Change || The Promised Neverland

➴ Chapter Forty-Two: Break➴

<< I wonder how long it'll take until you break, demon? >>

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"Hey, why are we bringing so many horses to a farm raid?"

Barbara narrowed her eyes warily at the equestrian animals, eyeing their large teeth. [Name], who was saddling up her own horse (now named Somnus), quickly adjusted the bags on the saddle before checking to see if Somnus could handle the weight. Norman pet the nose of his horse, glancing at the brunette who had asked the question.

It had been a month since they started training. [Name] and Norman were the main instructors. [Name]'s previous training from Johanna gave her an idea of how to use her weapons, and Norman's genius deciphered the weapons and how to best use them. Together, they were a force to be reckoned with.

Along with that, some of the Lambda children had been taught how to hunt, and the main five leaders had learned to use guns properly. Although they wouldn't be able to use them here, it was essential that they knew how to use them nevertheless.

"I have to agree, Boss," Vincent acknowledged, crossing his arms. "Wouldn't the horses leave evidence of our arrival to outsiders? If the numbers within this farm are equal to that of Lambda, we should be able to make it back on foot."

"You will see," Norman assured, swinging his cloak onto his shoulders. The only weapon he had (and was strong enough to use) was a switchblade and a small pistol. Cislo crossed his arms uncertainly.

"Most of these packages are empty, Boss," he said, flicking at the limp satchels. "Wouldn't it be easier to drop the dead weight?"

"Do you not trust my judgment?" Norman asked coldly. "I have a plan. Do not worry."

[Name] sighed in the background as Barbara and Cislo quickly waved their hands in protest, assuring him that yes, they did trust him, but they were just a bit wary. Somnus nickered at her, nudging her cheek with his nose. It seemed like he was attached to the trenchcoat that she had grown fond of herself, perhaps because it shared the same color of his pelt.

She unsheathed her sword, which had just been polished and sharpened back into its prime. In the armory, she had found one of the older-styled sharpeners that still somehow worked. Vincent - also known as the machine enthusiast of the group - had managed to get it up and running in no time, allowing [Name] to restore her sword to its proper condition.

As for Sidra's pistols, [Name] had left them in her room. They may have been good weapons, but after whatever that was back then, she couldn't bring herself to even look at them. The clothes that she had taken from her overseer were also stored away, hidden so that nobody could find or remember them.

"Is it not to your liking?"

[Name]'s instincts told her to swing her sword and cut the person in half, but luckily, she held herself back. She met Vincent's eyes, sheathing her sword into her belt. It hung at her [dominant] hip, the handle right at her hand and standing on the outside of her coat.

"No, it's perfect," she reassured. "Your handiwork is impressive, especially for someone who hadn't seen a sword before now."

"Thank you," Vincent smiled gratefully. "I'm glad I could be of use to you."

"You sound like a butler," [Name] sighed. "You're not my servant, Vincent. You can be more casual with me."

Vincent blinked, pushing up his glasses almost as a reflex. "If that is what you wish."

[Name] exhaled. "Vincent."

"Apologizes."

Waving her hand to assure him that she wasn't offended, [Name] raised her eyes to spot Isaac watching her from one of the higher floors. The boy's eyesight was inhuman if anything. She wouldn't have known that he had spent the majority of his life blind to the world around him if it weren't for the occasional squint against bright sunlight or the fascinated way he stared at himself in the mirror.