Arthur had started to expect everything to go wrong. If Tamara failed her quest, he might need to humiliate himself and go inside to speak their language.

So, he was pleasantly surprised when Tamara said, "League dialect" in League dialect to a waitress and was immediately directed to a man behind the metal counter.

"League dialect," she repeated to the tall man with a half-shave and spiky hair. He looked in his late twenties and wore black clothes with scratched skulls and silvery chains in a clear statement of his dislike for order and propriety.

He was focusing on putting money on the counter and didn't hear her at first. "What?" he asked in his language.

"League dialect," Tamara said again. Everything in that man was anathema to her. She wouldn't talk to him if she didn't need to. She hid her spite well, though.

"Ah," he said, still in his language, then changed it. "What you want?"

"You use distant communication machine. You tell League come here. Urgent."

The League dialect was created as a language for all Fated Races. It was meant to be simple and immutable, and all races should be able to speak it. It lacked many conveniences from other languages, such as some conjunctions.

Mentioning the League was the wrong thing to do. The man immediately tensed, and pure hatred appeared on his face. "No," he replied at once.

"I pay," Tamara replied and took a silver coin from her sleeve that she had prepared beforehand.

The man squinted at the coin, looked at her face, then stared at the money again. He extended his hand to grab it, but Tamara pulled it back. "Communication first."

If he was already angry before, he became ready to explode now. And he might have if Tamara didn't preemptively prehend him and forced him to calm down.

Preemptive defense was allowed to all awakeners by League rules. When they were faced with an unawakened that might attack them, they could take any measures to prevent that. It was for the unawakened benefit; once attacked, the awakener was allowed to kill to protect themselves. It was harsh at times but necessary. After all, killing an awakener was the same as depriving the Fated Races of someone that could kill monsters and protect the world.

Still, Tamara made sure not to make it obvious. She could completely neutralize his anger but only lowered it to avoid the immediate issue. From the way he reacted when he heard the League mentioned, she assessed that he might react even worse if he noticed she was using magic on him.

"Communication first," he agreed through his locked teeth after a few moments.

Without waiting for an answer, the man picked up the telephone and pretended to type more numbers than the three he did: 999. When they answered, Arthur heard a woman on the other side say, "Nine-nine-nine, what's your emergency?"

Arthur had difficulty following the entire conversation but managed to fill the gaps with context.

"It's Chad. Some crazy chick is talking League speech and trying to pay me silver to call the League to give her a ride," he said. "She might've found a dungeon."

"Chad from Chad's Homemade Food, sir?" the attendant asked.

"Yeah, yeah. My mana scan is on maintenance, but you know how Old Jeffrey is. Three weeks already. Can you also go check on that fucker? I bet he's not clean."

There was a lull, then an old male voice spoke over the phone. "I seem to recall hearing that an anarchist doesn't need the police, Chad."

"Fuck you too, Wilson. This chick is crazy, I tell you. She's cosplaying as a weirdo, and the silver looks legit, too."

"I'm not in the mood for prank calls today, Chad. Or ever."

"Do you think I want to call you, motherfucker? That I want to hear your fucking voice? I'm talking about a potential dungeon. I need guns to deal with fucking monsters, but you imperialist fuckers would lock me up if I had them, wouldn't you? That's your fucking fetish, having us depend on you for protection, then trying to look like heroes that we wouldn't need if we could deal with shit ourselves."

"If there's a new dungeon, that would be a matter for the League, Chad. The same League that the lady is asking you to call. You should also call the press. This is the finding of the year. Why don't you get some free publicity out of it?"

The way he said it made it clear how much he believed the story. He also pointed Chad's flawed logic in a roundabout way. Supposedly, the anarchist had much to gain by making a scene out of a new dungeon instead of trying to keep the League away. He didn't fear for his life or want the League anywhere near this place, just like he didn't want the police to really come if he was swearing at them.

Arthur guessed Chad was just mentioning silver coins over an official call to gain plausible deniability if taking Tamara's silver coin inconvenienced him later.

"The League is fucking twenty miles from here, Wilson! They'll get forever to get here!"

"Good luck, Chad," Wilson replied and hung up.

"Fucking pig," Chad replied, extended his hand to Tamara, and spoke in League dialect, "They come."

Tamara put her coin away, turned her back, and ignored the man's insults as she left the restaurant. She had understood enough not to be fooled and wasn't about to pay to get lied to.

The man's willingness to at least pretend to do something to get the coin gave credence to Arthur's theory that he was aiming for it from the beginning. More importantly, the police would come eventually. Arthur didn't think the guy would be stupid enough to get paid for the call and have Tamara wait there forever. His recent scheme was simple but well thought out.

The prince had to get out of there before they did.

He and his people couldn't get captured by another entity that would deliver them to the League. They had to surrender themselves directly to the League instead. How they got there would affect how they were treated and was even a statement of sorts: they could get to the League without getting caught first, despite not trying to hide their trail. So, the League would do well not to dismiss their resourcefulness.

He was at least glad to learn the League was around and had some authority. While he didn't like dungeons or monsters, the people still needed awakeners, so they still existed. It immensely relieved him, though he was confused about why the League would be seen negatively.

While Tamara came out, Arthur checked his surroundings for a way to get a ride to the closest city. If they walked there, the police would likely get to them. Even if the city did not have a League branch, it would be easier to get elsewhere from a city rather than this outpost.

He wouldn't beg, which left negotiating for a ride. Showing silver coins might attract the wrong kind of attention again. Therefore, he would have to offer something else in exchange.

As an awakener and prince, Arthur had been trained to both take notice of and ignore everything around him. He was always aware of his surroundings but didn't always care about anything that couldn't threaten him. Right now, he could see two easy ways to get a ride to the closest city without having to part with coins: the shameless couple and an angry man.

The shameless couple had finally crossed some moral line, and a nearby old lady had told them to behave. The young man didn't take well to being admonished and swore at the lady. He was unlucky because it coincided with a short silence between songs, and everyone nearby heard him. People didn't take well to it, and a brawl was about to break.

Arthur could save the man to get his favor, but it would be too public. Also, he didn't want to save the shameless bastard. There were kids in that restaurant, for Fate's sake!

The angry man was slamming his fists on the closed workshop. He was a truck driver and was having trouble with his automobile. Other truck drivers had got together to take a look and lend a hand, but nothing worked, and the man ended up with no choice but to see if anyone was in the workshop despite the closed doors.

Arthur didn't feel like interacting with an angry unawakened of unknown repute, but it was their best shot. Usually, Tamara would be the one to initiate contact, but he spoke the local language better than her. He was also starting to grasp local customs enough to know people seemed not to understand hierarchical structures as he did.

In the Golden Kingdom, a servant talked to an unknown person instead of the master for both parties' benefit. The stranger could speak more casually and didn't need to worry about offending the master. Likewise, the master didn't need to risk doing something untoward by mistake that would damage their reputation because he was used to dealing with nobles. Servants were ambassadors of sorts.

Here, however, a master that didn't directly talk to a stranger was seen as arrogant at best. Having a servant do it in their stead could even be considered a kind of exploitation of that servant. Something about work rights? That was the most confusing bit to him, but he would get it eventually.

While Tamara was coming, he told his people to wait in place for him, mentioned to her to keep her distance, and approached the man.

The truck driver was in his late fifties. He had a crooked nose, and his short gray hair was slicked back. He wore utilitarian blue pants with lots of pockets, brown leather boots, a yellow T-shirt, and a belt. He had brown eyes and arthritis, though it was at an early stage and shouldn't be painful yet.

"Hello," Arthur said when he was within the unawakened's hearing range.

The man turned to him, checked his clothes and swords, then squinted his eyes distrustingly. "I'm not interested in whatever you're selling, kid."

Arthur forced a chuckle. "I am not selling anything. I want to help you. I can fix your truck."

Grasping the basics of the local language from nothing had been more challenging than improving it as he kept hearing other people talk and learning from them. However, he still didn't feel confident enough to speak it fluently. His sentences were short and without contractions. His accent was also heavy, though he was improving it by the second.

The man scoffed. "Sure you can, kid. I don't know if someone put you to it or if you're the arsehole behind whatever scheme this is, but go get a job before you make someone angry."

Arthur chuckled again. "I know my attire does not inspire confidence. Give me a chance."

The man raised an eyebrow, clearly not expecting the prince to continue or be angry at the threat. "And I guess you're doing it out of the goodness of your heart? No, wait. You have a sad backstory, don't you? You'll tell me all about it while you waste my time looking at my truck. Look, just tell me how much you want and get lost. I can buy you something to eat if you're hungry."

Arthur was legitimately surprised at the man's offer. His anger had dissipated, and he seemed genuinely worried for Arthur. He didn't want to admit it, though, likely fearing to be taken advantage of.

"I am Arthur," the prince said. "I am not a saint. I have no sad backstory. I also do not need your money. I need a ride for my... friends and me." He gestured to his people. "You have a broken truck. You cannot use it. I fix it for you, and you give us a ride."

The man was also surprised at hearing that, then furrowed his brows as his eyes went to Arthur's swords. He crossed his arms and looked more alert than before. "How sharp is your make-pretend kitchenware?

So the unawakened was afraid that Arthur wanted to take him to someplace with fewer people to assault him.

The prince prehended his unenchanted longsword, making it dull and its point round as he grabbed the hilt and pulled it from the sheath. The man took a step back in alert, eyes wide. Arthur offered him the weapon hilt-first. "Most swords are toys," he lied. When the man grabbed it, it almost fell. He wasn't expecting the weight. Then, Arthur unsheathed the orange sword much more slowly. "This one is real." He couldn't dull the enchanted blade. He also offered it to the man. "You can store our weapons away wherever you want. We can ride with the cargo. You can choose a woman to stay by your side as..." He didn't know the word for hostage and improvised, "...guarantee."

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Lying didn't come naturally to the prince, but he wanted to reassure the man. He had no ill intention, so it didn't make him feel too bad. He needed to get to the League, and right now, the scared driver was his best bet.

The man touched the first blade's edge with his finger, and it didn't cut. It was completely dull. Only a strike with a lot of strength would cut through the skin instead of breaking bones and bruising.

He returned the blade before grabbing and checking the other. That one cut his skin at the slightest touch. It was a very good blade, after all, it was the reward for killing a level 94 boss.

The surprised man pulled his thumb back and sucked in the blood. The sword almost fell to the ground, but Arthur quickly grabbed the blade between his fingers. He then gently pulled it to himself.

"This is precious. Please, do not break it."

He doubted the unawakened could bare-handedly break the weapon if he wanted. However, seeing one of his weapons so casually mistreated still bothered him.

"Sorry, kid," the man replied. "Enchanted weapon, huh? You weren't kidding; you're not wanting for money. This thing should be worth more than my truck and house combined. Alright, let me see what you can do."

He started walking towards his truck, and Arthur followed. It was a small truck with two rows of seats and a closed metal container in the back filled with boxes of pears. The vehicle was parked a few dozen yards to the side, and its hood was open. A man had climbed on it and was looking inside but looked dispirited. Inwards, however, he was considerably happy.

"What did you say your name was again?" the driver asked.

"Arthur," the prince replied. It was unbecoming not to give his full name, but he had heard all unawakened address each other on a first-name basis. He should adapt to the local culture to some extent. "Can I ask my friends to approach?"

"Sure, sure. I'm Jorge. That stubborn fool on the hood is Dave." He increased his voice as they approached. "I hope you can get my truck fixed just to see the look on his face."

That caught Dave's attention. It was an older man with all-white long hair held in a sloppy ponytail. He also had a thick white beard and wore sunglasses over his blue eyes. He wore more casual clothing than Jorge, black jeans, sneakers, and a white T-shirt with some writing that Arthur couldn't read. He could only speak the language.

"You into cosplayers now, Jorge? Really? I'd say I never expected you could fall so low, but I'd be lying."

Arthur ignored the rude remark and gestured for his people to approach.

"Oh, yeah. Go ahead, Dave. Keep offending him. It'll make it all the better when he fixes something the great Dave Goldenfinger can't fix."

"This kid? Really?" Dave snorted. "You willing to bet fifty that he can't do shit?"

To Arthur's surprise, Jorge didn't hesitate to put his hand in his pocket. "How about a hundred?"

Dave did hesitate, though. Then, he looked Arthur over and decided Jorge was bluffing. "Sure. A hundred." He pulled his own wallet from his pocket and took two fifty bills.

Jorge had indeed been bluffing. He became visibly uncomfortable but didn't back down. He matched the two bills with a one-hundred bill of his own.

"Ha!" Dave said. "Let this teach you to stop picking random strays from the streets, Jorge. You're too soft-hearted. I'm telling this for your own good." He gestured with his head to Arthur's incoming people. "Look at this sorry lot. They escaped a circus or something."

Arthur gestured slightly with his hand for Tamara and Graham to ignore the offense and stepped up the hood. He had seen, felt, and learned the name and short descriptions of every piece of everything in sight. He had also compared vehicles to each other to understand better how they worked. It wasn't hard to figure out what was wrong with that truck, especially when it was so obvious to someone who could look through the components.

He moved his hand to the side of the engine and knocked it twice in multiple places. The engine was an enclosed metal thing, and its four lower chambers were filled with enchanted valves kept in place by enchanted metal plates. The enchantment in the plate to the right had worn off, and the aluminum plate hadn't handled the stress in the engine well. It had shattered, and the valves were all over the place. The engine could start but wasn't as potent, made a lot of noise, and died if it overheated.

Arthur prehended the plate's metal bits and removed them from the engine through a side opening he made. The thing's case was fortunately not enchanted. He couldn't enchant anything, and non-enchanted aluminum would shatter as soon as the engine started.

Then, he pulled tiny grains of iron, carbon, nickel, chromium, and steel from the entire truck and created a new, better, and more robust steel plate. He left no impurities in it and used a better steel ratio than he had felt since his ascension. It was considerably more resistant to heat and shock than stainless steel. It likely wouldn't be as good as enchanted aluminum had been, not under the intense conditions it was placed in, but it should hold for a few months. Enough time for the man to get a replacement.

Then, Arthur prehended the valves into place and closed the hole he had created.

The truck was fixed.

He stepped down and nodded to Jorge. "It is done. We are ready to go whenever you are."

The short silence was broken by Dave's derisive laughter. "Easiest one hundred of my life. You even promised them a ride, Jorge? Really?"

Jorge was feeling very uncomfortable. "What did you do, kid?"

Arthur decided he had to show off a little to not look like he had lucked out, or Jorge might renege on their agreement. "This truck is a twelve-year-old T-65 Turbo. It should have a Farizen 8P-900 engine, but you or someone else swapped it for a Farizen 8P-800. My uncle had a truck with a Farizen 8P-800, and it had the same issue. I was riding with him and recognized the sound. I also overheard you mentioning your troubles to other drivers, and they matched. His friends tried to help him, too, but no one could pinpoint the problem. He got angry and kicked the engine. It worked properly for two days, then broke again. He kicked it again, and it worked for another day. That was enough for him to do what he needed to and get to a machine shop. They told him the engine's RL-77X bar holding six UQ-33M valves got loose, and the valves got displaced. Striking the engine sideways as opposed to the natural up-and-down movement of a truck can temporarily push them into place. Your engine will need to be fixed, but this should be enough for you to get to your destination without trouble."

Jorge frowned in displeasure as soon as Arthur started talking, then started at Dave angrily. "You told me this shit was original, Dave."

There was a clear hint of danger in the man's tone. He was not happy, and the prince already knew he liked to physically vent his anger. The workshop's doors were witnesses to that.

Dave had paled. "You going to believe this kid over me, Jorge? You married my sister. We're family. You're the breadwinner and need a good ride to make do. I'd never—"

"Dave," Jorge interrupted firmly. "Give me my bet money. I'll get home, and I'll tell your sister to take this truck to her father with the purchase papers."

"I—"

"Dave," Jorge interrupted again, louder this time, and pulled the two hundred dollars from his brother-in-law's hands. "I wanted to buy another truck but got this one from your hands to help you out. You asked your father and sister to intervene and assured them that it was a better deal because it was an original engine, unlike the other more powerful and much cheaper truck. I don't care for your excuses; you can sort it out with them. I sure as hell will sort it with your father. He told me to give you a last chance, and I'm through with your shit. I don't even want my money back, but you get ready to pay to fix this engine or buy me a new one if this is not the original one. That is my bottom line."

Dave's face twisted in anger. He looked from Jorge to Arthur, then stepped toward the prince.

Arthur didn't pacify the man. He could prehend him to avoid confrontation, but he wasn't required to do so by League law. Awakeners protected the world but weren't saints. If Dave wanted to get punched by trying to assault the prince, Arthur would give it to him.

Unfortunately, it was Graham's job to prevent the prince from dirtying his hands with such minor matters. The grand knight was waiting half a dozen yards away with the others and immediately stepped closer. And he stepped hard. The ground shook a little, and the commotion snapped Dave from his misguided thoughts. He looked at the very muscular leather-armored knight, whose right hand was grabbing the hilt of his sword and promising pain, and decided he valued his life more than getting petty revenge.

Dave turned to Jorge. "You should've stayed in your ghetto." He spat on the ground. "Sneaked your way into our family and now turns everyone against me. Fuck you, kindred."

The slur was spoken in League dialect. Arthur didn't get it, but Jorge was shocked speechless for an instant, then was about to punch Dave to death. Arthur calmed the man. He could tell that's what Dave was looking for to play victim, and an altercation might mean the police getting involved.

Pacifying unawakened whose businesses weren't against him or his people was a gray line. Still, he decided Jorge was beholden to him by verbal agreement. Said agreement, the ride, might be delayed because of a fistfight. It was within the boundaries of the law for him to prevent that.

Jorge didn't even take a step ahead before getting in control of his anger, which turned into realization. "So that's why you were always a little shit to me. I guess I can only pity your bigot ass."

Now Dave was about to strike. He didn't want Jorge's pity. Arthur pacified Dave too, yet the man continued. He was striking not only out of anger but also deliberate strategy. The prince couldn't follow the man's thought process because he lacked cultural context, but he still didn't want Jorge his ride to be held back by this.

So, he made the punch miss by simply prehending the man's arm. He also made him lose his balance and fall to the ground.

Jorge was very slow to react and would've gotten hit in the face. He was still widening his eyes in surprise when Arthur crouched beside Dave and whispered, "I need this ride, Dave. I do not care about your family drama. I cannot stop you from getting in my way, but if you do, my big friend will make sure you can never get in the way of anyone else. You are a truck driver, yes? I hear driving without hands is not easy."

Threatening unawakened was beneath the crown prince; he had attendants to do that for him. However, it wasn't beneath anyone to threaten someone who opposed them. Especially someone who had offended their suitress.

Arthur was willing to disregard many things because of his current situation, but he still had his pride.

His words weren't an empty threat either. He would ensure Dave paid for his offenses where it seemed to hurt him the most: his pockets. He had lied about the engine at least partly to get money and decided to bet on something as soon as possible. He was greedy. Taking away his ability to drive for at least a few weeks was a fitting punishment.

He stood up and took a step back. He didn't want to meddle in the family drama for longer than necessary. Let them sort things through as long as they didn't hit each other.

Neither man said anything for a few seconds, then the humiliated Dave stood up and left without any other word while patting his clothes to take the grime out. Jorge looked pensively at his brother-in-law's back until the older man disappeared into the inn.

Arthur didn't want to waste any more time. He said, "I thank you for believing in me before testing it, Jorge. Please, check if the truck is functioning properly. We are ready to leave whenever you are."

The immediate trust wasn't surprising. There was already bad blood between both men. Jorge had clearly only been one last drop away from exploding.

The man woke up from his stupor and sighed. "Yeah. Sorry you had to witness that." He got to the driver's seat, turned it on, and the engine made no terrible sound when it started. "Sounds good, at least," he yelled over the engine's noise. "Get on board, kid."

Old cars and utilitarian automobiles like Jorge's were blockier and had rounder edges than newer or fancier ones. Most of the new ones were also much more silent. Jorge's truck's engine worked much more mechanically than the newer, more enchanted models.

Still, Arthur felt the noise was a small price to pay for an automobile's convenience. Horses had to eat and rest, not to mention were much slower and weaker, while the enchanted vehicles could keep going for as long as the enchantments held. By his estimates, a single visit to the machine shop every year should be enough to keep it working for at least ten years.

"Where should we put our make-pretend weapons?" the prince asked. "Who do you pick as guarantee?" he gestured to Sophie and Tamara.

Jorge snorted. "I might be better off if you kill me, kid. Not anticipating the talk with my father-in-law, I tell you." He pulled a lever to the side of his leg, and his cargo doors opened with a loud click. "Don't wanna have to explain you carrying an enchanted sword to the cops, either. Throw everything on the back, and you all come ride in the cabin."

"Thank you, Jorge," Arthur replied, then talked to his people in Carnan. "Disarm completely. I'll keep my spheres with me and can prehend some of your weapons if needed. The truck is mostly metal, and I can also use it to protect ourselves." He left unsaid that if magic didn't work, they would just have to hope they survived until they could grab their things.

"Why disarm, master? This commoner has no right to demand it of us. It's humiliating."

"I was the one to suggest it to reassure him we are no threat," Arthur replied. "Current sensibilities are different from our time. This man just mentioned their lawkeepers. The man inside called the lawkeepers through his long-range communication device, and I learned people should not carry long-range automated weaponry like the one in the dungeon with them. Maybe that also holds true for common weaponry. I'll inquire further as we move, but asking now might upset the driver, and I want to leave before any lawkeeper arrives. The barkeeper mentioned a mana scan device that might identify us as awakeners, and I'm not sure what that'll mean. We'll hide our identities until we reach the League."

Although Tamara had asked that, she followed everyone, Arthur included, to the truck's back. They put their weapons, hidden or otherwise, between craters.

"Store enchanted weaponry in your spatial storage artifacts," Arthur added. "I would rather the lawkeepers didn't see them. And hide the artifacts if they are visible."

They did as told.

"Make sure to close the door properly!" Jorge yelled from the driver's seat. "It's not a fridge! You gotta mean it!" Arthur chuckled and very delicately closed the cargo door, or he might bend it. "Good one! Get on board!"

Graham wanted to go on the passenger's seat, but Arthur went instead. He wanted easier access to talk to Jorge and a clearer view. It was theoretically less safe than having his knight there, but in practice, their being in a metal box leveled the field.

"Seat belts," Jorge reminded everyone, and Arthur translated it to them. "You ready?"

"Yes," Arthur replied.

"Then let's go. Wait, which city did you say you want to get to again? I'm going to North Lake. It alright with you?"

"It's perfect, Jorge," the prince replied, trying inflection for the first time. "I'm not familiar with the region. By North Lake's name, I take it that it has a lake?"

Jorge grinned as he looked at the mirrors, then hit the gas. "Oh, boy, you're in for a surprise. Best view in a hundred miles. The sunset there... You'll see it for itself. So you're not a local, huh? I figured by your accent... Wait, where's your accent?"

Arthur chuckled. "I'm trying to improve my speech. I take it that it's working?"

"Damn, kid. You're good. How many tongues you even talk?"

Jorge was a chatterbox, which was great. He also was humane.

Seeing people on the road and then in the restaurant hadn't warmed his heart after the isolation because they were so different, but Jorge did it. Their cultures were alien to each other, but they were still two people capable of chatting. Jorge was from a different era yet had family issues just like people did in the past. It was nice to talk to the old man.

And so, at long last, reality crashed down on him in a way it hadn't before.

The world he knew was gone. People like Jorge, Dave, Chad, and the overexcited couple filled it now. Their lawkeepers were called something new, and the world moved fast—he hadn't seen a single horse or slow carriage since arriving. The mana-starved region seemed endless, and he didn't recognize the landscape.

Arthur pushed a hand between the front seats and offered it to Sophie, seeking her support. She grabbed it, and Mr. Mustache took offense. He bit Arthur's fingers but couldn't pierce the skin. The prince ignored it.

They kept holding each other's hands while he fished for information from Jorge without being too conspicuous.

The truck kept moving ever forward.