Strangers

Problematic. That was the first word that came to mind if I had to describe the other two passengers.

They were right out of a scene of a fantasy novel (in hindsight this is an incredibly idiotic line but it was genuinely the first thought that came to my mind)—a man and a woman. Or perhaps it would be more fitting to say a young lady and her bodyguard because the setup was so obvious. The man, most definitely around the same age as Annabelle and myself, was the quintessential definition of a royal knight, down to his blonde hair and icy blue eyes. His plate armour was painted in a deep navy, and lying flat by his side on the seats of the carriage was a sheathed longsword—its hilt decorated with gemstones and adorned with a three-headed lion. Now where have I seen this before? He looked at us, initially with intense suspicion, but his expression softened ever so slightly as he looked at Annabelle and eventually recognised us as non-threats.

The lady—it was hard to say, she was covered amateurishly in a ragged cloak and hood I guess was meant to disguise her appearance, but peeking conspicuously out of it were glimpses of expensive jewellery, fiery red hair, and piercing amber eyes—which ironically made her even more attention grabbing. Now where have I seen this before?

Okay, just kidding, I’m not an idiot—she was the splitting image of SaintAliciasFeet69. I understood it after a brief glance or two. And just like that, an overwhelming jumble of emotions assaulted me at the same time.

You fucker, you’re the reason I’m here and not with my Aunt.

I’ll kill you.

You legend, thank you for bringing me to such an awesome place.

I love you.

I’m still not sure if I deserve to be happy.

Things of that sort. Eventually, my mind settled on asking her a very natural question: Why did you bring me here?

Except… the more I looked at her, the more something about her features seemed off. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for me to conclude she wasn’t her. Most notably, Saint Alicia looked bigger, whereas this girl was… petite. I’d seen the real Saint’s body once in real life and enough times in various pieces of “visual media” to understand this primal difference. I also refuse to elaborate.

One thing was certain: whoever this girl was, if she was trying to hide her identity, then she was failing spectacularly at it. Her hair and eyes burned so brightly against her dull hood, they seemed to glow in the wake of the shadow cast over her face. Seeing her made me reflexively question the effectiveness of my own disguise, but before I had any time to linger on this thought the knight had cut off my sight line and addressed me directly.

“Good day to you. I’m Soren Nielsen, Templar Paladin of Stormhaven sect,” he said with a bow. His voice dripped with royalty. Then coldly, he added, “Our journey begins soon. You should perhaps take a seat.”

The weight of his “suggestion” wasn’t lost on me, despite the thick veneer of politeness he coated every word and gesture with. Stop looking at her. Particularly her chest. Okay, I just made that second part up, but the first wasn’t.

God damnit, I had reasons, okay?! No need to be so defensive.

Perhaps sensing the tension, Annabelle cut in with a clumsy curtsy of her own. “G-good day, Paladin Soren,” she replied in my stead. “I’m Annabelle, an Apprentice of Highcrest sect, and this is my Vigil, Templar Elder Rowan. We most certainly will.”

Wait a second. Paladin Soren? That sounded awfully familiar. I looked at him and the blade more closely again. He was very, very handsome. He looked like the type of person that, if thrown into jail, would somehow coax together a legion of ravenous white girls on Twitter calling rabidly for his release—or, using a more realistic analogy, a pretty hunk who would definitely be popular in BL circles. If I had ever seen him before, I would surely get so mad at his very existence that I’d block out all evidence of him from memory and refuse to include him in any of my decks, and unless someone were to suddenly mention his name…

Paladin Soren, Wrath of the North
3 Water Quanta
Legendary Creature — Human Knight
3/4

Hero. When [Paladin Soren, Wrath of the North] fights and defeats another creature in combat, add an Experience counter. At 3 Experience counters, remove all counters and search your Codex for [Elder Soren, Royal Bodyguard], then Ascend. Shuffle your Codex.

I fell right on my ass.

“E-Elder Rowan?” Annabelle blurted. Soren reached ever so slightly for his blade.

“I-I slipped. Nothing to worry about.”

I got up as quickly as I could and gripped Annabelle’s hand even tighter than before. Dragging her to the back of the carriage, we sat apart diagonally from the two conspicuous figures. My heart was racing, and my ass was in immense pain owing to falling down directly on the metal plate that was supposedly meant to protect it, but I didn’t care. Only one thing was on my mind. What the fuck is this guy doing here?

They were, beyond a reasonable doubt, loaded to the tits. Paladin Soren was canonically the bodyguard of royalty. This girl right there was most likely royalty. Based on the multitude of cards that revolved around him and his journey, he was destined to run into some shenanigans one way or another as he butted heads with the other Hero cards for his ultimate goal of usurping the throne of Calice. This went beyond just running into some random Templar, this was running face-first into a fentanyl smuggling operation by accident when all you were trying to do was cross the border (illegally). So why would they travel on some raggedy stagecoach instead of chartering their own?

Then it hit me—they probably did try. The reason why Edmund the Balding was lashing out at us earlier at the counting house was probably because Soren and this girl over here had tried to charter a carriage earlier and failed for whatever reason. Then, seeing people he assumed were part of the same Templar entourage trying again as if he hadn’t just rejected them earlier, got pissy, and decided to put his foot down regarding the transaction.

It all made sense now.

Sense, unfortunately, didn’t matter in a world where the cards I’d complained about for being broken or too handsome were actual people. It soon dawned on me that I was to spend an entire half day in a confined space with these two—whilst somehow keeping my sanity intact.

Are they travelling like this to try and hide their tracks? I mean, she’s wearing a hood, and he’s hiding her from view. But they’re doing a terrible job… this guy is about as subtle as a pop culture reference randomly inserted into a serious scene in the middle of a light novel. There’s no way his armour hasn’t already stirred up a few rumours.

Oh no. This wouldn’t end well at all. Some might even say it’d end badly. Horribly, even.

An abrupt thunk of my armour snapped me out of my train of thought.

“Hello? Primot?” she whispered.

“Didn’t I say not to call me that?”

“You weren’t responding to Rowan. What’s wrong?”

Was I supposed to tell Annabelle the truth? I had a good grasp of Soren’s powers, all the way from his origins as the humble [Initiate Soren, Prodigious Talent] to all his possible final forms, but I had no clue who the person he was protecting was. If this “princess” were to have something inconvenient, say super sensitive hearing or something of the sort, then I would be dooming us both by mentioning anything.

“I can’t help it, Apprentice. It feels like everyone here is being racist to me.”

Not that she would believe anything I say, anyway. I’d cracked too many ironic jokes in an attempt to cope with my absurd circumstances, like how I wasn’t shitting bricks despite eating nothing but magic cinnamon rolls.

Annabelle’s eyes went wide at my statement. Wide and panicky. “Stop saying weird things so loudly,” she said, ignoring my poignant metacommentary on appearance-based xenophobia. “Please don’t mess this up. This is already the final stretch of our journey…”

“I can’t help it. It’s in my nature to worry.”

“Well, maybe you should consider fixing your nature…”

I might have just imagined it, but I swear I’d heard “Alicia” chuckle at our exchange. After hearing her giggle, my confidence level that she wasn’t the same SaintAliciasFeet69 that murdered me with a truck went from 95 to 99%—because she didn’t sound as sexy as I remembered.

Ah, wait. She did try warning me beforehand that a truck was coming, didn’t she?

Well, whatever.