Part 1
James felt his face grow warm. "Well, they're... additional gifts from Seraphina. Maybe someone might need them in the future," he mumbled, avoiding their gazes.
Velika arched an eyebrow, her brown eyes gleaming with mischief. "But why is yours so different from these?" She held up one of the one-piece swimsuits, a sly smile playing on her lips. "Yours is just a pair of braies made with special fabric, but these look like something else entirely."
Bisera nodded thoughtfully. "That's true. Is there a reason for the difference?" she asked earnestly.
James stammered, his cheeks flushing deeper. "Well, these are... for ladies. It provides covering for both the top and bottom," he explained, wishing the ground would swallow him up.
Bisera tilted her head, considering this. "That makes sense. If a woman wore just the swim trunks with a chemise, it would cling to her skin when wet and be quite revealing." She blushed slightly as the realization dawned on her.
Velika grinned wickedly. "But isn't this one-piece even more form-fitting? And aren't the legs effectively bare?" She chuckled, her eyes dancing with amusement. "There's hardly a difference between wearing this and wearing nothing at all. Since wearing nothing is faster, might as well skip these entirely."
Bisera's eyes widened, her face turning a bright shade of red.
Velika laughed, clearly enjoying their reactions. "Just pointing out the practicality," she said with a shrug.
James cleared his throat, desperately trying to steer the conversation away from awkward territory. "Maybe I should, uh, take my bath now," he suggested, inching toward the tub.
Bisera seized the opportunity to change the subject. "Yes! We'll stand outside so you can have privacy," she said quickly.
Velika shook her head, her playful grin returning. "We can't leave him unattended. What if an assassin sneaks in?" she teased.
James looked incredulous. "An assassin? Here? Isn't that a bit much?"
Bisera's expression became serious. "Velika is right. Your safety is paramount," she insisted.
"Then I'll stand guard with my back turned," Velika offered, winking at James. "Promise I won't peek."
Bisera nodded firmly. "I'll do the same. That way, you'll have privacy, and we'll be nearby in case of danger."
James sighed, realizing he was outvoted. "All right. If it makes you feel better," he conceded.
He waited until Velika and Bisera had turned their backs before quickly changing into his swim trunks. As he eased into the warm water of the bathtub, the tension began to melt away, the heat soothing his muscles.
Behind him, he could hear Velika's teasing voice. "You know, James, since we're facing away, you don't really need that swimwear," she said.
He nearly choked on the thought, sinking a little deeper into the water. "I'd prefer to keep it on, thanks," he replied, his voice a bit strained.
Bisera leaned over to whisper something to Velika, who then became more subdued. "Right," Velika said. "Apologies."
As he relaxed, Seraphina's voice echoed in his mind. "Would you like a drying towel for $20?"
"Yes, please," he thought, grateful for the distraction. A plush towel materialized nearby.
"Fresh underwear is available for $30," the voice offered.
"That would be great," he replied, and a package of underwear appeared.
Then Seraphina continued, "I recommend purchasing a set of women's undergarments—two pairs of sports bras for $140 and a bag of panties for $200."
James hesitated. "Why would I need to buy those?" he asked mentally.
"It would help reduce the awkwardness in the future if you ever need to assist Bisera with medical attention," the voice explained. "The female civilian attire in this world is quite medieval and lacks certain undergarments."
James's mind flashed back to the previous day when Bisera had asked him to reexamine her wound but Seraphina had prevented him. He hadn't thought much about it then, but now realization dawned on him. His heart skipped a beat at the thought of how awkward it would have been had he proceeded to lift her tunic.
"You're right," he conceded silently. "I'll take them."
The items appeared discreetly beside his belongings.
"Thank you for your purchase," Seraphina's voice chimed.
As he finished his bath, James couldn't help but feel a mix of gratitude and exasperation toward the mysterious voice guiding him through this world. He stepped out of the tub, dried himself with the towel, and changed into fresh clothes before announcing softly, "I'm done."
Bisera and Velika turned back around. "Feel better?" Bisera asked gently, her blue eyes reflecting concern.
"Much," he replied, offering a small smile.
Velika's eyes twinkled mischievously. "That's quite the luxurious life you're accustomed to, James. Bathing every day," she remarked.
James hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, it's just what I'm used to," he said modestly. "I can step outside if you'd like to use the tub."
Bisera shook her head. "It's late. We should rest," she said, though a hint of curiosity flickered in her eyes.
Velika pouted playfully. "Always so practical," she sighed dramatically.
"Maybe tomorrow," Bisera suggested, offering Velika a gentle smile.
"Fine," Velika relented, still grinning. She glanced at the tub. "I'll get some servants to come and empty it, then store it somewhere safe."
As Velika left to fetch the servants, James quickly tucked away the female undergarments before he had to explain more about them. He felt his cheeks warm again at the thought of the potential awkwardness.
Bisera approached him quietly. "Thank you, James," she said softly.
He looked up, surprised. "For what?"
"For being considerate," she replied, her gaze sincere. "And for putting up with our... teasing."
He chuckled lightly. "It's all right. Keeps things interesting."
A faint smile curved her lips. "Rest well," she said.
"You too," he replied.
Velika returned with the servants, who efficiently emptied the tub and carried it away.
"All set," Velika announced. "Now, let's get some sleep before more excitement finds us."
Part 2
The hearth flickered weakly, casting long shadows against the stone walls of the chamber. The earlier teasing between the three had faded into the quiet of the night as they all went to bed. Outside, Nviom's citadel rested under a shroud of darkness, broken only by the faint rustling of wind and the occasional footstep of patrolling guards.
James lay on his cot, unable to sleep. He stared at the ceiling, his mind racing with thoughts of his strange new reality—Seraphina's divine voice guiding him, the war they were caught in, and Bisera, who was so close and yet felt like a distant figure. Her presence in the room was calming, but it also left him feeling more confused than ever.
A faint creak broke the silence. His breath hitched. It was a subtle sound, distant but unmistakable—a footstep, perhaps, or the whisper of steel. James strained to listen, his pulse quickening.
On the other bed, Bisera stirred, her hand drifting instinctively toward the hilt of her sword. Her eyes fluttered open, sharp and alert. Beside Bisera, Velika too snapped awake, always the soldier, her instincts keen and ready.
Another muffled sound—deliberate but slow. Someone was in the corridor.
James's gaze darted toward the door, but his heart sank when he realized that the guards outside hadn't reacted. What was going on?
Velika shot a look at Bisera, her eyes questioning. Bisera, still calm despite the tension in the air, gave a short nod. No words were needed between them—they had fought side by side for too long.
Suddenly, from the corridor, a shout rang out. "Identify yourself!" It was Lev, the leader of their elite guards. His voice carried authority and purpose, but something about it felt wrong, strained.
Before anyone could respond, a crash of steel echoed down the hall, followed by... silence.
Velika's hand flew to her sword as she rose, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "That's not right," she muttered, her tone low and dangerous. Bisera moved beside her, her expression unreadable but her body tense, ready.
The tension in the room was thick, but then a voice broke through James's thoughts, one he had grown used to—Seraphina, cool and calm in his mind. "Do you need a bulletproof vest and a Taser? $1,200 for both. Say yes to summon."
James's heart raced. A bulletproof vest? A Taser? He had never been in direct combat, but he knew enough to recognize that things were about to get dangerous. His breath hitched as the reality of the situation sank in. Without thinking, he whispered, "Yes."
Within seconds, the vest and Taser materialized in front of him. He grabbed them, pulling on the vest with trembling hands and clutching the Taser tightly. The weight of the items was heavy, making the moment feel all too real.
Velika, noticing the movement, glanced over, her expression shifting from confusion to disbelief. "What in the name of—what are those?" she asked, eyes wide. Before she could get an answer, the door burst open.
Man after man stormed into the room, their faces shadowed by hoods, their movements sharp and deadly. They wore the armor of elite Gillyrian forces—special assassins skilled in silent, lethal operations. Their armor was lightweight, designed for mobility, with brass rings and leather accents, and their weapons—curved short swords and slender spears—were built for close-quarter ambushes.
Without hesitation, Bisera stepped forward, putting herself directly between James and the attackers. Her sword gleamed in the dim light, but it wasn't just her blade that was dangerous—it was her. The way she moved was a blur of speed, her mana-enhanced agility overwhelming the first assassin before he even had time to draw his sword.
James's breath caught in his throat. He had never seen anyone move like that. Bisera was more than a warrior—she was a force of nature, cutting down the first assassin with a single fluid motion. She didn't stop. Her blade danced through the air, her body spinning and twisting with precision. The second assassin fell with a quick thrust to the chest, and then the third, his throat slashed in a blink.
But amidst the chaos, James felt something else—something unexpected. His heart raced, not just from the danger, but from watching her, from knowing that despite everything, she was protecting him.
Velika, too, had her hands full. As three assassins broke away from the group and charged toward her and James, she met them head-on. Velika's style was nothing like Bisera's. Where Bisera was fast and fluid, Velika was all brute force. Her powerful legs, strong from years of fighting and training, anchored her in place as she swung her sword in wide, devastating arcs.
The first assassin lunged with a spear, but Velika deflected it easily, her sword coming down with crushing force on the man's shoulder. The second attacker didn't fare any better—Velika drove her knee into his stomach, sending him stumbling backward before finishing him with a clean strike across the throat. The third tried to feint, but Velika was faster than he expected. She pivoted, using her powerful legs to slam her foot into his chest, sending him crashing into the stone wall.
James barely had time to react before he felt a pair of rough hands grab him from behind. The cold tip of a blade pressed against his throat, and his breath caught. One of the assassins had slipped through the chaos.
"Drop your sword, or he dies," the assassin growled, his voice cold and threatening.
Bisera froze, her sword still raised. Her eyes locked onto the man holding James, her expression unreadable, but her chest rose and fell rapidly. Slowly, she lowered her sword and let it fall to the ground with a dull clang.
Velika's eyes widened in shock. "General!" she gasped, unable to believe what she was seeing. The Bisera she knew would never surrender, never bow to a threat, and yet...
But Bisera's gaze was steady. "I am sorry," she said, her voice soft but firm. "James cannot get hurt."
The room seemed to stand still, and James's heart pounded in his ears. The cold edge of the assassin's knife pressed against his throat, a chilling reminder of how close he was to death. Adrenaline surged through his veins as his mind raced. Do something, he urged himself.
Years earlier, he'd taken some Krav Maga classes to impress a woman he was interested in. He never thought those lessons would become a lifeline. Focus on the basics, he reminded himself.
Keeping his breathing steady, James subtly raised his hands in a placating gesture, palms facing forward—a non-threatening movement to distract the assailant. "Easy," he whispered, hoping to momentarily disrupt the assassin's focus.
In a split-second move, he tilted his chin down and away from the blade to create a minimal gap between the knife and his neck. Simultaneously, he brought his left hand up to grasp the assassin's knife hand, securing it and preventing the blade from cutting him. Applying pressure to the attacker's wrist, he used a classic wrist-lock technique to begin prying the weapon away.
With his right hand now free, James reached into his pocket where the Taser was concealed. He pulled it out and, without hesitation, pressed it firmly against the assassin's armpit. He pulled the trigger, and the Taser delivered a powerful electric shock.
A surge of electricity coursed through the assassin's body. The man convulsed violently, his muscles seizing uncontrollably. His grip on the knife weakened, and James twisted the weapon away, sending it clattering to the floor.
Before the last remaining assassin could react, Velika moved, her sword flashing as she drove it into his chest, dropping him instantly.
Panting, James stumbled back, his body trembling with adrenaline. Before he could fully regain his balance, Bisera was at his side, her hand gently resting on his shoulder. Her blue eyes softened as they met his, the intensity of the battle replaced by something warmer—something that made James's heart skip a beat.
"Are you all right?" she murmured, her voice low, almost intimate. There was a tenderness there, a subtle protectiveness that James hadn't expected but suddenly found himself craving.
He nodded, his breath still shaky. "Thanks to you."
For a moment, the chaos of the room seemed to fade away. Bisera's presence was all that mattered—her warmth, her quiet strength. The way she looked at him, as if there was nothing more important in the world than keeping him safe. James felt the connection between them deepen, something unspoken passing between their eyes, and he knew, in that instant, that whatever happened next, he would follow her to the ends of the earth.
Velika, standing nearby, glanced between them, her face a mix of disbelief and something else—was it amusement? She looked down at the fallen assassins and then back at the two of them, her lips twitching into a smirk.
"You know," Velika started, unable to suppress her grin, "I think I missed something. The general, who never backs down, just dropped her sword... for you, James?"
Bisera's eyes flicked toward Velika, but her hand never left James's shoulder. "I did what I had to."
Velika let out a short laugh, shaking her head. "I've seen you face down armies without flinching, but one little threat against James and suddenly the sword goes down? This is... well, new."
Bisera's lips quirked into the faintest smile, her hand giving James's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "James is important. More important than you know."
Velika raised an eyebrow. "Oh, I'm starting to understand that, believe me." She pointed at James's vest and Taser, her expression a mix of curiosity and humor. "You've got magic, you can conjure things... and you took down an assassin with a little zap. You are a great mage, aren't you."
James nodded, his face flushing. "I guess..."
Velika looked between them again, shaking her head in disbelief, though a broad grin was spreading across her face. "Well, I'll be damned. James... you've certainly made things interesting around here." She gave Bisera a knowing look. "And you, General... I never thought I'd see the day."
"Neither did I," Bisera admitted softly, her eyes still on James.
Velika let out a bark of laughter, unable to help herself. "This is just too good. But I have to admit, James, I'm impressed. You might actually be useful around here after all."
The humor in Velika's voice lightened the mood, but the weight of the moment wasn't lost on James. As Bisera's hand remained on his shoulder, a warmth spread through him, and for the first time since arriving in this world, he felt truly connected—to her, to this strange place, and to whatever destiny awaited them.
As the adrenaline began to fade, Bisera glanced at the bodies scattered around them. "We should have kept one alive to interrogate."
James, still breathing heavily, pointed at the assassin he had electrocuted. "He should be awake, just unable to move or speak for now. We can question him later."
Part 3
The evening sky stretched above the camp like a canvas of ink, dotted with silver stars that twinkled distantly, indifferent to the mortal lives below. Alexander, the Emperor of Gillyria, stood by the entrance of his lavishly decorated command tent, his gaze fixed on the stars above, yet his thoughts were rooted deeply in the strange events of the past few days. His golden armor, etched with intricate designs that reflected the torchlight, gleamed against his broad, muscular frame. His long, dark hair, crowned with a laurel wreath, flowed slightly with the gentle breeze. He was a man of unwavering focus and determination, and yet recent reports had shaken even his hardened resolve.
He could still scarcely believe the stories from his soldiers. The reports that Bisera and some strange man had escaped from his elite forces using an impossible machine—a divine wagon, they had called it. The description baffled him. How could such a thing exist? A vehicle with no horses, no sails, and yet it moved with a speed that no war steed could match. At first, he had dismissed the accounts, convinced that fear or panic had warped the soldiers' perceptions. But then, separate interrogations confirmed the same impossible story. How could it be denied?
Fury simmered beneath his calm exterior, but as a wise ruler, Alexander did not let it consume him. Instead of punishing his soldiers for their apparent failures, he ordered them to provide detailed descriptions of the machine and the people who escaped. He needed more information—anything to help him understand how this "machine" worked and what it meant for his campaign.
As he reflected on the reports, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. A new message had arrived earlier that evening, carried by a messenger pigeon. His spies within Nviom had confirmed the unthinkable—Bisera had arrived safely in the city. She had made it across the rugged mountains and through Gillyrian lines within half a day. The same machine—this time described in more detail—had allowed her and her mysterious companion to traverse vast distances in an impossibly short time.
Alexander folded his arms across his chest, a frown forming on his lips. "What kind of sorcery is this?" he murmured to himself. He could feel the weight of the situation building. He needed answers, but none seemed forthcoming.
His thoughts were interrupted by a familiar presence. A tall, broad-shouldered figure approached from the shadows of the camp. It was Igor, his trusted captain of the Praetorian Guard. The man was a giant—standing a head taller than most of Alexander's soldiers, his muscular frame and striking blond hair catching the flickering torchlight. Igor's green eyes, always sharp and calculating, softened as he approached his emperor and friend.
"Your Majesty," Igor greeted, his voice deep and steady as he took a seat beside Alexander, who remained standing, his gaze still on the stars.
For a moment, there was silence between them—comfortable silence, the kind that only years of friendship could bring. Alexander's mind wandered briefly to the day they had first met—he and Irene, his beloved, had come across Igor at a slave auction in the capital. He had been a young prince back then, just sixteen years old, and Igor had been a slave from the Vakerian territories, his strength and determination standing out even among the broken men around him. Irene's compassion had touched Alexander's heart, and the prince had bought Igor's freedom. From that day forward, Igor had become not just a comrade but a brother in arms. Together, they had trained, and Igor had risen through the ranks, converting from his pagan beliefs to the faith of the Universal Spirit. Now, Igor was more than a guard—he was family.
"Still thinking about the reports?" Igor asked, his deep voice cutting through Alexander's silence.
Alexander exhaled slowly, lowering his gaze from the sky. "Yes," he admitted, his voice thoughtful. "It doesn't make sense. This... machine that Bisera used to escape. What could it be? It defies all logic. No horse, no chariot, yet it travels faster than anything we've ever seen."
Igor's strong hands rested on his knees as he leaned slightly forward. "I've thought about it, too," he said, his tone serious. "It could be divine... perhaps the work of the Universal Spirit."
Alexander's brows furrowed. His belief in the Universal Spirit was unwavering, but the thought that his god might be helping Bisera, his enemy, unsettled him. "If the Spirit sent this machine to her, what does that mean for us?" he muttered, more to himself than to Igor. "Have we strayed from the path?"
The possibility gnawed at him, but another thought surfaced, darker and more insidious. "Or could it be something else? Could it be the work of demons? The Lord of the Abyss?"
Igor's expression darkened as well. "Demons are known to twist the laws of nature. It could be a trick—a test of our faith."
Alexander nodded slowly. "Whether it's divine or demonic, it doesn't matter. Unless the Universal Spirit gives me a clear sign to stop, I will press on. Gillyria must prevail."
Igor gave a resolute nod. His loyalty to Alexander and to the cause was unshakable. "Then we press on."
The conversation shifted as Alexander asked, "How goes the plan, Igor?"
Igor straightened, his green eyes gleaming with the confidence of a seasoned warrior. "I've given orders to the Gillyrian assassin cell within Nviom. They are to kill Bisera and her companion—the mage—tonight. Once they confirm the kill, they will send up the firework signal, and Governor Theodore, who waits nearby with three thousand men, will storm the city. They are all new recruits, but they are ready."
Alexander's lips curved into a calculating smile. "Excellent. If Bisera and this mage are dead, we can take Nviom with minimal casualties and crush the Vakerian forces with ease. More importantly, without Bisera to rally the troops, the Vakerians will lose their spirit. The fewer Gillyrians who die in this war, the better."
For a moment, Alexander's gaze softened, and a hint of regret flashed in his dark eyes. "It's a shame, really," he mused. "Bisera would have been a great asset—a warrior I would have liked to fight alongside."
A playful smile tugged at his lips as he glanced at Igor. "She would have made a fine wife for you, Igor."
Igor's brows shot up in surprise, and for a moment, he was at a loss for words. Then, laughter erupted between them—loud, hearty laughter that echoed through the camp. Igor shook his head, a wide grin spreading across his face. "Don't let Anna hear you say that," he joked, referring to his wife, the mother of his five daughters.
Alexander chuckled, the tension from earlier moments melting away. "I wouldn't dare."
The laughter faded, leaving a sense of camaraderie between the two men. They had faced many challenges together, and the bonds they had forged in battle were unbreakable. Even in the face of uncertainty, they knew one thing for sure—they would face whatever came next together, as brothers in arms.
As the night wore on, Alexander's thoughts returned to the stars above. Somewhere in Nviom, Bisera and the strange man she traveled with were still alive—for now. But by tomorrow, if the plan succeeded, they would be dead, and the path to victory would be clearer.
He would not let doubt sway him. He would not let the mystery of the machine or the strange reports from his soldiers cloud his judgment. His faith in the Universal Spirit was strong, and unless the Spirit itself commanded him to stop, Alexander would push forward—no matter what.