The oppressive, chaotic noise of the sprawling capital city slowly faded into the distance. The towering white stone spires and heavily fortified, magical gates of Muntinlupa shrank steadily behind them as the holy entourage formally transitioned from perfectly laid Imperial cobblestones to the packed dirt trails leading out toward the free settlement of Poblacion.
Homer rode near the absolute center of the convoy formation, deliberately keeping his posture relaxed and slightly slouched to flawlessly maintain his ordinary mortal disguise. His silver eyes tracked the opulent ivory palanquin rolling smoothly ahead of him. He instantly recognized the heavy, intricate structural design of the transport. It was the exact same model of religious carriage he had desperately defended in the freezing timberland eons ago—the same heavily armored transport the True Dragon had repeatedly and violently smashed with its colossal tail. However, this specific carriage was entirely brand new. Its pristine white wood and gleaming silver wards were completely devoid of any massive claw marks, scorch patterns, or structural damage.
Surrounding the Priestess's carriage was a heavy, highly alert protective detail. The Titanium squad rode in a loose perimeter alongside a contingent of elite Church knights, including the heavily armored individuals driving the carriage itself. Everybody in the holy escort rode atop massive, bipedal Haribons. The imperial guards sat proudly upon standard, bright yellow avian mounts, their sun-bleached plumage stark against the dusty trail.
Homer, however, was perched atop a vastly different creature. He was riding the exact same dark red Haribon matriarch from their grueling badlands mission.
Homer vividly recalled their reunion in the inn courtyard earlier that morning. The massive, terrifyingly intelligent bird had stomped aggressively out of the stables, locked its bright eyes directly onto Homer, and offered a highly distinct look that clearly communicated, "Hey, it is me again!" The giant avian had then actively snapped its razor-sharp beak in a loud, dramatic motion, perfectly simulating a sarcastic "Ta-da!" before aggressively demanding he mount the heavy leather saddle.
Shaking his head at the recent memory, Homer reached out and gently patted the thick, dark red feathers of the Haribon's neck.
Instantly, the massive matriarch turned her heavy head, fixing Homer with a deeply judgmental, highly irritable side-eye. It was the exact, universally terrifying glare a highly annoyed woman might give her utterly clueless partner during a particularly bad mood—a look that clearly screamed, "What exactly do you want from me?"
Homer quickly snatched his hand back, gripping the leather reins tightly.
"Why do I always end up assigned to you?" Homer muttered silently under his breath, completely terrified of his own mount.
Zord, riding an older, calmer yellow Haribon slightly to Homer's right, noticed the entire silent exchange. The elderly shadow wizard did not utter a solitary word; he merely tapped his polished wooden staff against his saddle and allowed a quiet, enduring chuckle to rumble deep within his chest, highly amused by the Architect's complete inability to command a simple bird.
Ramel of Sucat aggressively kicked his armored Haribon to close the distance, pulling up directly to Homer's left side. The boisterous dwarf bounced heavily in his saddle, his thick subterranean iron armor clanking loudly, completely ignoring the necessary stealth of a badlands escort mission.
"So!" Ramel boomed, his impossibly loud voice echoing across the packed dirt road. "What exactly happened yesterday, lad? You spent the entire day traversing the capital alongside the supreme religious authority of the realm! By the triumphant look of things, it seems you had a vastly successful, highly romantic time with the Highest Priestess!"
Homer let out a long, heavy sigh, shifting uncomfortably in his saddle. "Not exactly, Ramel."
"Do not be modest!" Ramel laughed, slapping his thick hand against his armored thigh. "Tell us the tale! We missed the entire spectacle while coordinating this departure!"
Homer relented, raising his voice slightly so the nearby Titanium Vanguard could hear the sheer absurdity of his previous day without alerting the Church knights. He detailed the incredibly tense departure from the grand inn, the terrifying, unblinking glares of Erida's overprotective father, and the sprawling walk through the bustling commercial market where he purchased the masterwork Goblin earrings.
When Homer reached the part of the story concerning the manicured central park and the sudden, uncoordinated ambush, his tone shifted from exhausted to profoundly bewildered.
"These kids came completely out of nowhere," Homer explained, gesturing wildly with his free hand. "They charged directly out of the lush garden foliage, wielding blunt wooden training swords and screaming about protecting the Priestess from a dirty farmer. I was completely prepared to just blow them gently out of the way utilizing my basic wind magic."
Homer paused, shaking his head in sheer disbelief. "But precisely as I raised my hand to cast the spell, her father suddenly materialized directly out of thin air to join the fray. I swear, I never saw a grown, terrifyingly lethal assassin perform such childish, almost comical antics just to ruin his daughter's date, even in my original era."
Homer subtly gestured with his hand to imply the vast, apocalyptic expanse of time without speaking the actual chronological measurements aloud, ensuring the nearby Imperial guards remained utterly oblivious to his true nature.
He vividly recounted the absolute chaos of the manicured gardens to the listening adventurers. Just as the mob of furious adolescents stumbled forward, the towering Holy Knight, Edgar, had dropped gracefully from the high branches of an ancient oak tree. Instead of neutralizing the threat to his daughter, the ancient Elven assassin had aggressively pointed a massive, heavily calloused finger directly at Homer's chest.
"Yeah, you filthy farmer!" Edgar had roared, his incredibly deep, grinding voice echoing across the pristine park, entirely abandoning his pristine Imperial dignity. "Charge!"
The pubescent Elven leader of the fan club, completely realizing that a legendary Holy Knight was actively backing their ridiculous assault, had his eyes light up with pure, fanatical glory.
"For Miss Erida and for the Empire!" the teenagers had shrieked, charging forward with vastly renewed, chaotic vigor.
Homer, desperately attempting to maintain his fragile mortal cover, had loudly vocalized his corrupted Latin command syntax so everybody in the park could clearly hear him casting a spell. "Ventus!"
Utilizing Castor's flawless, predictive aerodynamic telemetry, Homer had released an incredibly gentle, sweeping gust of wind. The invisible wall of atmospheric pressure struck the charging teenagers directly in their shins. The entire mob violently tumbled forward, face-planting into the soft, manicured grass in a highly comical, disorganized heap.
Undeterred, and heavily cheered on by the roaring ancient assassin, the teenagers scrambled back to their feet and charged again.
"Ventus!" Homer chanted again, releasing another completely harmless, perfectly calculated gust of wind, knocking them entirely back into the dirt.
This utterly ridiculous cycle of events had repeated continuously for a protracted duration. The teenagers would charge, Edgar would bellow terrifying encouragements, and Homer would gently sweep them off their feet utilizing basic atmospheric pressure, utterly refusing to utilize any lethal force.
"Administrator, this entire charade is a catastrophic insult to our immortal capabilities," Pollux had screamed furiously within the digital void during the fight. "The biological entity designated as 'Father' is actively orchestrating a coordinated assault! The hostile adolescents are relentless! Allow me to link our internal network to their foundational gravity and violently snap their spinal columns!"
"Absolutely negative!" Castor had shouted back instantly, fighting his dark twin for control of the neural pathways. "The current tactical approach is flawlessly maintaining the 'clumsy wind mage' persona! Continue the gentle atmospheric sweeping, Administrator!"
The farcical combat had only ended when Erida, her flawless face completely flushed with pure, overwhelming holy rage, realized exactly what her towering father was orchestrating. The Highest Priestess had furiously marched directly past Homer, entirely ignoring the tumbling teenagers. She grabbed the colossal, mythril-dense Holy Knight by his tailored casual tunic and actively, violently dragged her massive father away from the battlefield, loudly scolding him for acting like an oversized child.
The stern Bishop and the trailing clerics had quickly followed the furious Priestess, leaving Homer alone on the path. With the Priestess completely gone, the bruised, grass-stained teenagers had stood up, raised their blunt wooden swords into the air, and loudly declared absolute victory over the turnip farmer.
As Erida dragged him away, Edgar had looked back over his massive shoulder. The terrifying Elven executioner had locked eyes with Homer, offering the Architect a profoundly smug, utterly triumphant smile.
Homer finished recounting the absurd tale, riding his dark red Haribon along the packed dirt road leading away from the city.
Mira the Silver Lioness, whom Homer had entirely failed to notice was riding her yellow mount silently behind him, flicked her sleek feline ears. The beastkin let out a highly dry, deeply cynical scoff.
"So," Mira noted, her predatory yellow eyes drifting toward the opulent ivory carriage rolling ahead of them in the convoy. "I suppose that perfectly explains exactly why her terrifying father is currently riding inside the palanquin alongside her. And Knight Kukla is inside there too, acting as an extra layer of suffocating Imperial security."
Homer blinked, his silver eyes widening in sudden realization. He looked toward the heavily warded carriage.
Directly in front of them, completely muffled by the thick white wood and the shimmering magical wards, they could clearly hear the frantic, highly muffled sounds of profound shouting. It was the distinct, overlapping audio of a furiously angry Highest Priestess aggressively arguing with a deeply defensive, rumbling Elven giant.
"I can actively filter the acoustic frequencies," Castor chimed in, isolating the muffled argument from the ambient road noise. "Shall I intercept the audio to determine exactly what they are saying?"
"No," Homer declined silently, immediately shutting down the espionage protocol. "Not everything needs to be heard, especially some private family moments."
"This entire convoy is a logistical nightmare," Pollux added coldly, its executioner logic vibrating with absolute disgust. "We are actively escorting a volatile, highly hostile operative directly into the badlands. The stealth extraction is fundamentally compromised. I strongly advise catastrophic preemptive action against the carriage."
Homer merely rubbed his temples, staring at the shaking ivory palanquin as the holy entourage marched further into the desolate territories, realizing this supposedly flawless escape plan was rapidly deteriorating into absolute chaos.