauntlets slamming with rock-shattering force. Two riders scream like cartoon cats, flipping with their bikes and plowing deep trenches through the sand.
Bernice pulls a gorgeous drift, using the brief wind wall and blind spot created by Big Fang's colossal frame to wedge another bike—one trying to sneak Caesar—straight into a roadside sandpit.
And Caesar doesn't even look back.
She simply stretches out that cold left hand, casually—like swatting a fly—and with terrifying strength flips a front-charging bike modified with a battering horn, rider and all, into the air.
Metal screams as it twists.
"Caesar!" Lucy's voice cuts through the wind noise, barely holding back fury. "Look at the 'blessings' the Vanquishers have been feeding us these past six months! Routes that dodge every supply point, packed with sinkholes and quicksand—'golden' routes my— Lucius that dog—!"
Her mind is already calculating the extra time, and the catastrophic way it ruins her shopping plans—especially the limited-edition Calydeste items and the imported candies Chiya likes.
"Wahahaha!"
Caesar's laugh bursts out, unfiltered, bright as hammered steel.
"Lucy, you're circling the point like crazy. You're mad because these trash roads mean you can't buy your sweet face cream, your cute snacks, and—most importantly—go whoosh straight to Chiya's side!"
Even as she clears the path, Caesar's imagination obligingly overlays the mental image of Lucy acting calm in front of Chiya while blushing all the way up her neck—with pink romance bubbles like something from a cheap love novel.
"Cae—sar!"
Under her helmet Lucy's face goes molten hot. "You wooden-headed idiot stuffed with ketchup, salad dressing, mustard, and cheese sauce! I'm doing this for the team's strategic sup—"
Her counterattack—packed with at least five "advanced" words—barely begins…
when Bernice suddenly sniffs.
It's an animal motion, primal and sharp, like a predator catching scent on the wind. Her amber eyes contract to pinpoints.
"Silence."
Bernice's voice is low, piercing—crushing every other noise at once.
She inhales deeply, greedily, pulling in rust, engine oil, sand—
and a faint trace, weak but unmistakably clear, like oasis water in a desert.
"…It's Chiya."
Her tongue unconsciously slides across her dry lips. Wild instinct surges through her bloodstream like a stampede.
The channel goes dead silent.
Lucy's heart takes a sledgehammer hit, skipping a beat. Her fingers whiten on the handlebars.
Lighter's red scarf flutters less, like frozen blood.
Piper lazily blinks in Big Fang.
Caesar tilts her head, deciding this is exactly the moment Lucy should shut up.
"He's there!"
Bernice's declaration is a hunting horn.
A frightening light ignites in her eyes. She wrenches the throttle to the limit—almost violently. Her mechanical beast roars, exhaust spitting scorching blue flame—
and the heavy body becomes a low-flying red meteor.
With destructive acceleration, it whips up a sky-eclipsing sandstorm and rockets toward a distant black speck in the sand curtain—
Chiya and his little bike—riding alone.
Air tears with a shriek of sonic rupture.
Chiya has just spotted the Sons of Calydon convoy, a smile only just starting to form—
when Bernice is suddenly beside him, reaching out.
A massive force lifts him into the air.
His bike vanishes beneath him.
The world spins—
and he lands in Bernice's arms.
"Bernice! You heat-crazed she-wolf—STOP!!"
Lucy's shriek cracks, all restraint and calculation incinerated by rage and possessiveness. She slams her throttle down; her black chopper erupts like an enraged scorpion, blasting hot exhaust and becoming a black lightning bolt that tears through the yellow sky, chasing after them at an equally insane speed.
The three little pigs are crushed against the rear rail by the sudden pressure, eyes bulging—too stunned to even squeal.
"Whoa… this is competitiveness?" Caesar stares at the two dust trails streaking away like comets about to crash into the earth, scratching her helmet in reflex. The romance novels she's read never had anything this explosive.
"Caesar," Lighter says evenly, "it's jealousy… sigh. Piper."
He has already turned around, heading toward the small motorcycle left helpless and abandoned in the middle of the road.
He props his heavy bike like he's handling a precision instrument, then walks to Chiya's bike.
Caesar clumsily stops too and shuffles over.
"Hey… careful!" For once, Caesar shows caution, using her cold prosthetic arm to cradle the bike's front suspension like fragile porcelain.
Lighter lifts the rear rack with silent, practiced steadiness.
Together, they raise the little bike that now sits at the center of this storm.
Big Fang rolls up like a moving mountain. The side door hisses and slides open.
Piper's sleepy face peeks out. "Puut it in… I didn't even finish saying 'steady—'"
Before she can finish, the bike is already tucked into the spacious cargo bed, snug beside Bernice's bar where glasses clink and dance.
Piper slowly glances at the glassware and adds, lazily:
"…This person sincerely hopes Chiya-chan doesn't get 'swallowed' by Bernice right away."
"Hold on tight," Piper's drowsy, dreamlike voice comes again.
And then Big Fang's slumbering heart snaps awake.
A quake-like vibration jolts up from the chassis, paired with an engine howl that could tear a soul loose. No warm-up—no mercy.
The truck surges like it's been hurled by a Titan, producing a savage shove that's absurd for something this heavy. Massive wheels claw the ground, throwing up two towering, muddy waves of sand and stone.
The steel beast charges forward—
toward the two intertwined dust storms ahead, nearly on a collision course to mutual destruction.
This internal steel tempest of the Sons of Calydon—sparked by one man—finally limps to a halt near Wildfire Town, under a giant billboard eaten by wind and sand until only its skeletal frame remains.
Bernice's red beast and Lucy's black lightning arrive almost side-by-side.
Inertia makes their tires scream against the rough ground, sparks flashing, smoke rolling.
At the same moment, both women reach out, targets crystal-clear—
grabbing for the dazed Chiya emerging from the sand haze.
"Chiya! Mine!" Bernice's eyes blaze with feral possession.
"Not a chance! He's mine!" Lucy declares, her voice carrying the absolute authority of nobility.
Four gloved hands seize Chiya's shoulders at once.
The pulling force makes him feel like he's about to be torn in two. A short, pained cry bursts from him:
"Ugh—!"
Bernice and Lucy wobble too, thrown by the sudden tug-of-war and the momentum, nearly toppling with their bikes.
The two top-tier war machines buck and roar like reins have been yanked on maddened horses, kicking up a final curtain of sand before settling—unwillingly—into stillness.
Across the middle—Chiya grimacing between them—their gazes collide, electric sparks almost visible.
Then Big Fang arrives like a rolling fortress, crushing forward and stopping nearby with a thunderous presence.
Dust settles like a stage curtain.
The side door slides open, and Caesar's big voice fires first:
"Hey! Bernice! Lucy! You trying to rip Doctor Chiya in half and keep him as a souvenir?!"
Lighter silently hops down, red scarf drifting in the dying wind.
Piper lazily leans out of the cab, eyes half-lidded, surveying the standoff.
"Arrived~? Want a drink to calm down?"
"Wait! Bernice! Lucy!" Chiya blurts desperately. "I'm here for something really important! Let go of me!"
"…Huh?!!"
Chiya finally escapes the two women's "demon claws," rubbing aching shoulders, still shaken.
Everyone crowds into Big Fang's roomy cargo bed. Bernice's bar is the only "furniture." Under dim emergency lights, glass reflects weak glimmers. The air smells of engine oil, leather, faint alcohol, and lingering sand.
The bed vibrates with the engine's idle—like a sealed iron fortress cut off from the world.
Chiya leans back against the cold wall, expression grave. His gaze sweeps the core members gathered close:
Caesar sits broad and careless on an oil drum. Lighter leans at the door with arms crossed, scarf masking half his face—eyes still sharp.
Lucy has removed her helmet. Her hair is slightly messy, that stubborn cowlick sticking up; her cheeks still carry a blush she hasn't fully erased, and she's forcing herself into strategist composure.
Bernice lounges against her bar, crimson slit-pupils locked on Chiya like a cat on prey.
Piper… Piper is curled on a cushion in the corner, breathing evenly—yet nobody believes she's truly asleep.
"Everyone," Chiya says. His voice is calm but razor-clear, cutting through the engine hum. "I have very important information—about the Outer Ring, and about the Sons of Calydon."
He draws a breath and lays out Pocona's intel in full: Lucius—second-in-command of the Vanquishers—his secret collusion with New Eridu energy companies, and their plan to strike at the current overlord, Pompey.
A brief dead silence falls over the cargo bed.
Only the engine's low breathing remains, and a distant trace of wind.
Caesar's grin disappears. Her cold prosthetic hand tightens unconsciously on her knee, metal rasping softly. She may be short on words, but her instinct for Outer Ring survival is viciously sharp.
"Lucius… that sewer rat. Trying to bite an old lion to death?" she spits, eyes igniting.
Lighter's body tightens slightly. His posture doesn't change, but his narrowed gaze says everything—predator poised before the pounce. His throat shifts once under the scarf.
Betrayal and conspiracy—he hates that world.
Lucy taps her fingertips lightly against the bar's cold metal, brows drawn tight, mind racing.
"Ether energy companies… New Eridu's hand is reaching too far. Lucius is inviting wolves into the house—using Outer Ring blood to dye his new throne red?"
Bernice releases a low, threatening sound, pupils narrowing to a razor line. She doesn't care about schemes, but anything that threatens the Outer Ring she calls "home," and these people she calls "family," becomes prey that must be torn apart.
No one doubts the intel.
No one asks where it came from.
Absolute trust—solid as the cargo bed's steel walls.
That silent understanding is stronger than any oath.
"Fire-Purgatory Ride…" Caesar breaks the silence, voice heavy with force. "That race that decides who's boss—still far off! We've got time to sharpen claws!"
She stands abruptly; her strength makes the floor groan.
"Lucius or some dogshit company—if they want trouble in the Outer Ring, they'll have to ask whether the Sons of Calydon's fists allow it!"
Her declaration hits like a shot of adrenaline.
Lighter gives a small nod.
Lucy's eyes flash with calculating light—already building a plan.
Bernice's mouth curves into a wild smile.
"Then, in that case, we—"
"Cough, cough! Boss," someone cuts in quickly, "let's talk to Big Daddy first!"
"Huh?!"
After the discussion, the heavy atmosphere loosens a bit.
Caesar is about to speak again, but Lighter—who has long sensed something off—stops her and practically drags her out of the cargo bed, silently giving Chiya a look that clearly says:
Good luck.
Chiya exhales in relief—
then freezes.
He tries to take one cautious step—thinking of slipping away to check his poor little bike—
and his body locks up.
Two hands clamp down on his shoulders—left and right—like iron vises.
On his left: Bernice.
She has somehow moved close without a sound. Her body—reeking of engine oil and wild heat—nearly presses against him. Lion-like eyes gleam in the dim light, and she smiles with sly, dangerous amusement.
"Don't think you're leaving that easily, Chiya."
Her voice is low and magnetic, with raw, primal lure.
"Our 'Red Moccas' learned how to do a backflip, you know. Don't you want to witness its perfect form?"
On his right: Lucy.
The young lady's face still holds lingering anger—and a faint blush she refuses to admit. Even her cowlick is bristling with outrage.
"The precious time I had alone with you last time was completely ruined by that stupid shark who can't read the room!"
She grips his shoulder harder, as if pinning him to the spot. Her voice shakes with embarrassed fury and unquestionable command.
"Chiya! That loss is unforgivable! You must stay and compensate me—properly, fully—right now! Immediately!"
Two different forces, equally overwhelming—
feral possession and aristocratic tyranny—
crash over him like a tide.
Chiya feels like a helpless prey animal locked by two apex predators, with no room even to struggle.
Bernice's eager flames.
Lucy's "you're not getting away today" resolve.
His cute face collapses in despair. A bead of sweat slides down his temple.
From his throat comes a stretched, hopeless wail—
"Wuu—eh—?!"
That cry becomes the most vivid—and most tragic—rest note inside Big Fang's moving iron fortress, after conspiracies and battle intent.
And in the driver's seat, Piper shifts slightly, lips curling into a faint, lazy smile that looks like she's seen through everything.
The engine keeps humming—
carrying the Sons of Calydon's secrets, their war intent, and one unlucky man trapped in a "sweet prison"—
slowly onward into the sandstorm-wrapped unknown.
Join here to read ahead.
In Star Rail, Ultra-Beast Armored — Have I Caught "Equilibrium"? l (Chapter 80)
Uma Musume, But I Only Have Five Years Left to Live (Chapter 175)
Zenless Zone Zero: I'm a Doctor, Not a Bangboo (Chapter 115)
Ben Tennyson Wants to Join the Justice League (Chapter 119)
TYPE-MOON: Redemption Beginning with the Holy Grail War (Chapter105)
Yu-Gi-Oh! — Transmigrated into the White Dragon Girl (Chapter100)
"Is this chat group even serious?" (Chapter79)
I, Lord Ravager, Utterly Loyal! (Chapter125)
Can Playing Games Save the World? 65
Crossover Anime Multiverse: The Demon Hunter of an Unnatural World 70
From Junkman to Wasteland 60
Weekly Refresh of Overpowered 31
I'm Grinding Proficiency Like 40
From Kiana, Lord Ravager, Onwa 73
Honkai: Is This Still the Prev 42
Elf: My Starter Pokémon Is Inc 55
Warhammer: My Primarch Is Remi 66
From Demon Slayer to Grand Ass 64
The Way the Umamusume Look at 63
Uma Musume, but My Cheat Power 55
Naruto: Weaving the Future, Be 45
Zenless Zone Zero, but Kamen R 31
Multiverse Crossover: The Perf 31
My Cyberpsycho Girlfriend 31
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