Granny Thayer, Demon Slayer || Collab with SophieKestrel

Chapter 8: The Obligatory Training Montage

Violet soon realized the downsides of trying to ride three to a horse. Especially when one of the riders was as over-muscled as LB.

Even Bruce, for all his purebred stamina, was starting to sweat as he galloped down the road. After a minute, Violet coaxed him to a halt. Then she leapt off of Bruce and began jogging alongside him.

"Are you sure you are okay down there?" said Prince Kingsley from the horse. He was supporting a snoozing LB between his arms.

"I'm fine," Violet said, sprinting alongside them. "Feels kind of invigorating actually. Just like a brisk stroll."

Prince Kingsley shrugged. "Suit yourself."

Before them, the road stretched into the rolling green horizon. Behind them, the kingdom shrank to the size of the playset Arty staged battle scenes on as a child. Beneath Violet's feet, gravel continued to fly by.

Kingsley twisted around to look over his shoulder. "I don't think we're being followed."

"Not yet, anyway, but King Fazir will probably have soldiers track us down. Or maybe he'll slap on a beard and send Samarth after us."

Kingsley chuckled, a warm, rich sound of genuine humor—almost as if she had said something witty.

How strange. Dole had only ever found her funny when she was angry.

She side-glanced Kingsley with a furrowed brow. His lips spread to reveal perfect white teeth, and his eyes sparkled. A strange warmth sparked in her belly.

She cleared her throat and refocused on the road ahead. "Are we going the right way?"

"I think so. We want to be going sort of... west. There should be a town coming up soon where we can buy some tents and food and camping gear, and another horse. And maybe you can get some training from our thus-far unimpressive snoozing sensei."

Said snoozing sensei groaned, stretched, and—despite Prince Kingsley's best efforts to bear hug the giant man—rolled right off the horse.

He flopped onto the ground, facedown in the dirt.

"Oh, dear," said Violet.

But before either of them could check his pulse or begin resuscitation, the giant man rolled onto his back and flipped his arm over his eyes. "Turn the lights off," he moaned. "I'm trying to sleep."

Violet frowned. "Pardon me, but you did agree to accompany us and teach me to fight, and it is already half past afternoon tea." She squinted at the sun. "Nearly supper time, actually."

He removed his arm to blink at her. "What?"

"Oh, I'm sorry—you city folk call supper 'dinner,' don't you?"

He blinked again. "No, I mean... I agreed to do what?"

Violet exchanged a wide-eyed glance with Kingsley, who seemed to simultaneously realize the questionable morality of their decision to bring a clearly too-drunk-to-consent mercenary on this dangerous journey.

Before she could consider further, LB lurched up to sitting, belched... and then spewed chunks of partially-digested leaves all over the grass in front of him.

"Oh, no," said Kingsley. "You ate the zombified lettuce?"

LB wiped his sweaty forehead and eyed the pair of them. "Hang on, everything is coming back. You"—he jabbed an accusing finger at Violet—"picked up my chair. Then there was a band of hoity-toity soldiers huffing and puffing... and then a demon shredded the place apart!"

Violet raised her eyebrows. "A demon?"

LB scratched his head. "Or was it a cat?"

Jiggles hissed at him, and LB scooted a few inches back. "Oh wow. A demon cat. This is just terrific."