SSS Talent: From Trash to Tyrant Chapter 603: Aftermath

With her mana firearm gripped in one hand, Selara stepped into the cargo wagon. The journey's initial elegance had long since evaporated. Her sleeve bore scorch marks, strands of hair had escaped their confines, and the composed director from hours before now resembled the Selara Trafalgar truly knew: dangerous, annoyed, and on the verge of making someone deeply regret their existence. Her gaze locked onto Merisse.

Merisse, bound to the cargo frame, lifted her head and offered a smile as if anticipating this moment. "Hello, Selara."

Selara's fingers tightened around the firearm. "Oh," she murmured, advancing. "This day just improved."

Merisse's smile faltered. The silver light pulsing from the restraints around her wrists as she shifted caused a wince, which she quickly suppressed with palpable hatred.

Selara halted before her. "How could you do this?" she inquired, her voice low. "Was being ousted from every worthwhile project enough to make you hijack a secured train? Are you truly so wounded by your expulsion?"

Merisse's expression contorted. The placid facade fractured, revealing a uglier undercurrent: rage, pride, and ancient humiliation that had clearly festered rather than mellowed.

"It seems you haven't changed over the years, Selara," Merisse stated, her voice strained. "You still speak as if anyone who falls behind you did so because they earned their place on the ground."

A mirthless smile touched Selara's lips. "And you still blame the floor after tripping over your own feet."

Merisse strained against the restraints again, the silver bands digging into her mana channels. She hissed through her teeth, yet the fury in her eyes remained undimmed.

"You never understood anything."

"I understood enough to know you shouldn't be near anything with a fuse, a seal, or funding," Selara countered. She lowered the firearm slightly, though not enough to induce ease. "You helped construct this train. You knew its vulnerabilities. That makes this far worse."

Merisse let out a short, bitter laugh. "Worse? Please. This train was built for the affluent to delude themselves about controlling distance. I merely reminded it that every machine possesses a breaking point."

Trafalgar observed from nearby, listening without interjecting. He had heard enough to grasp one certainty: the animosity between Selara and Merisse stemmed from more than a single incident. This feud had deep, bothersome roots, likely entwined with alchemical committees, pilfered research, furious patrons, and perhaps some catastrophic laboratory mishap that Selara would eventually recount with excessive relish.

Eldric intervened before Selara could respond. "Merisse Varn will be transferred to Council custody," he announced, his tone final. "Any personal history between you can be addressed once she is secured."

Selara's attention shifted to him, and for a fleeting moment, Trafalgar suspected an argument. She refrained. "Fine," she conceded, finally lowering the firearm. "But if she vanishes before I get my answers, I will become exceedingly disagreeable."

Merisse scoffed. "As if you require encouragement."

Without shifting her stance, Selara leveled the firearm at her once more. "Try me, bitch."

Eldric made a subtle gesture, and two members of the First Concord approached. Toval lifted Merisse as if she were weightless, while Narak, with a suspicious grunt, inspected the restraints before giving a reluctant nod. "She's secured," the dwarf declared. "If she starts glowing, twitching, humming, whispering, or doing anything else suspicious, hit her."

Merisse glared at him. Narak remained unfazed.

Eldric turned his attention to the damaged vault. The sealed cargo had endured. While the mithril reinforcement was scorched, scored, and battered, the inner compartment had remained intact. The black case had been retrieved, and the blueprints were still protected by the functional lock layers. Narak had fiercely guarded them, growling at anyone who dared approach until the train engineers arrived to conduct the formal inventory. The critical items were safe, but the train itself was undeniably ruined.

Several hours were consumed by arduous, unpleasant work. Despite the relentless storm outside, the damage within the train gradually yielded to control. Engineers navigated service panels, alchemists neutralized the residual sleeping gas, and Narak, grumbling insults at those who had failed in their duties, fixed half the problems concerning the mana lines. Saaren moved through the passenger cars with medics, rousing the unconscious, tending to injuries, and making sharp remarks whenever someone attempted to stand before their legs were ready.

The fallen were cleared away with more consideration than their attackers warranted and less formality than the passengers deserved.

There wasn't a moment to spare.

The train needed to resume its journey.

Cynthia regained consciousness before the repairs were complete.

Trafalgar found her within the reinforced compartment where Caelum had left her. She was seated upright, a mask resting beside her, one hand pressed to her temple. Though her complexion was ashen, her breathing seemed steady, and her attire bore no stains of blood.

A wave of relief washed over him, a reaction he couldn't suppress. Cynthia observed it.

"Were you concerned?" she inquired, her voice hoarse from the effects of the gas.

"Evidently," Trafalgar responded. Her eyelids fluttered, as if she hadn't anticipated his straightforward admission. This caused her to lower her hand from her forehead, and for reasons he couldn't pinpoint, this minor movement carried more weight than an extended discussion might have.

"What transpired?"

"The train sustained an attack. They deployed sleeping gas, caused explosions, and attempted to pilfer the cargo." Trafalgar leaned against the doorframe, his arms folded. "The situation is now under control."

"By you?"

"Partially."

Cynthia's gaze drifted to the blood spatter on his clothing and the mask dangling from his grip.

"That means yes."

"It means partially."

She offered him a weary look, conveying a complete lack of belief. Trafalgar almost smirked; it was a good sign that she was unharmed.

Later, as the First Concord prepared to disembark, Trafalgar spotted Garrika from a distance.

She was stationed near one of the passenger carriages, assisting an injured woman towards Saaren. Her attire had undergone a transformation: a dark-gray combat jacket, light body armor, and the silver insignia of the Council adorning her collar. Her tail moved with deliberate control, devoid of the restless energy he recalled from their encounters in the shop.

For a fleeting moment, he contemplated approaching her. Ultimately, he chose not to.

Garrika had requested time and asked him to wait until she could stand by his side in the manner she desired. To walk over now, in front of her new subordinates, stained with blood and drawing their past into the present, would be an act of selfishness.

Therefore, he remained in his position. He had given his word to wait and would not break it simply because he happened to see her across a damaged train.

Garrika did not turn in his direction, or perhaps she did and arrived at the same conclusion. Regardless, the distance between them persisted.

Eldric departed shortly thereafter, accompanied by Merisse under escort.

The First Concord retreated through the tempest with the same swiftness they had employed upon their arrival. Their mission was accomplished: criminals apprehended, the injured transferred to the train personnel. They left behind the impression of a blade smoothly returning to its scabbard. By the time the repairs were finalized, nearly a full day had elapsed since the assault.

The train resumed its movement.

Albeit at a reduced speed, it was once again operational.

The passengers conversed in hushed tones. Students remained in close proximity to their peers. Selara wore an expression that promised retribution for the remainder of the journey, while Trafalgar focused his thoughts on the sealed container, Merisse, and the burgeoning annoyance the Conclave had already presented before their arrival.

Several hours passed, and the snowfall began to abate.

The train initiated its deceleration.

Beyond the expansive windows, through the final, hazy veil of the storm, Aurevane finally came into view.