Chapter 12 - The Express I

City of Easton, Nespia, Therian Continent

The morning was gentle and cool in Easton. When the rooster gave its cry initially, it had been pouring rain outside. When the rain let up, though, it made way for a beautiful sunrise to set in upon the land. The ground remained moist for hours after, with worms wriggling around and early birds out to prey on them. At Easton's harbor, a fisherman collected one from the ground to use as bait. The streets were calm, and not many but the very early risers had woken.

Easton's port region was packed with ships, their masts down for now, but ready to sail out into the Dalton Straight at any moment. With them, they carried all sorts of vital goods to be sold for higher prices in neighboring Alterion. Spices from Yitra and Milchaka, and even gemstones from the other continents. The captains and their crews, though, still rested far below deck, starting the day on their own time.

In the town hall, the workers and government officials had just arrived to clock in for the day, though many other places wouldn't open for hours to come. Outside, adventurers seeking the first jump on the morning's release of bounties moved towards the gates. In between these two districts was nestled the train station. It was decidedly the most lively place at that time of morning, with many preferring to arrive in the next country early to savor the whole day.

"Nespia Alterion express is now boarding!" Shouted the bag boy.

The platform in Easton station was packed with travelers of many different flavors. Adventurers rushed to cross the border before the declaration of war, while others were just citizens getting from point A to point B. They formed a mosh pit trying to board the train, shoulders bashing together and bags flying. One way or another, they all boarded the train after cramming through the tiny singular doorway. From there, they sorted themselves into different compartments depending on their ticket price. There were likely over two hundred people boarding.

The train blew steam and chugged its heavy machinery, hardly waiting for the passengers to be seated. At first, it struggled, then jutted forward with surprising speed. On the platform a late traveler rushed forward, yelling out something unintelligible. The wind of the train blew his tophat off, and he could be seen falling to his knees, clutching at the ground. With that, the Nespia Alterion Express disappeared into the distance and beyond the horizon.

The bag boy, after doing his job and storing bags in a compartment by the door, became the servant. As the train started, he moved between carts, taking orders for drinks and foods that would be made in the compartment at the front. He was dressed in a simple dress shirt and pants, his shoes shuffling along the nicely carpeted floor. This was an expensive and luxury train ride, so no expense would be spared to milk the passengers of their funds.

But first, he looked at himself in the mirror outside of the kitchen. A young boy, only about sixteen. He'd been lucky to get a well paying job such as this at a young age, so he had to make it count. A swipe through his short brown hair and a smile at himself. Though it never failed to make him anxious, he had to give it all he had. Away he went, a notepad and pencil in his hands.

One of the first was an old man. Even though the train had just set off, he already seemed to be sleeping. A katana was between his legs, leaning on his shoulder and cradled by his arm. His face was riddled with wrinkles and his hair was solid silver. Despite the boy's insistence, he'd brought the sword on board anyway; then again, a mere worker didn't hold much authority against an officer from the Dragon Guard. He moved on, deciding not to bother the man.

At the very back was a group of ruffians who'd once again insisted on bringing their weapons aboard. Two men and a girl, whose only claim was that they were students at Lancaster. They watched him with judgmental eyes as he approached, holding a list of orders.

"Sorry for the wait."

"Don't worry about it," Ingram said. "Just get me some water."

"Tea. Green," Ulfric said.

"I'm alright," Julie said.

"You don't want a drink?" Ingram asked.

The girl shook her head, meanwhile the bag boy slipped away with their orders. The back of the train was the liveliest part, and all of the loud voices were hurting his head. He'd been taught by his poor parents to never forget where he came from when he grew older and made heaps of money. He wondered though, was he so loud and unsophisticated when he was still poor? He didn't think so. Therefore, he'd judge by what he saw and not what he was told.

The second he entered the next car, the sound vanished, and the passengers became more sophisticated. Children of royalty and royalty themselves; military men and others from the Dragon Guard. This was where he belonged, taking orders from people who deserved it, he thought. The silence set in upon his ears, and suddenly he was calm, stepping through one more car to arrive back at the kitchen with a fresh set of orders.

The kitchen was empty though, devoid of the chef who'd been there only moments before. He stepped across the threshold and called the name of his co-worker. No response, so he moved in further, with something tingling at the edge of his senses. Deciding his friend had likely just gone for a short break to the front of the train, he ended up focusing on pouring the drinks and systematically setting them on a tray for delivery. The drinks to be delivered last would go in the middle. He whistled a happy tune as he went about his work.

A dark presence lurked in the shadows behind him, just out of his vision. The boy, a reg, was blissfully unaware of his final moments. The sword struck him through the center of the chest, and he dropped a glass onto the floor; it shattered, sending tiny flecks of class cascading across the tiles. He collapsed onto the floor into a pool of his own blood, steadily growing. The passengers outside heard the glass crack but didn't care. The boy couldn't even manage a scream, only to lay there dying with regretful thoughts.

"You ever been on a train before, Ulfric?" Ingram asked.

"No, first time. It's nice."

"Only trouble is killing time."

They sat at a booth by a window, similar to something one would see in a restaurant. Ulfric sat across from both Ingram and Julie. Ingram had given up his weapon for some reason, while the other two insisted on keeping them by their side. Julie was half asleep, her head slowly bobbing backwards as her consciousness faded away; the brothers didn't do much to avoid waking her. She was a deep sleeper, as seen by the fact that she was able to fall asleep at all in such a loud area.

Ulfric stared longingly into the distance. Beyond were rolling hills and settlements that eventually led to the Killers, reigning supreme over the region with their grand snowy caps. There, many adventurers had conquered and just as many had faced a fate most unfortunate. Ulfric wondered if some day, he too would conquer those mountains. With war threatening the continent and the fate of their family looking grim, he wasn't sure if his courage would even allow him to see such a day.

If the destruction to come in Nespia was anything like the destruction on the border of Alterion and Eisendrach, it was something to be feared. After all, the majority of the final grade mages in the world were filthy rich off of running private military companies. In other words, sides could hire them at their leisure, unlike the Dragon Guard which abstained from combat of that sort. If a war were to pass, truly, there may not have been a mountain range left at the end of it.

Before he knew it, he'd drifted off deep into a daydream. He saw himself on the train, a dark presence nagging at the back of his mind. The world spun around and around and blood flew. An enemy walked out of the shadows. Was this a premonition or simply a delusion? Ulfric had no mana, after all, so surely he wouldn't have any real danger sense.

"Farka?" Ingram asked, his head tilted, wondering where Ulfric's mind was.

Ulfric jolted to life like a crank toy. "I dunno how to play. Besides, you really bring those cards with you wherever?"

Ingram swiped a hand. "Course' I do. New lands, new people to beat."

 "You fancy yourself a professional?"

"Better than you."

"Come on. The bar is in hell." Ulfric scanned nervously around the car as he spoke. Clearly, whatever it was that unsettled him had little to no effect on Ingram. He must've really been losing it, or maybe it was just motion sickness. For someone like him to have motion sickness was quite embarrassing though, so he'd have to make sure not to vocalize it.

Ingram set the Farka deck on the table. It was fancy, unlike any deck of cards Ulfric had ever seen; the cards were all foreign, as if written in a different language. Ulfric had no idea what it meant, and he doubted he'd be able to learn without hours of studying it. A truly impressive and likely technical game. Where was it that Ingram's cheating came into play, he wondered.

Still, he indulged Ingram for what seemed like an hour. One check of his pocket watch revealed it had only been ten minutes. The boy grew impatient, his mouth dry and yearning for a drink that never seemed to come. Ingram was so engrossed with the game, entirely oblivious to the fact that Ulfric couldn't have cared less. For a moment, it felt as if Ulfric were the older brother.

"Hey Ingram. Where'd the waiter get off ?"

"Dunno. I can't sense him either."

"Would you be able to?"

"Maybe Julie could."

"Don't bother waking her," Ulfric said. "I'm going to go get our drinks." He stood up and awkwardly slid out of the booth, checking to make sure his dagger was clipped to his belt.

"Eh? We were just getting started." Ingram pouted.

"Well I want a drink before we do." Ulfric paid his brother no mind. The motion sickness continued to plague his body. Something about the train was off. A presence in the shadows, and a familiar old man. He'd start by investigating the further cars and retrieving his drink. Some tea would probably make the cloud in his head feel better. Shuffle by shuffle along the carpet he moved slowly, attracting the eyes of passengers as he reached for the connecting doors.

Viewing the landscape of the Nespian countryside through the plated windows of the inside didn't have nearly as much of an effect as looking from between the carts. The wind and the full beauty and brightness of the world hit Ulfric's eyes, and tears came free from the sheer pressure. The train sped and ground on the rails beneath them, bolting ahead at a kilometer a minute. He stepped across to the next car, taking a final glance back at his family before sliding the door shut.

They were in the poorest part of the train, so it wasn't a shock that the next area instantly became fancier. All of the people there already had drinks, likely placed in a priority queue. There was the old man that he recognized, sitting with his katana. Lance Lightswift, the final grade mage. The man who'd supposedly protected the king from an assassination attempt the other day. Many called Lance the strongest final grade mage, so seeing him up close and in such detail was a shock for Ulfric. He'd met his son many times, but never the man himself. 

His glaring eyes and the setting sensation that he could kill you any moment he pleased. His face was full of wrinkles, clearly far past his prime and yet still with luscious white hair and bangs that dangled in strings just above his eyes. He wore a headband with something resembling a kimono, the symbol of the Dragon Guard just above his heart. Even so, he had no scars to speak of on his face. An unbelievably deadly warrior.

Many legends were told about him, in fact. They say he sliced a mountain in half in Hinomori, or that he slayed a mythical sea beast they called the Flatoa. He once fought one thousand men and came out without a scratch. Even if these legends were half true, it made him undoubtedly one of the strongest warriors in Theria's history, nestled at the top somewhere close to Dalton Farrowsmith. All of this with a flimsy little sword and enhancement magic, or so they say. Lance's presence alone brought an omen of danger, though.

Across from him sat a man in all black, wearing a hood so as to obscure his face. He could just barely make out golden locks of hair jutting out from the hood. They appeared to be having a very serious conversation, so Ulfric wasn't sure that interrupting a man like that was an excellent idea. He proceeded forward past the average looking crowd, quietly mulling over books and meals.

The next car was the fanciest, with plated gold and royal guests in outfits that matched. The air smelt of steak and wine, and the atmosphere was well set with mood lighting. They gave him dirty looks as he passed, even though Ulfric was likely of higher status than them. Now he was nearing the front, and there, the kitchen. Not a sound could be heard from inside or around, and the waiter was nowhere to be seen.

Much to the protest of nearby customers, Ulfric stuck his head into the kitchen, and eventually stepped inside. Tiled flooring clacked against his shoes, and he looked around. The place was fancy, knives hanging around everywhere and stoves recently lit, yet there was no one to be seen. He shuffled forward and leaned into the island at the center, scanning the room.

Shattered glass covered the floor, blood staining them. The blood in question slid across the tiles, leaking into the crevices and holding still. The crimson fluid smelt of iron, but Ulfric did not know its source. Doubt crept into his mind, wondering if he should step forward at all. He peeked around the corner, and there was confirmed his worst fear. The feeling of dread wasn't motion sickness, but a sinister plot afoot on board the train.

A body. A dead body. At first Ulfric was shaken, his eyes not adjusted properly to the light. It was at the edge of his vision, and forced him to snap to attention. It was a body he recognized, dressed in a crisp uniform with a tie. A fair build, just a bit shorter than he was. Mutilated and bloody. Without a doubt, though terror was still written on the face, it was the body of the waiter. Behind Ulfric, drinks that had yet to be served remained on the counter.

The boy lay against the wall. Blood leaked from his lips, and there was a single gaping wound in the center of his chest. It had come from that back; a surprise attack, deliberate and intended to make the target suffer. His eyes were black and devoid of light, rolling into the back of his head, his lips awkwardly hanging open. His arms were at either side, his fingers unhinged and dipping into the pool of blood beneath him. He was only a kid, perhaps a year or two younger than Ulfric.

Ulfric froze in place. He knew he needed to move, but couldn't. Every single person on the train was in danger. Why was it that he couldn't move? He knew then, the aura that crept up his legs to hold him in place. This was fear of the most primal and instinctual variety. He willed his legs to move, straining his mind to the utter limit just to take a single step. His arm drew the dagger from his belt as he slowly stepped out into the car, his boots leaving bloody stains on the carpet.

Just hours before, he'd been peacefully walking with Ingram and Julie. Now, he found himself thrust into a life or death situation in what was supposed to be a relaxing train ride. Whatever the source was, it didn't matter. His rings were on his hand; he could stop this. He bit his tongue and continued, his face grown angry and murderous, radiating his own intent on the gradually panicking onlookers.

The occupants appeared terrified, not even attempting to stop him as he passed. His eyes were dark and narrow, brows furrowed. He'd pushed his hair out of his face to get a better view, brown locks flowing behind him as he took each struggling step. He had to warn Ingram and Julie of the danger, no matter what. Stumble by stumble, he'd reach them.

Leaning against the door to the first car is when another deadly presence hit him. It was magic so strong that even Ulfric (without a magic sense) became sick when it was released. His stomach rumbled with nerves as if his whole body were about to explode. He stood there, eyes wide and staring just like the rest of the passengers behind him. Ulfric could not sense magic, but he could sense danger. In that instant, his senses told him one thing. Duck.

The entire top half of the train vanished in an instant as Ulfric hit the floor. A clean cut from a single blade that ran the length of the entire train. The roof soared away, disappearing into the fields beyond. Behind Ulfric, a geyser of blood exploded into the now open space as the entire car of civilians were instantly torn in half by the attack. His eyes lost focus as he stared at the patterns in the carpet. Eventually, blood leaked far enough to reach him, staining the knees of his new pants. He gripped violently with his hands as if to grab the train and throw it. Panic was rising inside of him.

Lance Lightswift stomped forward and made a noise of disapproval. He'd swung such a deadly attack and failed to eliminate the enemy in front of him. They now stood in the middle car of the train, face to face. Lance threw away his katana's scabbard to the floor and twirled the blade around. His combat stance was effortless and without error, his blade casually set out in front of him as if murdering his opponent was as easy as breathing.

His opponent was the man in the hood. He had two bandoliers crossing his chest which were filled with smaller daggers. In each hand he had a short sword; one already sliced clean in half, likely a consequence of blocking the attack prior. He laughed to himself, perhaps happy that he was in the presence of such a strong opponent. Finally, a smile across his face and his eyes covered in shadow, he pulled away the hood.

One of human kind's strongest then stood face to face with the race blessed with longevity. Though they are not as blessed as humans in magical talent, they make up for it with time. The species long thought to be extinct, and something Ulfric had never quite seen up close before. His face was straight and narrow and his eyes were a vibrant green.

Without a doubt, Lance Lightswift now stood against an elf.