Inside the sack, Princess Rose wasn't how they left her.
Her hands and mouth were no longer bound. The ropes had been carefully cut.
She slowly pulled the cloth gag from her mouth, spitting out the scrap tucked inside.
"Guess this thing does come in handy after all," she muttered under her breath, taking in a deep, steadying breath of freedom.
In her hand was a small, concealed blade disguised as a decorative accessory she always wore. A precaution for moments exactly like this.
Though known for her bold, free-spirited nature, Rose wasn't foolish. As the eldest daughter of the king, she understood the darker side of the world far better than most girls her age.
Her body jolted again as the sack was dragged or thrown, making it harder to stay balanced. Gritting her teeth, she braced herself and mumbled,
"How the hell am I supposed to get out of this?"
From the bits of conversation she'd overheard, it was clear. The ones who grabbed her weren't the real culprits. Just middlemen. Hired hands. And they were delivering her somewhere... to someone worse.
"Tch. So I've gotta save myself this time. Can't count on Papa showing up."
Though her voice was tinged with irritation, her eyes gleamed with a strange excitement—like a warrior sensing an incoming battle rather than a princess in distress.
Her grip on the hidden blade tightened.
Careful now.
She slid the blade along the sack's fabric, cutting a thin line. Just enough to peek through. She kept her breathing quiet, her heartbeat steady. Years of etiquette training and self-discipline now served a very different purpose.
Are they taking me out of the city? Rose narrowed her eyes, watching trees blur past through the slit she'd made.
She didn't get long to process it.
A sudden shout rang out from the front. Loud, urgent, followed by the unmistakable clash of steel.
That was all she needed.
No more waiting then.
With a sharp pull, she widened the hole and launched herself out of the sack—
—or so she thought.
"Ah, wait, nope, ouch, not there, ugh, my hair!"
She tumbled out headfirst, limbs flailing, landing hard on the floor with a grunt.
"Finally," she muttered, brushing her bangs aside and blinking up at the open sky. "Not exactly the heroic escape I had in mind..."
She scrambled upright, eyes scanning the scene outside the cart.
A boy, no, a teen stood amidst two lifeless bodies, their limbs twisted unnaturally. Judging by the clothes, they were part of the group that had kidnapped her.
The rest of the men surrounded him now, weapons drawn, but none dared move. Their aggression faltered, replaced with something else.
Fear.
Rose narrowed her eyes. He looks about my age... so why do they look like sheep cornered by a wolf?
She could run. This was the best opening she'd had since being grabbed.
But curiosity rooted her in place.
It didn't take long to find her answer.
One of the men, maybe trying to save face, snarled and lunged with a raised sword. "Die, you bastard!"
The boy didn't flinch.
No speeches. No smug retorts. He simply moved.
Blade in hand, slime-like and pulsing unnaturally, he vanished.
And reappeared behind the man.
Like a ghost.
The attacker froze mid-step. A flicker of confusion crossed his face before a thin red line opened across his neck.
He reached up, fingers trembling.
Blood.
Then collapse.
So fast. The thought echoed through the group like a silent scream.
Then came the realisation that chilled their bones.
"He's... he's a mage...!"
While they weren't technically wrong—Draco was a mage, and going to be a damn good one at that—the technique he just used had nothing to do with mana.
What they saw wasn't a spell.
It was pure physical movement.
Soru, the high-speed step technique from One Piece.
Back when Draco first started hunting, he quickly noticed a frustrating problem. He was slow.
His body, still young, lacked the reach and explosive strength of the adults he faced. And unlike high-tier mages, his mana reserves weren't deep enough yet to rely on speed-enhancing.
Waiting to grow into that strength?
Not an option.
So instead, he decided to build his own solution. Something grounded in raw speed, no magic required.
That's when he remembered Soru. Variants of it existed across different worlds—Body Flicker in Naruto, Shunpo in Bleach—but Soru stood out for one reason.
It was the most brutally simple.
No chakra. No reiatsu. Just legs, muscle control, and perfect timing.
Thanks to his Miyamoto template from Baki, where controlling every muscle fibre was second nature, and the Richard template, whose entire fighting style revolved around his physical prowess, Draco had the tools to recreate it.
It wasn't perfect, not yet.
But after months of trial and error, tweaks, and failed attempts, he'd finally pulled it off.
His version of Soru.
Crude. Unrefined. But good enough to cover two meters in the blink of an eye.
And against clueless bandits who didn't know any better?
That was plenty.
In fact, creating it wasn't just about speed. There was a deeper reason.
Soru didn't rely on mana.
Which meant, even inside an anti-magic field, he could still move like a ghost.
That alone made it worth months of pain and trial runs.
But Draco didn't stop there. His mind couldn't help but wander to the future… what if he stacked it?
Soru + Total Concentration Breathing + Mana-enhancement.
The speed. The acceleration. The explosive step through space.
He didn't even need to finish the thought.
Just the idea of it made the hair on his arms rise.
Teleportation...
***********
Techniques he could recreate?