Part Six: The Road

  Chapter 224: Dream·Madness (Part 1)

  From the Kalendor Basin at the westernmost edge of the Ainfast Empire, if you travel several hundred miles to the southwest, you will see a vast desert. This is the largest desert on the continent, and also the most special one. The Wyvern Wastes.

  No one knows why this desert, which should have no dragons, is called by this name; it seems to be a name that has been passed down from who-knows-when and is still used today. This desert is located at the southernmost point of the central part of the continent, facing the vast Sanderfirth mountain range at the northernmost tip from afar, with the Barbarian Highlands, vast primeval forests, sheer cliffs, and crustal faults in between, dividing the continent into eastern and western halves.

  The Wyvern Wastes, with a radius of several thousand miles, is a barren, uninhabited wasteland. Except for a few strange plants and animals at the desert's edge, the thousands of miles here are a land of death.

  But even the most remote places will have visitors. Just as the Sanderfirth mountain range has had a constant stream of adventurers over the years, The Wyvern Wastes occasionally receives some guests as well. However, the uninvited guests here are fewer and rarer than those in the Sanderfirth mountains, because there are no countless, extremely rare magic gems here. Although legends speak of some ruins and treasure somewhere in this desert, very few would dare to enter this land of death for such ethereal legends. Only when the Barbarian Highlands were still filled with dangerous orcs would some merchant caravans, trembling with fear, risk passing through the edge of this desert to trade between the east and west. After Ainfast cleansed the Barbarian Highlands and Oufu was established in recent years, the trade routes between the eastern and western continents became completely open, and from then on, almost no one was willing to come near this place. So it seems only madmen would visit this dead land.

  Chama was now starting to suspect that this young knight was a madman. For more than ten days now. They had already traveled several hundred miles into The Wyvern Wastes.

  But besides this point, the young knight really didn't seem abnormal in any other way. If he had to say something, it was that he was truly a bit formidable, outstandingly so. At the edge of the desert, they had very fortunately encountered a rare, mutated giant scorpion specific to this region, but the knight had sliced that monster, the size of a horse, in two with a single strike. That scene completely dispelled certain thoughts in Chama's mind. He could tell that even the most courageous Golden Tent sabersmen of his tribe could not have pulled off such a feat. In his half a lifetime on the battlefield, among all the people he had seen, perhaps only that monster-like Templar possessed such swordsmanship.

  Moreover, after entering this desert, every morning this knight would hold two pieces of sheepskin in his hands and slowly channel his energy. Before long, a puddle of clear water would form in the sheepskin. Chama recognized this as the use of water magic to collect the pitifully small amount of moisture from the air; a captured mage from his tribe had once been forced to use this method to obtain fresh water. Although this was merely a very basic spell, for a knight whose swordsmanship and combat prowess were so outstanding, it was truly too astonishing. If he didn't have a sufficient understanding of the people of the Church, he would have almost thought this was another Templar.

  Besides this, this young knight also had a good mind and a strong ability to learn. In just over ten days in the desert, he was almost as skilled as Chama, an old hand who had been rolling around in the desert for half his life.

  The most crucial point was that after seeing that display, Chama began to carefully size up this young man, but the more he sized him up, the more astonished he became. He could very clearly tell that this young knight was by no means a rookie just starting out. Although he didn't talk much, and always had a charming smile on his lips, looking very young, handsome, and approachable, making it easy for people to feel goodwill toward him, but based on the intuition of a warrior who had fought on the battlefield for half a lifetime and killed over a hundred men, Chama, after seeing him make a move on a couple of occasions, knew that what was formidable about this person was not his martial skill, but his state of mind. It was the most seasoned, most cunning state of mind, forged through countless hardships and trials, where killing aura and killing intent were fused as one with spirit, will, and cunning. Unfathomable.

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  Such a person truly could not be classified as a madman. But if he wasn't mad, then it could only be that he himself was mad.

  Chama had been smiling wryly to himself a lot these past two days. To think that he would, as if guided by some strange impulse, walk with this person so deep into The Wyvern Wastes. Even he felt that he was indeed a bit crazy.

  Half a month ago, in a mercenary tavern, he happened to see this young, wealthy fellow offering a high price to recruit a follower familiar with the desert for a trip to The Wyvern Wastes. Chama, who was contemplating ways to make money, immediately thought of an easy and obvious path to fortune. Relying on the name of The Wyvern Wastes alone was enough to daunt other adventurers, so he stepped forward alone to accept this commission. But not long after they entered the desert, just as he was about to put his plan into action, the skill the other party displayed immediately made him swallow his own scheme. Someone who could slice a mutated giant scorpion in two with one sword could certainly decapitate anyone with ulterior motives.

  Even if he honestly helped this knight complete the commission, the reward was very generous... Sometimes, when he thought of this final plan, he would let out a frustrated sigh. A former captain who had led tribal warriors in battle against the Church's army. A warrior who had once cut off the heads of dozens of Crusaders. After his tribe was annihilated by that Templar and his army, he was now reduced to being an errand boy for a few gold coins...

  But the further they went, the less he thought this way. It wasn't because he had come to terms with it, but because he no longer had the time to think. Now, the thing he thought about most every day was how to survive.

  "Sir Knight, are we still continuing forward today? Our food and fresh water are already largely depleted. If we keep advancing like this, I'm afraid we won't be able to get out. And also... are we getting too close to that place..." When Chama said "that place," his voice became unnaturally stiff. No one was willing to say the name of that place aloud; just thinking about it made one feel uncomfortable.

  "It's alright, let's advance a little further. Rest assured, just a little further is all." The young man revealed a very charming smile. Although after more than ten days in the desert, it was impossible for anyone to remain very clean and spirited, this smile truly gave off a very gentle and refreshing feeling.

  Chama sighed and said nothing more, leading the camel and setting off. Similar conversations had occurred in the mornings or evenings of the past few days, but the result was always the same: the two of them continued to advance.

  At noon, the scorching sun in the sky, like a madman, hurled its light and heat toward the ground, as if wishing to pierce and burn everything in the desert to a pulp. The desert had absorbed enough of the sun's power, and the air was dry and scorchingly hot. Even Chama, who was accustomed to walking in other deserts, now found it somewhat unbearable. It was just like trekking across a red-hot iron plate.

  Chama slowly exhaled a breath; even in this single breath, he could feel precious moisture leaving him. The air here was so dry it seemed not like air, but like clumps of scorching hot sand. Each inhalation and exhalation scraped and burned his throat, drawing out large amounts of water. Both of them had to have their entire bodies wrapped in thick attire; if one's body were exposed to the desert air and sunlight, the rate of water loss could kill a person from thirst in half a day without drinking.

  Was this place truly still a desert? Chama, who grew up in the desert, had been asking himself this question these past few days. There were no oases, no living creatures. The daytime was hot enough to roast a person, the nighttime cold enough to freeze one to death. There was quicksand everywhere. If he hadn't already familiarized himself with all the deadly traps in the deserts of his homeland, it would have been impossible to travel this deep. And even so, advancing every segment of the distance consumed a vast amount of physical and mental energy.

  What consumed the most mental energy was that he had no idea where the destination was, or how much farther it was.

  The young employer only said he wanted to find a place in this desert, but he didn't specify what place. This was probably another one of those young people who, relying on their skills, came to seek the illusory treasures of the desert... It seemed he would only give up on this path when his food and water were nearly exhausted. But fortunately, the fresh water and food were indeed running low. Perhaps in the next two or three days, he would plan to turn back...

  The camel finally climbed up another high sand dune; it was already unknown how many sand dunes they had crossed in this desert. Chama subconsciously looked up toward the front, which was still an unknown distance away. It was just a subconscious action; he didn't actually intend to deliberately look at anything. Over the past ten-plus days, he had long grown tired of looking. Apart from the golden sand, there was nothing in his eyes. He often suspected that his own eyes had turned this deathly yellow.

  But this time, what entered his eyes, besides the vast expanse of gold, was a smear of gloomy gray. It seemed that at the edge of the seemingly endless yellow sand, other colors had finally appeared. It should be the shadow of a mountain range. It was just a distant, unreachable shadow, yet Chama let out a sharp cry as if he had seen a hellish demon suddenly appear before him, almost falling directly from his camel.

  The young knight, who then stepped onto the sand dune, also saw this scene. He gazed at the gray mountain range on the horizon, and a ripple finally crossed his normally calm expression.

  "It's just a mirage, after all. It's not a real mountain range." The young knight discerned carefully for a moment and sighed.