Arknights: The Scarlet Devil of Terra — Chapter 98

Chapter 98: Joyful Bumper Cars

Neon lights from the Lungmen amusement park bled through the evening fog, casting vibrant reflections across the bustling walkways. Even at this hour, the park teemed with crowds seeking a brief escape from the city’s relentless grind.

When Flandre and Beatrix strolled through the main gates, the ambient chatter momentarily flatlined. Heads turned. Eyes widened. A collective beat of stunned silence rippled through the plaza before the whispers began.

Half a year was a long time in a fast-paced metropolis, but Flandre’s appearance was entirely too memorable to forget. The crystalline appendages sprouting from her back caught the neon glare, glowing with prismatic hues that looked like strings of colorful festival lanterns to the uninitiated.

Recognition sparked through the crowd, followed immediately by the collective, traumatized sighs of Lungmen’s youth. After her infamous televised lectures, Flandre had been elevated to the ultimate ‘model child’ by every strict parent in the city—and a living nightmare for the students.

“Look at her,” a mother hissed, sharply poking her teenage son in the ribs. “She only looks about ten years old, and she’s already teaching advanced theory on the big screen. You look twice her age, yet you can’t even manage basic division without a calculator.”

“You cause trouble every single day,” an older man muttered to his daughter nearby. “If you had half the discipline of that child on TV, I could die smiling right now.”

“She’s a professor at ten! I don’t expect you to reach that level, but getting a passing grade on your exams shouldn’t be asking for the moon, right?!”

For a fleeting moment, every child in the vicinity relived the dark era of being aggressively compared to the tiny, winged genius.

Fortunately, Flandre was entirely oblivious to the complex, resentful gazes burning into her back. She was just a child here to play. The heavy expectations of Lungmen’s citizens meant absolutely nothing to her. She simply grabbed Beatrix’s hand, her crimson eyes sparkling with innocent excitement.

“Where are the new rides?!” Flandre asked, bouncing on her heels after they had burned through a few of the classic attractions.

Beatrix smiled, her feline tail swishing with aristocratic grace. She pointed a manicured finger toward a towering steel leviathan coiled against the night sky. “See that? The Roller Coaster. It’s one of the largest, most expensive, and highly anticipated attractions built for the park’s expansion.”

“There must be a ton of people waiting over there!” Flandre observed, noting the massive throng of bodies clustered around the entrance.

“Indeed,” Beatrix said, lifting her chin. “But I already had someone secure our place in line before we even arrived. When we get there, we simply swap places.”

As a high-ranking L.G.D. officer and a refined young lady of the Swire family, Beatrix naturally wouldn’t stoop to something as classless as cutting in line. However, deploying a few employees to wait in her stead was simply efficient use of resources. Besides, this time, the line-waiters were already on the payroll.

handling through the dense crowd, they quickly located their placeholders—two neatly dressed maid sisters from the Swire estate. After a polite exchange and a seamless swap, the maids curtsied and departed for the next attraction to begin the queuing process anew.

Minutes later, the safety harnesses locked into place with a heavy, metallic clank. Sitting in the front car of the Roller Coaster, Beatrix suddenly looked a shade paler. She reached over, nervously gripping Flandre’s small hand.

“You know, I saw a movie once called ‘Final Destination’,” Beatrix murmured, staring up at the sheer vertical drop ahead. “There’s a scene in it where the tracks…”

‘Sister Beatrix, this park is your own family’s property. Is it really okay to curse it like that?’ Flandre thought, her expression turning slightly deadpan.

Besides, if Death actually came for them, Flandre wouldn’t mind. If it was that famously busty, slacking Shinigami she knew, Flandre might even be able to squeeze some fresh gossip about the current situation in Gensokyo out of her., given their monstrous physical durability and reaction speeds, even if the coaster derailed and plummeted into the concrete, they could just dust themselves off and walk away.

With Flandre sitting in the front row, the concept of a fatal accident was practically a joke.

The machinery groaned, and the coaster launched forward.

The wind roared in their ears. The sheer speed and the violent, continuous loops were genuinely thrilling, tearing terrified screams from the lungs of the passengers behind them.

Flandre’s reaction, however, was a deep sense of disappointment.

‘That’s it?’

As the coaster plunged down a ninety-degree drop, Flandre let out a soft, bored yawn.

“How was it? Fun?” Beatrix asked as they disembarked, her face flushed with adrenaline, her legs slightly unsteady.

“Uh, Flandre thinks it wasn’t as good as the Carousel!” she declared after a moment of serious consideration.

“It can’t be that bad, right?” Beatrix protested, smoothing out her skirt.

“It’s too slow for Flandre.”

Beatrix opened her mouth to argue, then closed it. Considering the terrifying, god-like combat speed Flandre possessed, the velocity of a mere amusement park ride was probably the equivalent of a slow crawl.

“Sister Beatrix, do you want to go up to the sky and see Lungmen?” Flandre offered brightly, fully prepared to grab the feline and launch them straight into the stratosphere.

The suggestion was undeniably tempting, but Beatrix shook her head, insisting they save the secret flights for later. For now, they had an itinerary to complete.

Their next stop was a massive, brightly lit arena filled with the screech of rubber and the smell of ozone. Dozens of single-seater bumper cars, wrapped in thick layers of protective air cushions, sat waiting on the metallic floor.

“This is my absolute highest recommendation,” Beatrix announced, her competitive spirit reigniting. “Bumper Cars. Suitable for all ages, and currently the hardest new project to queue for in the entire park.”

“Let’s go together!”

Thanks to the Swire maids’ diligent vanguard work, it took less than five minutes for them to step onto the arena floor.

“Watch closely, little Flan,” Beatrix boasted, sliding gracefully into a sleek blue car and gripping the steering wheel. “I’m going to show you why they call me the Racing God of Lungmen!”

“The Racing God will definitely be Flandre!” she shot back, hopping into a bright red car.

The buzzer blared. Power surged through the floor grid, and the arena instantly devolved into beautiful, violent chaos. Forty cars accelerated at once, colliding with heavy, echoing thuds.

Weaving through the mechanical carnage, Flandre’s sharp eyes locked onto a very familiar silhouette.

There was simply no hiding it. The vibrant red hair and the glowing Sankta halo hovering above her head were a beacon in the dim arena.

Lemuel, currently scanning the field for her next prey, suddenly felt a phantom chill crawl up her spine. Instinctively, she wrenched her steering wheel to the left.

She was a fraction of a second too late.

Flandre had already floored the accelerator, closing the three-meter gap in a heartbeat. Lemuel whipped her head around just in time to see a tiny, familiar figure crashing into her flank with a peal of wild laughter.

BANG!

The impact sent the Sankta’s car spinning out of control. Recovering from the dizzying spin, Lemuel gritted her teeth. As the self-proclaimed King of the Road of Penguin Logistics, being outmaneuvered and broadsided by a literal child was a stain on her honor.

It was utterly intolerable.

She slammed the car into gear and charged straight at the giggling vampire.

“Don’t run, little Flan! Take this!”

“Hee hee hee! You can’t catch Flandre!”

Having secured her successful sneak attack, Flandre expertly drifted her bumper car, vanishing into the dense sea of colliding vehicles. Exusiai, having never suffered such a blatant vehicular humiliation in her life, narrowed her eyes, stepped hard on the gas, and gave chase.

By the time Beatrix handled her way into the center of the arena, she couldn’t find a single trace of Flandre. She drove carefully, gracefully dodging wild collisions from random park-goers while scanning the crowd.

WHAM!

A brutal impact from behind launched Beatrix’s car several meters forward, nearly giving her whiplash. She spun around, eyes flashing with indignation, only to see Flandre making a cheeky face at her before peeling away. Right on Flandre’s tail was a very angry, red-haired delivery angel.

“Well, well, little Flan. You’re actually playing dirty,” Beatrix muttered, a dangerous smirk touching her lips. Knowing she had just been used as a roadblock, Beatrix let out a sharp battle cry, floored the pedal, and joined the hunt.

“Hee hee hee, ha ha ha! You’re both too slow!” Flandre cheered, expertly threading the needle between two crashing strangers. She felt invincible. She was the undisputed Racing God. No matter how aggressively Lemuel and Beatrix cornered her, they just couldn’t land a hit.

But Flandre’s unchecked arrogance had drawn the attention of a lurking apex predator.

Watching from the perimeter, Texas snapped a chocolate Pocky stick between her teeth. She observed her exasperated partner and the wealthy L.G.D. officer failing to box in the tiny girl. A rare, competitive smile tugged at the corners of the Lupo’s mouth.

“In Lungmen, no one is allowed to drive better than me,” Texas murmured.

She slammed the accelerator, cutting a flawless diagonal intercept path straight toward Flandre’s exposed flank.

But Texas hadn’t accounted for Beatrix’s protective streak. Seeing a newcomer trying to ambush Flandre, the feline officer abandoned her own revenge. Beatrix violently jerked her steering wheel, accelerating to ram directly into the rear of Texas’s car, throwing the Lupo completely off her trajectory.

Seeing her partner get bullied, Lemuel abandoned her pursuit of Flandre. She drifted hard, slamming her vehicle viciously into the side of Beatrix’s car to avenge Texas.

Within seconds, the four of them were locked in a brutal, free-for-all brawl in the center of the arena, trading paint and impacts.

Meanwhile, Flandre had long since slipped away from the kill zone. The little terror now roamed the arena freely, stirring up chaos wherever she went. She drove like a demon, sideswiping one person, rear-ending the next, her supernatural reflexes allowing her to dodge every attempt at retaliation.

What had started as a playful game among acquaintances rapidly devolved into a merciless battle royale. Friendships were forgotten. Alliances crumbled. The only rule left was to floor the gas, grip the wheel, and randomly select a poor soul to destroy.

Half an hour later, the session finally ended.

When Flandre skipped out of the exit gates feeling utterly refreshed, Beatrix trailed behind her, looking thoroughly disheveled, her immaculate hair slightly frizzed from the static and sweat.

On the other side of the exit, Exusiai practically leaped out of her car, pumping her fists in the air. It was the most exhilarating, lawless driving experience she had ever had. Texas walked beside her, nodding in quiet agreement. Usually, she had to worry about property damage and L.G.D. fines when driving, but the arena had allowed her a rare, consequence-free moment of pure vehicular violence.

“Would you two like to get lunch together?” Beatrix asked, smoothing down her ruined skirt. Considering the Penguin Logistics duo were among Flandre’s rare acquaintances in the city, she pointed toward a brightly lit fast-food restaurant near the plaza.

“Sure, we happen to be starving,” Texas agreed.

Beatrix signaled for her maids, and the group of six walked into the restaurant, the tension of the arena melting into easy laughter.

After securing a large booth and burying the table in greasy fries, burgers, and sodas, Exusiai leaned over her drink, looking at Flandre with genuine curiosity.

“You know, there’s been absolutely no news of you for over half a year. I honestly thought you had gone back to Kazdel.”

Flandre shook her head, chewing on a fry. “No, Flandre went to Ursus and Leithanien. Flandre just got back from there yesterday.”

“I know, the news of your return caused quite a stir in the logistics network,” Exusiai said brightly. “Everyone is saying that since the merchant caravans have started returning, it proves the war in the west is finally about to end. Speaking of which, since the fighting over there got so intense, our cross-border business dropped by twenty to thirty percent. It’s going to be great when the routes finally recover.”

The cheerful atmosphere at the table suddenly chilled.

“It’s not that optimistic,” Beatrix interjected, her tone dropping its usual aristocratic lilt, replaced by the grim realism of an L.G.D. officer. “You could say their return journey this time was a miracle of survival. They encountered active armies from both sides several times and had to cross live minefields. I heard from my family’s intelligence network that commercial traffic will probably only recover to fifty percent by early next year.”

“Is it really that dangerous?” Exusiai asked, her smile fading as she looked at Flandre in surprise.

“It was very dangerous,” Flandre nodded, her innocent face contrasting sharply with the grim subject matter. “There are a lot of scattered Ursus military remnants hiding all over that region, being hunted by Sarkaz armies and mercenary death squads. From the moment we left Leithanien until we crossed the Yan border, the sounds of artillery and screaming basically never stopped.”

Flandre took a sip of her soda, casually recounting the blood-soaked reality of the borderlands. “We even had a few times where the frontlines shifted, and the slaughter between the two sides was happening less than a few hundred meters from our caravan.”

Silence fell over the booth. Although the geopolitical war was technically entering its final stages, this was actually the deadliest possible time for ordinary civilians and merchants. The crumbling command structures meant chaos. Whether it was desperate Ursus platoons trying to pillage supplies to survive, or rogue Sarkaz mercenaries seizing whatever resources they could carry, the passing caravans were nothing more than fat, defenseless sheep wandering through a slaughterhouse.

If one faction didn’t rob and kill them, the other inevitably would.