Chapter 10: Dragon Blood

"Magic is the truth of this world," Veronica warned as she gripped the steering wheel, her voice steady over the low hum of the road. "The more magic you master, the clearer your understanding becomes. But if a mage loses self-control, if his curiosity over taboos outweighs caution… his mind will twist into terror."

Wayne listened, half-distracted by the steady patter of rain on the car roof. He recalled Veronica's earlier admonitions—magic was not a toy. Yet even as her words echoed in his ears, a small, defiant spark of hope lit within him. Perhaps, after all, his newfound magical energy would prove that he was more than just an ordinary man cursed by fate.

At exactly noon, a blue sedan—a secondhand relic purchased in haste—glided along a rural highway. The farther they ventured from London's oppressive sprawl, the rougher the road became. Yet the country air was a godsend, crisp and invigorating, a hundred times better than the polluted city atmosphere. Wayne couldn't help but think that if it weren't for winter's chill, the journey might be even more bearable.

Wayne's acquisition of the car had been as unorthodox as his current life. Acting on a tip from Dr. Lainer, he'd been investigating a used-car dealer plagued by shady practices. After a barrage of both threats and bribes, and in honor of the Queen's visage on the currency, the dealer had eagerly recommended a "nearly new" black sedan. The car's provenance was never explained, nor did Wayne care to ask; he knew that Veronica looked down on commoner vehicles. Besides, it was meant to be a disposable tool—a means to an end in their frantic race against time.

The blue sedan was a study in simplicity. With a spartan dashboard featuring only a single gauge and no radio, the car's cabin was stripped down to basics. Parts of the structure were even wooden, and its tail sported a twin-door design leading to a surprisingly spacious trunk. Despite its simplicity, everything checked out: bright headlights, a responsive engine, and a transmission that shifted reliably. With a few quick handovers and minimal fuss, Wayne had secured the vehicle without assuming any legal risk—the title wasn't in his name, and the dealer's assurances kept things above board.

After leaving the dealership, Wayne spent the next hour stocking up. He acquired two buckets of gasoline, cases of water, an assortment of canned food, chocolate, and compressed biscuits. Veronica's orders were clear: hit Cardfono Town, capture Fresh Blood Mike, and break the curse before nightfall. Her strategy was swift—a hit-and-run mission that would allow them to vanish back to London the same night if all went well.

Inside the sedan, the atmosphere was as eclectic as the crew. Veronica handled the wheel with the confidence of someone who'd long escaped poverty, while William, the ever-reluctant co-pilot, proved that his two-year slog to obtain a driver's license hadn't quite paid off—his driving skills were, to put it mildly, questionable. In the back, Wayne and Monica sat quietly. Originally, Veronica had insisted Wayne drive, but since Monica needed to "instruct" him in the ways of magic, the role of driver had been reluctantly handed over to the determined Veronica.

As the car rolled along the highway, the conversation turned unexpectedly philosophical. Monica, ever the thoughtful mentor, explained in her soft, measured tones, "Magical energy—mana, if you will—is the lever that moves the extraordinary. Without it, you're just ordinary. For most, the path begins with meditation—slow and deliberate. But sometimes, if you're lucky, you can use faith to jumpstart your progress."

Wayne frowned as he munched on his meager ration of compressed biscuits and potato bites—items provided in a lovingly packed "love potato lunch" by William. "So, if I fail this time, I just try again?" he asked, half-joking.

"Exactly," Monica purred, her whiskers twitching in approval. "Each of us has the potential to be a mage, though not every attempt is successful. Persistence is key."

But then, a conversation shifted to a more peculiar subject. As they bantered about magical training, Wayne couldn't help but notice a subtle change in Monica's tone. "Veronica," he ventured hesitantly, "I couldn't help but overhear… How does Veronica train? Look at her arms and legs—they're so lean. It can't be just rigorous exercise, can it?"

William, with a mischievous glint in his eye, leaned forward. "She has dragon blood."

"Dragon blood?" Wayne echoed, nearly choking on his biscuit. The very notion evoked an image of fire-breathing behemoths and mystical heritage. "This world… does it really have dragons?"

"No," William replied with a dismissive laugh, "At least, not literal dragons. It's just a saying—she inherited that fierce spirit from her mother."

"Her mother… was a dragon?" Wayne's eyes widened in disbelief.

"Not literally—a human, through all appearances," William corrected briskly.

Wayne rolled his eyes in exasperation. "I haven't heard such constructive commentary since… well, science tells us that wasting a minute is wasting sixty seconds."

After an hour of light banter and brief rest stops, the blue sedan's tires crunched over leaf-strewn, barren roadside scenery. The trees thickened as they neared Cardfono Town, where winter's last grasp still lingered. Now, Wayne found himself behind the wheel—a role reversal that seemed almost inevitable. Veronica had relinquished her position in the front, while Monica, ever so composed, occupied a spot in the back with her new "assignment." The plan was simple: arrive, capture Fresh Blood Mike, and lift the curse before dawn.

As fate would have it, the day's tranquility was shattered by the sudden roar of thunder. Dark, ominous clouds gathered overhead, and lightning danced across the sky. In the blink of an eye, Wayne's world became a maelstrom of light and shadow. At the precise moment a bolt split the sky, a grayish, semi-translucent hand—almost ghostlike—smashed onto the engine hood, leaving jagged black-red streaks in its wake.

Wayne's heart leapt into his throat. "Damn it," he muttered, glancing furiously at the dashboard. "The dealer swore—by the Queen's face—that this car was free of soul rings!"

A chill of dread ran down his spine. Had he been sold a haunted car? The realization sent his pulse racing as he gripped the steering wheel tighter, determined to maintain control despite the rising terror.

Within that moment of chaos and uncertainty, as the blue sedan hurtled along the rain-slicked highway, Wayne couldn't help but wonder if he was truly a genius—or simply another desperate soul caught in a web of curses, magic, and the inexplicable. The road ahead was uncertain, but one thing was clear: every mile brought him closer to his destiny, however bizarre it might be.