Chapter 242: Our Truck is Gone

Evren climbed the creaking exterior staircase of the motel, balancing the steaming paper bag and the metal thermos in one hand. The cool mountain rain tapped against the wooden railing, washing the dust from his boots as he walked down the second-floor balcony.

He pushed open the door to room twenty-four and stepped inside, pulling the latch shut behind him.

Zephyra looked up from the timber table, where she had been organizing their emergency medical kits. Her violet eyes scanned him, checking for signs of trouble before softening with quiet curiosity.

Evren set the warm takeout bags onto the table and let out a soft, amused chuckle. "Zephyra, you’re not going to believe this," he said, unzipping his jacket.

She tilted her head slightly, raising an eyebrow. "Did the diner run out of noodles?"

"The food is great," Evren replied, opening the containers to reveal two large bowls of spiced beef noodles with braised greens. "Our truck is gone."

Zephyra paused, her fingers freezing midway to her travel satchel. "Gone?"

"Gone," Evren nodded, unscrewing the thermos lid and pouring her a cup of hot jasmine tea. "Someone boosted it from the lot while I was waiting at the counter."

Zephyra stared at him in utter silence, her violet eyes wide with pure disbelief.

"Someone stole an armored military-grade transport from an Imperial Sovereign Defense Marshal?" she asked with wonder in her voice. "Are the outlaws in these mountains completely out of their minds?"

"Frontier bandits don’t check military credentials," Evren smiled, pulling out a chair and sitting down. "They saw an expensive vehicle with thick plating and assumed it belonged to a wealthy merchant."

Zephyra reached toward her combat harness, her dark mist stirring around her wrists. "We should hunt them down immediately."

"Eat first," Evren told her calmly, pushing a bowl of noodles and a pair of chopsticks toward her. "Hot noodles taste awful when they go cold, and our truck isn’t going anywhere."

Zephyra didn’t move toward the table, her dark brows furrowing as she stared at Evren like he had grown a second head. "Evren, the mountain rain will wash away their tire tracks within the hour, and leaving our transport vehicle in outlaw hands is a massive security risk."

"First of all, your shadow senses could track a faint mana thread through a blizzard," Evren replied with an easy chuckle, chewing a bite of tender beef. "Second, we have been driving for sixteen hours and barely ate anything all day."

He tapped the table with his chopsticks, gesturing toward the fragrant bowl. "Whoever managed to drive that beast off won’t get far on these mountain trails, and they certainly can’t outrun your shadows. Take five minutes to eat while it’s hot, then we’ll go take it back."

Zephyra stared at the steaming broth, then looked at Evren’s relaxed posture, before letting out a soft, defeated sigh. A rare, faint smirk touched her lips.

"You are remarkably calm for someone whose ride was just stolen," she murmured, finally pulling out a chair and taking a seat across from him.

They ate together in comfortable quiet, savoring the spicy broth and the soothing herbal tea Calista had packed. After sixteen hours of driving through rough terrain, the hot meal was exactly what they needed.

Once the bowls were cleared, Evren tossed the empty containers into the trash bin and pushed his chair back. Zephyra finished the last of her tea, setting Calista’s thermos carefully beside her satchel.

"Whoever boosted our transport wouldn’t leave it in the nearby woods," Evren said, picking up the room key from the table. "They would move it to a secure location before someone noticed."

"Frontier thieves who target high-grade vehicles usually have an established network," Zephyra agreed, checking the fastenings on her daggers.

"Exactly," Evren smiled. "Let’s go find out who runs the neighborhood."

They stepped out of room twenty-four, locked the door, and walked down the creaking wooden stairs to the motel lobby. The middle-aged night clerk was still slumped behind the counter, staring lazily at a small television screen.

Evren rested his forearms against the laminate counter with an easy, relaxed posture. "Evening. If someone wanted a drink and a place where the locals hang out around this hour, where would they go?"

The clerk glanced up, his tired eyes drifting over Evren’s confident grin before settling on the sharp, stunning woman standing silently at his shoulder. He swallowed hard, immediately recognizing that these were not ordinary cargo haulers.

"Head down the service alley behind the fueling pumps," the clerk muttered, pointing a thumb toward the back lot. "Look for a basement door under a neon keg called The Iron Cask."

He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice. "Mercenaries, scrap salvagers, and regional fixers drink there, so keep your head down and don’t ask stupid questions."

"We’ll be on our best behavior," Evren smiled, sliding a crisp hundred-dollar bill across the counter. "Thanks for the tip."

They walked out into the cool mountain rain and headed toward the dark alley behind the fuel tanks. A red neon sign shaped like a beer barrel flickered in the dark, hanging right above concrete steps that led underground.

Evren pushed open the thick steel door at the bottom of the stairs, stepping inside with Zephyra close behind.

The tavern was a sprawling underground bunker carved directly into the bedrock, lit by dim orange lantern globes hanging from exposed iron pipes. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meat, stale pipe tobacco, and cheap distilled grain alcohol.

Dozens of rough-looking patrons sat clustered around scarred wooden tables, wearing scuffed leather coats, work overalls, and patched body armor. A few weary scouts and mercenaries looked up as the door swung shut, their gazes lingering on Zephyra’s striking violet eyes before sliding away from Evren’s calm, steady stride.

They walked up to the long timber bar near the far wall.

A burly, scarred bartender with a shaved head and a grease-stained apron slammed two chipped mugs onto the counter. "What are you drinking?"