I woke up to the rhythmic thud-creak of the carriage wheels and a soft, melodic hum that sounded like wind through crystal chimes. My head was resting on something soft. I opened one eye and saw Elsa's silver hair glowing in the afternoon light. She was singing a song that I hadn't heard before.
"Art? You're awake," she whispered, her eyes brimming with a terrifying amount of affection. "I am sorry. I forgot... the 'Divine Burden' makes you sensitive to mortal contact."
"Yeah... let's go with that. The 'Divine Burden,'" I muttered, slowly sitting up and rubbing my face. "Not the fact that I have the social skills of a hermit crab. How long was I out?"
"Two hours. Barnaby carried you to the carriage as if you were made of glass," she said, before returning to her lollipop. She was sucking on it with such intense focus it was like she was trying to extract the secrets of the universe from the strawberry swirls.
I pulled myself toward the back window and looked out. There was Barnaby, sitting on the supply wagon. He looked ten years younger. His once-cloudy eye was sharp and vibrant, tracking the movement of a hawk a mile away. When he saw me peeking out, he gave me a thumbs-up and waved his lollipop stick like a royal scepter. He started singing—actually singing—a boisterous road song about a messenger who never missed his mark.
I moved to the front, sticking my head out toward the coachman's seat. Herbert was sitting tall, his back straight, his right hand gripping the reins with the strength of a titan. He looked less like a discarded mercenary and more like a general returning from a conquest.
"Awake now, boss?" he rumbled, his grin wide enough to show the blue tint on his tongue from his candy. "The horses are moving faster than ever. I think they can smell the 'Divine Energy' coming off the carriage. Or maybe they just want a lick of this 'Relic' too."
"Don't you dare give the horses my lollipops, Herbert," I sassed, though I couldn't help but smile. "That's high-grade healing magic. Give it to a horse and it'll probably grow wings and start demanding a salary."
I sat back down, watching the green fields of the borderlands roll by. My "guards" were now an elite squad of sugar-charged super-soldiers. My "maid" was a silver-haired Elven princess who could burn a forest and put it out at the same time. And I was... well, I was Arthur. The guy with the phone and a chronic fear of being hugged.
I pulled up my VP balance. [163 VP].
"Alright," I whispered to myself, looking at the "Electronics" tab. "If a lollipop can fix a curse, I wonder what happens if I buy a portable Bluetooth speaker and blast some heavy metal during our first fight."
The South was getting closer, and for the first time, I felt like the Queen's "Hounds" might be the ones in trouble.
Two days later.
The chill down my spine wasn't just the morning mist anymore; it was that jagged, "I'm being hunted" feeling that usually precedes a jump-scare in a horror movie. For three hours, the hairs on my arms had been standing up like tiny soldiers.
"Elsa, check the perimeter. Again," I commanded, my voice tight.
She closed her eyes, her silver hair fluttering in a wind that didn't exist. "Art... I sense nothing. No mana-trace, no scrying eyes, no spiritual residue. The path is clear."
"Yeah, well, your 'spirits' aren't picking up what I am," I muttered. My old-man intuition was screaming. If the Queen's spies were half as smart as they looked, they wouldn't use magic. They'd use something old-school. Something silent.
I reached into my utility bag and pulled out the phone. Time to break the tension—and maybe the eardrums of anyone hiding in the bushes.
[Item: 'Dragon-Voice' Wireless Audio Box (Entry-Level)]
[Description: Features high-fidelity sound and a charmingly aggressive voice assistant.]
[Price: 30 VP]
[Remaining Balance: 133 VP]
Pop.
A small, oblong, bright yellow Bluetooth speaker materialized in my palm. It felt like cheap plastic and looked like a toy, but in this world, it looked like a sun-gold artifact. I flicked the switch.
"ZEE BLUE-TOOTH DEE-VICE IZ READY TO PAIR," a heavily accented, robotic female voice boomed from the speaker, the volume so loud it rattled the carriage windows.
Elsa jumped, her hands igniting with silver fire. "Art! The relic! It speaks in the tongue of the Iron Golems!"
"Relax, Elsa. It's just the setup wizard," I said, tapping my screen. I scrolled through my Earth-downloaded library until I found the perfect "I'm-doing-fine-and-you-can't-stop-me" anthem.
I hit play.
The opening piano chords of The Carpenters' "Top of the World" exploded out of the tiny yellow box. The acoustics inside the carriage were surprisingly decent—it sounded like Karen Carpenter was sitting right next to us.
I didn't just play it. I leaned out the window, held the speaker over my head like John Cusack in Say Anything, and started belting it out.
"Such a feelin's comin' over me! There is wonder in most everythin' I see!" I was completely off-key. I was loud. I was obnoxious. Herbert slammed on the brakes, the carriage skidding to a halt. Behind us, Barnaby's wagon nearly rear-ended us, his horses whinnying in absolute confusion at the "Divine Singing Box."
"I'm on the top of the world lookin' down on creation and the only explanation I can find!" I crooned, waving the speaker at the dense forest line.
Elsa was staring at me as if I'd grown three heads and started breathing purple smoke. She looked at the yellow box, then back at me, her silver hair shimmering in a confused, chaotic pattern. "Art... is this... a ritual of banishment? Are you mocking the gods of silence?"
"I'm mocking anyone in those bushes who thinks they're being sneaky!" I shouted over the bridge of the song.
Surprisingly, that cold chill? Gone. Vanished. Whoever—or whatever—was stalking us had probably just suffered a massive psychological "What the Hell?" moment. Imagine being a high-tier royal assassin, moving through the shadows like a ghost, only to have your target blast 1970s soft-rock and sing about being on the "Top of the World." It's hard to stay in the "killer" mindset when there's a catchy piano riff playing.
Herbert peeked his head back into the carriage, his blue-raspberry-stained tongue hanging out in shock. "Boss... is the relic... okay? It sounds like an angel is trapped in a yellow bean."
"The 'angel' is fine, Herbert! Drive the horses! We're making our own parade!"
I sat back down, the music still pumping, feeling a lot better. If I was going down, I was going down with a soundtrack.
"You speak the ancient words so beautifully," Elsa whispered, looking at the speaker with pure awe. " 'Top of the world'... a chant of atmospheric dominance. Truly, you are a master of the High Skies."
I frowned at her, shook my head, "Sure, Elsa. Let's go with that."