Meanwhile, at Diana’s Side…

Far from the empire’s turmoil, Diana’s morning began with a run.

Thump, thump, thump! My white Nikes slammed against the ground, kicking up clouds of dust as my black hair streamed behind me in the brisk wind. The navy blue and white bodysuit hugged my hips and chest tightly as I pushed forward. Sweat trickled down my forehead, my heart raced, and each breath came in quick, ragged puffs of vapour.

It was a chilly morning—the cool air brushed against my flushed cheeks while tree trunks echoed with the rhythmic tapping of woodpeckers, harmonising with the sweet whistling of wrens perched in their nests.

Just eight hundred more meters, I thought, glancing at my watch.

The sun began to rise, its dawn rays breaking through towering city buildings and spilling onto the narrow forest path. With one last burst of energy, my quadriceps and hamstrings screamed in protest. I looked up, momentarily blinded by the brightness—but I pressed on.

Three… Two… One! I had made it to the end of my run. Slowing my pace to a walk, I headed toward the town, the trees thinning around me as the cobblestone streets came into view.

“Congratulations, Mom!” Alita exclaimed, her tiny fairy wings fluttering as she shivered, a trail of snot dribbling from her nose, which was a bright shade of red.

Though my teeth were chattering, I couldn’t help but smile at her dimples.

“I still don’t understand why you insist on running at this hour,” Alita yawned and grumbled. “You’re a witch! You should be focusing on your magic—which honestly needs a lot of work right now.”

I hoisted Alita onto my shoulders as I made my way down the street. “Magic takes a backseat in my life, even now,” I said, wiping the sweat from my brow.

“But you’re a witch! Magic should be your focus right now. We should be gearing up to fight the demon king!” Alita snorted, rubbing her temples in frustration.

I took a breath. “I used to be a police officer, and one thing I learned is that staying in shape is crucial. I don’t want to be a witch with the physical prowess of a chicken. Plus, I picked up something from my days as an anime fan and a messenger of peace: ‘A weapon is only as effective as the will of the one who wields it. I am justice! I am the blade that will pierce the heavens! The bone of my sword.’”

“You really do love quoting anime, don’t you?”

The streets were already alive with morning bustle—windows flung open, laundry swaying in the breeze, and the aroma of fresh bread and curry drifting from kitchens. Before heading back to the inn, I decided to stop by the butcher’s shop. If we were going to register at the Hunters’ Guild later, we’d need a proper breakfast first.

The wooden sign swung gently in the breeze, painted with bold letters: فروشگاه اکنون باز است {foroshgah aknon baz est}. I squinted at the sign. Alita yawned before saying, “It’s Persian—it means ‘shop now open.’” “Oh, thanks! When did you pick up Persian?” I asked. “I’m a system that stands above everything else. Even though this world is steeped in magic, it’s built from fragments of thousands of experiences,” Alita replied, conjuring a cup of noodles out of thin air. She slurped loudly, then added, “This is what you could do if you took magic seriously. For now, though, you’ll have to get used to making your own noodles.”

The door creaked open, and the butcher stepped outside, smiling warmly. “خوش آمدید! بفرمایید تو، بفرمایید تو!” The words translated in my mind: Welcome! Come in, come in!

Inside, vibrant cuts of meat lined the counters—goat, beef, pork, mutton, deer, and more. The butcher’s dark eyes gleamed as he pointed proudly at each piece. His daughter appeared from the back, apron tied neatly, her plump hand tugging his ear as she scolded him. “Father, stop overwhelming our guest. Let her choose in peace.”

I nodded, scanning the meat. The air was thick with fragrance, but beneath it lingered something sharper—like smoke. The butcher leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Strange times, miss. They say a black-haired woman was banished from the capital. Some whisper she is cursed, tied to calamity.” His eyes flicked toward my hair, then quickly away.

Alita’s wings buzzed nervously. “Plot’s catching up to us,” she muttered.

I forced a smile, kneeling to choose the oxtail. “We’ll take this one.”

Five minutes later—Ding-a-ling! “Wow, you not only bought oxtail but beef steaks too. Pricey,” Alita sighed, shaking her head. “You always have to be considerate of empty stomachs,” I said firmly. “If there’s one thing I refuse to die from in this world, it’s starvation and malnutrition.”

We walked toward the inn, unaware of the storm brewing inside. The scent of bread and curry drifted out to meet us, warm and inviting, like a promise of comfort.

Meanwhile, in the Inn’s Kitchen…

The inn pulsed with life. Voices rose and fell from the serving counter and bar, a chorus of chatter and clinking glasses. Laughter rippled as men placed their bets, while women sighed beside them. The air was thick with aromas: tea, coffee, beer, cocktails.

On the tables, steamed arepas are split open to reveal fluffy corn interiors. Platters of asados glistened, smoky juices curling upward. Bowls of feijoada simmered thick with beans and tender meats, while pabellón criollo shone bright with shredded beef, black beans, and fried plantains.

Behind the kitchen doors, harmony gave way to chaos. Clang! Crash! Pots collided like cymbals in a discordant symphony.

“Quid cum tanto strepitu in culina? (What with all that noise in the kitchen?)” A man muttered, biting into empanadas.

“Videtur iterum domina Helga… (It seems Ms Helga is at it again!)” another laughed, carving into churrasco steaks.

Munching on food, another replied, “Nobis, ut hominibus strenuis… (As hardworking folk, all we can do is savour good food and thank our beloved God, Amos. By the way, have you heard about the nobles summoning heroes?”

The woman beside him leaned in, eyes gleaming with gossip. “My grandson’s friends at the palace say a young woman, about twenty-five, was banished because she made the saint faint.” The bar worker polishing glasses interjected, “I heard that too. My sources say she had black hair.” “Black hair? Isn’t that the same as the demon king from the legends? And with riots in the North and South, workers demanding better conditions, trafficking becoming a problem…” “In any case, let’s not talk about this. The nobles want it hushed. Just eat.”

Then—Clang! Crash! Bang! Pots and pans jingled.

“You damned fox, get your butt back into this pot! I waited twelve desperate hours to capture you, and I’m not losing you now!” Helga lunged, face fierce, as the chicken clucked and dodged. Its long neck craned as if mocking her.

“Give up. Ziggy and I have just decided to have a vegan breakfast,” Tom the helper groaned, his face smeared with dough. “Two hours, and this dough’s evolved into weapon-grade material!”

Then—BANG! The chicken barrelled past Tom’s station, bulldozing the dough ball to the ground. Its beak opened, spewing flame that scorched his bread to a black crisp.

Old man Ziggy sat quietly, eyes sparkling with amusement as he cradled a cup of hot water.

Suddenly—THUMP! The chicken tumbled to the ground just as Diana burst in, sweat slicking her brow from the heat outside. The inviting aroma of bread and curry wrapped around her like a warm hug as she pushed open the inn’s door.

Helga fell to her knees, eyes widening in disbelief as she let out a dramatic sob. “Why? How can a door kill this chicken after I’ve spent my whole life trying to catch you? This is ridiculous! What kind of plot armour is this?” she exclaimed, cradling the fallen chicken in her arms, a single crocodile tear rolling down her cheek.

“Ey, don’t blame the plot, blame the author for making you a side character!” Alita exclaimed, dragging Diana upstairs. “We have to get ready—the story waits for no one!”

The wooden floor creaked, the door slammed, and a picture fell from the wall. “Yo! Shut up!” the next-door tenant barked, his voice gravelly and slurred.

The inn fell silent momentarily. Then continued.