Sunset Rebellion

A few hours later..

"I still don't know how you convinced me to let you come along." I said, settling into the soft, slightly worn seat of the slow-moving carriage. The gentle creaking of the wooden wheels was a constant background noise, and the occasional jostle barely disturbed the ride. The carriage itself was surprisingly nice, with a clean white cover stretched taut over the top, shielding us from the midday sun that blazed overhead. Sunlight filtered through the sides of the canvas, casting soft, shifting beams of light across the inside as we passed through trees and open fields.

Jane sat across from me, her body relaxed as she leaned back into her seat, one arm draped casually over the edge of an opening, fingers brushing the air as we passed by. The path we traveled was smooth for the most part, save for a few dips and bumps that made the wooden frame groan quietly beneath us. "I paid for the ride, and I supplied the carriage. You weren't going to walk there." she said, her voice carrying a hint of smugness as she glanced at me through half-lidded eyes. I shrugged, looking out at the passing landscape. "Maybe. Might've stocked up on food. It's so... troublesome." I muttered, the thought of walking long distances already tiring me. I leaned back into my seat, letting my head rest against the wooden frame as I watched the trees go by, the wind offering brief moments of relief from the heat. Jane shifted, turning over so her back faced me now. "Wow, I didn't know you hated me that much." she said, hurt. Oh, damn it. I made a mistake.

I put my hands down by my sides, fingers curling into the fabric of the seat as I tried to steady myself. "Sorry, I didn't mean that. I just haven’t talked to many people. You’re the fifth person I’ve talked to, and the first woman." Jane remained turned away, her posture stiff as the carriage rolled on. "First woman? You look like you’re in your twenties," she said, her voice softer now, like she was mulling it over. I blinked, feeling a little sheepish. "Yeah, I just turned twenty a few days ago." Jane shifted again, this time rolling back over to face me, her eyes meeting mine with a peculiar, almost wistful look. Her lips curved into a faint smile, though it seemed more like she was pondering something distant. "First woman, huh?" she murmured with a soft laugh, a flicker of amusement dancing in her eyes. "Haha... I like that."

She caught herself, her expression quickly shifting back to one of composure, as though she was trying to rein in whatever had flashed across her mind. "As you were saying, though, I’m the fifth person you’ve talked to? What kind of life have you lived?" I glanced out the open back of the carriage, watching the dusty road stretch behind us, the distant hills rising and falling with the rhythm of the journey. "I don’t know," I said quietly, the weight of the question hanging in the warm air. I sensed a sudden shift. The sound of quick movement stirred, and in an instant, something knocked me off balance. My back hit the wooden floor of the carriage with a thud, the sun overhead momentarily blotted out as Jane hovered above me on all fours, her figure casting a shadow over my face.

She loomed closer, her eyes gleaming with curiosity and something else I couldn’t quite place. "How does this make you feel? Do you know this, at least?" Her voice was low, almost teasing, but there was an intensity to the way she held herself, like she was searching for something in me. My heart raced, each beat pounding in my chest as I stared up at her. Her presence was overwhelming, her proximity throwing my thoughts into disarray. I opened my mouth, trying to form an answer, but all I could do was search her gaze, confused by the swirl of emotions rising in me. I… don’t know how this makes me feel. "I… don’t know, sorry." I admitted.

Suddenly, the carriage lurched to an abrupt halt. Jane's eyes were still locked on me, clearly expecting some kind of answer, but something was off. The driver had no reason to stop until sundown. My pulse quickened as unease settled in my chest. Carefully, I shifted Jane aside, making sure to be gentle, so she wouldn’t misinterpret it as a rude gesture. I leaned in close to her ear, my breath barely a whisper, "The carriage rider was told not to stop until sundown. Something's going on. Stay silent for a second." Her expression shifted from curious to cautious, and I could feel the tension between us shift into something much sharper. Closing my eyes, I focused, straining to listen to the sounds outside. The quiet creak of the carriage, the rustling of trees in the distance, and then voices. The carriage rider was talking to someone.

"Eep! Who are you people?" his voice trembled with fear. Another voice, much deeper and gruff, responded, "You don't need to know. Just give us two gold and we'll let ya go." I frowned. The carriage rider protested, "Two gold?! That's the pay I earn in three months!" The deep-voiced man interrupted harshly, "I don't care!" There was a sudden swoosh in the air—a sound unmistakable to me. A weapon, possibly a sword, being drawn. The man added menacingly, "Give it, or you die." Jane yelped, "Vellin!" Her voice rang out in panic, snapping my focus back to the present.

What? I turned sharply toward the open back of the carriage, my eyes locking onto a man standing a few paces away. He wore a tattered bandana over his head, his face obscured, and in his hands, a bow, the string drawn tight. The arrow was primed and aimed—at Jane. Bastard! My thoughts raced, my mind calculating the trajectory of the arrow with terrifying precision. He grinned, a sick quip escaping his lips, "Sorry about your girlfriend, loser." Time seemed to slow as he released the string. The arrow shot forward with deadly speed, slicing through the air directly toward Jane. She didn’t move, frozen in place, but I did. I primed my spear hand and, with a swift motion, sliced the arrow clean in two mid-flight. The pieces of the arrow scattered, but my heart sank as I realized one half had still grazed Jane’s cheek. Blood welled up from the cut, and I spun around to see her clutching her face, her hand stained red. Her cheek was bleeding profusely. A tear rolled down her face, mingling with the blood.

You won't recover from this.

I sprang off my legs, launching myself at the man like a coiled spring releasing all its tension in one furious motion. My shoulder slammed into his chest, and we both crashed to the ground. His bow flew from his hands, clattering away, useless now. I seized his shirt collar, fully mounting him, my knees digging into his sides. He wasn’t escaping, not from this position. I didn’t want to end him immediately. Where’s the satisfaction in that? My fist curled tight, knuckles turning white, and with a swift motion, I slammed it into his nose. A sickening crack echoed out, his nose breaking cleanly from the force. His face contorted in pain, but it wasn't enough—no, it wasn’t bloody enough. I raised my arm again, the adrenaline coursing through me like fire, and this time, I drove my fist into his chest. He let out a choking cough, spitting blood, his scream cutting through the air. "Help, guys! He's got me!" His voice cracked, desperate, but there was no one who could save him from this. You want it quicker? Fine. My fist collided with his stomach, and he gasped, curling slightly under me. I followed it up with a brutal strike to his thigh, feeling the impact reverberate up my arm. His body shuddered beneath me, barely able to respond.

Movement flickered in my peripheral vision—a new threat. One of his comrades, sword drawn, was rushing toward me. He lunged forward, aiming for a clean thrust. Instinctively, I bent my back, the blade narrowly missing me as I twisted my body out of its path. With a snap of my leg, I kicked out to the side, my foot connecting with his chest. He flew backward, crashing to the ground with a grunt, his sword clattering to the dirt beside me. I grabbed the sword. I looked down at the man pinned beneath me, eyes wide with terror. I twirled the blade once, then pointed it at his throat. "Want the sword, or my hand?" My voice was calm, but the threat was clear. His eyes darted between the sword and me, thinking he was clever. "Your hand! Your hand!" he spat out, believing he had some kind of upper hand in the situation.

I drove my hand through his skull, the piercing force of my fingers tearing through bone and flesh with brutal efficiency. Blood and brain matter sprayed out, painting the ground in a gruesome display. Before I could pull my hand back, a foot suddenly materialized in front of my eyes. I raised my forearm instinctively to block, but the force behind it was immense. What? The impact was stronger than anything I'd felt before. My body was flung to the side, rolling through the grass before I could recover. My muscles are sore? I stood, wiping dirt and blood from my clothes. I looked up, my eyes narrowing at the man before me. He was built like a boulder—thick, solid muscle rippling across his frame, more intimidating than even Yuri. A dull ache radiated from my arm where he’d kicked me, a vivid red bruise already forming. He is.. dozens of times stronger than Yuri.

"Who are you?" I asked, angered beyond belief. He clenched his fist, his knuckles cracking ominously. "Tarkun, leader of the Jiggit Bandits. Stupid name, I know, but it was coined by my childhood friend." His gaze drifted down to the mangled corpse lying on the ground, the one I had just ended with my bare hand. His face darkened. "And now I’m looking at his corpse." I sneered, flashing him a wicked smile. "Spare me your pity party, bastard. He attacked us unprovoked, and he hurt Jane!" Tarkun’s face twisted with rage, and he bellowed, "I will avenge him!"

He charged at me with good speed, but I was already one step ahead. In an instant, I closed the distance, my body moving faster than his eyes could follow. My voice rang out as I roared, "Piercing Hand Technique #2: Mangled Flesh!" This technique—one of the most lethal moves Zero had taught me—was a barrage of rapid, precise stabs that could shred a person apart. Trained to perfection, it targeted the most vital points: the left pectoral, right pectoral, head, hands, knees, and thighs. When executed properly, no one could stand in its wake. I felt my fingers begin to tear through his flesh.

Tarkun stood, his body riddled with nine brutal holes, each perfectly placed by the Mangled Flesh technique. Blood poured from the wounds, his muscles shredded, his form collapsing under the weight of the damage. His eyes glazed over, and he fell to the ground. I didn’t have time to relish the victory—Jane needed me. I rushed toward the back opening of the carriage, "Jane?" I called, scanning frantically. She wasn’t there. Where is she?! I dashed around to the other side of the carriage, and there she was.

Jane stood tall, her foot planted firmly on the chest of one last bandit, pinning him to the ground. His right arm was twisted and mangled beneath her boot, and with a final stomp, she crushed it, eliciting a pained scream from the man. I sprinted toward her, my hands grabbing her shoulders with urgency. "Are you okay?!" I asked, breathless. Her cheek was still bleeding—or at least I thought it was. Without warning, Jane slapped me hard across the face. My head snapped to the side, the sting of her hand leaving my skin hot. "Focus, Vellin!" she snapped, her voice sharp and commanding. Stunned, I blinked, my mind trying to catch up. Why did she do that? I turned back to her, my eyes wide in confusion, but when I looked at her cheek again, the cut was just a scratch.

"What?!" I stammered, staring at her in disbelief. "How?! It was such a large cut!" She sighed softly, her eyes softening as she shook her head. "You fool… you hallucinated more damage than there was. I was barely scratched. You saved me again." Her voice was calm, almost amused, as if I had overreacted. She leaned in and kissed me on the cheek, her lips warm against my skin. She whispered, her voice laced with a tenderness I hadn’t expected, "You might not know what your feelings are, but I know mine."