Part 1
The early afternoon sun glazed the University's Gothic spires with a golden sheen as Philip and Elora stepped out onto the wide marble steps. Behind them, a small crowd of gawking students and curious faculty parted ways, whispering about the flamboyant couple who had strolled the medical wing like an engaged pair discussing "aging genes."
Philip paused at the top of the steps, inhaling the crisp air. He was still reeling from what he'd learned. A segment of him actually wanted to linger, peppering Elora with more questions about her lifespan research. But the rational side reminded him that he was in a swirl of scandal, with pressing errands back at Redwood Estate.
Elora looped her arm around his. She had changed into her fur-trimmed traveling cloak—still pastel and tastefully extravagant—and her eyes gleamed with excitement. "Well, dear Philip, was my mini-tour enlightening?" she teased, leaning in so close that her words tickled the edge of his ear. "Or shall I show you more?"
Philip tried not to picture them alone in a basement. He cleared his throat, carefully removing her hand from the crook of his elbow. "I'm impressed," he said honestly, rummaging for a polite smile to hide the warmth in his cheeks. "It's more advanced than anything I expected."
She beamed at his praise. "So, you see? Once I perfect the method of suppressing those retroviruses, we could share centuries, traveling the continent, stopping wars, whatever your big heart dreams of." Her gaze shone with bright conviction, as though immortality were just a month or two away from final testing.
A swirl of guilt tugged at Philip. A part of him admired Elora's brilliance and sweet sincerity, but Natalia needed him. Not to mention that she was critical to the mission the System assigned. "Elora," he began softly, "I really appreciate everything you're doing. But … I just kind of … need some time to digest everything. I still have lingering amnesia."
She opened her mouth as if to protest but then caught the uncertain flicker in his eyes. With a small sigh, she nodded, gently stepping back. "Take your time, darling. There is no rush, after all. I am yours for the taking for all the days of my life." The passion in her words caught Philip off his guard. He had never had such a profession of love from anyone before. Maybe from Tara before, but that felt like an empty promise from another lifetime.
Nearby, Lydia and Mia were waiting by the motorcar, its engine idling. The vehicle's brass fittings glinted like the knobs of a mechanical dragon. Mia gave Elora a respectful nod, while Lydia stiffened as if preparing for fresh drama.
The motorcar rumbled and lurched forward. Within minutes, they had left the University grounds, merging onto one of Yortinto's main roads lined with half-timbered shops and bustling sidewalks. Townsfolk hustled about—working men in crisp shirts, women in ankle-length dresses, students with books clutched tight—and all parted like an awed sea when they caught sight of the Redwood crest on the door.
"Local celebrity, hmm?" Elora teased. "They must be dazzled by you, the 'pacifist cavalry hero' who's all over the tabloids." Her laughter rang softly, though not unkindly.
He sighed. "I'm not particularly proud of that label. If anything, it's complicated my life."
Elora patted his thigh, the gesture half maternal, half flirtatious. "Don't fret. Once Laura's fiancé calls off the duel, you'll be freed from that fiasco, at least. Then we can focus on your dreams." She smiled. "I keep my ear to the ground, darling."
Philip tried to quell his blush at her hand's proximity but found it oddly comforting. He gave a grateful nod. "Thank you, truly."
After an hour of drive, Lydia announced quietly from the driver's seat. "We're nearing the outskirts, Master Philip. Should I take the scenic route along the orchard roads, or the main highway?"
"Scenic route," he replied. The orchard roads might be emptier, giving them fewer prying eyes. Also, he felt a stirring of pride, imagining showing Elora the orchard that—despite all its debt fiascos—was once Redwood Estate's hallmark. Perhaps one day he'd let her see the revitalized orchard if his finances shaped up.
Elora's eyes danced. "Ooh, orchard roads. How romantic. Trees, sunlight, fresh air. If we break down, we can always take a stroll." She winked. "Don't you think a walk among the apple blossoms might be nice, dear Philip?"
He gave a helpless laugh. "I suppose so. Just… hopefully no breakdown." This motorcar had proven finicky, but Lydia typically kept it in decent shape.
They turned onto a narrower lane, leaving behind the city's hum. Rolling farmland and occasional stands of forest spanned both sides, interspersed with quiet homesteads. Golden light filtered through the branches overhead, painting fleeting patterns across the motorcar's hood. With each mile, tension eased from Philip's shoulders. The orchard roads had a comforting nostalgia, reminiscent of simpler times—though "simpler" was a relative term, given his recent escapades. He realized he still needed to figure out how to politely handle Elora's affectionate advances. Did he want to date her seriously? He wasn't sure. She was adorable yet overwhelming. There was also his commitment to levelling up Natalia.
Elora, apparently reading his unsettled expression, leaned in. "Don't look so pensive, darling. I won't bite." The playful lilt in her tone overshadowed the sincerity of her statement.
They continued through dappled sunlight, listening to the engine's rumble, occasionally making small talk about orchard expansions or philanthropic daycare. Lydia, from up front, remained vigilant; one never knew what or who might lurk in these quiet roads.
Part 2
Half an hour later, the road narrowed into a gentle bend flanked by tall hedges and a dense stand of beech trees that blocked the afternoon sun. Elora had quieted, resting her head on Philip's shoulder in the back seat of the motorcar. Up front, Lydia drove while Mia sat beside her, occasionally craning her neck to watch the road. Their engine's low hum provided a soothing rhythm, and no one expected danger on this quiet orchard lane.
Suddenly, a piercing crack cut through the air—like a rifle shot. In that split second, faint blue runes flared along the motorcar's frame. A shimmering barrier materialized around the hood and windows, deflecting the first bullet with a bright spark. The ricochet hissed off, but a second shot followed fast. This time, the shield flickered under the impact, fracturing near the passenger window. Shards of the magical barrier splintered, and a chunk of real glass cracked beneath it. Mia let out a startled cry and ducked. Lydia slammed the brakes, sending the car skidding on loose gravel.
"Hold on!" Lydia yelled as the motorcar shuddered to a halt. Another gunshot rang out, grazing the half-damaged magical shield. Metal fragments and shimmering residue scattered in the air.
Elora shrieked, grabbing Philip's arm. He instinctively hunched, heart hammering. From the fractured windshield, he glimpsed silhouettes crouched along the tree line. Muzzle flashes lit the undergrowth in bursts of orange light.
"Assassins?!" Elora gasped, adrenaline surging. She fumbled for a small pocket pistol under her cloak, fear tangling her fingers. "Kendrick warned me about your last fiasco—are they at it again?"
"We're pinned," Lydia muttered, forcing the gear lever into reverse. The magical barrier still crackled around parts of the motorcar's chassis, but it was clearly weakened. Before she could properly back up, a volley of bullets hammered the hood, punching through the battered barrier. Steam hissed from a punctured conduit as the engine gave a dying cough.
Philip's pulse pounded; a near-death scenario again. "Everyone—out!" he hissed, pushing open the rear door. One bullet shattered the last vestiges of the barrier near Mia's seat, prompting her to jerk back with a curse.
Mia gritted her teeth, yanking a revolver from beneath the dashboard. "Let's move!" she barked, surprising Philip with her commanding tone. She hopped out behind Lydia, bracing her firearm. Another shot ricocheted off the doorframe, forcing her to duck low.
Elora trembled beside Philip, her bravado flickering. He helped her scramble onto the road, glass crunching underfoot. Lydia took cover behind the front fender, while Mia pressed herself against the passenger-side wheel well, revolver gripped in both hands.
"They're flanking from the hedges," Mia warned sharply, scanning the orchard. "We count at least six or seven—maybe more."
Elora's eyes flashed with panic as she crouched behind the motorcar's rear tire. "Are they bandits or assassins?" she whispered in fright.
"No time to figure that out," Philip rasped, unarmed yet again. He cursed under his breath—so much for being known as a "pacifist hero." He'd adopt any stance needed to keep everyone alive. Bullets whistled overhead, smashing the orchard's branches and peppering the car's metal siding.
"Master Philip," Lydia called through the hail of gunfire, "we can't outrun them on foot if they close in." Her voice wavered with urgency. "I alerted Albert just now."
Elora clenched her jaw, face pale. "I've… got one idea," she breathed. "I built a sedation device from leftover medical experiments. If I fling it at them, the gas might knock them out—assuming they inhale enough." Her gaze darted between Philip and Lydia. "But it's untested in real combat."
A fresh barrage hammered the motorcar. Sparks danced where the shattered magical shield tried to flicker back to life, but it was clearly shorting out.
"Do it," Philip said firmly. "Better than waiting to die."
Elora dug into her cloak, extracting a small metal sphere and a vial of shimmering liquid. Her hands shook as she poured the vial's contents into the sphere via a narrow valve. "I made this for crowd control in riots, never for an actual battlefield," she admitted.
Mia peered around the passenger door, eyes narrowing at the muzzle flashes in the distance. "They're spreading out," she called. "We might have less than a minute."
Elora took a steadying breath, pressing a small pin into place on the sphere. "Four seconds after I pull this ring, it goes off. When that happens, I pray they're close enough to breathe the gas."
Philip inhaled sharply. "I'll distract them. Mia, Lydia—cover Elora. When I give the signal, she can throw."
Mia's eyes flicked to Philip, unsure. "You'll get shot—"
He mustered a grim grin. "We don't have time to debate." Then, with a silent three-count in his head—one, two, three—he popped up from behind the trunk, waving his arms frantically. A muzzle flash answered, bullets whizzing dangerously close. He ducked again, heart hammering. But sure enough, the attackers fixated on him instead of the others.
Lydia sprang up from the front fender, firing her small revolver in the general direction of the shooters. At the same moment, Elora pulled the ring and hurled her sedation sphere in a graceful arc over the battered roof. Mia leaned out, also taking two carefully aimed shots that pinned down an attacker trying to flank on the left.
One second. Two. Three. Four…
A muted whump. A plume of pale green smoke billowed among the beech trees, drifting across the hedges. Gunfire staggered, turning into scattered bursts. Shouts of "Gas—pull back!" echoed, followed by hacking coughs. Several silhouettes stumbled, dropping to their knees.
Elora's eyes shone with hope. "It's working!"
But before anyone could relax, a fresh volley of gunfire raked the orchard from the far edge, ripping through hedges and scattering the lingering green gas. A bullet whistled overhead and struck Mia in the shoulder, spinning her halfway around before she dropped to her knees, blood seeping through her coat.
"Mia!" Lydia exclaimed, racing over in alarm. She crouched low, trying to stanch the bleeding, while Philip and Elora hurried back behind the motorcar's battered frame. The orchard's hush shattered anew, and muzzle flashes flickered like angry fireflies in the distance.
"Elora, get down!" Philip barked. Another shot tore the remains of the motorcar's magical barrier, sending cracks of shimmering residue through the air. Before Elora could respond, more figures emerged, half-gassed but still determined. Their masked faces glistened with sweat as they fanned out to encircle Lydia and the wounded Mia.
Just as panic began to surge, a familiar voice rang out: "Over here!"
Philip peered through the haze to see Albert crouched behind a crooked fence post, shotgun at the ready. Standing beside him, hair gleaming gold, was Natalia. She shed her travel cloak without hesitation and sprinted into the fray. One masked assailant fired at her point-blank, but she lunged aside, hooking his arm with impossible speed. Her twisting momentum disarmed him in a heartbeat. Another man charged, only to catch Natalia's whirling kick that sent him sprawling face-first into the dirt.
From her kneeling position near the passenger door, Mia gritted her teeth against the pain. She forced herself upright, reloaded her revolver one-handed, and steadied her aim on the gunmen threatening Lydia. A deafening crack split the air, and one attacker reeled, clutching his side. Lydia darted away, sliding behind a tree trunk to regain cover.
Within moments, the orchard road erupted into pandemonium. Coughing, half-stunned attackers reeled from Elora's gas while Natalia's martial skill cut down those still strong enough to fight. Albert's measured shotgun blasts forced the last men to retreat. By the time the green haze thinned, half a dozen ambushers lay groaning or unconscious amid trampled foliage.
A tense hush fell. Philip exhaled in relief, his heart still hammering. "We survived… again," he murmured. He scrambled to check on Mia, who pressed a hand to her bleeding shoulder but managed a tight-lipped nod. Lydia hovered beside her, calling for a bandage. Nearby, Elora trembled, pistol clutched uselessly in her lap.
Natalia stood a few paces away, chest heaving, her forearm already bruising. When she spotted Philip, her eyes brightened with relief. She hurried over, brushing a few stray golden strands from her face.
As Natalia joined Philip at the side of the motorcar, her breaths were ragged but her gaze was warm. A bruise marred her forearm, yet she reached out gently. "Master," she said softly, "you're safe." Her hand found his shoulder in a reassuring grip.
He nodded, letting out a shaky laugh. "Safe because of you." He offered a grateful smile, then looked over to see Elora kneeling by the trunk, staring at Mia's injury with wide eyes. Lydia pressed cloth to Mia's wound as Albert kept watch for any stray ambushers.
Just when they thought the danger had passed, a muffled groan sounded from behind a nearby bush. One last assailant, half-dazed from sedation, staggered forward with a revolver in hand. Mia's weapon was empty from her final shots; Lydia's revolver jammed moments ago. Elora let out a frightened gasp.
Philip braced for the worst. But Natalia sprang forward, placing herself between Elora and the would-be shooter. A muzzle flash flared. In that heartbeat, her hand glowed faintly as she raised it. A flicker of mana coalesced into a shimmering shield. The bullet ricocheted off at a sharp angle, burying itself harmlessly in the dirt. The attacker froze in shock—only for Natalia to slam him with a swift blow that laid him out cold.
Silence reigned.
"Are you feeling okay, Master Philip?"
For once, Philip felt oddly fine. He shook his head, baffled. "I feel completely fine," he admitted. Natalia blinked in confusion, as though equally surprised.
In the hush that followed, a cutesy voice rang privately in Philip's head. He glanced aside to see the System suddenly manifested—only visible to him—this time wearing a cheeky nurse's uniform that showcased her impeccably smooth long legs. She batted her eyelashes. "I might have an explanation, dear Host," she teased. "Care to guess how you had enough mana for that shield?"
Philip stifled a groan. "Don't tell me you—"
"Exactly," the System purred. "I converted five thousand Continental dollars from your bank account into raw mana—very generous, I know." She flashed a playful grin. "Otherwise, your sweet Familiar might have taken that bullet in the shoulder. You can thank me later."
Philip's eyes nearly popped from his skull. "Five thousand?" he spluttered in his thoughts. A fortune! Enough to fund orchard repairs or pay staff salaries for a long time. Right as he opened his mouth to mentally protest, the System gave him a flippant wave. "Not now, dear Host. There are more urgent matters you need to deal with."
She nodded pointedly in another direction. Puzzled, Philip followed her gaze—and froze. Standing a short distance away, Natalia had just offered Elora a steadying hand to help her up from the ground. Their eyes met in a charged instant: two blondes, side by side. Elora, face pale from the ambush, wore an expression reminiscent of a regal wife sizing up a peasant mistress, while Natalia—still bruised and breathless—refused to avert her gaze.
Philip swallowed hard, sensing the tension crackle between them.