A plan that was foiled was simply a plan that had to be readjusted, and with his priorities rearranged, Leif shot off upon Arion’s back once more. The Shaman was on the grind, after all, even for a mission like this. No need for pause, no need for rest; his END pumped up his SP in real time so long as he didn’t overdo the sniffing, and even at full health, the scent trail that he decided to track was obvious enough that he could do so with no problem. They were three scents mixed together, a party of individuals in the direction of the mountain range that Ames and Leif had just descended from moments ago. It didn’t, of course, mean that Leif was tracking the wrong target or anything like that; the scent trails he followed weren’t indicative of any actual trail, after all, just the straightest route towards whatever quarry he sought.

And, at nearly three hundred kilometers per hour, hardly any time passed at all before he could spot his quarry. A party of three in a distance, their own gazes all turning towards the sound of Arion’s engine. At a distance of 100 meters, they could all feel time begin to dilate, the regeneration of their HP pausing as the battle neared.

One second elapsed.

Holy sigils lit up over the polished surfaces of Leif’s ritual beads, feeding divine power into his body, while his bestial ancestry roused itself, flesh multiplying into bearish masses of muscle. The Tidewalker’s Net, propelled by the speed of the machine and the might of the man, flung outwards, bodily blocked by a samurai in purple armor. A dozen hooks and barbs bit into the lacquered wood plates, before the rope that connected them drew taut.

Another second elapsed.

A curse erupted from the samurai’s lips as she dropped her stance low, driving her katana deep into the ground. Arcane characters burst out of her body before vibrant auras began to surge out of her armor. Her feet drove deep tracts into the earth as she held her ground, not steadfast against Arion’s thousand-horse engine, but enough so that the Nuclei’s speed had been cut down by more than half. And that meant…

A distance of 50 meters gained on her companions. For two mages, that distance was nothing at all. One drew a battleaxe with cello strings stretching its entire length, while another one placed his hands together, performing swift hand signs to invoke some yet-uncast effect.

A fight, at this point, seemed inevitable.