CHAPTER 284: CHAPTER 284- NORTHERN PASS

The days that followed fell into a steady, grinding rhythm. The rugged terrain meant the massive mobile base, for all its virtues, was more of a lumbering beast than a sleek vehicle. The constant strain began to take its toll.

It happened on a long, dusty incline. A loud, jarring clunk echoed from the undercarriage, followed by a disheartening sputter. The vehicle shuddered to a complete halt, a cloud of dust settling around it.

Silence, broken only by the sigh of the wind.

From the driver’s seat, Julian let out a quiet, controlled breath. "We’ve stopped."

A collective groan came from the cabin.

"Again?!" Veronica complained, peering out the window at the desolate landscape. "This heap of junk!"

"It is not a ’heap of junk’," Aya defended loyally, though she looked worried. "The stress on the transmission must have been too great..."

Julian was already out of the driver’s seat. "Fey."

The engineer, who had been dozing in a reclined passenger seat, didn’t even open her eyes. "Yeah, yeah. I heard the death rattle. Probably the torque converter shearing. Told you we needed those high-tensile bolts from the last scrapyard." She finally cracked an eyelid, looking at Julian. "This is going to take a while. And it’s going to be loud."

Without another word, she slid out from her seat, grabbed her custom toolkit, and vanished underneath the vehicle. The sound of rhythmic, forceful banging and creative cursing soon filled the air.

With their journey stalled, the group dispersed to their routines. Emma and Zoe practiced sparring a short distance away, Emma’s cheerful shouts contrasting with Zoe’s silent, fluid movements.

Clarissa and Dori sorted through their food supplies, their conversation a soft murmur. Celestia sat on a rock, maintaining her weapons, her presence a silent anchor. Beatrix simply found a patch of shade and opened a book, her expression one of profound boredom.

Julian stood near the front of the vehicle, listening to the chaotic symphony coming from beneath it. After a while, he fetched a canteen of water and a ration bar. He knelt down and slid them into the dark space under the chassis.

The banging stopped. "...Thanks, Captain."

"Progress?" Julian asked, his voice neutral.

A grunt was the first response. "It’s a mess in here. They used a substandard alloy for the housing... it’s cracked under stress. I’m having to reinforce it with a patch job. It’ll hold, but it’s not pretty."

There was a pause, then a slightly more conversational tone. "You know, this is exactly the kind of problem I used to solve on a drawing board. Predicting stress points, calculating load distributions... it was clean. Elegant. Now I’m just a glorified post-apocalyptic mechanic with a welding torch."

Julian didn’t respond immediately. He sat on the ground, his back against the massive tire, the sun warm on his face. "You designed engine parts," he stated, recalling her words from the campfire.

"Yep," came the muffled reply, accompanied by the screech of metal on metal. "High-performance stuff. The kind that could make a car purr like a kitten at 200 kilometers an hour. Now my masterpiece is a ten-ton armored box that keeps trying to shake itself apart." She let out a short, dry laugh. "The irony is thick enough to stop a bullet."

"It’s kept us alive," Julian said, a simple, factual counterpoint.

A longer silence from under the vehicle, followed by a softer, "Yeah. I guess it has."

For a few minutes, there was only the sound of Fey’s work and the distant chatter of the others. It was a moment of unexpected, quiet connection amidst the breakdown.

Finally, Fey slid out, her face smudged with grease and sweat. "Done. For now. Don’t do any more extreme off-roading unless you want to see my beautiful work turn into shrapnel."

Julian nodded, standing up. "Noted."

He helped her to her feet, his grip firm and brief. As they walked back to the driver’s side, the others began to pack up their impromptu activities, the brief slice of daily life over. The engine, when Julian turned the key, roared back to life with a healthier, steadier rumble.

"See?" Fey said, collapsing back into her seat with a satisfied smirk. "Told you I was worth the trouble."

Julian didn’t smile, but as he put the vehicle back into gear, he gave a single, acknowledging nod. "You are."

The mobile base rumbled along a cracked, weed-choked highway, a lone bastion of technology in the silent landscape. As they rounded a bend, the scene ahead made Julian ease his foot onto the brake.

A barricade made of rusted cars and broken furniture blocked the road. A dozen figures, clad in ragged, patched-up clothes, emerged from the ruins on either side, pointing a mix of crude spears and a few aging rifles at the vehicle. Their faces were gaunt, their eyes a mixture of desperation and hardened survival.

One of them, a man with a scar running down his cheek, whistled low as he eyed the massive, armored vehicle. "Would you look at that... a real king’s chariot."

Another, a woman with fierce eyes, rapped her knuckles against the reinforced bumper. "This thing eats more fuel in a day than we see in a month."

Before any more comments could be made, a larger man, clearly the leader, stepped forward. He had a wild look in his eyes, a hunting rifle held tight in his hands. "That’s enough! Everyone out! Now! This vehicle is forfeit! Consider it a toll for passing through our territory!"

Inside, the atmosphere shifted instantly from weary travel to high alert.

"Bandits," Veronica spat, her hands already glowing faintly with a preparatory enchantment.

"Ooh, a fight!" Emma whispered, flames flickering around her fingers.

Zoe let out a low, warning growl, her body tensing.

"Stand by," Julian said, his voice calm but leaving no room for argument. He assessed the situation through the windshield. Desperate people, not a trained military unit. Dangerous, but predictable.

He turned to Clarissa. "Hold the perimeter. No one gets in." She nodded, her expression serious.

Then, to everyone’s surprise, Julian reached not for a weapon, but for the door handle. "I’ll handle this."

"Julian, that’s—" Veronica started, but he was already opening the door and stepping out, leaving it slightly ajar.

The bandits tensed, leveling their weapons at him. Their leader, Poel, sneered. "Just one of you? Brave. Or stupid. Hand over the keys."

Julian stood tall, his hands visible at his sides. His gaze swept over the group, cold and assessing. "No."

A ripple of anger went through the survivors. Poel’s finger tightened on the trigger. "You think that fancy armor will stop a bullet at this range?"

"It might," Julian said, his tone utterly flat. "But you won’t live to see the result." He paused, letting the threat hang in the air. "You’re not bandits. You’re survivors. Starving, by the look of you. You don’t want a firefight. You want to live."

He gestured back to the vehicle. "I have food. Medicine. I can give you enough to last two weeks. In return, you clear the road and let us pass. No one has to die here today."

Poel stared at him, suspicion and a flicker of hope warring in his eyes. "You’d just... give it to us?"

"It’s more efficient than killing you and wasting the ammunition," Julian stated, as if commenting on the weather. "Your choice. A gift, or a grave."

The silence stretched, broken only by the idle rumble of the engine. Poel looked at his people, at their hollow cheeks and desperate eyes. He slowly, reluctantly, lowered his rifle.

"The food first," he said, his voice gruff.

Julian gave a single nod. He turned back to the door. "Aya. One of the standard supply crates."

A moment later, a heavy crate of preserved rations and medical kits was pushed out onto the road. The survivors stared at it as if it were a mirage.

As his people scrambled to retrieve the crate, Poel looked at Julian with a new, grudging respect. "You’re not like the others from the big factions."

"We’re just passing through," Julian said. He watched them clear a path through the barricade. "The Northern Pass. Heard anything?"

Poel paused, his expression turning grim. "That’s New Order territory. They’ve been... recruiting. By force. You don’t want to go there." He shook his head. "But someone like you... you probably have your reasons. Good luck. You’ll need it."

Without another word, Julian got back into the driver’s seat. He put the vehicle in gear and drove slowly through the newly opened path, the survivors watching them go, clutching their lifesaving crate.

Once they were clear, Emma let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. "That was... surprisingly nice of you, Julian."

"Efficiency," he repeated, though his gaze lingered on the rearview mirror for a moment longer than necessary. "Nothing more."