Explosions, healing wounds, and stolen glimpses of beauty—that was all their two-day flight consisted of.

Supplies were already scarce, so both Cellinia and Lappland fought with as much restraint as possible. Even Lappland, whose style was usually reckless and feral, had reined herself in. She had no desire to bleed out meaninglessly and become a burden dragging Cellinia down.

“Our only option now,” Lappland said, toying with a bundle of explosives scavenged from fallen underlings, “is to get out of the city.”

The gates of the mobile city weren’t shut, but entry and exit were under strict control. Neither of them were officially criminals, but after days of skirmishing with the Siracusan assassins, their names were almost certainly on the wanted list by now.

“What if we just jump off the city walls?” Cellinia asked calmly, voicing a suggestion that sounded almost insane.

Lappland burst out laughing. “Pfft—hah! Cellinia, even if you had a parachute, the massive turbines along the high walls would toss you around like a leaf. Most likely, you’d get sucked in and pulped into mince.”

She clicked her tongue. The idea wasn’t unheard of—madmen had tried it before. The results had been exactly as she described. Beyond the gates, the city’s upper levels were fitted with dense machinery. No one in their right mind would leap from the walls. Parachute or not, it was suicide.

“If we wanted to sneak out through the maintenance tunnels,” Cellinia sighed, lowering herself to the floor, “we don’t even have the schematics. We wouldn’t know where we’re going.”

Her elegant Texas-family dress had long since been swapped for practical combat gear. She had even “borrowed” a gun-maintenance kit from a weapons shop, though guilt tugged at her; she silently promised to return the money one day. Lappland, on the other hand, carried no such burden. In moments like this, Cellinia thought ruefully, she really is a true Siracusan.

“…Then the bombs it is,” Lappland declared.

“…Fine.”

A difficult choice, decided in the simplest way. The two of them moved at once.

After shaking off the assassins monitoring the district, they rigged explosives to the rear of a car. When dawn approached, they made their move.

The engine roared to life, headlights flaring. Cellinia sat at the wheel, a cigarette dangling from her lips—a habit common among Siracusan. She had just come of age, so her choice was fruit-flavored tobacco. Sweet smoke filled her throat, and she coughed lightly; the sensation still didn’t sit well with her.

But it was, at least, one way to ease the weight on her chest.

Siracusan Mafioso had countless ways to cope with pressure. Some sought to soothe the spirit—with music, opera, or the like. Others… relieved the body. Those who knew, knew.

Cellinia was still young. But the annihilation of her family in a single night, and the forced flight alongside Lappland, had left her weary and unmoored.

Perhaps more than cigarettes, what she longed for was a warm harbor—a place she could rest.

Her gaze lingered silently in the rearview mirror before she exhaled a sigh.

“Thinking about that boy, Felix?” Lappland teased.

“I’m thinking… where I should go from here,” Cellinia murmured, shaking her head. Confusion colored her tone.

In her not-quite-twenty years of life, she had spent most of her time in Florence, the mobile city of her birth. But that place was now out of reach. And her true home? Burned away, unlivable.

The world was vast—yet where, now, could she belong?

“Didn’t Felix say he had a base here in Columbia?” Lappland offered with a smirk. “Why not just go to him?”

“…That would only cause him trouble.”

Cellinia’s voice was quiet, detached. She glanced at the clock on the dashboard, pressed her foot to the accelerator, and slipped the car into the outbound convoy.

Lappland didn’t press the matter further. Narrowing her eyes, she studied the surrounding vehicles and the checkpoints ahead.

This silence was unsettling. Or rather, the recent days of escape had given her a gnawing sense—they were being baited.

She knew the Saluzzo family’s first enforcer well. Once he caught the scent of prey, he never let go. He would tighten the noose, circle by circle, until his quarry had nowhere left to run.

And judging by the frequency of assassins they had encountered these past few days, the trap was already closing in.

Their attempt to leave the city… was proof enough they had been driven into a corner.

Yet it was still their best option.

Before leaving through the main gates, all vehicles had to undergo inspection. Drivers were verified against central archives, their faces scanned against official records. This was Columbia’s pride—its cutting-edge technology at work.

Cellinia exhaled a slow stream of smoke, her eyes narrowing as she spotted several Columbian patrol officers breaking protocol, striding quickly toward her car. Without hesitation, she slammed her foot down on the accelerator.

The car lurched forward, colliding with the rear of the vehicle in front. Its furious driver stormed out, only to witness Cellinia’s car forcing its way through the narrow lanes, scraping against others as it barreled straight ahead at full throttle.

“…Was that really necessary?”

The patrol officers immediately realized something was wrong. Shouting into their radios, they scrambled as Cellinia pushed the engine to its limits. She didn’t care when a rearview mirror was sheared clean off—the only thing that mattered was getting out.

At the gates, Columbian patrols formed a blockade. Lappland’s sharp eyes caught sight of soldiers standing by in bizarre, gleaming armor. A chill ran down her spine.

“What are those?” she muttered.

“Columbia’s newest combat suits,” Cellinia replied. She knew little about them—just whispers from the Texas family’s dinner table the night before. But hesitation was no longer an option. Spotting the incline ahead, she pressed harder on the gas.

The car shot up the slope and launched into the air. At that exact moment, Cellinia triggered the explosives strapped to the rear.

BOOM!

The deafening blast turned the car into a blazing comet, soaring like a rocket straight out of a Columbia action film. The rear half was obliterated, but the mangled front half somehow remained airborne, hurtling over the gate.

Lappland threw back her head and laughed wildly. Cellinia clenched the cigarette between her teeth as the half-destroyed vehicle soared through the city’s gates.

The crash landing was brutal. The chassis screeched against the ground before skidding to a halt. Cellinia kicked what was left of the door free, while Lappland—ever shameless—yanked open the cab of a nearby truck, dragging its terrified driver onto the road.

“After them!”

The patrol officers trembled with rage. It had been years since anyone had dared wreak such havoc on their turf. But just as they prepared to give chase, a swarm of black sedans surged out of the tunnel behind them. Without so much as a word to the patrol, the cars sped after Cellinia and Lappland, engines roaring.

Provoked again and again, the Columbian police were seething. They prepared to mobilize—until two soldiers in combat exoskeletons received an order from above.

Moments later, they raised their hands to halt the officers.

“That was a Siracusan cross-border operation,” one of them relayed coldly. “Command says we are not to interfere further.”

“…Tch.” The patrolmen ground their teeth but could only exchange frustrated glances before standing down.

Meanwhile, Lappland and Cellinia switched seats. Hanging out the truck’s window, Cellinia fired her handgun at the pursuers. Sparks erupted as two enemy cars swerved, engines smoking before grinding to a halt. But for every one she stopped, more appeared, flooding onto the highway like a tide.

“How many are chasing us this time?” Cellinia growled.

“Over five hundred,” Lappland spat, swerving hard. “Two hundred from the Saluzzo family alone. We already took down seventy or so, which still leaves four hundred. Damn it—this has turned into the worst kind of pursuit.”

“The fuel’s holding… but they won’t let us drag this out.” Cellinia’s words cut short.

Something scraped overhead. Someone had climbed onto the truck. Lappland jerked the wheel savagely, the truck fishtailing in a brutal drift that flung the assassin onto the asphalt. Cellinia leaned out again, firing Art Bullets to keep the rest at bay.

But her supply of ammunition was dwindling. She clenched her teeth. It was only a matter of time before they were forced into close combat.

Then it came—the strike.

A razor-edged blade of Originium light cleaved straight through the center of the truck, splitting it in two. In that instant, Lappland shoved Cellinia aside and leapt clear, her face twisted with feral killing intent.

The attack had come from the first enforcer himself. Calmly, he lowered his sword, watching the bisected truck collapse in a roaring explosion, smoke billowing high enough to blot out the sky. He frowned faintly, his voice cold.

“Alive or dead—I want them found.”

When the smoke cleared, the assassins rushed in, weapons at the ready. The truck was ruined beyond recognition. No corpses were found—only bloodstains.

But that was not enough. Not for a job like this.

The hunt was far from over.

“They can’t have gotten far. Sweep the area—leave nothing unchecked.”

“Yes, sir!”

The location was a barren stretch of Gobi, between two mobile cities. Unlike the open plains, this terrain offered countless places to hide, which only deepened the frustration of the first-in-command. His patience was wearing thin.

—

“Cough… cough…”

Cellinia wiped the blood from the corner of her mouth, leaning heavily against the rough face of a rock wall.

The explosion had forced her and Lappland apart. She trusted that Lappland’s skills would see her through, but for now, she could only focus on survival. What should she do next?

Head toward another mobile city? Even if she made it, she was still a wanted fugitive. Columbia’s police in the open, Siracusan assassins in the shadows—either way, her name was already on every list. The thought alone made her feel weary.

She had put distance between herself and the blast site, deliberately crawling into low, unremarkable ground to stay hidden. For now, the assassins would waste time scouring nearby caves, unaware that she was lying almost directly beneath their noses. If they so much as leaned out to look, they would see her. A trick of blind spots—safety hidden in plain sight.

Shifting her body slightly, Cellinia glanced down at her clothing. In the ochre-red tones of the desert, her garments stood out far too brightly. Thankfully, night had fallen.

In the wilderness, darkness came fast. And in winter, it came earlier still.

With clumsy hands, she began bandaging her wounds. Her head was light, the aftereffects of the Originium Arts that had struck her—made worse by blood loss. She knew that night offered her the best chance to rest. If she waited until morning to move, she might never get another chance.

Straightening up, she checked her weapons. Her reserve of Art bullets had been destroyed in the blast—only seven remained in the magazine. She sheathed her longsword, steadying herself, and moved slowly in the direction she had fixed in her mind before sunset.

Nature’s nights were both beautiful and cruel. For the first time, Cellinia saw the twin moons shining clearly above, stars faint and scattered across the vast heavens—a sight forever hidden in the glow of the cities.

A chill wind cut across her body, making her shiver violently. Her body temperature was falling fast; every gust of wind made her tremble harder. If it continued, she might collapse before ever reaching her destination. She desperately needed fire, but in her condition, even starting one felt like a luxury.

As she moved along the rock face, she gathered dry clumps of grass and stuffed them into her pocket. Finally, after rounding a bend, the silver light of the moons revealed a small cave.

Fortune favored her. Inside, she spotted the faint traces of an old campfire. Though no embers remained, the cave itself was warmer than the open air. She piled the grass in the center, then took out a single Art bullet and carefully dismantled it.

Within its casing was material that, when activated by Originium Arts, would generate heat. She poured the black powder onto the grass, pressed her palm to it, and released her Arts.

With a sharp fwoosh, flames leapt to life.

Cellinia drew her legs close, resting her weight against her knees. Her amber eyes glimmered in the firelight, heavy with exhaustion and dim resolve. She hadn’t given up—but she was so very tired.

She knew falling asleep like this was dangerous, but blood loss and fatigue surged through her like a tide. The dancing flames blurred before her eyes, and slowly, her eyelids sank shut.

Just before sleep claimed her, she thought she saw a halo of gold, radiant wings, and the figure of a young man—smiling back at her over his shoulder.

She reached out for him, but even in the dream she knew: it was only a dream.

Family lost, her clan gone, Cellinia was nothing more than a lone wolf—searching desperately for a place to call home.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep