Outside Trimounts, on the wasteland above the Stasis Chamber, a boxy heavy vehicle was stuck.
Human material science wasn't as abnormal as Terra's, and given the technology and designs Xing Chen could acquire, to serve the expected performance, the only practical reference was World War II German heavy tanks. And it's well-known that products from this line often had poor reliability, especially the suspension.
"Hello, is anyone there...?"
Friston had wanted to call Mark over for help, but Xing Chen had told him that matters of the Pre-civilization needed to be kept secret, so he could only broadcast in vain... After an unknown amount of time, just as Friston was about to give up and have Xing Chen build him another means of transport, a pleasant female voice suddenly came to his ears.
"Hello, sir, do you need any help?"
Friston rotated his turret, aiming his camera in the direction of the voice, and an odd vehicle appeared in his sight.
A unique suspension paired with a pointed head, and a red rhomboid camera just like his own.
Perhaps it was a kinsman of Theresa.
"Ah, of course," Friston bobbed his glowing red camera up and down, "my suspension is broken, can you help me install it?"
"Where is it? Let me take a look."
"The rear... over there."
"Found it. Please wait a moment."
An ethereal but abstruse language emanated from the Banshee cart, and the broken track and road wheels automatically returned to their original positions.
"I can feel them again, but their state isn't quite right..."
"I'm sorry, I really don't understand your structure. How about I go wake up the other Lords...?"
"It's fine, as long as it can move."
Friston started the engine, and the massive vehicle began to gallop once more.
The young Banshee was also happy about this, her top structure moving up and down rhythmically.
Having moved enough, Friston came back to his senses and noticed a huge cargo box trailing behind the cart.
The cargo box was made of black unknown material, its surface covered with ornate and mysterious patterns.
"What is this?"
Friston had no hands, so he could only gently nudge the cargo box.
"Oh."
The Banshee cart was suddenly bumped a short distance into the air.
"Sorry." Friston lacked understanding of his new body and hadn't expected the Banshee cart to be so light.
"It's alright," the Banshee cart turned around, "this is an item our patriarch gave to our king. I'm not sure what it specifically is."
"I see... Are you going to Trimounts?"
"Yes."
"How about I give you a ride as thanks?"
...According to Princess Theresa's instructions, the Sarkaz and Cattus worked together and discovered an unknown device beneath Leimbieta.
The former Lord of the Banshees immediately sealed off the news with sorcery and chose a reliable young Banshee to operate a cart to transport the device to Trimounts in Columbia.
The messenger conveyed the Demon King's urgent emotions to Lama Lien, but the only precisely manufactured cart had been sent to care for Aifaneer, so the young Banshee could only be assigned a temporarily assembled one.
Compared to the mature Originium Engines of the core nations, the Sarkaz's witchcraft engines lagged significantly in both reliability and power output.
Their only advantage was probably that if a witchcraft device broke, it could be repaired through witchcraft.
"Thank you so much, Mr. Friston. Without your help, I don't know when I would have reached Trimounts."
In the distance, the faint outline of a colossal object appeared on the horizon; that was the mobile city where the Demon King resided.
Lord Lama Lien had given the young Banshee the route to Trimounts and possible docking locations, but lacking positioning and navigation, she had mentally prepared herself to spend some time.
"It was nothing," Friston's exhaust pipe spewed Originium dust, attempting to show off his surging power, "if it weren't for your witchcraft, I might have had to get a new body."
A new body? The young Banshee thought of some things Princess Lama Lien had instructed her about.
Such as keeping Princess Theresa's existence a secret, or the last free Revenant active in Columbia.
Could it be?
Good, good, good.
Am I really encountering an ancestor?
The Banshee began to get nervous. She had heard from older Banshees that Revenants were all very ill-tempered beings.
They were themselves a collection of Sarkaz grievances, then thrown into a furnace and burned for hundreds of years.
Without Bursting Dawn, it would be difficult to calm them down.
"Ancestor..."
"Hmm?"
This ancestor didn't seem quite like what the seniors described. Could it be because she had passed his test?
"Have you really met Princess Theresa?"
"I did indeed meet a local creature named Theresa... a Sarkaz, but whether she's the one you're talking about, I don't know—isn't having the same name quite normal?"
Is this also a test from the ancestor?
Having the same name is indeed common among the Sarkaz, as everyone is practically a dropout from prenatal education, but this refers to ordinary Sarkaz at the bottom.
High-ranking Sarkaz are all educated, and their names have unique meanings; without special reasons, names generally aren't duplicated.
"Ah, you're right."
The ancestor might have already met the princess, but for some reason, wanted to conceal her existence.
Friston felt the Banshee cart's attitude become extremely respectful, suspecting she might have mistaken him for another entity.
However, before he could explain, a fleet of high-speed warships appeared in his perception.
On the largest flagship, there was a signal he was familiar with.
"Someone's coming, let's hide quickly."
The Banshee cart, being lighter, naturally couldn't carry better detection equipment. But could what the ancestor said be wrong?
Compared to other countries in Terra, Columbia had a higher interest in Sarkaz witchcraft, and the device she was transporting absolutely could not be discovered by them.
Friston searched the wasteland for a while and finally found a sparse patch of grass.
"Fifteen meters... that should be enough, right?"
At such a distance, the grass completely obscured the view.
"Um, ancestor, can I get a little closer to see?" The Banshee cart suddenly made a request.
Although the Banshees were hiding, they weren't completely oblivious to what was happening outside.
Mobile cities could be seen with one's own eyes, but high-speed warships were truly something new.
"It's very dangerous. Your body can't withstand the bombardment of any caliber naval gun."
"It's alright, I have a witchcraft shield, and my body is very small, they won't find me that easily."
Saying that, the Banshee cart ran out of the grass. However, before she could get a clear look at the warship, a shell landed near her.
"What were you shooting at just now?" a loader asked.
"Probably a Rust Hammer vehicle," the gunner replied indifferently.
After the fleet passed, Friston walked out of the grass and approached the remnants of the cart.
Fortunately, it was a near-miss; the spherical storm of the shockwave had only scattered the cart.
"I'm sorry, ancestor..."