September 27, 1189
The sky was still dark when Mina stirred awake, the faintest silver of dawn just brushing the horizon. Trevus's instructions from last night echoed clearly in her mind: Western II. Warm up Betty and Beck. Have them at Western III by six.
She glanced at the clock. 4:54.
With a quiet groan, she rolled out of bed, combed out her tangled hair with quick strokes, then dropped into her morning routine—push-ups, stretches, light drills to loosen her body. By the time she slipped into her olive-and-beige Tropico coat, the air outside her window was still cool and damp with morning dew.
But the real dilemma struck her when she looked at her footwear.
On the bed sat three choices:
The sturdy, guild-issued boots—dependable but heavy.
The short leather boots gifted by Captain Ferris—comfortable and sentimental.
And the gleaming white pair of Shiro Strides—stylish, rare, and proudly stamped with Tropico's "Juzzi-approved" label, imported from the Eastern Continent.
Mina bit her lip. Practicality or pride?
In the end, she tugged on the Shiro Strides, grinning to herself, but made sure to pack the leather boots in case the trail ahead turned ugly. A little indulgence never hurt, and besides, it wasn't every day she traveled out on the Grandpolle Route.
When she headed downstairs, Ashe emerged at the same time, rubbing his eyes, coat only half-buttoned. Their timing was uncanny.
"You're up early," Mina said with a half-smile.
"Or you're up too early," Ashe countered, yawning.
Side by side, they stepped through Western III's front gates and into the crisp dawn air, their boots crunching softly against gravel as they made their way toward Western II.
Western Outposts, Wild Veins Route:
Western I was the smallest: a warehouse and adjoining shop within the town of Alpime, modest but always stocked with goods meant for trade and supply.
Western II stood further out, sprawling with pens, barns, and grazing fields. It was where the guild raised livestock and drew much of their meat supplies—though in recent months, shortages plagued them, with wild animals prowling too close and taking their toll.
Western III, their home, was the hub: two dormitories, an office house, training grounds, a storage warehouse, and even a small water plant that kept the outpost self-sufficient.
And beyond them all, to the south, stretched Jill Kilmann's farm, where the guild sourced most of its fruit and harvests.
Today, however, Mina and Ashe's task was simple but essential: bring back Betty and Beck, the caravan beasts, and have them ready by six. The journey to Grandpolle Route would be long, and everyone needed the caravan at its best.
The faint glow of lanterns at Western II flickered ahead, painting warm light against the barn doors. Mina adjusted her coat, exhaled into the cool air, and felt the promise of travel stir in her chest.
It had been a week of rest. Now, at last, the road called.
Mina marched briskly along the dirt road leading east from Western III, the cool predawn air carrying faint hints of livestock and dew-damp grass. Beside her, Ashe trudged with a slouch, dragging his boots just enough to kick pebbles along the way. His white hair was still unruly from sleep, and his eyes had that glazed look of someone who hadn't yet caught up with the day.
Mina glanced back once, narrowed her eyes mischievously, then without warning broke into a light jog.
"Oi—wait!" Ashe's voice cracked as panic slipped through his drowsiness. He bolted forward in a half-sprint, nearly tripping on his own coat hem.
By the time he caught up, Mina was grinning ear to ear, her breath even and steady. "There. You're awake now."
Ashe scowled, brushing his hair back. "You call that a wake-up? You almost gave me a heart attack."
"Better than watching you sleepwalk the whole way," Mina teased, lengthening her stride again just to test him.
The path curved gently as the fences of Western II came into sight in the distance, their paint white and clean even in the dim light, while the large blue barn loomed faintly ahead like a block of sky fallen to earth.
Ashe's expression softened as he adjusted to the pace. "Feels like it's been forever since we've seen Betty and Beck. How long's it been?"
Mina tilted her head, thinking aloud. "Three weeks? Yeah—Dungeon #47F. Nexus Ryze. Remember? We were stuck on Porter Duty for Party 5 after they called us in."
"Right, right," Ashe muttered, squinting as if forcing the memory into focus. "Didn't we take the airship to Nexus Ryze? From Alpime to Apusa, on the Maust Route—"
Mina cut in quickly, smirking. "Caravan, Ashe. We took the caravan home. You fell asleep on Trevus' side before we even crossed the first ridge. Don't tell me you've already forgotten?"
Ashe blinked, his mouth half-open. "...I did?"
Mina laughed, shaking her head. "Early mornings really do wipe your memory clean, huh? No wonder you're always dragging your feet."
"Or maybe," Ashe muttered under his breath, "someone just likes running me ragged at sunrise."
"Mm? Didn't hear you," Mina said sweetly, but her grin gave her away.
By then the familiar sight of Western II was clear ahead—the sturdy blue barn with its tall doors, the faint stirrings of animals just beginning to wake, and the neat white fencing that enclosed the pasture. A place both ordinary and essential, its quiet steadiness the opposite of the chaos of dungeons.
Mina inhaled deeply, already picturing Betty and Beck waiting for them. "C'mon, let's get them ready. If we're late, Trevus will tan both our hides."
Ashe sighed, tugged his coat tighter, and trudged after her. "If they kick me awake like you did just now, I'm blaming you."
"Don't worry," Mina called over her shoulder, "they like me better anyway."
Mina and Ashe slowed their pace as the white fences of Western II finally gave way to the wide front gates of the blue barn. Even in the pale morning light, the barn seemed to hum with life—the rustle of hay, the soft nickers of horses, the low grumble of cattle still drowsy in their pens.
Waiting at the gate was a man neither of them could mistake: Klen-Klen, or rather Klenikojoko Huwaba, his real name that always tripped Ashe up whenever he tried to say it aloud. He was dressed in his usual faded riding jacket, sleeves rolled high to his elbows, his lean frame betraying the years of discipline that had once made him a household name. His wiry black hair was streaked with gray now, but his sharp eyes still carried the spark of a champion.
"Klen-Klen!" Mina greeted warmly, jogging the last few steps. "Morning!"
The man cracked a grin, his teeth flashing. "Mina Ferrer Orlean. Bright as ever at this hour." His voice carried the easy tone of someone who had long ago traded stadium roars for quiet mornings. His eyes shifted to Ashe, who was still catching his breath. "And young master Illusory—half awake, I see."
Ashe straightened his coat awkwardly. "...Morning, sir."
Klen-Klen chuckled, then gestured toward the barn.
"Trevus came by yesterday. Said you two would be fetching Betty and Beck today. Figured I'd have them ready for you. They'll need a warm-up before the road, of course."
Mina perked up immediately. "You mean—you'll actually let us ride them this time?"
Klen-Klen raised a brow at her. "Us? Girl, you've been riding since you were fourteen, don't try and act new."
Mina blinked, then laughed, scratching her cheek sheepishly. "Okay, fine, only Ashe hasn't."
At once Klen-Klen's gaze sharpened toward Ashe, who froze. "You've never sat a horse before?"
"...No?" Ashe admitted, shifting his weight. "Closest I've come was holding the reins for ten seconds before Mina pulled them away."
"Because you were holding them upside down," Mina quickly cut in, grinning.
Klen-Klen barked a laugh. "Upside down, eh? That explains everything."
He clapped Ashe on the shoulder hard enough to make him stumble.
"Don't worry, boy. By the time you leave this barn, you'll ride like a soldier—or fall like one. Either way, you'll learn fast."
"Comforting," Ashe muttered under his breath.
Klen-Klen only smirked and waved them forward.
"Come. Betty and Beck are in fine spirits today. And Ken-Ken's still around too, grazing with the herd. She's older now, but she still outruns the young ones when the mood strikes."
"Ken-Ken?" Ashe asked, curiosity sparking.
"The legend herself," Mina said brightly, looking back at him.
"Fastest mare in Elynthi Tri-Cup history. Klen-Klen's pride and joy."
Klen-Klen chuckled softly at that, a flicker of nostalgia passing over his expression.
"She broke the two-thousand meters clockwise at two minutes fifty-nine point zero-two. Never been matched since. Now she lives out her days here, in peace. Fame fades, but a horse's spirit—that stays."
Mina nodded thoughtfully, then tugged Ashe's sleeve, leading him deeper into the barn. The smell of hay grew stronger, mingled with the earthy warmth of horses shifting in their stalls. Somewhere inside, two familiar snorts sounded—their partners for the road ahead.
"Betty and Beck," Mina said, her voice carrying both fondness and excitement. "You ready to meet them again, Ashe?"
Ashe exhaled slowly, half-dreading, half-curious. "...Ready as I'll ever be."
Mina darted past the rows of stalls the moment she heard the familiar soft whinny.
"Betty!" she called, voice carrying pure excitement. She reached the mare's stall and pressed both hands against her warm snout, rubbing in circles. Betty leaned into it, eyes half-lidding, as if she had been waiting all this time.
"What a cutie," Mina cooed. Betty's coat was a deep brown, sleek but with tufts of messy forelock that stuck out like she hadn't cared to be brushed. Her breath came out in slow huffs, gentle as always.
Behind her, Beck was already pawing the ground, restless. His mane stood upright in a natural ridge—more like a mohawk than anything else. Where Betty had the calm patience of an older sister, Beck radiated restless energy. He flicked his head as if to say, Quit doting on her, I'm here too.
"Alright, alright," Mina laughed, turning to stroke Beck's neck.
"You're handsome too, I get it."
Klen-Klen stepped in with a brush in each hand, working swiftly over Beck's side. "Don't flatter him too much," he said, a wry grin forming. "This one will start thinking he's the fastest horse alive."
"He's not?" Ashe asked, hesitant as he kept one cautious hand on Betty's bridle.
"Not even close." Klen-Klen finished his brushing with practiced ease and reached for the tack. "Speed's one thing. Temperament is another. Beck's got plenty of fire, but he hasn't learned restraint. Betty's the steady one—she'll keep you alive in the long haul."
Mina helped where she could, dragging over the saddle while Klen-Klen fastened billets with a speed that came from decades of repetition. Buckles snapped into place, straps pulled tight, leather creaked—Betty was ready first, stepping out of her stall with a soft snort.
"Ashe, bridle," Klen-Klen instructed.
Ashe fumbled for a second before finally getting a grip. Betty, patient as ever, simply waited, her breath warming his wrist as if forgiving his clumsiness.
A moment later, Beck was led out too, Klen-Klen holding him steady as the younger stallion tossed his head, trying to test the reins.
And then, from deeper in the barn, a loud thud echoed. A white muzzle pushed through the gap between the stalls. Ken-Ken—her mane still regal even with age—had craned her head out. Her ears flicked forward, her dark eyes fixed on the pair of younger horses.
She stomped once. Twice. A low huff followed, sharp as a reprimand.
"Ken-Ken…" Mina whispered, almost reverent.
The mare stamped again, tail swishing like an impatient teacher scolding her wayward students.
Klen-Klen sighed, setting a firm hand on her nose and stroking the length of her face. His voice dropped low, soothing. "Easy, girl. They'll be back in three days. That's all. You've still got Jacko and Harou in the back with you. No need to fret."
Ken-Ken exhaled hard through her nostrils, still unconvinced. But when Klen-Klen's hand traced her cheek, the tension in her shoulders eased. She lowered her head, resting it briefly against the edge of the stall as if conceding—for now.
"See?" Klen-Klen murmured, rubbing her one last time. "Not forever. Just a road run. They'll come back to you."
Mina watched silently, struck again by how much love lingered between the old racer and her trainer. Even Ashe, normally skeptical of such bonds, stood still with a rare look of respect in his eyes.
The barn seemed to grow quieter in that moment. Just the shuffle of hooves, the creak of leather, and the steady rhythm of a man and his horse, speaking a language without words.
Twelve minutes in the pen was all it took.
Betty and Beck were no longer sluggish with morning drowsiness—now their hooves beat the earth with steady rhythm, tails flicking, muscles taut with anticipation. Betty, ever the steadier one, paced close to the fence, her black snout dipping toward a patch of wild vanilla that had grown between the posts. She took a long, satisfied whiff, nostrils flaring as if savoring the sweetness.
Ashe sat on the fence rail, arms folded, just watching. Mina was perched proudly atop Betty, her grin wide as the mare obeyed every gentle tug of the reins. Klen-Klen rode Beck, his posture relaxed even as the younger stallion stamped and tossed his head.
"Ashe, don't just sit there!" Mina called, tugging Betty to a halt. "You'll never learn if you just watch."
"I'm learning perfectly well from here," Ashe shot back, half-serious.
Then Beck turned. His ears flicked, his eyes caught the pale-haired boy leaning idly on the fence—prey to his mischief. Beck gave a snort, then thundered toward him with reckless speed.
"Wha—wait, wait!" Ashe yelped, hopping the fence in a single panicked bound. He hit the grass on the other side, stumbling. Behind him, Beck skidded to a stop with a smug whicker, stamping the ground like he'd just won some unspoken game.
Mina doubled over Betty's saddle, clutching her stomach from laughter. "Pfft—oh, Ashe, you should've seen your face!"
"Warn me next time!" Ashe barked at Klen-Klen, cheeks burning.
"I did," Klen-Klen replied smoothly, patting Beck's neck as if nothing happened. "You were too deep in thought to notice."
"That's not warning, that's hindsight!" Ashe groaned, but his protests only made Mina laugh harder, her voice ringing across the pen.
Before Klen-Klen could answer, a familiar voice drawled from behind. Rough, teasing, and far too amused.
"My, my… have the two brats finally grown into teens?"
All three froze.
Turning, Ashe's eyes widened—there she was. Jill Kilmann.
Not in her usual patchy skirts and farmer's cloak, no. Today she wore rodeo-styled blue trousers tucked into short boots, a sleeveless leather vest over her collared shirt. The only thing unchanged was her ever-present witch's hat, tilted just enough to shade her sharp eyes and crooked smile.
"J-Jill…" Ashe stammered, already twitching at the memory.
The memory of humiliation burned back into his mind—her sadistic grin as she'd handed him and Mina a wooden shape sorter like they were toddlers. And worse: the way Trevus had watched, expression unreadable, while Jill cackled like a crow.
Klen-Klen brightened at the sight of her. "Ah, perfect timing. Jill! Good to see you, old friend."
He gestured toward Mina and Ashe. "These are two of Party 5's dungeon cleaners. Trevus probably mentioned them—"
"They know me," Jill cut in with a sly grin. Her gaze landed on Mina and Ashe like a hawk eyeing prey. "Don't you, kiddies?"
Mina puffed her cheeks, clearly remembering the same embarrassment as Ashe.
"…Yeah. We remember."
Jill chuckled, clearly savoring the discomfort. "Good. Keeps the memory fresh."
Klen-Klen ignored the tension, rubbing his hands together. "Jill's harvests have been coming through Western II as well. I'll say it again, Jill—your produce rivals Alpime itself. Maybe even the capital's. Quality like that doesn't just happen."
"Flattery, eh?" Jill adjusted her hat, smirk widening. "Careful, Klen. You'll make an old witch blush."
Mina arched an eyebrow. "You? Blush? I don't believe that for a second."
"Smart girl," Jill replied with a wink. Then, turning toward the stalls, she called out, "Now where's my boy… ah. There you are."
From the back emerged Jacko, a brown horse with pale blond dapples, ears flicking as he recognized Jill's voice. She strode forward, stroking his muzzle with practiced ease. "That's my partner. Not as famous as Ken-Ken, sure, but loyal. Steady. Perfect for my kind of work."
"Which is…?" Ashe asked cautiously.
Jill flashed her teeth. "Oh, wouldn't you like to know."
Before Mina could press her, Klen-Klen hopped down from Beck's saddle, brushing his hands off. "Alright, that's enough warming up. They're ready for the road."
He led Betty toward Mina, reins already looped neatly. Then he thrust Beck's bridle into Ashe's hands.
"Your turn."
Ashe froze, staring at the leather straps like they were venomous snakes. "…Wait. You're leaving me with him?"
Klen-Klen grinned wide.
"Aye. Time you learned. Don't worry—he only bites if you deserve it."
Mina covered her mouth to stifle another laugh. "Good luck, partner~."
Ashe groaned, clutching the reins with the delicacy of a man defusing a bomb, while Beck tossed his head, eager for the road.
Ashe tugged Beck's reins, double-checking the bit with shaking hands before leading the horse out of the pen. The leather felt foreign against his grip, every pull reminding him how quickly things could go wrong. Beside him, Mina jogged Betty forward with ease, her posture upright and natural as if she'd been born in the saddle.
"Thanks, Klen-Klen," Mina called over her shoulder.
"Good luck, kids!" Klen-Klen waved with a knowing grin before disappearing back toward Western II.
Once outside the gates, Mina didn't waste a second. She circled Betty around Ashe and Beck in wide loops, teasing him mercilessly. "Come on, Ashe! Get on already, he's not gonna bite."
Ashe kept his tone calm. Or tried to. "I'm calm. Perfectly calm."
Mina snorted. "Calm, my ass! He was charging straight at you earlier."
Her laughter bubbled up, light and mocking. Then she squinted at Beck, her lips curling into a sly grin. "You know… maybe it's the hair."
Ashe blinked. "What?"
"Your hair." Mina gestured toward his head. "White as snow—just like Ken-Ken's coat. Beck probably thinks you're her twin or something. Poor boy might have a crush."
Ashe groaned. "You've got to be kidding me."
After a long moment of hesitation, teeth gritted, Ashe finally swung himself up. His movements were surprisingly sharp and clean, his boots finding the stirrups in one fluid motion.
"Oooh," Mina's brows shot up. "Look at you. Nice footwork! That was—"
Her words died as Beck lurched forward.
"Ashe!" Mina yelped, watching in shock as Beck bolted straight down the dirt road, dust kicking up in his wake.
"W-wait—! I-It's not me! It's Beck!!" Ashe's voice cracked as he clung for dear life, one hand white-knuckling the horn, the other jerking the reins far too loosely.
"Hold the reins together!" Mina shouted after him, heels digging into Betty's sides as they gave chase. "Pull slightly—don't yank! Just enough to slow him!"
Wind tore at Ashe's hair, his stomach flipping with every pounding stride. His vision blurred, fear biting into him with every second he failed to regain control. Finally, he forced his trembling hands together on the reins.
"C-come on…!"
He leaned forward, torso low, and gave a firm but measured tug. Beck's head tossed, snorting, but the gallop eased into a canter. Then slower. Then steady. Ashe gasped out shaky breaths, shoulders slumping as adrenaline drained from him.
Betty caught up alongside them, Mina grinning ear to ear. "Not bad, partner! Scared stiff, but you pulled it off."
Ashe exhaled a humorless laugh. "You call that 'not bad'? I nearly died."
"Nearly," Mina corrected, smirking. "But you didn't. That's what counts."
Up ahead, the dirt path widened, the open field of Western III stretching out before them. Wagons sat arranged in a semicircle, canvas tops swaying gently in the breeze—the caravan, all prepped and waiting.
Mina rose in her saddle, pointing forward. "Race you to it!"
Before Ashe could protest, Betty surged ahead like a streak of black lightning. Ashe blinked, his jaw tightening.
"…Fine."
He dug his heels in. Beck responded instantly, ears back, muscles surging as they kicked up a storm of dust in pursuit.
The sun had only just crested the horizon when Mina and Betty bounded across the open field toward Western III, her coat flaring behind her. The dew on the grass caught the morning light, sparkling like scattered crystals as the caravan came into view. Canvas wagons were lined in neat order, their wooden wheels darkened from the night's damp, ready to roll.
Party 5 was already awake and gathered around the encampment.
Trevus Regulus stood at the center, unmistakable in his knight's armor. Beneath the gleam of steel was a deep blue undercoat, the color of tempered loyalty. His curved sabers rested at his sides, scabbards polished black and silver, with hints of azure glinting at their ends—a subtle mark of craftsmanship. Trevus' presence was steadying, as if the field itself bowed to his authority.
A little apart sat Harlen Sprieggen, perched casually on a stump, green cloak snapping in the autumn wind. Unlike Trevus, his armor was a more practical mix of tough leather reinforced with small metal plates, each etched with protective seals that shimmered faintly in the morning sun. Expensive. Durable. Effective. He hummed idly while brushing his arming sword with a white cloth, ensuring no speck of dust marred its edge.
Camylle Aurburst huddled near him, fighting the chill. Her Tropico overcoat was drawn tight around her adventurer's garb, and her breath puffed in little clouds as she rubbed her hands together. She didn't complain—she never did—but her shivering shoulders betrayed her.
By the wagons, Lotha Mireyer stood tall, waiting with an eager spark in her eyes. Her new adventuring outfit gleamed with the white-and-gold trim of the Tropico Guild's latest blessing: a symbolic rebirth from her old black-and-gold priest's garb. A combat shield with a bladed edge was strapped firmly to her left gauntlet, and her new mace hung at her right side, catching the dawn light in dull glimmers. She had even tied her blond hair neatly back into a tail—less holy sermon, more battlefield conviction.
And then there was Nira Hollows, the picture of impatience. One hand rested at her hip, the other tapping against her thigh. She wore her usual rogue's attire: a fitted black top, a bandolier heavy with her miniature grenades crisscrossing her chest, crimson trousers tucked into purple-black boots. Her twin daggers gleamed with a sinister red sheen under the morning sun, reflecting her sharp smile—or sharp temper.
Mina guided Betty to a halt right in front of Trevus, the mare snorting and stamping eagerly. Mina leaned forward slightly, grinning at the subtle acknowledgment Betty gave Trevus—a familiarity born of old bonds.
Beck followed a moment later, galloping to a halt with Ashe clinging to the reins. His dismount was less elegant than Mina's, but still firm enough not to embarrass himself. Beck, too, nickered softly at Trevus.
Of course. Betty and Beck weren't just any horses—they had been raised by Trevus and Klen-Klen together, nurtured from foals nearly seven years ago. They still remembered their old master.
Trevus' stern face softened as he stepped forward, gloved hand stroking Betty's muzzle, then Beck's. "You've both grown well," he murmured, his voice carrying a rare warmth. The horses responded with proud snorts, stamping the earth as if to prove themselves.
"Looks like someone's happy to see their old man again," Harlen teased, eyes never leaving his sword.
"More like they're happy they don't have to deal with Ashe's grip anymore," Nira added dryly, her smirk cutting across the air.
Ashe stiffened. "H-Hey! I managed, didn't I?"
"Barely," Mina chimed in with a sly grin, still astride Betty.
The air around the group was already stirring with a mix of camaraderie and tension, the kind that only adventurers knew—moments of levity before the long road ahead. The caravan loomed, wagons creaking softly in the breeze, waiting to carry them eastward.
Today, the route to the Grandpolle Route began.