Chapter 146: First Contact
Their strides devoured the plain. Human lightning bolts splitting the heat, moving so fast the stones beneath their feet blurred into continuous gray. Dylan’s essence core pulsed beneath his ribs like a war drum, transforming every muscle into steel springs. Maggie raced beside him, a nimble shadow whose boots barely grazed the ground, stirring minimal dust. And Élisa—Élisa literally soared above the desert. Her spear vibrated with an emerald halo, carrying her weight like a guided projectile.
Her bare feet skimmed the scorching rocks, sparing her skin but more importantly conserving her precious essence. She could have outpaced them—become a streak of light racing toward Martissant—but she deliberately kept pace. Every pulse of the spear drained her reserves, a constant calculation between speed and survival.
Suddenly, Élisa slowed. Her spear tilted, the emerald energy flickering weakly. She landed softly, her feet finally meeting stone with a suppressed wince.
Dylan and Maggie braked instantly, their own cores damping their inner fire. A few hundred meters ahead, the shimmering heat gave way to a tangible scene: a heavy wooden wagon tilted like a wounded animal, its rear wheel completely shattered.
Three human figures bustled around it. Two nervous horses pawed the ground, tethered to the front. One of them—a burly, bearded man—was desperately yanking at a twisted axle. Another, a younger woman, tried calming the beasts. The third, lean and twitchy, frantically rummaged through a tool chest.
"We need to slow down," Élisa breathed, her voice rough but carried by an essence-infused gust that cut through the wind. She raised her hand, palm open toward her companions. A stop signal. "At this speed, they’ll only see hostile shadows charging... and they’ll panic." Her intense green eyes scanned the scene. "The woman by the horses has a sophisticated bow strapped to her saddle. She hasn’t grabbed it yet... but she will if we seem threatening."
Dylan growled, his jian already half-drawn by reflex. His core’s pulse had steadied, but a dull tension thrummed through him. Maggie, silent, had already slid her chain weapon along her neck, trying to appear as relaxed as possible.
Her brown eyes assessed the situation with tactical coldness. "Three people," she murmured. "A merchant wagon—see those sealed crates in back. Lost in the middle of nowhere. The dangerous one’s got the rifle."
Élisa nodded. She planted her spear tip into the ground with a sharp clack, leaving it vibrating faintly. A clear gesture: No weapons drawn. "Approach slowly. Hands visible. Dylan, sheath your blade. Maggie, keep that hybrid marvel hidden." She stepped forward first, her bare hands open at hip height—a non-threatening yet ready stance.
Her footsteps were deliberately heavy, making gravel crunch under her bare feet to announce their presence. Dylan followed, jaw tight, his jian now sheathed but palms sweaty. Maggie brought up the rear, a discreet shadow, her weapon swinging from her neck but muscles primed to strike.
At thirty meters, the bearded man looked up. His face, red from effort and sun, froze upon seeing their approach. His small, sharp eyes locked onto them. "Halt!" he bellowed, his gruff voice thick with a city accent. He released the axle and straightened, one hand instinctively moving toward the massive halberd leaning against the skittish horse. "Stop right there! Show me your hands!"