SSS Talent: From Trash to Tyrant Chapter 596: Behind the Sealed Door

Trafalgar opted for the stairs.

The upper level of the train carriage was more confined than the lower passageway, designed for private quarters and hushed exclusivity. Now, it bore the appearance of a train that had ingested a battlefield and was still attempting to proceed.

The first detail to register was the blood.

It traced fractured lines across the carpet, smeared by the passage of boots, hands, or bodies that had attempted a desperate crawl before the gas had completed its grim work. A lone passenger was slumped partially within a private room, one arm extended towards the hallway, fingers curled into a void. His chest still exhibited faint but discernible movement.

Another figure remained utterly still.

Trafalgar stepped over him without hesitation.

The overhead lights flickered erratically, oscillating between a warm gold and a pallid white. Beneath the floor, the train moaned in protest against the storm, its metal components and mana formations straining to maintain structural integrity. The windows, obscured by a blanket of snow, imparted a sense of perpetual motion through an unyielding wall.

A masked assailant lay against the railing, their throat crushed inwards, a likely consequence of a desperate defense. Two doors down, a woman clad in an elegant blue coat bore a gash across her side. She was alive, her breaths shallow, but a significant pool of blood had saturated the fabric beneath her ribs.

Trafalgar conducted a swift visual sweep of the hallway.

No enemy activity detected.

No sign of Selara.

He passed an open compartment. Within, three academy students were slumped in unconsciousness near the bed, shielded by a faint, greenish film that coated the floor and walls. Likely Selara's doing. The gas had reached them, but some measure had prevented them from being dragged out.

Good.

He continued onward.

The subsequent door was sealed.

Not merely locked, but sealed.

A delicate alchemical sigil traced the frame, too pristine to be part of the train's original infrastructure. Trafalgar extended a hand towards the handle, then paused just short of contact. The sigil shifted subtly as his fingers approached, but offered no outward resistance.

Selara.

He opened the door and entered.

The instant he crossed the threshold, a mana firearm materialized adjacent to his head.

It was positioned close enough that, were it to discharge, even a Primordial Body would face severe repercussions.

A familiar voice issued from behind him.

"Cease any sound. Enter cautiously."

Trafalgar remained motionless for a fleeting second.

The chamber beyond the doorway proved unexpectedly spacious, likely one of the private lounges adjoining the upper level. Curtains were drawn across the windows. Tables had been displaced against the walls. Several students were dispersed across couches, rugs, and makeshift bedding fashioned from coats, all in a state of slumber.

Selara had consolidated them here.

All appeared unharmed.

Trafalgar advanced inside with measured steps.

The weapon remained poised near his head.

Selara stood behind him, maintaining a distance, fully alert and seemingly in command despite the external pandemonium. Trafalgar could not yet discern her face, but the unwavering tone of her voice conveyed her composure.

"Inform me of the situation."

Trafalgar sighed audibly through his mask.

"If you would cease aiming that device at me, Selara, that would be preferable. You wouldn't wish for your favored assistant to be widowed, would you?"

The firearm remained unmoving for a moment.

Then, Selara's tone shifted.

"Trafalgar?"

He tilted his head slightly. "You fail to recognize me merely due to a mask and altered attire? My handsome visage remains unchanged."

The mana firearm dematerialized from its position beside his cheek.

Selara stepped into view, her eyes narrowing as she scrutinized him from head to toe. Her elegant attire from earlier was largely intact, though one sleeve bore scorch marks, and her hair was already escaping the severe coiffure she had adopted that morning.

"Tsk. You present a disheveled appearance."

"It is heartening to see you as well."

Trafalgar glanced past her towards the students.

"Are they all unharmed?"

"Yes," Selara confirmed. "They are asleep, but alive. The gas affected them before I could fully contain it, so I brought everyone I could rescue into this room and secured it."

Her gaze intensified as she examined him more closely, searching for any signs of his own injury. Finding none, her attention pivoted sharply to the space behind him.

"Cynthia? Where is Cynthia?"

"Rest assured," Trafalgar stated. "She is safe."

Selara's shoulders visibly relaxed, though only slightly.

"Thank the heavens."

"Now that you too are secure, the circumstances have improved."

Selara regarded him with an expression that suggested offense at the implication.

"Did you presume I would perish?" she inquired, tilting her chin upwards. "Trafalgar, you ought to elevate me in your estimation. I am far more remarkable than that. My reputation as a legendary alchemist is not unfounded."

"My concern was primarily for the students."

"Unkind, but permissible."

She crossed her arms, her demeanor regaining its seriousness.

"Do you comprehend the nature of this unfolding crisis?"

Trafalgar closed the door behind him before offering a response.

"A portion of it," he responded. "The storm provided cover for the attack on the train. Sleeping gas was disseminated through the carriages before they made their move. The explosion originated near the mithril-reinforced cargo wagon. Their primary target wasn't initially me."

Selara's lips thinned into a grim line.

"This revelation shifts annoyance to outright insult."

"They seek blueprints and a secured container," Trafalgar elaborated. "That much I learned from one of the attackers before his demise."

Selara's demeanor altered instantly.

"Blueprints?" she echoed, a hint of disbelief in her voice.

"Indeed. He lacked clarity on their purpose, only that the main contingent occupied the cargo section. He also spoke of a woman leading them—human, clad in black, with short red hair, adept with wires and explosives."

Selara froze, her body becoming rigid.

Trafalgar observed this change immediately.

"Her name was Merisse."

For the first time since Trafalgar's arrival, a look of genuine displeasure crossed Selara's face.

"Shit..."

That single utterance conveyed more than any lengthy discourse could.

"You are acquainted with her?" he inquired.

Selara massaged her temple with two fingers, then cast a wary glance at the slumbering students, ensuring their peaceful rest hadn't been disturbed at this critical juncture.

"Acquainted? Hell, it would be peculiar if I wasn't. She's a complete bitch, a wretch, and a bastard."