Kengo snarled, just as Dansei's knees gave out completely, his collapsing form intercepted by a suddenly animated luggage trolley. Its brass fittings gleamed with unnatural vitality as it *tooted* steam in perfect fifths—clearly another of Maasuitia Tidofiru's charmingly overengineered hospitality nightmares. "Please mind the gap between your dignity and this suite!" it chirped, its wheels squeaking like an unoiled valve gear as it dragged Dansei down the corridor to who-knew-where.
Kengo finally threw Dansei on thier rented room as Inuka tried to steal another pastry.
She fell onto the other bed, exhausted and bruised, but still managed to snatch a pastry from the room service tray with her left arm—because priorities.
Kengo looked over at the quest paper, it still said:
Quest Giver: Joan Guresuri
/I need you to capture the short demonoid librarian in the swamp./
[Reward: Glacier Potion]
[Deadline: Before the next rise of the three faces of Ranul]
It stained across the quest parchment in black ink that smelled faintly of sulfur—the letters *Joan Guresuri* writhing like worms under Kengo's glare.
Inuka had joined her on thier bed, bruised and exhausted, but she still stole another pastry—because *priorities*—just as Kengo's claws crumpled the quest parchment. "Who the hell is *Joan Guresuri*?" she growled, the inked name squirming under her grip like a stepped-on centipede. The pastry thief paused mid-bite, crumbs tumbling onto the embroidered duvet that depicted what appeared to be historical rail disasters in tasteful threadwork.
/////////////////////////Intermission////////////////////////
Soon Johnathan and his passengers were on their way to Maasuitia Tidofiru, or more specifically, Alco Station.
The Kaikachu Express tore through the countryside's rails at ludicrous speeds, its demon-stitched flanks inhaling entire flocks of startled birds mid-flight—Johnathan's SYSTEM cheerfully tallied **[AVIAN SNACKS: 47]**, converting their panicked chirps into steam-whistle arpeggios. Inside the dining car, passengers screamed as their soup bowls sprouted locomotive faces and chugged away, slurping their own contents with unsettling gusto.
Johnathan's conductor avatar leaned against a support beam—literally phasing halfway through it like a particularly dapper ghost—as the Kaikachu Express rattled past glowing mana-rail junctions at speeds best described as *"the landscape is now abstract art."* The SYSTEM flickered **[SPEED: YES]** overhead, its molten-brass letters dissolving into steam that briefly formed a crude bar graph labeled *"Passenger Regret vs. Velocity."*
Meanwhile, in the coaches the passengers were talking amongst themselves.
"I think the conductor's an elf," whispered the baker, wiping flour from his apron as the train banked around a curve with impossible grace—his teacup sliding precisely three inches to the left without spilling, as if choreographed by the gods of physics-defying anime logistics.
Outside the window, a herd of wooly dire-sheep bleated in perfect unison with the locomotive's whistle, their fluffy bodies forming a fleeting arrow that pointed toward **[SYSTEM TIP: LAMB-BASED SIDE QUEST AVAILABLE]**.
The merchant who'd traded counterfeit whisper-zasso for passage was now clinging to a ceiling strap like a drunk bat, his face rapidly cycling through shades of green as the Kaikachu Express took a corner at speeds that defied Euclidean geometry. "Y-You're mad!" he wheezed, watching Johnathan's conductor avatar stroll upside-down along the roof beams with the casual grace of a spider who'd just discovered jazz hands. Steam vented from elongated ears in lazy spirals that briefly spelled *"Gravity? Optional."*
"Mad?" Johnathan's tusks gleamed as the SYSTEM projected **[ACCUSATION ACCURACY: 87%]** in glowing brake-shoe runes. "My good sir, this is *precision*." To demonstrate, he snapped his fingers—and every loose object in the dining car froze midair, soup droplets trembling like startled jellyfish. A child's runaway meat pie hovered inches from a noblewoman's face, its flaky crust whispering *"Bon appétit"* in a voice suspiciously similar to the Track Gorger's death rattle. The merchant fainted. His limp body remained suspended at a 45-degree angle, one shoe gently booping a chandelier with each sway of the train.
Outside, the landscape had dissolved into a watercolor smear—trees bent like overworked salarymen, villages flickering past like poorly buffered textures. A roadside shrine's torii gate warped into the shape of a conductor's cap just as they blasted through it, leaving the priests inside gaping at their suddenly steam-scented altar. Johnathan's actual locomotive body—currently masquerading as a *totally normal* train—hummed **[DEMONIC BOSSA NOVA #12]** under its breath, its wheels tapping out Morse code that translated to *"Send more birds."*
It seemed like the passengers weren't used to a train that could go 100mph without breaking a sweat—or, more accurately, without *having* sweat glands to begin with. Johnathan's conductor avatar lounged in the dining car with theatrical nonchalance, steam puffing from his elongated ears in sync with the locomotive's distant pistons.
A child's runaway meat pie hovered midair near his face, its flaky crust whispering *"Eat me"* in Track Gorger Jerky dialect before dissolving into harmless steam. Johnathan's conductor avatar leaned casually against the dining car's inverted chandelier—currently dripping candle wax upwards—and adjusted his cap just as the SYSTEM projected **[SPEED-INDUCED REALITY WARPS: 2.7% PASSENGER AWARENESS]** overhead in glowing brake-shoe glyphs. Outside, sheep-shaped blurs screamed past the windows in perfect fifths.
"H-how?!" shrieked a velvet-hatted noblewoman as her suspended tea saucer sprouted tiny piston legs and scurried away. Johnathan's elongated tusks glinted. "Trade secret." He snapped his fingers—and every soup bowl in the car simultaneously morphed into miniature trains that choo-chooed off with their contents, leaving trails of broth-steam in their wake. The SYSTEM helpfully translated a passenger's wet sob into **[CULINARY TRAUMA: 89% IRREVERSIBLE]**.
Meanwhile, in the first laug tender—technically Johnathan's *ribcage*—a stowaway goblin squeaked as the walls pulsed around him like living iron lungs. "Nice train," it lied, clutching stolen silverware as glowing SYSTEM glyphs above the firebox flickered **[STOWAWAY DETECTED: SUGGESTED PUNISHMENT—BIRDSNACK MODE]**. Johnathan's actual locomotive consciousness chuckled internally, rerouting a steam pipe to gently roast the goblin's trousers without breaking 100mph.
Back in the dining car, his avatar accepted a trembling merchant's plee to slow down—before folding the man's hat into a tiny railcar that chugged away on self-laid tracks of steamed cabbage.
"Final stop: Maasuitia Tidofiru; Alco Station," Johnathan announced, steam puffing from elongated ears as the Kaikachu Express screeched into the terminal—sparks forming Kanji that hovered midair declaring "Arrival: Deliberately Dramatic." Passengers stumbled onto the platform, knees wobbling from the sheer velocity-induced existential vertigo. The merchant who'd pleaded for mercy clutched a farewell gift—his beard meticulously braided into functioning railroad tracks by sentient cutlery.
Behind his conductor avatar, Johnathan's *actual* locomotive body vented steam innocently, its demon-stitched flanks subtly retracting the fanged maw that'd briefly taste-tested a trespassing pigeon. The SYSTEM flickered **[LOCAL TIME: ALWAYS TEATIME]** overhead as Alco Station's rail guild representatives gaped—first at Johnathan's tusked Dark Elf-Giant-Orckin hybrid form, then at the suspiciously *alive* train humming **[DEMONIC CHOPIN NOCTURNE]** under its breath.
"P-Paperwork?" stammered a clerk, shoving scrolls at Johnathan. His six-fingered hand grasped them—prompting the documents to combust into harmless ticket-shaped confetti. "Ah," said Johnathan, steam curling into the words *"Administrative Efficiency."* Nearby, an overeager porter attempted to polish the locomotive's smokebox—only for its rivets to *blink* at him. The man fainted directly into a conveniently placed luggage trolley, which squeaked "Mind the gap between sanity and this career choice!"
Soon the people got off one by one, until only a few remained—those who had nowhere else to go or those too stunned by the sheer *velocity* of their life choices to disembark. Johnathan's conductor avatar lounged atop the locomotive's coal tender, steam curling from his ears in lazy loops that spelled *"Intermission?"* before dissolving.
The SYSTEM flickered **[PASSENGER RETENTION: 12%—MOSTLY CURIOUS OR SLIGHTLY TERRIFIED]** overhead as a lone scholar hesitantly approached, clutching a tome titled *On the Metaphysics of Improving Transport*.
"Excuse me," the scholar began, adjusting spectacles fogged by the locomotive's amused exhalations, "but was this… *train*… made by you? Im sorry but I've never seen an elf of any kind, even a hybrid, have such skills in machinery..."
Johnathan's conductor avatar arched an elongated eyebrow, steam venting from his ears in playful spirals that briefly formed the kanji for *"Technically Yes?"* before unraveling into the scholar's bewildered face.
'Well, time to come up with a bullshit backstory,' Johnathan mused internally, his elongated tusks glinting as he leaned forward—conductor cap tilting just enough to cast dramatic shadows across his molten-rivet eyes. The scholar's spectacles reflected SYSTEM-generated steam glyphs spelling *"Explanations Pending..."* in fleeting brass runes overhead.
"Ah, trains," Johnathan sighed wistfully, snapping his fingers to summon a teacup that sprouted tiny piston legs and scurried up his arm. "My father's tribe, the *Aeruferrokin*, always had... *symbiosis* with metallurgy." Steam vented from his ears in artful spirals that solidified into miniature floating schematics of improbable gear systems. The scholar's quill hovered over parchment, trembling as it attempted to sketch the nonsense unfolding before him. "See here—" Johnathan tapped a floating cog, which promptly chomped the quill in half with brass teeth, "*genetic* railway integration."
Outside, the locomotive's buffer beam exhaled a theatrically timed plume of steam shaped like a family tree—complete with tiny armored ancestors waving from branch-like rails. The SYSTEM projected **[HERITAGE: 78% FABRICATED]** overhead in molten-rivet glyphs that dripped onto the scholar's notes, burning the word "bullshit" in elegant High Elvish calligraphy.
A station attendant passing by suddenly found his lantern morphing into a hissing steam whistle mid-stride. "Ah, recessive traits," Johnathan lamented, watching the man sprint away screaming. His conductor avatar leaned closer to the scholar—elongated tusks casting dramatic shadows—just as the locomotive's actual consciousness rerouted excess steam to animate the scholar's cloak into performing a flawless tarantella. "Sometimes... the rails *choose you*."
And that was more literal than anyone besides Johnathan Gresely himself would ever know.