Just as they were engaged in conversation, the heavy carriage ground to a sudden, jarring halt.
"What is happening out there?" Remilia's voice drifted out from the velvet-lined interior of the cabin, carrying a note of mild impatience.
"There is an obstruction on the path ahead. I shall venture out to investigate!" Handing the leather reins over to Sakuya Izayoi, who sat calmly beside her on the driver's bench, Hong Meiling leapt down into the dirt and marched forward.
Before long, a rhythmic series of muffled explosions resonated from the craggy path ahead, shaking the loose gravel underfoot. A few minutes later, Meiling strolled back toward the transport, casually dusting off her hands.
"Are there active Originium Bombs deployed along this exact highway?" Clever inquired, her gaze fixed upon the entirely uninjured martial artist with a look of absolute horror.
"Indeed, it appears to be a functional minefield," Meiling remarked, patting her chest with an air of immense, unbridled pride. "Rest assured, I have personally cleared every single explosive device obstructing our path. I even went over the trajectory a second time just to ensure there would be no missed spots left behind."
Clever scanned the immediate, silent horizon, her expression growing increasingly tense. "But have you actually considered why a live minefield was established here in the first place? Could there be a contingent of Sarkaz mercenaries lurking in the vicinity? The sound of those detonations will inevitably draw them straight to our position."
"Let them come," Meiling replied, entirely unfazed by the warning. On the contrary, she seemed actively enthusiastic about the prospect. "It would be absolute perfection if we managed to apprehend a couple of local residents to ask for proper directions. That way, we won't lose our bearings amidst this endless, rocky terrain."
However, whether their traveling party possessed an extraordinary surplus of good fortune, or Meiling herself simply suffered from a stroke of bad luck, they traversed the remaining boundary of the minefield without encountering a single scout coming to investigate the noise.
By the time evening descended upon the wasteland, the carriage arrived at the banks of a narrow, trickling stream. Observing that the local topography was relatively flat and offered an open, clear view of the surrounding ridges, the group decided to establish a temporary camp for the night.
Seeing Meiling begin to gather a bundle of dry, brittle branches to light a fire, Clever hurried forward to intercept her.
"This is Kazdel. The rules of engagement here are entirely different from the safe territories you are accustomed to," the librarian warned in a low, urgent tone. "If you must ignite a fire within these borders, you try to dig a low-lying pit so the ambient glow remains hidden from the horizon. You cannot afford to attract unnecessary attention."
She gestured toward the open plains. "In other nations, one deliberately builds a campfire in a highly visible location to signal to passing travelers that the camp is occupied. But here, the golden rule of survival is to avoid being discovered by any means necessary."
Meiling blinked in mild surprise, thinking quietly to herself, 'But doesn't drawing attention suit my underlying wishes perfectly?' If no roving bands managed to discover their location, how on earth would she secure the opportunity to apprehend a local guide?
"Meiling, when in Rome, do as the Romans do. Defer to Clever's judgment on this matter!"
Before the martial artist could deliberately ignore the advice, Remilia's authoritative voice echoed from a short distance away. Yielding to the instruction, Meiling could only regretfully carry her firewood down into a shallow depression, constructing a rudimentary stove out of jagged stones before sparking the kindling.
Just as the flames began to catch, Flandre's bright, melodic giggling drifted over from the nearby brush.
"Sister, Sister, look at what Flandre found! Two massive crabs!"
Hearing the child's triumphant declaration, Clever found herself deeply bewildered. Where on earth could fresh, living crabs possibly materialize within a godforsaken, arid wasteland like Kazdel? Her confusion vanished the moment Flandre flew back into the camp, hovering happily while clutching a massive, writhing Needle Flea in each of her small hands.
Given that the travelers had previously witnessed a swarm of these aggressive creatures attacking a merchant caravan, they immediately recognized that the specimens Flandre held were most assuredly not crabs.
Yet, the moment Clever laid eyes on the thrashing Needle Fleas, her eyes lit up with genuine excitement. Although the local fauna certainly weren't standard shellfish, the culinary quality of their meat didn't taste a single bit worse than authentic ocean crab. Especially the tender, succulent meat concealed within their elongated limbs, encased beneath a thick layer of bone, which was incomparably delicious.
If it weren't for the fact that these creatures were notoriously volatile, nearly impossible to domesticate, and capable of spraying a remarkably potent neurotoxin, charcoal-grilled Needle Flea legs would have long since become a world-renowned delicacy celebrated across the entirety of Terra. Fortunately, although the organisms were heavily venomous, the neurotoxin was entirely concentrated within their primary torso, leaving the meat of their appendages perfectly safe for consumption.
Once Clever finished detailing the precise method of butchering the creatures—explaining that they must discard the main body entirely and harvest only the lengthy limbs—she handed the specimens over to their resident head chef, Sakuya Izayoi.
Standing beside the maid and watching the preparation, Meiling scratched her chin. "A mere count of two isn't nearly enough to satisfy everyone's appetite. Flandre, where exactly did you manage to apprehend these peculiar bugs?"
Flandre looked up at Meiling, her lower lip pouting in immediate dissatisfaction. "They are crabs, not bugs!"
"Alright, alright, they are crabs," Meiling conceded with a chuckle, opting not to waste time arguing over taxonomy when there was potential food on the line. "So, where precisely did you harvest these crabs?"
Flandre pointed a small finger back toward the craggy path she had just traversed. "Just over there. While Flandre was wandering around to play earlier, I noticed a dense thorn bush with a lot of rustling movement inside. It turned out to be these crabs, so I simply caught two and brought them back to show everyone."
The moment the carriage had brought itself to a halt, Flandre had requested permission to explore the immediate perimeter. Considering the child's absolute, terrifying level of personal competence, Remilia hadn't seen any reason to refuse, merely instructing her younger sister not to stray too far from the transport. That brief excursion had yielded their current prize.
Upon hearing the details, Meiling immediately suggested that they venture back out to secure a larger harvest. Sakuya weighed the available portions of meat in her hands and offered a definitive nod. "An additional pair of specimens should suffice to provide an adequate meal for the entire party."
Having received the head chef's official endorsement, Meiling vanished into the twilight like a shooting star. In less than ten minutes, the martial artist returned to the camp, swinging another pair of thrashing Needle Fleas.
"Hey, there is an absolute abundance of these bugs nested over in that ridge," Meiling reported, dropping the creatures directly before the maid. "I did a rough visual count, and there are at least fifty or sixty of them huddled within the brambles."
Within the span of a single second, Sakuya's silver knives flashed through the air, cleanly separating the elongated limbs from the central torsos. She thoroughly rinsed the segments by the stream's edge, sliced a narrow opening into each calcified shell to allow the heat to penetrate, and arranged them neatly over the glowing coals.
A mere dozen minutes later, a visually stunning platter of charcoal-grilled Needle Flea legs was presented before the gathered travelers. Cracking open the brittle outer bone revealed a core of glistening, snow-white meat. The moment they sampled the first bite, everyone's eyes illuminated in sheer delight.
"This is incredibly delicious!" Clever exclaimed, her expression filled with pure culinary bliss as she savored her portion.
The meat possessed a remarkably smooth, velvety texture that closely mirrored premium crab, yet it was entirely devoid of any unpleasant, fishy sea odor. Every bite delivered a wave of pure, fresh sweetness that lingered pleasantly on the palate. Even Flandre, who traditionally maintained a strong aversion to ordinary mortal sustenance, meticulously cleared her entire portion down to the bone.
With dinner concluded, the camp began to wind down for a period of night rest.
"Meiling," Clever murmured, looking out into the darkness with a lingering trace of concern, "do you believe the remaining swarm of Needle Fleas might attempt to track us down to seek vengeance for their kin tonight?"
Meiling waved her hand dismissively. "Completely impossible. Do not be deceived by the fact that it only took me a handful of minutes to journey back and forth; I crossed the thresholds of two separate mountain ridges to reach that nest. The absolute geographical distance between our camp and that thorn bush is at least several kilometers. No matter how remarkably sensitive the olfactory senses of those bugs might be, it would be an extraordinary physical feat for them to track our scent across such a distance. Furthermore, even if they somehow manage to manifest at our perimeter, I harbor no fear whatsoever. At the very worst, we shall simply slaughter the entire swarm and restock our larder."
Beholding Meiling's unshakeable, absolute confidence—and taking into account the monstrous baseline strength the martial artist possessed—Clever's lingering anxieties were thoroughly put to rest, and she finally drifted off into a peaceful sleep.
On the second morning following their entry into the desolate borders of Kazdel, the traveling party finally encountered their very first native Sarkaz resident.
The individual in question was dressed in incredibly shabby, threadbare attire, appearing as though his entire outfit had been haphazardly stitched together from a chaotic assortment of miscellaneous industrial scraps and discarded fabrics. The moment the stranger laid eyes upon the approaching vehicle, his gaze filled with intense, unyielding suspicion and guarded caution.
After all, what manner of respectable, law-abiding individual would dare to casually operate a horse-drawn carriage deep within the anarchic territories of Kazdel?
Under normal circumstances, the moment an ordinary traveler encountered a passing squad of Sarkaz mercenaries, the raiders would violently swallow the carriage, the passengers, and the underlying cargo in one single, ravenous gulp, leaving absolutely nothing behind. Consequently, any entity possessing the sheer audacity to ride in an open, wheeled transport across Kazdel's turf was guaranteed to be either an incredibly powerful big shot or an absolute madman.
Regardless of which classification this specific group fell into, it simply wasn't a variable that he—a mere, low-tier Sarkaz scavenger surviving on the fringes—could ever afford to provoke.
What compounded his profound anxiety was the fact that this particular carriage appeared remarkably, breathtakingly exquisite. The sheer quality of the craftsmanship and materials made it look like a luxury item that ordinary mortals couldn't possibly afford to commission. Even within the fortified walls of Kazdel's main city, an small elite would ever possess the political power or raw audacity to ride in such a flashy, ostentatious vehicle.