My Servant Is An Elf Knight From Another World

I never got to see who exactly was in ninth place. No, unfortunately, I was far too fast to get the chance.

Somewhere down the winding line, I came to notice the absence of any chiming bells swaying, chiming to and fro. Hat must have flown away… never even realized it.

Oh well, good riddance.

Got more important matters to tend to anyhow. Like taking back seventh place.

Before, I'd see a hefty struggle for contention ahead of me. A battle hard-fought, a battle that carried with it a likely risk of loss. Now, I don't even know if I could consider my breezing past them within seconds 'trying'.

Didn't even have time to fling a bucket, didn't even have a chance for a second glance. To them, I must have been a flicker, a blur… they certainly looked that way to me, when I turned their way to try and have a chat.

"And just like that!" Tyler proclaimed, a widened smile heard behind his words. "Philips of Elis and May of the Fey just look at their faces! Easily beaten and bested by The Man himself! Welcome back to Seventh place, Big Man! Good to have you!"

"Good to be back," I whispered out in the speedy breeze. 

"But it's ain't like you're planning on stopping there, are you?"

A drift right, hitting a landmark, continuing to respond like he was actually listening, "Nope."

And he continued to inquire, as if he really was, "First place all the way?"

I could only oblige, "First place all the way."

Then with a spurt of speed, and my hands clamping hard on the reins, I spurred us forth, as fast as fast would let me.

Lyn rode like a horse with wings, she glided through every turn, dodged effortlessly every obstacle - I didn't even have to give any input. Girl was smart, very smart.

Archers from above now had a tougher time keeping their aim true. Ditching the wagon had made us a significantly smaller target to the point that most of the time… I couldn't even consider them a threat.

Because by the time the balloons came crashing, and the splatters came splattering - we were already long gone, off to the next turn, the next checkpoint, breezing past them as quickly as we did with everything else.

But it wasn't all sunshine and daisies henceforth. With the loss of the carriage meant also the loss of my only means of defense, all it would take now for me to lose it all was one well-aimed strike, one lucky stray blow careening my way - and that was it, really it.

Game over.

Obviously, I wasn't just gonna let that happen. But then again, that's what I said back then… and now look where I'm at. The point being, anything can happen. 

I just have to make sure that it didn't happen, even if it did, you dig?

"Ooo, Leon on fifth, just overtook Frederick's team on fourth! Oh, they look out for good too! Cargo's completely ruined! How his aim is so precise while also bending around a corner at the same time, I have no idea! Golden Boy doesn't even need a defender!" 

So Leon's running in fourth place, and looked like whatever the hell he did to earn that spot has guaranteed him a place on the highlight reel too. 

Up above all around, in those giant flat-screens, was a slow-mo money shot of Leon mid-turn 'round a bend, and mid-swing, a bucket slowly leaving the tip of his fingers - and right to his side, his opponent Frederick, too late on trigger, could only watch in wide-eyed horror as both his defender and cargo were doused in a new shiny coat of glistening red.

Speaking of well-aimed, and lucky blows, I suppose Leon was the happening just waiting to happen. 

Duly noted.

Also noted was the new change of scenery that served as the backdrop of his daredevil stunt. I recognized the tree to the left, and as well the grassy plains its burly branches shaded below, because I've stood underneath its looming shadow before.

Sera did too.

Leon was racing away at the theater building now. Shit, he moves as fast as I do. Must have a pretty good horse.

"But not as good as you, obviously," I muttered softly, feeling soft, fluffy strands of silver between my fingers as I lightly stroked Lyn's mane, to which she kindly reciprocated with a delighted grunt and a sudden burst of extra speed.

For a while, there wasn't any other contender in sight on the distant horizon. That blank period between skirmishes was filled with the stray barrel and/or puddle that came our way, a high-octane monotony that was only occasionally broken up by Tyler's continued commentary. 

Most of the time, there was nothing… well nothing that concerns me anyway. There was a fight between eleven and twelve, apparently… one where neither one and both lose. Thirteenth place finally discovered how horses work and was only just leaving the starting line after a little advice and a crash course from members of staff.

Oh, but there was one thing though - one thing I already know, and yet was still a vital piece of info regardless.

"Giant bastard with the beard is still going strong in first place," Tyler's voice rang out, a feeling of slight admiration betraying the total indifference in his tone. "Magnus, the second-place driver, just ain't want nothing to do with the behemoth in front of him! He's scared out of his wits! What kinda champion do you call yourself, dude? You wanna win or not?" 

We must be more than halfway through the race by now, and yet through it all, neither Nick nor Leon had come against any form of struggle whatsoever. No worthy adversaries to contend with, no perilous obstacles to overcome… by all accounts, they were pretty much having a real good time with this.

My experiences and theirs were like worlds apart at this point. Out of the gate, I had to fight tooth and nail to get where I was now and even then I am still well beyond the reach of where they are. 

Were they simply just better than me? Stronger than me? Faster than me?

No. I didn't think so.

"Just luck," I whispered beneath a breath. "Plain and simple."

The string of unfortunate events up till now was just me going through an eighteen-carat run of bad luck… and as it stands, it doesn't seem I've run it all dry just yet.

"Oh…" Tyler went quiet again. "Sixth place came to another stop beside the road. They seem to be waiting for someone..."

Bob again.

"They seem - wait -! With peeps at fifth - Frederick - what the fuc -!" There was a pause, a loud crash. I think Tyler dropped the mic. Oh wait, feedback, he got it back again. "Can they do that?! Oi, that's - that's!"

That's what? That's what, Tyler? C'mon, wallhacks don't fail me now. I think I'm about to be approaching their position any moment now. 

Suddenly, as if a million shotguns were used for a spontaneous twenty-one gun salute, from nearly ruptured speakers rang out, "WHAT DO YOU MEAN DON'T FUCKING TELL HIM?!" 

Lyn growled gruffly, disgruntled, and I nearly dropped Eshwlyn from the banshee-like shockwave, but before either of us could fully recover, Tyler lashed at our senses again.

"Wait! Don't you dare touch my - hey, hands off! Back up, back up!"

Only it was growing fainter…

"Oi, that's my mic, what the fuck! Give it back, you -! I'm the announcer, hey!" 

And fainter…

This time desperate. 

"Big Man! That bastard Bob is out to get you again! He's teamed with the other team and he's got - !" 

Until silence. 

Abrupt, immediate, deafening silence. 

I waited a moment, and when that moment passed, I waited for another, and then another - and yet still the silence lingered. 

It was never ever this quiet in the race before. At least, never for this long. The audience had just lost their energetic happy-go-lucky announcer… and I just lost my only friend here.

My one help.

My one hack.

Shit.

I kept Lyn at her usual steady pace, I did not slow nor did I speed up anymore. I felt almost blind, I never realized how dependent I was on his commentary to pull me through. If nothing else, he served as a voice of assurance, that little yammering buzz in the ambiance letting me know I ain't alone.

I was alone now…

And it was alone that I finally saw just what exactly Tyler was freaking out over, and what he was frantically trying to warn me about before he was so suddenly whisked away.

The narrow road, the next checkpoint, barricaded, obstructed, or if we go by the more likely case… sabotaged.

A wall of barrels stacked high and lined in rows side-to-side was a sight and an obstacle I was rapidly drawing close towards.

It seems, in the time it took me to get here, Bob and the other team were rolling stray barrels about, forming a roadblock that couldn't possibly be traversed through normal means. Figuring out why was a less than a second realization to come to a conclusion.

They wanted me to crash and get myself out of the race through self-elimination. 

Or alternatively, they wanted me to stop just right before that happens, which then will then promptly take that chance to finish me off themselves.

Indeed. There they were now… Frederica of fifth place, and that smarmy-smiling Bob of the sixth, their carriages parked on opposite sides of the road, paint buckets in hand, braced, gripped, ready to be flung.

They both really want me out of their hair, don't they? To go as far as this, I guess they don't call him 'The Builder' for nothing. They really should rename him to 'The Schemer' after this.

'Cause boy, can he scheme. 

Either I crash and burn, or stop and burn anyway regardless. Those were the only two choices he's given me.

Honestly, I liked neither one.

So how about a third choice, instead?

Wallhacks might have been my one hack I continuously relied on… but it was far from being my only one. 

I still have one other hack, there was still that one other choice. Give you a little hint, Bobby-boy…

It rhymes with 'slargic'.

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