Chapter 40: Preparing
Third person’s POV
The camp came alive fast, faster than any of it should have been possible for so early in the morning.
It was around 3 AM in the morning. Had it been Stefan Sinclair knew what the time was, he would have cussed out the whole planet for not having any decency when it came to timing.
Warriors moved with brutal efficiency, calling sharp instructions to each other in their clipped growling language, the tents were collapsing into tight rolls within seconds of a single shouted word.
Axes, shinning cutlasses- all their weapons were getting strapped and bundled before the sky had even finished deciding whether it wanted to be dark or gray.
Everything about the beastwomen ran fast - fast hands, fast decisions, fast bodies that didn’t waste a single wasted motion on anything as human as hesitation.
Slaves scrambled to keep pace beside them, their arms loaded with cooking pots, folded hides, warriors’ clothes, drinking jars and whatever the warriors themselves couldn’t be bothered carrying, moving at nearly a jog just to stay in step with women who barely seemed to notice they were rushing at all.
Stefan stood in the middle of it, in his same plain gray slave cloth, feeling distinctly like the only slow-moving object in an otherwise perfectly synchronized machine.
He glanced down at himself, at the dull fabric hanging off his frame, and made a silent, private vow. First thing he would fix once they hit town - an actual wardrobe, something that didn’t scream *unclaimed property* to every passing warrior.
"I can’t be seen as a slave... That’s an insult to my personality." He groaned as if he was in physical pain.
Despite the exhaustion still sitting heavy behind his eyes, despite the early hour dragging at every muscle in his body, he felt something close to excitement building underneath it all.
A real town. Actual civilization, or whatever counted as civilization on a planet run entirely by women who slapped first and asked questions never. Buildings, maybe. Markets. Something, anything, beyond the inside of a tent and the constant threat of decapitation.
He hoped there would be enough there to make the whole ordeal worth it.
Jonquil moved past him at that same brisk, purposeful pace, focused entirely on her own preparations, not sparing him a glance. The sight of her yanked his attention straight back to the countdown still ticking away in the corner of his vision.
[PRIMARY MISSION TIME REMAINING: 9:12:37]
He groaned, low and irritated, dragging a hand down his face.
"What exactly counts as romantic to you people? Just tell me straight for once."
And luckily for him, the system’s notification appeared with a reply, surprisingly as fast as the women’s pace.
[Anything done not for the host’s own enjoyment or benefit, but purposefully for the other person’s emotional fulfillment, qualifies as romance.]
Stefan’s mouth actually fell open at the unbelievable definition by the system and its sheer audacity.
"That is not a rule, that is a trap. You’ve basically told me to do something nice and somehow not get anything out of it myself. That’s not romance, that’s punishment with extra steps."
Predictably, nothing answered back.
Stefan scoffed in annoyance then he drifted toward the edge of the clearing, standing off to one side while the whole camp moved around him in that same relentless, efficient rhythm, supplies loading, warriors falling into loose formation without a single wasted word between them.
The sky overhead had shifted from deep bruised black to a thin, uncertain gray, morning not fully arrived yet but pressing close at the edges of the treeline.
That was when Zinnia appeared at the front of the gathering warriors, leading a line of horses at a brisk trot, each one already saddled, already assigned by rank with a precision that made the whole operation look less like packing up camp and more like a military maneuver rehearsed a hundred times before.
Stefan’s eyes caught on one horse in particular - taller than the rest by a full head, its coat gleaming dark and healthy even in the weak morning light, an ornate honorary band fastened around its neck that no other horse in the line carried.
Stefan could already tell whose horse that was.
Belladonna’s mount, obviously. A horse that looked less like transportation and more like a statement of exactly who was in charge.
The System chimed in without warning, cutting straight through his thoughts.
[HIDDEN MISSION DISCOVERED.]
[Ride with the General.]
[REWARD: +5 Charm, 250 EXP]
[Accept / Decline]
Stefan let out a slow breath, running the math fast in his head. Walking the entire distance to town - however far that actually was, since nobody had bothered giving him so much as an estimate - sounded significantly worse than the alternative currently glaring at him from somewhere near the front of the formation.
"I would do it." He mumbled to himself and his hand jabbed accept before his better judgment could catch up and talk him out of it.
[MISSION ACCEPTED.]
[DEADLINE: 5:00:00]
Then the full weight of what he’d just agreed to settled in, and he exhaled sharp through his nose, glancing toward Belladonna - toward her simmering, barely-leashed fury from the night before, toward the very real, very present possibility that she had decide somewhere along this ride that beheading him mid-journey was a far more efficient use of everyone’s morning than waiting until they actually reached town.
He looked around at the camp one final time and when he saw that the whole tents were completely gone now and the warriors were scattered around, grabbing the remains of their tents, Stefan knew he had to take an action...
Towards achieving the quest he just accepted.
Stefan swallowed hard then tilted his face up toward the thinning dark sky and closed his eyes, drawing in one slow, steadying breath as he pondered inwardly;
"How can I ride with the General?"
His conman instincts woke - sprung into action rather because it never for once slept, rummaging through the over a thousand ideas in the ’scheming bank’.